#and I mentioned that people can be really strange and cruel at times

[super-done-dead]

I just want to be loved is that too much to ask? I just want to be valued as a friend. I want to be wanted. I don’t care who wants me anymore, anyone please

[gloomwitchwrites]

In the Wolf's Maw

Werewolf John Price x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: mild dubcon, knotting, mating bonds, accidental mating, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, breeding, dominance, protectiveness, possessive behavior, werewolf!Price, shifter!Price

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: Requested by @glitterypirateduck for 3.5k Spooky Bingo (Werewolf AU)

Walking home on Halloween night, you’re accosted by three strange men. From the dark emerges a stranger, but one that has been haunting your steps for months. He might be your savior, but there is a deeper hunger within him that needs to be satiated, and only you can satisfy it.

ao3 // main masterlist // 3.5k spooky bingo masterlist

Something walks with you amongst the trees.

It is always near—always close—but never enough for you to glimpse it between the towering bark.

When you first felt the strange presence, you believed it to be human. Your senses awakened in expectation of threatening intent, but now, with the passing of the months, you no longer believe it to be so.

Whether for good or ill, a human would have revealed themselves in some capacity. This must be animal. It has to be. Either curious or cautious but it clearly does not see you as a threat. It is always there though. A phantom. A figure. You've never seen who or what but you sense it.

"You should really take the main road. I don't understand why you insist on cutting through the forest."

"It's peaceful," you reply. "Gives me time to think."

Your friend arches an eyebrow. "You know the stories."

"Myths," you correct. "Not stories."

"Myths always carry a bit of truth."

There are wolves in the forest. But they live deeper, away from the human population. Wolf sightings are extremely rare, and those that claim to see them are often known for being terrible gossips and liars.

The myth that walks with them is that the wolves are not wolves at all.

They are cursed men. Shifters. Werewolves.

It's nonsense.

Scientifically impossible.

The wolves are only wolves. Maybe the one that watches you is one of these wolves?

Possible, but unlikely.

For all you know, you're being watched by a curious scurry of squirrels.

The myth is history drenched, from a time when people needed to explain natural phenomena they didn't understand. It is only stories.

Or so you believed.

It's late in October. Halloween night.

You stayed far too late at the local library, browsing shelves and losing track of time until the librarian, Mrs. Dean, came scouting for you in the basement archive. Down there, you went searching for what hadn't been digitized, seeking stories about these wolves.

Most of what you uncovered were old newspaper articles of missing women and mauled men in the forest. The details were few and relatively unhelpful, but like gum stuck to the bottom of a shoe, there was one consistency in all of them.

The myth, mentioned at the end of every article. Cursed men that shift into wolves. Men in the skin of a predator that hunt women and slaughter their menfolk. You'd think the town had a serial killer, but the articles go back far enough in time that it simply couldn't be the case. Many of the articles cite historical records and reports of the same thing happening over a hundred years ago.

It plagues you on your walk home.

Staying late at the library and taking the path through the forest home takes you away from the roaming families and the angsty teens ready to terrorize anyone who steps in their path. The streets are alive with movement, but you need to collect your thoughts, to consider what you've found and figure out where to look next.

A gentle wind brings a chill with it, sneaking underneath your coat to tease skin. Shivering, you bundle up tighter, the cold bite of air adding a kick to your step. You feel eyes on you, but not your anonymous phantom.

These eyes feel cruel. Malicious.

"What's this?"

Three tall figures in masks emerge from the dark. Like a whisper of wind they appear, skulking toward you, fanning out in a half-moon directly in front of you.

"Cute thing like you shouldn't be out here all on your own." The voice is masculine. Deep. Not one of the local teens. This is someone much older. "There are...wolves about."

The trio saunters forward, the two on the ends splintering off from the man in the middle, slowly boxing you in. There is nowhere to go but behind. Turning tail and running means a chase. You scent their excitement. That is what they're itching for.

"I'm fine. Thank you for the concern," you reply in the blandest voice you can muster.

Don't show fear.

"Need an escort?"

He's not taking the hint, but what did you expect?

Missing women. Dead men.

"No. Thank you."

Squaring your shoulders, you charge forward, intent on walking through the two on the right. In sync, they close ranks, blocking your path.

"Sure about that?"

"We insist."

Your lips part. "I'm—"

A low growl reaches your ears. It is laced with warning, and a sudden surge of energy rushes up to greet you, wrapping around and between your limbs like invisible rope. You know this sensation. It is familiar and unwaveringly comforting.

The two men standing in front of you glance over your shoulder. From behind their masks, their eyes widen with abject terror. Their shoulders tighten with tension, and they freeze like a deer sensing danger.

The growl comes again, and that sensation bleeds into you further, becoming more than just comfort.

It is...ownership.

Possession.

"What the fuck is that?" whispers one of the men.

They're not focused on you anymore. They're looking beyond you. Behind.

"Fucking run, mate. Run!"

The three men stumble backward, becoming small and insignificant before your very eyes. They shove at each other, not for encouragement, but for distraction. If one should fall, it might distract whatever it is that lurks behind you.

At first, you do not turn. You wait for the pounce—for the growl. But there is nothing. Only silence. Yet those invisible ropes still cling to your body. They still hold tight.

With a baffling sense of calm, you slowly swivel.

There is a wolf. Not a normal one you might see in a wilderness documentary. This one is large, nearly as tall as you on all fours. Its fur is a deep brown. It watches you intently, gaze fixated on nothing else. Even as you take a step away, the creature does not waiver.

It's unnerving, at least, it should be. Yet that comforting familiarity shuts out everything else. It chases away fear and doubt. You know that the natural instinct of any animal facing down a larger predator is survival, but there is nothing that beats within your body that suggests your fight or flight response is on.

It is eerily peaceful. Serene even.

If this sensation did not encompass you as completely as it did, you suspect that you'd be like the trio. Afraid. Terrified.

But just because your sense has left you, that doesn't mean your brain has. It is loud and it is talking.

Do not turn your back. Do not break eye contact. Make yourself big. Make noise. Move backward slowly.

You stretch your arms out wide, puffing your chest, attempting to make yourself bigger. Not like you could ever compare to this beast. You step back, breathe in, preparing a yell.

But just as you do, the wolf shifts. It's not showing its fangs or quickening its haunches. It only watches on, alert and curious. Not aggressive.

There is no submission, though. The wolf does not seem intent on simply walking away. That sensation hugging your body brightens, and a flare of possession surges through you, stiffening your muscles as if you've been turned to stone.

The wolf shifts again. Shakes. Takes a step toward you.

As it does, you hear bones pop and snap. Beneath the wolf, its legs twist and bend beneath it, staggering its forward progress. Its nostrils flare and then the neck snaps as if lurched to the side by some invisible force.

"What the fuck," you mutter, that sense of calm slipping.

The connection is still there, but it's slightly weaker than before. A drop of fear creeps in, and the need to escape starts to bloom in your chest. It widens, that familiarity leaking away to bleed into the earth as the broken wolf shakes and twists some more.

It is just a mass of fur and tangled limbs.

And then, from the pile, the fur splits open, and a human arm emergers, the fingers reaching out, tearing at the dirt.

You need to go, to fucking run.

The phantom threads release you, and your feet find their purchase. You launch yourself backward and away, sprinting as fast as you can. The cold, October air bites at your cheeks. Everything burns.

You know this is just adrenaline. It will fade and you will crash.

Boot slipping on dead leaves, you go stumbling forward, the ground coming up fast. You're jerked to a stop. Halted. Face inches away from smashing into a rock. Glancing down your body, you see...arms. Human arms. Wrapped around your torso. They are muscular and marked with protruding veins, with a dusting of hair along the forearms.

Slowly, you are lifted upward and onto your feet, but the arms remain. Warmth greets you, pressing into your back to chase away the October chill. With it comes a honey-laced scent. It is sweet and lulling, seeping into your pores to flood your senses. This is like before—the awareness of familiarity and possession, but there is a difference in its tone. Beneath it is a wicked teasing, a promise of dominance and pleasure. Like the invisible ropes, it overpowers, wrapping around you to hold you like a blanket.

It is enticing. A pull that calls to you. Something within you reverberates its call, answering back.

The arms around you tighten until you're firmly pressed against the man holding you. That is who it is. Not what. The wolf is gone. This is solid flesh.

This is myth made life.

The lulling sensation settles in, calling to you, telling you to submit.

It would be so easy. So simple.

No.

You push at the man's arms, twisting in an attempt to break free. But your savior turned captor holds firm, allowing nothing.

"Let me go."

"No."

The no is a rumble deep in his chest. It vibrates through the pull and into your bones. This is a command, and your body promptly responds, coiling tight.

Glancing over your shoulder, you lock gazes with the man holding you in his arms. You're staring at the face of a man. He is handsome. Older. His skin is lightly coated in sweat and dirt. But the eyes. They are wolf eyes. Completely animal. The rest of him is completely bare. No clothing in sight, and yet he doesn’t appear cold.

His chest heaves slightly, nostrils flaring. This man burst forth from the wolf, but there is still a beastly quality that sings along the pull. This man is somewhere between, lingering between the wolf and humanity.

How you know this isn't entirely clear. There is a link somewhere. A tether. His closeness only makes the awareness grow in strength. Confusion and concern twist together even as the comforting familiarity attempts to soothe your nerves.

"Please," you murmur, not entirely understanding yourself what it is you're trying to say.

The man only sighs. His head dips, and then he inhales deeply as if—

Is he…scenting you?

"What are—"

The question disappears from your lips. Taken from your mouth. The stranger nuzzles your neck, inhaling deeper. One hand descends as the other rises. Along the pull you feel heat, it floods outward from him and into you, going straight to your pussy.

The descending hand slides between your legs, cupping your sex. The other roams up your stomach to your chest, gently learning the curve of a breast through your sweater.

He groans low, and that too reverberates within you. A tingling blooms in your core. There is your own desire, but beside it is another. His.

The stranger's hand slides further between your legs. Back and forth, the pressure building so suddenly and intensely that your pussy clenches.

He inhales again. Growls. "Mine."

That one word is like a slap to the face and a comforting caress. Along the pull, it is a dominating serenity. Outwardly, your freedom rebels, pushing against the idea.

As if sensing the unease, his hold on you releases, but only for a moment. He lifts you effortlessly into his arms, clutching you tightly, strutting forward with purpose in every step. You sense it through the pull, this taut string that has woven its way inside.

"Let me go," you murmur, pressing against his firm chest.

Be calm.

The command comes not from his own throat, but from within your head. It is his voice. Clear and resonate. The moment your brain processes it, all your limbs soften like jelly.

Are you trapped? Have you been possessed?

A part of you firmly clings to this idea while the other part remains completely calm as if this is supposed to happen.

He walks deeper into the forest, and time stretches, the stars through the canopy your only light. The trees thicken, and then the stranger comes to a stop before a group of jagged rocks that juts upward from the ground.

Within the rock, you spy darkness.

An opening. An entrance.

Instinct flares, and the need to escape comes rushing back. Be calm, he says again.

This time, there is no instantaneous softening. Along the pull, something tightens, as if adjusting a belt buckle. A wildness stirs, and the earlier arousal returns, tinged with desperation. Eagerness settles in your chest, but it feels more like his emotions than yours.

The man walks toward the rock. He tilts forward, stepping inside, submerging the two of you in utter darkness. Yet, you do not feel frightened. Each step of his is confident and steady, and as the two of you steadily move forward, a soft white glow begins to appear. It is faint at first. Soft.

Another opening emerges, and before you is an antechamber. In the middle of the rock-laden room is a massive slab of solid, black stone. It stands at waist level, the surface worn from age. Above it is an opening in the cave ceiling. From it, moonlight falls upon the rock slab. An acrid odor fills your nostrils. A brief brush of wind slides against your cheek. Something magical and old stirs. Something primal.

He stops at the rock slab, and then gently brings you down to your feet. Solid ground is comforting. Stable and strong.

The wolf eyes stare back at you. A fire swirls within them. As your gazes’ lock, memory surges down the pull. That familiar feeling returns, and with it, memories of you.

He is the one who has walked with you amongst the trees. He is the one who has been the presence at your back. Keeping you safe. Protected. A sense of duty follows the memory along with a flare of purpose. At the end is dominance and possession. It all slithers around the pull until you feel it in every part of you down to the tips of your fingers.

Maybe all those missing women aren’t missing at all. Maybe they went willingly. Maybe they had wolfish protectors of their own.

You are at ease, your limbs responding of their own accord. You place your hand on his chest, right over his heart. Its beat is strong beneath your palm. He places his hand over yours, gently grasping it. Stepping forward, his head dips, forehead pressing to yours with an intimacy that somehow feels…normal. Like you've known it all your life.

Along the tether, you taste a name.

John.

His name is John.

"John," you breathe, and his hand upon yours tightens.

The distance closes, a radiating heat bursting within your chest as John’s other hand falls upon your hip. It flows outward, warming you down to your toes and into your fingers. John's lips find yours, and it is perfectly blissful. This stranger is not unknown to you. Your soul sings with longing and want.

There is a connection here. Why not seek it?

You return the kiss, grasping the back of his neck, moving in to consume just as he does. John's answer is a deep growl, one that vibrates in his chest. A sharp spike of arousal shoots through the tether, slamming into you at full force.

You gasp. Draw back.

John is partially transformed, fingers morphing into claws. With a groan that is more animal than human, John tugs at your clothes. They surrender under his touch, like a knife through softened bread. There is no ceremony to it. No ritual. You are laid bare before this man. At his mercy. The chilly October air rushes in and then immediately departs, John's body heat chasing it away almost the moment it arrives.

His hands are on your waist, lifting you, planting you atop the stone slab. You want to say something—anything, but all words escape your head and tongue as John spreads your legs wide and places his mouth on your pussy. Sudden surprise becomes languid pleasure.

He is ravenous. Hungry. John leaves no part of you untasted. Your moans echo in the small cave, filling the space with your ecstasy. His tongue delves inside, and then languidly slides upward to swirl and tease your clit. Everything in you tenses, anticipating release.

John's arms hook over your legs, hands splayed wide, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer against his mouth. With your pleasure comes his, rolling across the link in waves. It comes in flashes of images. You glimpse yourself as he sees you, not only in this moment, but in all the moments he's watched you.

Between the desire and need is a hint of loneliness, of an unfilled connection that burrows in his chest and eats away at his heart. This current moment isn't what he intended, but it has all unraveled.

Your grasp for him, fingers threading through his hair, tugging hard as your orgasm burns bright behind your eyelids.

Look at me, comes the command.

You do, and your gazes lock. His nails are still elongated, still claw-like. One pointed tip pierces your skin just as your orgasm bursts. He growls low.

Mine.

The voice. His voice.

Mine.

A sense of ownership and dominance enters your consciousness. You feel as if you're incomplete. only a portion of yourself, yet the end is near. It will all end, and you will be fulfilled.

In the hazy aftermath of your orgasm John's tongue traces up the beads of blooming blood. You shiver, blinking to clear away some of the euphoria. John stands between your legs. His hands are still on your thighs, keeping them wide. In full view is his erect cock. There is a slight curve to it, and at the base is a swollen bulge. John squeezes one thigh and your gaze returns to his face. They are still all wolf.

When the wolf fades, what color might they be? The question pops into your head and then quickly fades. His wolfish features are starting to bleed in again. Nose elongating, fur returning, claws lengthening.

"I'm sorry," he says, and his voice a tangled snarl.

With a quickness that startles you, John flips you onto your stomach. His hands are everywhere, spreading you wider. You briefly glimpse him between your legs before he lifts himself up and onto the stone slab, settling behind you. Above you, one half-transformed hand presses against the stone just next to your head. His other finds rest against your waist.

While your own body buzzes with anticipation, you sense an excitement along the tether. John's excitement. Of the act itself but also of a sense of peace.

The head of his cock presses at your entrance. You exhale, relaxing your muscles, welcoming him in. You're wet, and your pussy accepts him with only the slightest resistance. He holds himself there for a moment, simply breathing. Like this, you feel entirely full. It's a snug fit, but it feels amazing, like his body was made for yours and yours for his.

Mine.

"Yours."

At your admission, John thrusts in earnest. There is nothing slow and sensual about his movements. It is only primal need and utter hunger. His arm hooks under your stomach, and then you're pressed firmly into the rock by his body. You are trapped beneath him, completely at John's mercy.

Each stroke is perfect. Cleansing.

You pant beneath him, almost in time with his own needy groans. The swell at the base of his cock slaps your pussy with each thrust. It doesn't seek entrance, but deep down, you know it will, but for what purpose is unclear.

John's movements become sharper. More intense. His panting increases, and you feel his mouth at your throat. There is a soft press of his lips, then a gentle tease of his tongue. You cannot see him, but you feel the transformation above you.

John is no longer human as his maw opens wide and holds your throat in it as he ruts. His cock swells in your pussy, stretching. The swell at the base prods, and with a final thrust, it pops in. John holds there, growling. His sharpened teeth pierce your skin. You feel the little rivers of blood trail down your throat. With the bite comes understanding. That tether becomes a solid, unbreakable thing.

Mine. She is mine.

Forever mine.

Mate.

Memories and emotions crash into your skull. You see all of John for who and what he is. A wolf. A shifter. The alpha of his pack.

Within your pussy, you feel a flood of heat. Now you know what the knot is for. His pleasure becomes yours, and you shiver, another orgasm creeping up suddenly and without warning. You clench down on his cock and on his knot. His answer is a pleased growl.

Ever so slowly, the wolf’s massive maw releases your throat. The transformed paw above your head disappears, followed by the weight of him. His cock and knot remain where they are. You feel him shiver. Hear a cracking of bone. You remain perfectly still until the ragged breathing of an animal becomes that of a human.

You turn just enough to glance over your shoulder. Behind you is John. The man, not the wolf. There are no sharp claws. No pointed teeth. The tips of his fingers brush over your skin, becoming full hands that gently caress. There is no harshness. His head tilts up, and for the first time, you're seeing him as he truly is.

Blue eyes. John has blue eyes.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, exhaling deeply, a nervous flutter to his lashes.

"You're still inside me," you reply softly.

He glances down and groans. "Fucking hell. Forgot about that." He flushes slightly. "It'll be a minute."

"A minute?"

He grimaces. "The knot. Still swollen. It'll hurt you if I pull out now."

"Oh."

There is a stretch of silence. John sighs, his hands gentle tapping a rhythm against your ass. "This is...awkward,” he murmurs.

"Is it?" you ask, arching a single eyebrow.

"John," he says sheepishly, extending his hand in introduction.

"I know your name. I heard it through the—"

"The bond," he finishes. "I know." He drops his hand, and places it on your lower back. Using the position, John tests the knot. You wince. It doesn’t want to budge. "Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't mean for...this."

"It's fine,” you reply, because it is.

You feel light. Content. This man is a complete stranger and yet not. Between you is the bond. There is strength in it, and a comforting embrace that you’ve always wanted but have never found.

"It's not." He sighs. "It's not how I wanted to do this," he mutters. Gripping your hips, John tests the knot. There is resistance but it’s significantly less than before. "Relax your muscles," he says softly.

You inhale, and on the exhale, John withdraws. You whimper from the brief flare of resistance but it isn't painful.

“I forget myself when I’m changed. You were threatened, and I couldn’t resist the impulse to protect you. For the wolf, that meant stealing you away. Completing the bond. But it’s not an excuse.”

You draw your knees up, suddenly realizing how exposed you are.

“You didn’t harm me. Except—”

You reach up and touch your throat. There is no blood or puncture wounds. Just a couple raised bumps that weren’t there before.

“What is this place?” you ask, glancing around.

John’s gaze scans the room, and then returns to you. “A ceremonial space. It’s been here for thousands of years. The wolf brought you here because it knew it would be safe.” He licks his lips in agitation, and then runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at them in irritation. “Could we begin again? Start over?”

“What did you have in mind?”

He places both hands on the stone slab, leaning in close. “I’ll��take you home.” His muscles bunch with tension when he says it. Along the bond, you sense the wolf’s firm refusal of the idea. “I’ll come to you during the day. We can talk.”

You scoot down the rock slab, moving closer to him. The middle of John’s brow furrows with confusion as he watches you. As you cozy up to him, you sense his calm—the relaxing of his muscles. John’s head dips, nostrils flaring slightly as his eyelids close in pleasure.

“My scent is all over you,” he purrs.

A mix of deep desire and contentment wraps you up in its embrace.

“How do you plan on taking me home? You did shred all my clothes.”

John chuckles. “Discreetly.”

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[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 2

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Description: You're back home right when Azriel was starting to lose all hope, but is the person standing in front of him the same who disappeared all those years ago?

Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood, injury

Word Count: 6670

Notes: The original plan wasn't to write more of this story but I had a few ideas of where to take this and decided to turn it into a mini series, don't think it will be longer than 3-4 chapters. Also I don't know if the HoW has cells in the books but it does here and they're normal, not dungeon-y like, and the story is set after acosf but Amren never got turned into fae because I like her better like this. A lot of people liked the first part so I really hope this one doesn't disappoint. I hope you enjoy!

Part 1 ○ Part 3

Azriel was at the townhouse before he even fully realized what was happening. Didn't even give anyone an explanation, simply letting his shadows take him, barely hearing the questioning cries of his name. He didn't need to hear anything else aside from your name to know that's where he should be, his body moved before he even had time to formulate the thought.

Your sweet scent invaded his brain before he even arrived at the house. He'd be able to recognize it anywhere, he'd longed for it for so long after all. Every day when he opened his eyes, he hoped he would wake up to your scent floating around this house as it once did, as it did right now. He's not one to go into anything blindly, to run head first and only think about the consequences later, but this felt like his last chance. The loneliness that had settled deep in his soul had been replaced with hope with one word.

His shadows move to different corners of the room as soon as he's dropped off, leaving him uncharacteristically naked, unguarded. Even the shadows that would form naturally from the faint glow of the moon seemed to move off his face. They wanted him to enjoy this moment in full, this was his and only his.

In truth he barely noticed them leave, too preoccupied with the figure in front of him. He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't witnessing it with his own eyes. How many times had he been haunted by this exact vision in his dreams? There you were standing in the sitting room, shining like a goddess under the moonlight filtering through the windows. You hadn't changed since the last time he saw you, only had gotten even more mesmerizing if anything.

Your hair was a bit shorter than you usually wore it, the tight pants a contrast to the usual short skirts you preferred. Then there was a scar running across your neck, even with the distance and darkness in the room he could tell it ran from ear to ear. It was a painful reminder of what you've been through, of the night he couldn't protect you. But it meant this was real. You were actually standing in front of him. This was something he had dreamed of many times, almost every night since you've been gone.

He calls your name and it feels amazing. Just the sound of your name leaving his lips, not in mourning or wistfulness but as a greeting, is enough to bring a face splitting grin to his face. Gods, he missed saying your name without almost feeling suffocated by the weight that formed in his chest.

You startle at the sound, seemingly not expecting company at the house. He has no time to study the strange expression on your face though, he needs to touch you first, to feel your skin against his, your warmth against his body, your heart beating behind your ribcage. He needs to make sure this is real and not some cruel dream or hallucination his mind thought up to torment him. He needs you to be really back.

As soon as your eyes meet his form, he clears the distance between you in two hurried steps, but, before he can hug you, he feels your hand reach out to him. He doesn't even have time to realize you're reaching towards his thigh, to Truth Teller. He doesn't know if it was confusion holding him back, the strangeness of the whole act or if he's simply willing to take anything as long as it comes from you, but he makes no movement to stop you from grabbing his knife, allowing you to pierce it through his stomach, never so much as looking away from your beautiful face or even flinching at the blade.

He can feel every inch of the dagger inside him, can feel the blood quickly seeping through his shirt. Still, the pain in his gut can't hold a candle to the relief and joy running through his veins. You're real. The knife went through, so you have to be real. He can clearly hear your heartbeat now as well, it sounds strong aside from how fast it's going.

Azriel reaches a hand out to you again, slower as not to startle you. He can't help the fluttering of his own heart as you finally let him make contact with the softness of your skin. You haven't moved your hands from the knife, your wide eyes staring at your now blood covered hands. He caresses your cheek lovingly and tilts your face up so he can meet your eyes at last.

He can tell something is wrong, as if it hadn't been glaringly obvious by his favorite knife currently stuck in his stomach. Your eyes seem unfocused, a bit panicked, maybe even angry. But he can't bring himself to care in this moment.

He doesn't know if this is your revenge for letting you die, for not finding you, or even if this is what you had wanted out of him from the start, maybe your whole relationship had been a lie. It doesn't matter. He'll gladly die at your hands if that's the fate you chose for him. At least he'd spend his last moments with you, a privilege he didn't think he would have the pleasure of experiencing.

His heart threatens to stop altogether when your eyes meet, it feels like time stopped around him. “You're home, my love,” he breathes out, letting out a soft disbelieving chuckle, “You're finally home.” He raises his other hand to your face, caressing both your cheeks with his scarred thumbs, he almost forgot how soft your skin felt against his rough hands. He's been clutching at faint memories for decades.

His smile falters when his thumb moves down, stroking down your jaw to the column of your throat, where a scar runs across your neck. He watches his thumb following the clean line, his scars had always been awful reminders of what was done to him, it ate at him even five centuries later, but seeing yours hurt even more. You should have never known this kind of pain.

“What?” Your voice was barely a whisper, confusion and fear holding it hostage. He looks back up into your eyes, seeing the same emotions swim in your gaze even more heightened. He didn't like that, you would never have any reason to be scared of him. He goes to tell you as much when he feels power surging into the room.

“Azriel?” Cassian's voice cuts through the moment and he has to close his eyes to keep himself calm. He wanted more time with you, wanted to talk to you before they got here, before they saw the blood but had gotten too distracted. His mind wasn't working properly, his thoughts were all over the place, he wanted nothing more than to hug you but was too aware of how strangely you were acting. He couldn't keep you and his family in check, not with every instinct inside him screaming to just pick you up and winnow you to the other side of the world.

He calls his shadows to him, a desperate attempt at hiding his injury. He knows it's in vain when he feels Rhys let go of the damper on his power, letting the suffocating night fill up the room. You look positively terrified now, he can even smell it mixing in your sweet scent. Letting go of your face, an act that takes more effort than he could imagine, he turns around slowly, trying to be mindful of keeping you covered, protected from his family.

Your hands don't stop holding onto the dagger, as he moves away from you, the force of it is enough to pull it out of his stomach and let the blood run free with no resistance. The pain was getting worse, it didn't look like you hit any vital organs but his healing wasn't fast enough to keep it at bay on its own.

Feyre is the first to move towards him when she sees the blood, but he simply holds up a hand, effectively stopping her in her tracks. Trying to keep a leveled head was proving to be a near impossible task as he saw the anger in everyone's faces, it was directed at you. He holds onto his abdomen, the pain was making itself known.

Seeing Azriel stop his mate from approaching, Rhys walks closer to the shadowsinger himself. His face was a mix of regret and fury as he spoke up. “What happened here, Azriel?” If his mind was in the right place he would have noticed the restraint his brother was showing at seeing him bleeding out in his house, restraint only present because of his own feelings towards you. Unfortunately, Azriel's instincts were winning against logic.

He hears you finally drop Truth Teller behind him, your body must have started listening to you when Rhysand got too close, recognizing him as a threat. He makes the mistake of looking back at the knife, not hearing the snarl that curls his brother's lips in time. Rhys winnows behind him in that moment and you had gotten too close to the window for him to reach you.

“Don't touch her,” he warns Rhys viciously. He doesn't want to think what he was capable of if anyone hurt you again, even if it was his own brother.

He sees you fall to the floor before he registers what happened. His heart almost leaps out of his throat, letting out an anguished cry of your name as he runs to you, pushing his brother out of the way and holding you up from the ground. Searching for a pulse frantically, he finds you were only unconscious. A breath of relief escapes him as he pushes your hair out of your face, it almost brings tears to his eyes. You will be fine. Rhys had only entered your mind to keep you asleep and stop you from escaping. You will wake up. You will not leave him again.

He hugs you closer to him, too focused on making sure you were alright and keeping his breathing leveled to hear what they were saying behind him. He felt as helpless as when he was still a child being subjected to his father's cruelty. It takes him a while before he finally calms himself down enough to hear the argument behind him.

“Let's talk to him first,” Cassian says, the emotion clear in his voice.

“He put up a shield around them,” Rhys was sounding less like a High Lord by the word, “He's not in his right mind.” A shield? He checks the air around them to find that his brother was right, there was a shield around them both, even his shadows had moved to cover them, separating them from the world.

“Neither are any of you,” Nesta's voice cuts through everyone, finally silencing them.

“We already called for Madja,” Feyre uses the silence that settled to speak, “We can get him treated and hold her somewhere until she wakes up.”

“No,” he drops you gently on the ground, letting his shadows cover you, protect you, before turning to face his family.

Feyre hesitates before continuing, seeing something on his face that makes her choose a different approach. He never mentioned being married to her but your name had been brought up before, he knew Rhys had filled her in on what happened, still she couldn't understand what he was feeling. Even he couldn't.

“The cells under the House of Wind are safe. It's just for-”

“You will not put my wife in a cell,” the words came out clipped, slipping through clenched teeth, the shadowsinger was barely holding on to a sense of restraint against his High Lady.

“She stabbed you,” Rhys yells, looking down at the wound in his brother's torso, thankfully already starting to heal, “it doesn't matter that she used to be your wife.” The growl Azriel lets out at his brother is nothing short of vicious, a feral and lethal thing rising straight from the center of his being.

“She is still my wife,” Azriel says behind a snarl, “And you will not hurt her.” Even if it was in the clean cells of the House of Wind, he could never bear to see you caged. He was ready to go to any lengths necessary to make sure of that. If helping you escape the Night Court was what it took he knew of a few ways not to get caught.

He could see Rhys' shoulders tense up, his own face morphing to match Azriel's fury. He didn't know if his mental shields were down or if his intentions were just uncharacteristically clear on his face but he was sure that his brother knew what Azriel - his spymaster - was thinking.

“She can stay in one of the rooms up in the House,” Cassian offers quickly, trying to settle the rising tension between his brothers, “She can't winnow out because of the wards and we can watch her until she wakes up.” Deep down he knows they don't want to hurt you either, that they're only worried but it's difficult to pay attention to the voice of reason within him during this whole situation. His greatest wish had just been answered. So why does everything seem to be falling apart with it?

Mor winnows in with Madja before he can give them a response which is a good thing because anything he could come up with would probably only put you and him in a more precarious situation. There were too many emotions warring inside him, the same going around almost everyone in the room if only more intense. The healer's presence seems to dissipate most of the tension automatically as Rhys even turns to look out the window and allows his mate to hold onto his hand, probably telling him soothing words in his mind.

Madja moves to Azriel with no hesitation, only stopping briefly when she senses the shield. She merely gives him a look before he drops it so she can reach him. He knows she wouldn't hurt you, knows he needs the wound in his stomach taken care of so he can focus on you, think about what to do when you wake up.

“You need to sit down so I can treat you,” she tells him while inspecting the wound.

“I will not leave her.”

“You can trust her with us, Az,” Mor tries to reassure him, but with the way the last minutes have played out he wasn't trusting you with them, or anyone else for that matter. He'd just gotten you back, no way is he letting you out of his sight for a second, he could bleed out for all he cares.

Suddenly, he sees Nesta walk to the table and grab a chair through his peripheral. She appears to be mumbling something to herself but he can't quite hear her to understand. She walks to him and drops the chair in her hands on his right, before giving him a narrow eyed look and returning to her mate's side.

He's not sure how much she knows of the situation. The three sisters probably all know by now that he used to be married but none of them has mentioned you to him, warned by whoever told them of the consequences of doing it.

He sits on the chair and lets Madja work on him. The wound wasn't too bad, even if he didn't have access to a healer it would close in a short time. You stabbed it cleanly through, just like he'd taught you. If he hadn't been the practice dummy he might praise you for it. By the Mother, he thinks he still might. He wonders if you'll grace him with a bright smile and flushed cheeks for it like you used to.

Azriel looks over to your sleeping form under the moonlight. He's calming down enough that he's starting to feel the uncertainty bubbling inside him. Truth Teller still laid on the floor beside you, covered in his blood just as your hands were.

“Is she…” What did he want to ask? Is it really her? How did she survive? There was so much blood on the ground that night. He didn't need to be a healer to know it was too much for someone to survive with no immediate help and an absurd amount of luck. “Is it really her?” He whispered the question, not bearing to look away from you as he does.

“You know that better than me,” the healer answers calmly. He can sense some emotion in her voice. You had asked her to make tonics to help him sleep and relax many times, to teach you basic healing and how to put on bandages to help him when he was too stubborn and not gravely injured enough to go see the healer. She probably missed you as well. “She's healthy.”

He feels a rush of relief at the words. You're healthy. The confirmation allows him to relax further. Finally looking away from you to see part of his family still watching the scene before them. He knows they too were thinking about the blood, the sleepless nights they spent searching for any sign of you. His eyes meet Rhys' briefly, knowing they'll need to talk about what happened.

He closes his eyes and leans his head back, letting out a soft sigh. You're back. He never thought he'd see you again but you're right here next to him. You're not a dream or a hallucination. You're healthy. The thought almost brings a smile to his lips despite the situation. Anything else can be dealt with now that you're by his side again.

“Are you sure you don't need to rest, Az?” He looks up from the familiar ring, still twisting it around his finger. It felt right putting it back on, he was almost giddy at the sight of the silver in his finger, but it also left him with immense guilt eating at him for taking it off in the first place. He studies Nesta's face for a second, giving up on trying to decipher what she was thinking in favor of looking back at you.

When everyone calmed down enough and Azriel was treated, it had been decided that you couldn't be left alone even in the room, they needed someone to keep an eye on you. It had also been quickly added that Azriel wasn't enough, his brother had seen right through him, he knew Azriel wouldn't try to stop you from killing him or trying to escape if you put your mind to it.

Cassian and Mor refused to stand watch unless it was truly necessary. He knows they wouldn't want to be put in a position where they had to stop you, knew they would not only feel guilty for hurting you but also wouldn't forgive themselves for hurting Azriel.

Even Rhysand, used to the weight and impartiality of the High Lord's title, looked hesitant in keeping him company, he had already forcefully invaded your mind to take your consciousness away, something he had vowed never to do to his friend. He could definitely stop you both from any of the worse case scenarios but at a cost he couldn't bear to pay.

That had left him with the two trained Archeron sisters and Amren. They set shifts to make sure Azriel was never left alone with you, he thinks they might not even trust him not to take you away from the room himself and help you escape. He can't really be sure himself if he wouldn't do exactly that if you asked. He'd follow you to the end of the world and beyond just to hear you call his name one more time.

“The wound is healed,” he whispers, keenly aware of your sleeping form, a habit that came to him naturally after seeing you. You always liked to sleep in and waking you up before your time was close to a death sentence.

“That's not what I meant.” Nesta walks closer to the chair beside your bed, the one he hasn't gotten up from since tucking you into the bed carefully. She placed a hand on his shoulder and studied you for a moment, something she's been doing since her shift started. “She stabbed you,” she says in an usually hesitant tone coming from her, “Are you sure it's her?”

“I would sooner forget my own name than mistake my wife for someone else,” the words came out clipped even with him trying to hold back his anger. It wasn't her fault for being suspicious, Nesta never got the chance to meet you, barely even heard about Azriel's marriage. She just wants to protect him, protect her friend.

“Why would she hurt you then?”

“Maybe it's my punishment,” the words leave him before he can think them through. It doesn't matter anyway, they all saw the state he was in at the townhouse. No point hiding now.

“Punishment?” She took a step back from the chair to be able to face him, her perplexed face coming into view. “You didn't do anything wrong.” The notion was almost laughable. Azriel had done plenty wrong in his life.

“I didn't find her,” he whispers, facing away from his friend in favor of watching you, “She's been out there for almost a century, on her own,” he clenched his fists at the thought, “and I didn't find her.”

“I know you looked for her as best as you could. I know you all did.” And what good did his best do?

“You don't understand, Nesta,” he says as he looks down at the ring once again, closing his eyes briefly at the burn he felt in his head. He didn't want to talk about this anymore, didn't want to explain his feelings to any of them.

“I do,” she starts, “If something happened-”

“If,” he cringes at how he raised his voice, immediately looking over to your sleeping form to make sure he didn't disturb you, and then added more quietly, with the same conviction in his tone, “If something happened to Cassian you would understand. But it hasn't and so you don't.”

Nesta lets out a defeated sigh, moving back to her original seat by the window, patting his shoulder comfortingly on her way. His eyes are focused on you once more and he has no intention of letting them stray until you wake up, and long after you do.

⋆｡°✩°｡⋆

You wake up slowly, your mind aware of your near consciousness before your body can follow. It feels like you've never been this deeply asleep, even the dreams that usually haunt you were quiet. Perhaps that's why it takes you so long to remember your current situation, it could also be the strangeness of it. You keep your eyes closed as your body and mind slowly come to.

You didn't expect to be lying on a bed, an unbelievably soft bed at that, after being caught stealing from the High Lord's home and then stabbing someone from his so-called Inner Circle. You're not sure when you lost consciousness but, in the split second the High Lord stood in front of you, you were more than certain you wouldn't be able to escape death again.

The sun is high in the sky, meaning you failed your mission, not only because you had been caught but also for not getting to the meeting point on time. Whether at the hands of your captors or your employers you were already as good as dead. The thought has heat burning behind your eyelids and your throat threatening to close up.

You don't even know what happened. This whole mission had seemed above your expertise from the start. You had never been sent on a mission to Prythian and the fact that you were sent to steal from a High Lord's home, the strongest in history at that, had sowed doubts inside you from the moment you heard about your mission from your handler. That and the sinking feeling in your gut as you listened to their descriptions of the city and people working for the High Lord. Every cell on your body was trying to reject this idea.

Deciding to trust your gut, you even brought up your doubts to your superiors, going as far as asking why you were being sent to retrieve some book when there are other fae more experienced in working there. There wasn't even any time to study the place or come up with escape routes. You had never been sent into any mission like this. Your worries had been quickly dismissed. They seemed completely convinced you wouldn't be caught, that you were the only member capable of this job.

Sneaking into the city had been simple enough, there seemed to be some celebration happening since so many fae were drinking and dancing around bars and even on the street. Your uneasiness only got worse as you walked through the streets. Something was wrong, every single one of your instincts was screaming at you, but you couldn't figure out why.

You walked to an alley close to the High Lord's house and surveyed the perimeter, making sure your intel was correct and the house was truly empty. After postponing the inevitable long enough, you took a deep breath and winnowed straight into the house, and, just like your handler told you, there were no wards or shields stopping you from entering. You thought this was peculiar for a High Lord but many powerful fae think themselves invincible to the point of arrogance and at the sacrifice of their own safety.

As you walked quietly through the hallway, your feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying you into a big room with sofas and a fireplace instead of the office you were supposed to be already searching through. You had the same feeling of deja vu as when you were walking through the illuminated streets before, something about the portraits on the walls and the peculiar chairs had your heart sputtering in your chest. It was an intricate design but you could swear you'd never seen anything like them before.

You moved closer to the window, far enough that no one could see you through it, and looked down at the city once more. Taking in the lights, the colorful houses and the fae cheerfully walking around the streets despite the late hour. There is no place like this in Montesere, not even close, so you don't understand how you could be confusing it, you really feel like you've been here before. Everything down to the names of the stores and smells wafting through the air look strangely familiar.

As you got lost in your thoughts, you had completely forgot about your mission. Letting your guard down, enough so that you didn't hear or feel anyone's presence in the same room until you heard them call out someone's name. The sound had goosebumps traveling through your entire body, your breath getting stuck in your throat. What scared you the most wasn't even the fact that you had just been caught but that voice, that name, almost brought tears to your eyes.

You stood frozen for a moment before turning around slowly and your entire body went still at what you saw. The male in front of you was the same one that haunted your dreams ever since you could remember, you would recognize that figure, those wings, those eyes anywhere.

You almost doubted you were awake at all but when he moved closer to you, standing in front of you before you could even blink, your body moved to protect yourself on instinct, to do as you had been taught at the guild. Your movements were a lot slower than usual, almost like something inside you was trying to stop you from hurting him but you had still managed to grab the long knife strapped to his thigh and stab it through his stomach in one clean movement.

The knife went in smoothly and he simply took it without trying to stop you or even letting out a sound. You've taken countless times before, killing was part of your life, of your job, but watching his blood run and coat your hands had made you feel incredibly guilty. You couldn't move, couldn't even let go of the knife.

When his hand reached to touch your face - a movement you didn't even register until his rough skin came in contact with your cheek - your wild eyes had met his and, suddenly, it felt like the world was spinning. The bright hazel was so familiar you could cry. He'd been starring in your dreams for so long but you'd never seen him quite this close. As you slowly let your mind catch up to you, you noticed he was smiling.

“You're home, my love,” he whispered softly. Your heart had felt like it was going to beat out of your chest at that point. You were missing something, a piece of information that felt like it was swimming right on the edge of your brain, but you couldn't quite reach it. His hands had both moved to cup your face by the time you found your voice.

“What?” What is going on? Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you? Why is your touch so familiar? My love? Your brain was filled with questions but you couldn't even find it in you to ask them. Couldn't look away from his eyes, the former joy seen in them giving way to something else.

“Azriel?” Both of you had tensed at the voice behind him. It seems he didn't hear anyone else arrive either, too caught up in each other and whatever mysterious tension was tying you together.

Your hands had tightened around the dagger on instinct, you could feel the power rippling through the room. You should have ran away while it was only him, he had let you stab him so maybe he would let you run away as well. But, as night incarnate filled the room, you knew every chance you had at an escape was lost.

The rest of the events were a blur, one moment you were watching more and more people winnow into the room, sending your heart further into disarray, and the next the High Lord himself stood in front of you with fury and what looked like disappointment etching his features, and then everything went dark.

As your memories from the night before fade, you become more aware of your surroundings. You could hear two separate breaths close to you, could smell two distinct scents, you suppose it was lucky enough that they had let you sleep on a bed, it's only natural they'd have someone keeping watch.

If they'd been watching you this whole time they would have to know you were awake by now, so you open your eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust to the brightness in the room. You study the intricate gold designs on the dark navy ceiling. Why did even the ceiling seem familiar? It feels like you are losing your mind.

Your head turns to the nightstand, where a cup of water sat over a flower shaped lace coaster. You almost gulped at the sight of it, your throat was so dry you weren't sure you could speak, but you were in a stranger's house, one you had tried to rob the night before, there had to be a catch somewhere and you didn't want to end at the cruel hands of poison.

Two pairs of eyes burned into you, and since you're not going to drink anyway, you decide that there's no delaying this confrontation any more. You turn to look at them, not surprised at finding the winged male sitting close to your bed, but he was accompanied by someone else, something else.

You sit up in bed slowly, not wanting to appear as a threat and startle them into thinking you had intentions of escaping or attacking you. You really didn't know why they hadn't just dumped you in a dark dungeon - you heard about their less than kind reputation before coming here - but you wanted to keep in their good graces if you could help it. They're probably keeping you to know more about who sent you, shame you can't tell them anything, maybe they'd even let you go if you could.

When you sit up against the headboard, your eyes meet the male's immediately, as if you were called to do it. Some of the same emotions you had seen last night were still shining in his eyes, but today there was so much more, so much so that you couldn't even begin to pick them apart even with the difference of a calm mind.

Your captors don't move so you take the moment to study the male before you. He always showed up covered in shadows in your dreams, you had barely caught glimpses of his face in the almost century of seeing him. Which was a real shame if you dared to admit it. He has an exceptionally beautiful face, the sun filtering through the window was giving his tan skin an ethereal glow, his eyes shine brightly, allowing you to make up the different tones of green and brown within them. His hair was stark black, curling slightly at the ends.

You had noticed the large wings that stood at his back the first time you'd seen him. You've never met any species of fae with wings but his were definitely peculiar. You always thought they were black but, with the brightness in the room and his shadows away, you can see they lean more to a crimson and gray-ish color. Trailing down to his torso, you notice that there doesn't seem to be any blood or sign of injury. He had already gotten healed then. For some reason, your heart calms at that and you try telling yourself it's because it might lessen the trouble you got in.

A shadow moves across him to reach up into his ear, almost like it was whispering something to him. You knew the Night Court's Spymaster was a shadowsinger, the only of its kind, but you didn't know what his shadows could do, what they could see and tell him. The hair on the back of your neck raises as his eyes watch you intently while listening to his shadow's words. They had to be talking about you. Could they read through your thoughts?

“Leave us alone, Amren.” Your eyes finally stray from the male when you hear her name, finally taking in the short creature behind him, and you almost regret it when her bright silver eyes meet yours. She was nothing short of terrifying, you think even the older assassins in the guild would feel unnerved under her gaze. You weren't even sure what she actually was but it had to be something other, something ancient and powerful. She seems displeased at the look you give her, though you doubt she's unacquainted with seeing fear on people's faces, or bothered by it.

Amren narrows her eyes slightly before looking at the male. She studies him with an intensity that could make most fae run for their lives, makes you consider it, but the male doesn't seem to care, his eyes never leaving yours. “I hope you know what you're doing, boy.” She walks out of the room with no hesitation, leaving you alone with the male that walks your dreams once again.

You stare into each other's eyes for what feels like an eternity. Neither of you seem to find the right words. You know why you're having trouble finding them. Between getting caught stealing in his house and the turmoil going on inside you, you're surprised you've been managing to keep your composure at all. But you can't understand why he'd be in the same position as you. Could he also be haunted by dreams of you the same way you were of him?

Leaning forward in his chair, he says the same name you heard last night, the one who made your heart tighten painfully in your chest. You had been too confused and scared last night to even consider it but now you can clearly see he's using it to call you. He seems to think that's your name.

“That's not my name,” you manage through your dry throat, the words coming out so rough and low that you're sure he wouldn't have heard you if it weren't for the quiet in the room. Your answer seems to hurt him, his face drops, the sunlight that was shining through his skin seems to vanish, and you see his wings tighten behind him. Your own body seems to respond to it. You want to make him feel better but you don't know how or why.

He nods almost imperceptibly, as if accepting a fact he was unwilling to, and rises up from the chair, tensing slightly when you press yourself further into the headboard. He seems to try to ignore it as he moves to the nightstand, picking up the glass and handing it to you.

You eye the glass sitting in his brutally scarred hands, momentarily wondering what could have done such a thing if he healed up from a stab wound in mere hours. He senses your hesitation but simply holds it closer to you. You look up to meet his eyes again.

“It's not poisoned,” he offers, “I promise.” You're not entirely sure why but you trust him, or maybe you were just in desperate need of water, reaching up to take the glass from him and almost drinking it in one go. He seems at least pleased enough with this, moving back to sit in his chair. As you observe his movements, you almost miss the way the glass refills on its own. You blink at it, deciding it's not worth considering, and take another slow sip.

Since he doesn't start asking you questions, apparently content enough with watching you drink, and you start to get unusually shy under his intense gaze, you start asking them yourself, seeing this as your chance to know the male of your dreams.

“What's your name?” You play with the glass as you ask, trying to appear nonchalant despite your perilous situation and the tension between you.

“Azriel,” his deep voice cuts through the silence. You repeat it, goosebumps spreading over your body at the act. Nothing is making sense anymore but his name feels right on your tongue.

You say it one more time, letting it linger in your mind. There is something inside you trying to claw its way out at the sound. You can feel it now, can feel how wrong it feels, how wrong you feel. There was a growing pressure inside your head. You let go of the glass and watch it vanish into thin air before it has the chance to make contact with the covers.

The sensation that you've forgotten something really important is back. You look up at the male one more time, seeing he has moved closer to you and noting the worry in his gaze. He wasn't supposed to be worried about you, he's a stranger and you had just stabbed him a few hours ago. So why does it feel right for him to care? Tears line your eyelids, your hands shaking slightly at the strange feelings building inside you.

“I don't know you,” you whisper, more to yourself than him, “I feel like I should.”

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[whisper-in-the-night]

My headcanons for Art the Clown

Tw: mention of violence, blood, killing and etc

Note: sorry for long waiting, I had some stuff to do. But I watched this movie last night, just can't not to write something

• Suppose that by some miracle you interested him, and Art changed his mind about killing you.

• Art is a man of the moment, of impulse, in this regard he is like a child. If he wants something, he will get it, no matter how. If he's interested in you, he'll get you and keep you.

• Again, he is quite childish, and since he cannot speak, all his emotions are visible in his body language and antics. His childish behavior can also manifest itself in frequent insults. He will be sitting on the couch with his arms folded and fundamentally avoiding your gaze. Try to guess what he's offended about. And it's better to do it quickly, before the desire to tear some human flesh wakes up in him. His mood changes very often, so be always prepared for the fact that at the moment of rare hugs he will suddenly become agitated or, conversely, aggressive.

• He's very jealous. It's not that he's insecure, he just doesn't like sharing his stuff, including you. You better not pay too much attention to other people unless you want to see their guts smeared on the wall in your bathroom.

• Despite this, Art is quite protective. He won't let anything happen to you. Be prepared that he will be constantly watching you. But now you can safely walk through the dark alleys, Art is always there, you are under the reliable protection of this guard dog.

• Art likes to scare you more than his victims. He doesn't know why, but he really likes the taste of your fear, it really turns him on. But Art will never really hurt you enough, except for a few cuts or bruises. There's something about you that makes him fear losing you for real. There's something special about the way you're scared of him. Maybe it's your expression or your cute screams, he doesn't know. But your guardian definitely makes him feel a lingering warmth in his lower belly.

• His actions and feelings can hardly be called love, because he really does not know how to get attached, he is just not quite the person for this. But he shows a certain affection in his own way. First of all, he's not killing you. Secondly, sometimes he tries to take into account your wishes in many things, tries to find out what you like. Thirdly, he can be quite clingy. When Art realizes that he wants your attention, he can gently pull the sleeve of your hoodie, as if asking for a hug, or he can just roughly grab you by the waist and put you on his lap.

• He really doesn't care about your appearance, he has a weakness for you because it's you.

• Talking about what you like. Art is very narcissistic and cruel. But over time, he will realize that your smile and your joy create some kind of strange feeling in his chest, he likes it. In fact, Art makes you happy only because it gives him a certain pleasure.

• He loves using you as bait for his victims. This gives him an extra push to kill his victim in an even more brutal way.

• In general, he can be kind to a certain extent, he even brings you small gifts from time to time. Besides, he's crazy about the sight of someone else's blood on your face and skin. But you'll definitely have to teach him to wash more often and eat normal food.

[allfearstofallto]

if you’re still doing the yandere alphabet, could you do E,L,P,T,X, and Y for childe? no worries if not, I love ur writing! <3

I've definitely been wanting to write more of these!! Thank you so much!!!

Yandere! Childe x Fem! Reader

TW: Yandere, obsession, mentions of stalking

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Childe is open. More open than you'd want him to be and more open than you're willing to hear. You tend to not care about his back story or his interests, but he'll tell you regardless and you're forced to listen.

But if you do listen, really listen, really take in what he says, maybe you'll be able to see how much information he omits. Stories he laughs off like they're funny, are traumatizing in nature. The things he says are horrifying, scary in a way that would change a person permanently. 

He assures you that no such thing has happened with a playful smile, but you see the subtle twitch of his eyebrow and quiver of his lip. He's truthful, but not completely honest.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Childe is one of the few yanderes who's approach will be different based on where his standing is with you.

Know him as that one guy you met on the streets of Liyue, the one who was rather charming, but also rather persistent about seeing you again and he'll court you proper. The whole nine yards. He'll be the ideal boyfriend, albeit with a few quirks that can be brushed off. Mostly his fierce, protective jealousy and strangely short temper. 

Know him as the fatui harbinger? He'll also be just that. It's even worse if you owe money to the northland bank, a debt that he insists that you pay back with your affection rather than money. He won't even attempt to hide his true nature. You already know who he is and what he's capable of. Rather, he'll try to force you to fall in love with the real him, by any means necessary.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling? 

Patient as a fighter, patient at heart. Childe isn't inherently cruel. At least to you he's not. He'll give you time, space, conversation, whatever he thinks you may need to make you more comfortable. But that isn't him being generous. His patience comes with the expectation that you'll eventually fall into the role expected of you.

Refuse or even worse, actively fight him after all the kindness he's given you and you won't see that tolerance anymore. Expectations are higher with harsher consequences if not done when he wants, exactly how he wants. 

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Oh, does he hate that crying face of yours. He can't stand to see you sad, let alone actually sobbing. Each year rolling down your cheek is like a stab to his heart, he can hardly bear the agony.

He's quick to console you when you cry, especially when he's the one who caused it. Although he can't help, but notice you tend to cry harder when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a hug. Even though he hates your tears, he hates the disdain you have for him more. 

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Worship is a strong word. Childe loves you. Adores you. He does put you on a bit of a pedestal, believing you to be better than most people. But worship? Worship is a bit much.

Childe doesn't feel like he has to win you over. The depraved side of him believes he already owns you. Of course, you also own him as well, if you so desire. But because of that, his actions has him seeing you as almost an equal. Almost. There are still times where he loses himself in the desperation and desire to have you completely.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Like a fish needs water, like a man needs air, Childe yearns for you in a way that's animalistic in nature. Childe knows about you long before you know about him. 

“Snapping” is a term that can't entirely be used for him because of this. You can't really lose it if it was never really there. The second he saw you, the second he felt the way he did, the way you made his heart pound the same way it would if he were to be thrusts into the throes of a fierce battle, he's already plotting how he plans to take you.

[diagonal-queen]

Omg you're backkkk<3 I hope uni's going well for you!

Maybe the Hunting Dogs with a s/o who's kind of mean/petty?

Hunting Dogs with a mean S/O

♡ pairing: Fukuchi Ouchi, Jouno Saigiku, Tecchou Suehiro, Teruko Okura (platonic), Tachihara Michizou x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: How are the Hunting Dogs with a mean and petty S/O?

♡ cw: Swearing, u r a BULLY >:((, dw it's pretty chill though, non-graphic NSFW with Jouno, teensy bit of NSFW with Tachihara, mentions of violence, crime and torture

note: ahhh hello yes i'm back! uni's pretty great actually. i love being able to tell people i go to law school lmao, it makes me feel smarter than i am. uhh but i've been swamped and a bit busy, and i'm going back home for a week so i might not be super active over the next couple weeks, i'm so sorry my babies </3 but i'll still be lurking in case you wanna chat! as always, apologies for errors and i hope you enjoy x

Fukuchi:

Mf you think he cares?? He hired Jouno and Tachihara because they committed crimes, and he's more than happy to keep Teruko around. Bro doesn't give a FUCK that you're mean

If you're dating Fukuchi you clearly do give a shit about the welfare of society and world peace, so your individual quirks are just that. Quirks

He will fully let you just be a dickhead sometimes, because...like, why not?

I feel like Fukuchi is obviously often a very intimidating individual who strikes fear and commands respect from everyone else. But you? You just walk all over him

In some ways for him it's probably kind of refreshing to have someone around him who doesn't idolise him at all, or look up to him as a superior. It gets exhausting, for sure. Sometimes he just wants to be humbled and that's so okay Fukuchi, you deserve it actually /mean-spirited and condescending

Don't get me wrong it's not like you're an abusive partner! You're still obviously nice to your partner and you love him, but you definitely don't go out of your way to sugarcoat things or try to avoid any necessary confrontations

And Fukuchi genuinely really respects that about you. He's pretty similar like that, though still definitely goofier than you

I mean he won't want you sitting around with an RBF when he's at formal events and whatnot, because that really wouldn't have the best impression, but he's usually very gung ho about letting you be yourself

You're lucky he loves you man...lmao

Jouno:

He loves it. Full stop.

You two are just sadist central over here. Like he'll be torturing a suspect and you're just watching. Bored. Not a care in the world

(Jouno, I don't think you're legally allowed to invite your partner to watch you do your job- much less one like this, but...eh...)

You two are always just talking shit about people to each other, and like when you're out in public on dates you're just whispering to each other and judging people T-T

Lowkey kinda gets turned on when you guys argue. He thinks it's hot when you get heated and angry. Usually it ends in rough "passionate hugging", and the pillowtalk is when you both actually resolve the issue (dumbasses)

He might even purposefully rile you up sometimes because mf is just THAT much of a horny degenerate. You guys can call him classy and gentlemanly all you want, but we all know he's secretly deranged

Like an angry, horny goblin with a knife...someone stop him

Tbh you should probably bully him a little bit every now and then. I think he needs to be taken down a peg sometimes

Hey, he's more likely to listen to you than Tecchou, isn't he? Besides, it's nothing genuinely malicious. Just couple's banter

Oh, you guys are fucking LEGENDS at the couple's banter. Though you never do it in public, because a lot of the times the things you both tell each other as jokes can come off as really cruel jabs

Nah your senses of humour are just not family-friendly (violent and malicious)

You guys have very strange ways of showing your love and affection. But, hey, it works for you and that's what's important :)

Tecchou:

Ah yes, arguably the least meanie of all of the Hunting Dogs. Yeah uh he doesn't really like you at first

Tecchou doesn't understand being mean just for the sake of it. I mean like, for Teruko, she uses it in her career, and Jouno is sadistic and weird and also uses it in his career. You're just petty because you can be

But the more time you spend together the more he realises that you're really not that bad- you're really just more of the loveable asshole type

An acquired taste, yes, but this is Tecchou we're talking about! That's his thing!

He learns to appreciate the things about you that many others would probably consider flaws. He influences you for the better definitely...

...BUT you also kinda make him worse

He will adopt your 'deal with it bitch' attitude sometimes, but it doesn't hinder his relationships or work so it's fiiiiine

(Jouno isn't a huge fan of it though...but at the same time he kind of respects you)

Tecchou probably won't admit it but he really likes to listen to you rant and bitch about people you don't like. He just likes to listen to you be angry about trivial things, he finds it equal parts endearing and entertaining

If you're mean to someone who deserves it? Well I mean...who is he to stop you?

At the end of the day you're definitely emotionally self-sufficient, so that's one less part of you for him to fret over. All's well that ends well or some shit idk

Teruko (platonic):

You guys are literally the best of friends

She's the loud fiery kind of mean and you are the 'I will straight up meticulously ruin your life' kind of mean

You on some r/nuclearrevenge type shit and she fucking loves that for you

Like she's fully willing to plot and scheme with you and do whatever mean shit you suggest. You two are menaces and she should absolutely not be a military soldier

Teruko WILL smite your enemies. And by smite your enemies I mean she will actively do what she can to ruin the lives of people you don't like, with absolutely no remorse (pretty sure she actually commits crimes to do this)

She LIVES for your cruel one-liners and clever insults. Every time she hears one she absolutely hollers

Teruko enjoys it when you're mean to the other Hunting Dogs (except Fukuchi). They can handle a couple bitchy words so it's not a huge deal, but she's just extra amused by it

For the record you're not *mean* mean, you're just...humbling them (which let's be real they could use from time to time (Jouno, again, looking at you))

Nobody is surprised by your guys' friendship really

You're a dangerous pair. Please stop

Teruko kinda likes that you hold grudges so frequently because she'll never tire of hearing you shittalk the same exact people and events over and over again

She'll shittalk them too

Dia doesn't approve of this friendship

Tachihara:

You guys know that scene in B99 where Jake says that he can't decide if he's scared of Amy or turned on by her and then decides that he's both? Yea, that's Tachihara with you

He is a good person at heart, and outside of his mafia gangster persona he's really not that mean, and as such he does not encourage mean behaviour. But like, when you do it? Mm...

Bro is WHIPPED

Lowkey he probably gets some of his mafia persona ideas from you 💀

His mafia coworkers have no questions about how you two get along, and they generally like you. The other Hunting Dogs have a few more questions

Tachihara isn't some shy, quiet introvert, but he is generally pretty chill and a nice person. They like to playfully tease him about how different the two of you are (though if it gets too far he knows he can count on you to rip them a new one with no issue)

Dw they still like you though! Especially Teruko

He has absolutely no problems with you for being cold and blunt. It's nothing he himself can't handle, and in some ways it actually makes talking to you easier

Again, I'll stress that you're not mean to him, you're just not the most lovey-dovey person out there. But you DO put effort in and that's what Tachihara cares about, even if it isn't in a stereotypical way

If anything else, you're certainly loyal!

Tachihara loves you for all of your different eccentricities, and he's also kinda turned on by them. Win-win? Win-win.

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl, @kokoenjiandco, @pinkiipeachiikeen

[sparrowlucero]

Hello sorry I am being shy and anon but do you have any advice for someone who wants to get into Doctor Who again after briefly dabbling (and enjoying it very much) in like the early, early 2010s? I know this is mostly your art blog but you were the only person I could think of to ask you're like the Doctor Who authority of blogs I follow

Oh yeah of course! People can be really confusing about this so I'll try not to be.

So first, the majority of doctor who episodes are self contained stories that you could just watch and understand perfectly without any further context. even when there is some overarching context it's usually written in a way that's either pretty easy to glean and/or just doesn't impact your understanding of the story. 99% of the episodes don't even care if you know the premise and are just like "what if some people were on a spaceship and the devil was there? wouldn't that be fucked up or what??". Don't feel like you have to binge a 60 years long show to watch it. Some standalone episodes I think are fun if you (or anyone else) just want to check out one or two:

The Empty Child/The Doctor Dances (A supposed-to-be-dead boy in a gas mask haunts a young woman in world war 2)

Blink (A woman gets wrapped up in a mystery involving statues that make people disappear. This one is especially good if you flat out know nothing about the show. Has some really great time travel stuff.)

A Christmas Carol (A christmas carol pastiche (of course) where the doctor tries to rewrite the past of a cruel man who's going to let a lot of people die. very sad and sweet. I love the "wintery planet with sky fish" setting of this one)

Vincent and the Doctor (The famous Vincent Van Gogh Episode™)

The Rings of Akhatan (A pretty lowkey little adventure story about an alien festival. has supreme autumn vibes)

Flatline (A species from a 2 dimensional world tries to break into our 3 dimensional one. really fun special effects)

Midnight (A tour bus breaks down on a diamond planet where nothing can survive. Something knocks at the door.)

Silence in the Library/Forest of the Dead (The Doctor and friend go to a library that covers an entire planet and finds that everyone has disappeared. Has a lot of really great, interesting concepts baked into it that I won't spoil)

It Takes You Away (A girl is left alone in a cabin in the woods when her dad disappears through the mirror. Has a famously goofy ending that I really love)

73 Yards (A character is steps on a fairy circle and is followed by an old woman who always stands exactly 73 yards away)

The Devil's Chord (This doesn't really have, you know, a plot, but it does have jinkx monsoon as an evil music god)

Boom (The doctor steps on a landmine on an alien planet and cannot move)

Wild Blue Yonder (A two hander where the Doctor and co are trapped on a dilapidated spaceship at the edge of the universe. really atmospheric with some fun/strange visuals.)

That being said, it does add a lot to watch it in order; there's a lot of plot twists, character dynamics, and general payoff you get if you marathon it. I would personally recommend starting with either the first episode of the 2005 show ("Rose") or the first episode of the 2010 season ("The Eleventh Hour") and just watching in order from there. I think you could also start with "The Snowmen", "The Pilot", or "The Woman Who Fell To Earth" if you wanted, but the first two (especially rose) are the better jumping on points.

some other little notes of advice I don't often see people mention:

it's stupid sometimes just roll with it

once in a while the show sort of "reboots" with different writers, actors, directors, and a new tone. it's much more like watching several small shows than one long show, so don't be too put off by the length!

IMPORTANT: pretty much all streaming services will separate holiday/anniversary specials from the show proper and you have to deliberately search them up on the same service to find them. It's really necessary to be aware of this because many of these specials are the first or last episodes for characters/whole eras of the show and are genuinely unskippable. I strongly recommend looking up a list of the episodes and checking it after finales just to make sure you don't skip anything on accident.

there's two spin offs (Torchwood, a more adult (read: gay sex) show about a mysterious agency that solves sci fi crimes, and the Sarah Jane Adventures, a pretty good monster of the week kids show) that ran concurrently with season 1-4. You don't have to watch them to understand anything happening in doctor who, but sometimes they cross over with the show in fun ways, Ex. the first season finale of Torchwood continues directly into season 3 of Doctor Who. My friend and I got a kick out of watching them at the same time so maybe you will too. (either way I recommend watching "Children of Earth", the torchwood miniseries, if you want to see a weird dark sci fi show about the government making contact with aliens. It's a bit like arrival (2016) if it was way nastier.)

alternatively, you can inject fast acting brain poison into yourself with this

anyways I hope this all reads as, you know, more approachable than the way dudes on quora recommend this show:

[pickingupmymercedes]

Request for this phrase  “what do you think you’d be doing right now if we never met?” As Lewis x reader are on there 6 month anniversary from their first met. And the other phrase :”why are you staring?” As a flash back of love at first site of them meeting up on that day

That was cute to write (Almave mentioned btw, let's help him cash)

"You're staring" and "Thinking about what I'd be doing right now if we never met"

The soft glow of candlelight made the romantic ambiance of the restaurant almost an intimate one. Y/N and Lewis sat across from each other, their eyes sparkling as they looked at each other.

Six months. It was a milestone they wanted to celebrate quietly, a private moment between two people that were past the “deeply cared” and leaning more towards “deeply in love”.

As Y/N scanned the cocktail menu, her gaze drifted to Lewis, who was watching her with a tender smile. She caught his eye and raised an eyebrow, a silent question hanging in the air.

"You're staring," she said, her voice a playful accusation.

Lewis chuckled; his eyes still fixed on her. "Just thinking what I'd be doing right now if we never met."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And?"

"And," he continued, "I can't even remember what I was doing before I met you."

Y/N laughed, her heartwarming at his words. "Yeah, right you don’t. You were probably racing, partying, living the fast life."

He shook his head, a wistful expression on his face. "The racing is okay, but the rest? It was… empty."

As they waited for their appetizers, Y/N's mind wandered back to the day they first met. She'd been aimlessly browsing a liquor store, searching for a new drink to try when she'd spotted a peculiar-looking bottle. Intrigued, she'd reached for it, only to be intercepted by a tall, handsome stranger.

"Almave," he'd said, his voice confident. "Trust me, it's better than it looks."

She'd raised an eyebrow, skepticism evident in her expression. "A tequila without alcohol? Sounds like a cruel joke."

He'd chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I know it sounds strange, but it's actually really good. I can prove it."

And prove it he did, inviting her to his place that same night for a taste test. An invitation she had completely ignored, at first.

"Remember when you were trying to convince me that Almave was the best thing since sliced bread?" Y/N asked, a smile playing on her lips.

Lewis grinned. "How could I forget? You were so skeptical, but I knew I had to win you over."

"You were so persistent," Y/N teased "I mean, who invites a complete stranger over for a drink tasting?"

Lewis grinned. "Desperate times call for desperate measures. Besides, I knew I had to convince you."

"Convince me of what?" she asked, curious.

"That I was the missing piece of your life, of course," he replied, his voice filled with mock seriousness.

She chuckled. "It took you almost two weeks to get me to agree to that first drink."

"Worth the wait," he replied, his eyes sparkling with affection.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. "Smooth."

As they continued to reminisce, the conversation flowed effortlessly. They talked about their first dates, the nervous anticipation, the electric connection they had felt from the start. They talked about the challenges they had faced and mostly the compromises they had made.

"I can't believe it's only been six months," Y/N said, her voice filled with wonder. "It feels like just yesterday we were strangers."

Lewis took her hand, squeezing it gently. "It feels like a lifetime ago," he replied. "But in the best possible way."

______________________________________________________________

TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @happy-golden-hour @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

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If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

What if the reader was the child of the creator and had these gorgeous horns until one day, they were being looked after by Raiden, Venti, Nahida, Zhongli and they hear this mixed sounds of rocks breaking and bone snapping suddenly appearing and reader's large and gorgeous horns is suddenly not attached and in their hands while blood drips from their head. Apparently their horns were feeling pretty wobbly and they wanted to pull them to get rid of the feeling because it felt annoying.

PS: this is normal for this to happen, it's like pulling a tooth and a new one grows back.

How would they react to the graces child's horns no longer attached to their head.

OOOHH BOY, ARCHONS BUCKLE YOUR SEATBELTS, YOUR BABYSITTING CAREERS ARE ABOUT TO BE SHOOT THROUGH A BIG ROLLERCOASTER!

Honestly cannot blame them for panicking though—I would honestly do the same if I were in that position—

(Disclaimers: Might be OOC!)

Raiden Ei

The moment she sees the Almighty Creator's child's head bleeding, she is already scolding herself greatly for not being able to protect a child.

And then she sees the horns. That's when her panic begins to really spike up. That is—until she remembers Mikoshi Chiyo—her dear oni friend of bygone times—mention something about how some animals shed their horns during certain times of the year. And how her children have their teeth fall out when they were younger but we don't talk about that-

"Your Younger Grace, let us clean this all up before it becomes more of a mess." She tries to soften her voice towards you, knowing that she is dealing with a) a child and b) the literal descendant of the Almighty Creator. She does not dare to try and be cruel to the child who's parent can literally strike her down faster than lightning and time itself.

She's not exactly the most open nowadays, but she would still try to make herself as approachable as possible, if you two weren't close before.

If you two were? Well, that makes it a lot easier—her concern is easily detected and she's already cleaning up the blood and taking your previous horns somewhere else (probably a place where nobody would begin to panic just at the sight of it).

She won't even speak a single word about this incident after it's over. Ei does not want to look back at this memory and remember just how much of a heart attack she just gained by staring at the Divine One's child.

Venti

This man, hands down, will panic for a good few hours. Probably won't think straight as he thinks he's failed the Almighty Creator.

"Your Younger Grace, quick—let's get that cleaned up now!" Man would probably also yeet your horns away (gently) so that he never has to see it again. Venti is 100% traumatized again.

Would keep an eye on you whenever you touch your head now—this guy is making sure you never repeat the same thing again.

It won't be 'till a LONGG time before he realizes it's like a deer with your horns—but still, it's still pretty traumatic for our wisp boi, let's be hoenst—

Nahida

She would naturally be very upset that you would hurt yourself. However, she's not as panicked—she compares this situation like a deer. Or, actually—she hypothesizes.

Nevertheless, Nahida is still pretty upset you have to bleed because of this. She never wants to see you hurt, ever!

"Your Younger Grace, please let one of my people tend to your head..." She would call in her best medics from her nation to make sure your bleeding stops, before she deals with the horns that you practically tore off.

She will admit, it was very strange to hold the pieces of the Almighty Creator's child's horns as if they were collectible items. So, for the time being, she'll just keep them in a wrapped cloth to hide them.

Every time you do this, Nahida is now extra prepared for your "horn regrowth," as she calls it.

Zhongli

Dude is honestly the least surprised out of them all. I mean—can you blame him? He legit has seen it happen—remember what animal Moon Carver is? Yeah, that's right: a deer. Man's seen the guy shed antlers all the time, honestly.

But what he didn't expect is that you would actually bleed from pulling your horns off. That's what gets this grandpa of an Archon moving.

"Your Grace, allow me to tend to your injuries." Would treat it so seriously you think you were actually injured—you're just sitting there trying to recall how you might have hurt yourself until you realize Zhongli was talking about the horns you pulled off.

Pretty calm about the horns, honestly. Like I said, he's probably seen it one too many times. He'll probably ask the Almighty Creator themself of what he should do with them.

Would also probably educate the other archons so that they could stop having an absolute panic attack each time you decide to make your head bleed (cough looking at you, Venti cough).

And that's it! Everyone's except Ei's is short, but I do hope you like it! See you all around :)

Ghost Rebel Side Note: Yes, I did do some research with Ei's part—mainly because I don't really know how exactly she would react to a situation like this. I'm taking in terms with the fact that she is also mentally arguing/dealing with the Puppet Shogun, so there is some sort of rationalism behind her actions because of this. And, no, I don't believe Oni are able to shed off their horns, so I just made one of Ei's friends mention something about re-growing horns/teeth lol-

Check the Ghost Rebel's Blog Description to See if Their Mailbox is Open!

[bonefall]

Mapleshade Discourse O'Clock

It's that time again!!! SO I just kinda want to jot down all of my various thoughts about it as a story and just generally weigh in about Mapleshade.

I like the idea of Mapleshade more than the actual Mapleshade that is used throughout the books.

She has a really good gimmick-- to haunt Applekin though the generations. I don't like how they turn her into a generic "cat satan" for Tigerclaw's Fury and keep making her appear as a vain lackey demon.

I like her characterization in Mapleshade's Vengeance the most, of all her appearances.

But, I don't think my reading of the character depicted in MV is what the author intended.

See, I like MV as a story with no hero. The only blameless characters are the kittens who drowned and Perchpaw, while everyone else is some flavor of selfish, cruel, or vengeful. Everyone thinks they're in the right, but no one truly wins in the end.

Nothing about it was noble. Every tragedy that happened was utterly avoidable. In the end, everyone bears some responsibility for the pain and suffering that happened the day those children drowned.

BUT I'm pretty certain that the intended reading was that Mapleshade would be the one clearly in the wrong the whole time, as she justifies her own actions like a villain does.

Especially knowing how poorly the writers thought of similar female characters like Squilf and Leafp lying about the three, or Nightcloud being jealous her crummy husband is acting strange around another woman.

I feel justified in assuming that when Mapleshade is not happy she's being cheated on, or when she refuses to correct Frecklewish's record knowing it's unsafe if her kits are revealed as half clan, the writer really does think you're not supposed to take her side.

Because women should just not have emotions about being cheated on or something, and lying is unspeakably bad even if the truth puts you and your children in danger.

But. Y'know. We can all use the braincell for a moment and see that this is fucking stupid

SO when the book goes on to have Mapleshade ignore all the warnings about the swollen river, show both ThunderClan and RiverClan being obscenely cruel to her, and then walk across that bridge while insisting in her head that the deaths weren't her fault, I think the implication is obvious AND SHITTY.

Ergo I reject it completely. I can see what the book wants to say, and I think it says something trashy.

In spite of how badly the writer wants it to be Mapleshade's fault the kittens died, I say it was the asshole who threw a bunch of kittens out into the rain for being mixed race, actually.

Oakstar had the power here. Ravenwing had some power as well, but he makes it clear it wasn't his suggestion to throw the babies out into the woods.

And when it comes to Bridge Discourse, it was at least the afternoon, raining heavily, and Mapleshade was trying to get to RiverClan Camp. A straight shot across the stepping stones.

I think it is ridiculous to imagine an extremely emotional parent managing three very scared children, attempting to get out of the rain and dangerous wilderness before nightfall, would be rational enough to realize a large detour would be safer.

MAYBE the distance from ThunderClan Camp to the Bridge is equal to the distance to the Stones. But the distance between the bridge and RIVERCLAN Camp is longer.

I hope this goes without saying; but Frecklewish didn't deserve the Dark Forest.

Even in Banana World logic where she was sitting on the bank watching those kids doggy-paddle. Do not fucking jump in to save drowning people if you are not trained to do that.

I'm dead serious, this is the first thing you learn in any kind of water safety course. They WILL panic, you WILL get dragged down, you WILL become another liability someone else has to save instead of helping your initial target.

And that isn't even mentioning this being a flooded river. That's POOL safety.

In spite of how I think Mapleshade was right to lie, I do think Frecklewish being that upset and angry was understandable.

You're entitled to your feelings, but not how you treat people. She still attacked Mapleshade and called the kittens a slur.

That's what makes her interesting, though.

I don't think she deserves the Dark Forest, but Frecklewish's anger is an interesting trait. I don't like how a lot of defensive interpretations of her character end up downplaying how she acted at the exile

why does a woman being rightfully angry suddenly strike people as "unsympathetic." Girls can also say things in fury they don't fully mean. OR girls can rationalize their unjustified, ballistic response post-hoc out of pride.

Idk let girls be mad. Admit they were wrong without deserving HELL. I don't like the woobification impulse.

It's not really a hot take anymore I think, but Frecklewish is definitely only in the DF because the writing team judges women characters more harshly. Oakstar threw babies out in the rain in fury, and Ravenwing didn't stop it. But somehow only Frecklewish, a normal warrior, gets DF'd.

But what really rattles around in my head about the whole story is the way that the in-universe culture is able to suddenly value ethics like peace, forgiveness, and tolerance when MAPLESHADE is ready to throw those things out, but BEFORE then, it's well established that Clan culture is violent, vengeful, and intolerant.

One of our earliest scenes is Rainfall snarling at Mapleshade that he loves the way Birchface and Flowerpaw drowned. He's threatening that he'll kill even more ThunderClan warriors.

Over in ThunderClan, everyone is itching for revenge against Appledusk for those deaths, even though it seems to have been an accident. Oakstar even hates RiverClan well into sequel books for this.

But then later on, everyone acts Shocked Pikachu that Mapleshade actually went and GOT revenge.

And like, let's be real. This is a battle culture. Yes, by OUR standards Revenge Is Bad.

But in these books, so full of war and clan conflict...?

What I'm saying is that I wish the books let Mapleshade be a little more "controversial" in-universe. Like some cats actually frame the story very differently, and you can learn a lot about a person by who they think the hero is.

And how RiverClan responds to the drowned kids bugs me a lot tbh

We just established over in ThunderClan that there are people who think the babies were born filthy for being HalfClan.

We know everyone there stood by and watched as Oakstar threw them out into the rain-- only Ravenwing even seemed uncomfortable.

AND we know very well that in a few generations, TigerClan will rise. Which openly executed a HalfClan cat and wanted to kill 2 apprentices.

We KNOW the bigotry in Clan culture is deadly and unfair.

But then they go over to RiverClan and Darkstar is sad these three kids are dead? And RC is furious with Mapleshade for that?

Again, YES, you and me with OUR morals know that this bigotry is insane and spiteful. What I'm getting at is that IN-UNIVERSE half clan kittens and their parents face extreme discrimination. Even within this book.

It's odd to me that Darkstar refuses to let Mapleshade bury their bodies, sends her away for the death of the kids while saying it's "not the season for losing warriors" to Appledusk, and it's meant to come across as delusional that Maple thinks her babies were buried dishonorably

I wish more women in WC got so pissed off at the absolute injustice of it all that they went on a girl rampage. Perhaps it's my own taste, but I like it a lot more when the villain isn't entirely wrong and there's several angles you can read the story from. If she didn't do what she did, she would have been the only one who saw any consequences for anything that happened.

Anyway in conclusion uhhh idk murder is wrong. But Mapleshade's allowed to do it because she's a silly billy. Her greatest crime was not killing Oakstar also

[strawberrygirll13]

I care about you

Dazai x Reader

Pt 1

Warnings: Depression, self harm, mentions of suicide attempts, mental illness.

The restaurant was quiet, save for the occasional clinking of plates and murmurs of other diners. Candlelight flickered softly, casting a warm glow over the table. Across from you, Dazai sat back in his chair, his arm lazily draped over the backrest, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You know,” he started, swirling the wine in his glass, “if this steak were my last meal, I think I’d die happy.”

You set your fork down, a sense of unease already creeping in. “Dazai…”

He didn’t seem to notice the warning in your voice, his eyes gleaming with something darker. “But,” he continued, his voice calm, “if I were to go, I’d want it to be something more dramatic. Something… poetic. Maybe a leap into a river. Or from a high-rise at sunset. You know, something that would leave an impression.”

You couldn’t keep the tension from building in your chest. “Dazai, I really don’t like it when you talk like that.”

He paused for a moment, the grin still playing on his lips. “Oh? Why not?” he said, tilting his head, seemingly unfazed. “It’s the truth. I’ve tried a few things, you know.”

Your fingers tightened around your napkin, and you felt a cold chill run through you. “What do you mean ‘tried a few things’?”

Dazai leaned forward, his gaze sharp as he looked directly at you. “Well, let me think... I’ve tried hanging myself, drowning myself—Yokohama Harbor, to be exact. It was freezing, but strangely peaceful. I really thought it would work that time. But no, a fisherman pulled me out before I could go under for good.” He chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Pathetic, huh?”

You felt your heart drop, but he kept going, unperturbed. “I also tried jumping in front of a train once. The timing was all wrong, though. I only got clipped, nothing serious. And then there was the time I tried poisoning myself, but the drink was too weak. Didn’t do the job. But you know, the one that came closest? Cutting my wrists. I really thought that one would do it. I got pretty close, but again, I ended up surviving.”

Each attempt, each method, he listed it so casually, as if they were simple anecdotes, nothing more than stories to amuse himself. The weight of his words pressed down on you, suffocating, until you couldn’t breathe. You felt a mix of disgust and helplessness, your stomach twisting in knots. This wasn’t just dark humor; this was the product of something deeper, something broken. And it was eating at him.

“Dazai,” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please, stop. I don’t want to hear this. This isn’t funny.”

He raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by your reaction. “Why not?” he asked, genuinely curious. “It’s just a little dark humor. Surely you, of all people, aren’t disturbed by some harmless stories?”

“Harmless?” You stood up abruptly, unable to sit through it any longer. “It’s cruel. It’s wrong. I don’t know why you think this is okay, but it’s not. I care about you, Dazai, and hearing you talk like this…” You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “It makes me feel awful. Can you not see that?”

He looked at you for a long moment, his smile never wavering, though his eyes were colder than usual. “Cruel?” he repeated, amusement still in his tone. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not as though anyone would care if I actually died, anyway. Hell, the world would probably be better off without me. It’s not like I have anyone who would mourn me.”

You shook your head, a knot forming in your throat. This wasn’t just about his words anymore; it was about the way he saw himself. The way he thought of his life as something so expendable.

"And you know," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I’ve been thinking about finding a beautiful woman to share my final moments with. Someone who wouldn’t mind a little poetic death. I’ve been looking for someone who’d be willing to… you know, commit double suicide with me. My dear friend, you’d do perfectly." His grin was wider now, predatory, and it made your skin crawl.

You stared at him, unable to process how casually he could say something so horrifying. “Why would you say that to me? Why would you ask me something like that?”

He laughed, but it was an empty, hollow sound. “Why? Because you’re one of the few people I actually respect. I thought you’d find the idea appealing. You’re beautiful, aren’t you? You would make a perfect match for me in the end.”

Your hands shook at your sides, but you didn’t back down. “No, Dazai. No. I don’t find any of this funny. You’ve made me so uncomfortable tonight, and you did it on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to make me feel bad. Well, congratulations, you’ve succeeded.”

He blinked at you, for the first time showing a crack in his indifference, his smirk faltering for a split second as he processed your words. But before he could respond, you turned and grabbed your coat, slipping it over your shoulders.

“I’m leaving,” you said, your voice firm but quiet.

Dazai didn’t say anything. He just watched as you moved toward the door, his gaze unreadable. The air between you had shifted, and you couldn’t quite understand it, but you knew one thing for certain: You couldn’t sit there and let him pull you into his darkness.

With one last glance at him, you stepped out into the cold night air, the weight of the conversation lingering with you, but you didn’t turn back.

The days following that tense dinner were markedly different. You kept your interactions with Dazai strictly professional, your usual casual conversations replaced with curt, pointed words. Whenever a task required communication, you went through others—Kunikida, Atsushi, anyone else who could serve as a buffer between you and him. Dazai, however, wasn’t one to let things go unnoticed, especially when they disrupted his carefully cultivated routines.

You knew he’d noticed the shift—he wasn’t an idiot. But instead of apologizing or addressing it directly, he chose his usual route: mischief.

It started small. A sly remark here, an exaggerated sigh there. When you ignored those, he ramped it up. During one meeting, he’d kept dropping pens onto your side of the table, leaning over to retrieve them with the kind of smug grin that made you want to throttle him. When you didn’t react, his antics escalated.

The breaking point came one quiet afternoon when you returned to your desk only to find his desk… wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

He’d moved it.

Right in front of yours, so close the two desks were now touching, effectively making it one long, cluttered mess of books, papers, and his personal junk. Your side was spotless, as always, but his was overflowing—documents spilling over onto your workspace, a half-eaten bag of snacks perched precariously on the edge, and his coat draped lazily over your chair.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the absurdity before you, willing yourself to stay calm.

“Do you mind?” you finally asked, your voice cold as you folded your arms.

Dazai, leaning back in his chair with a lopsided grin, didn’t miss a beat. “Not at all. Cozy, isn’t it?”

“It’s not cozy,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes. “It’s invasive. Move your desk back.”

“But I like it here,” he replied, spinning his pen between his fingers. “Better lighting. Better company. Well... not bettercompany, but you’re here, so it’ll do.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. Instead, you sat down, pushed his papers to the far edge of your desk, and went back to your work.

This didn’t deter him in the slightest. Over the next hour, he kept finding ways to encroach on your space—tossing paperclips onto your side, humming loudly, even nudging your coffee mug with his own until it was teetering dangerously close to the edge.

Finally, when it seemed like he might actually topple it over, you shot him a glare. “If you spill that, I swear—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, leaning in closer. “Yell at me? Ignore me some more? I think you’ve got the ignoring part down pretty well already.”

You didn’t respond, turning back to your work with tight-lipped determination.

His frustration, though, was becoming harder for him to hide. You could see it in the way he kept drumming his fingers on the desk, in the exaggerated way he sighed every five minutes, in the way his usual lazy demeanor seemed a little too deliberate, like he was trying too hard to act like this wasn’t bothering him.

And then, he started writing notes.

At first, he didn’t even try to be subtle about it. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper, folded it neatly, and slid it onto your side of the desk.

You ignored it.

A second note followed, then a third. You didn’t open any of them, and the more you ignored them, the more frustrated he seemed to become.

By the fourth note, he didn’t even bother folding it anymore. Instead, he scrawled the words in large, dramatic letters across a sheet of paper and held it up directly in your line of sight.

“ARE YOU STILL MAD?”

You didn’t look at him, but he kept the note there until you finally sighed and muttered, “Yes.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting an actual answer. Then, with a grin, he grabbed another sheet of paper and scribbled again. This time, he slid it across the desk to you.

“WHY?”

You stared at the note for a moment before crumpling it up and tossing it back at him. “You know why,” you said, your voice quiet but firm.

For once, he didn’t have a quick retort. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his grin faltering ever so slightly as he watched you go back to your work.

But, true to form, he didn’t stay quiet for long. Moments later, another note landed on your desk.

“CAN I MAKE IT UP TO YOU?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust yourself to, not yet. And so, the silence between you stretched on, heavy and unresolved, while Dazai sat across from you, bored, frustrated, and—if the look in his eyes was any indication—just a little bit lost.

The silence between you two stretched unbearably as Dazai fidgeted with his pen, occasionally glancing at you, though you didn’t spare him a single look. Despite his antics, you were determined to hold your ground. He deserved to stew in this. To feel the weight of your anger and hurt.

Yet, as the minutes ticked by and the tension grew thicker, you found yourself caving. Not entirely, but enough for curiosity to override your stubbornness. With a sigh, you picked up your pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper, sliding it over to him without looking up.

“Did you mean it?”

Dazai, for once, didn’t respond immediately. You heard the faint rustle of the note as he picked it up, followed by a pause. Then, slowly, he scrawled something down and pushed it back toward you.

“Mean what?”

You stared at the words for a moment before writing again.

“That you want me to die with you?”

When you slid the note back, you refused to meet his gaze, your fingers gripping your pen tightly as you waited for his response. The air between you felt suffocating, heavy with the unspoken weight of the question.

It took him longer this time. You heard the soft scratching of his pen as he wrote, then paused, then wrote again. Finally, the note landed back in front of you.

“Yes.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at the single word, simple and honest in a way Dazai rarely allowed himself to be. When you finally looked up at him, his expression was unreadable, his usual playful grin replaced by something quieter, something that almost looked like vulnerability.

“I wasn’t joking,” he said softly, breaking the silence. “Not entirely, at least.”

Your throat felt dry, and you weren’t sure what to say. For all the times Dazai hid behind humor, behind his endless games and tricks, hearing him admit something so dark, so raw, left you momentarily at a loss.

“Why?” you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, though the motion felt forced, his usual air of nonchalance cracking at the edges. “Because if I had to go, at least with you… it wouldn’t feel so empty. It’d be poetic, don’t you think? Two kindred spirits, disappearing together.”

“That’s not poetic, Dazai,” you said firmly, anger creeping into your voice. “It’s selfish. It’s—” You stopped yourself, exhaling sharply. “It’s cruel that you would suggest that.”

His lips quirked up in a half-smile, but there was no humor behind it. “I told you, I’m a selfish man. You should know that by now.”

Your eyes narrowed, but you didn’t reply. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, the note still clutched tightly in your hand, as the weight of his words settled over you.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dazai,” you began, folding the note neatly and placing it in front of him, “but unfortunately, I do not want to die. And I’d prefer it if you could refrain from doing so either.”

You stood up, your chair scraping against the floor as you grabbed your bag. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back in a minute.”

But before you could take a step, his hand shot out, quick and instinctive, his bandaged wrist wrapping firmly around yours. It wasn’t harsh or forceful, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks.

“What the hell?” you blurted, glancing down at his hand, then back at him.

For the first time since the conversation began, he looked genuinely caught off guard. His grip on your wrist wasn’t calculated; it was almost desperate, as though the very thought of you leaving—even temporarily—was unbearable.

“I… You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his tone lighter than his expression betrayed. But the crack in his voice, subtle as it was, didn’t escape you.

Your brow furrowed. “Dazai, I work here. I’m just going to the bathroom. I’m not running off into the sunset. Good god, you have issues.”

His lips curved into a faint smirk, but it lacked his usual humor. “Issues? That’s putting it lightly, don’t you think?” He released your wrist, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he let it drop back to his side. “I guess I just don’t like the idea of you walking away from me… even if it’s just to the restroom.”

“Dazai,” you sighed, softening your tone despite yourself, “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through them before his usual mask slipped back into place. “Promise?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You gave him a flat look. “I’m not promising anything. It’s a bathroom break, not a grand betrayal.”

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the weight of his touch—or the way his voice had faltered, even for just a second. Something about it lingered, clawing at the edges of your mind like an unanswered question you weren’t sure you were ready to ask.

A few hours later ~

The office was quiet now, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the rustling of papers as you gathered your things. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of a single desk lamp. You glanced over at him. His desk—still obnoxiously pressed against yours—was cluttered with papers he hadn’t touched all day. He’d sat there for hours, throwing the occasional quip your way, but you hadn’t said much in return.

It wasn’t just the silence that made the air feel heavy; it was the weight of his words from earlier. He wanted you to die with him. The thought lingered, intrusive and stubborn, no matter how much you tried to shove it aside. You couldn’t understand how he’d asked you something so selfishly, so casually, as if it were just another joke in his endless repertoire.

Shaking your head, you slid your bag over your shoulder and moved toward the door. You didn’t bother to say goodbye.

“Wait,” his voice called out, stopping you mid-step. You turned to find him standing now, hands stuffed into his pockets as he leaned against the edge of the desk.

“What is it, Dazai?” you asked, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Let me walk you home,” he said, straightening up and taking a step closer.

You blinked at him, the question catching you off guard. “Are you going to say some weird shit?”

His mouth quirked into a half-smile, though it lacked the usual cockiness. “You know, probably. I mean, it’s me.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as if he were suddenly unsure of himself. “But… I won’t ask you to, you know, do that with me again. Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers in mock sincerity.

You narrowed your eyes, considering him for a moment. “Fine,” you said finally, letting out a small sigh. “But only if you promise.”

“Promise,” he repeated, a flicker of amusement returning to his voice.

As you pushed open the door and stepped into the cool night air, he fell into step beside you. Something about the way he kept just a half step behind, letting you set the pace, felt quieter than usual—almost careful. It wasn’t like him. Then again, nothing about today had been.

The street was quiet as you and Dazai walked down the path, the only sounds being the soft crunch of your footsteps against the pavement and the occasional rustling of leaves in the trees. The streetlamps above flickered on, casting a dim, golden light that illuminated the sidewalk in a soft, almost melancholic glow. The night air was cool, a refreshing change from the stuffy office, and you relished the brief quiet that came with the walk.

You didn't mind walking. You’d never been one to rely on a car, especially when the journey gave you a little peace of mind. Besides, the apartment was only about a 20-minute walk away, and you had plenty of time to clear your head. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

As you walked in silence, your thoughts wandered. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you and Dazai today. His words from earlier still echoed in your mind, but it wasn’t just that. Something about his behavior had felt off—a bit too distant, a bit too… real.

It was strange, but despite everything, you couldn't deny you had feelings for him. Not that you really had a choice, considering how often you saw each other. But you were realistic about it. The idea of him ever feeling the same was almost laughable. He was too much of a mess, too much of a broken puzzle for you to figure out. And even if he did have feelings for you, you weren’t sure it was something you could trust.

The walk continued in silence, and you pulled your coat tighter around you, keeping your thoughts to yourself. But then, without warning, Dazai held out his arm for you.

At first, you were confused. You didn't know what he meant by the gesture. But when he huffed, his voice edged with a hint of impatience, “Come on, I’m not going to bite you,” you could feel a wave of hesitation wash over you.

Before you could respond, he looped his arm through yours, locking it there with a firm but gentle grip. It surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome. For a moment, you just walked, trying to process what had just happened.

As you did, your gaze slipped over to him. The soft glow of the streetlights caught his brown hair, highlighting the faint tousled mess of it. You’d always admired the way it looked, even when he didn’t seem to care much about it. You wondered, though, how much of his body was covered in bandages. His neck and wrist were always covered, but what about the rest of him? Did he hide it under those clothes, or was there more to it?

The thought made a knot form in your stomach, and you quickly shoved it away. You hated the idea of him harming himself. The thought made your chest tighten, and you didn’t want to think about it—not now, not here, not with him.

“What are you thinking about, Y/N?” Dazai’s voice broke the silence, his tone casual, though there was an edge to it.

You looked up at him, startled, but there was a strange softness in his expression that made you pause.

“Nothing,” you muttered, not wanting to admit to the tangled thoughts swirling in your head. “Just... you know, thinking about work.”

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Really?" he teased, but there was something more guarded in his eyes now. "Because you seem distracted."

You went quiet, your eyes shifting away from his, not wanting to meet his gaze anymore. The cool night air suddenly felt too heavy as the silence between you both stretched on.

Dazai noticed immediately, his pace slowing as he watched the subtle tension build. He didn’t push it at first, but after a few moments, he muttered, almost absentmindedly, “I hate how you don’t let me into your head.” His voice had a quiet frustration in it, like a gnawing irritation that wouldn't let go.

You stiffened, the words from earlier still replaying in your mind. You knew he wasn’t going to drop it, not without pushing the issue. You didn’t want to discuss it, but you couldn’t stay silent either. "Well, it’s kinda difficult to let someone in who has basically said in their own way they want me dead." You kept your voice steady, trying not to let the vulnerability slip through.

The words hung in the air, and Dazai didn’t immediately respond. His arm, still locked with yours, shifted slightly as if he were considering his words carefully.

Then, he spoke. "Y/N, my darling, you and I have two very different perspectives on death." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle between you. "To explain it in the simplest terms, despite how morbid it may seem to you... it is a compliment."

His tone was strange, detached, but also oddly earnest. It was as if he truly believed that what he was saying made sense. And for a moment, you wondered if he even understood how much his words stung.

You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, your steps slowing to match his. The city seemed farther away now, the night air colder.

"It doesn’t matter how you intended it, Dazai," you said, your voice firm but not unkind. "You are not well. The way you think… it’s all twisted."

Dazai let out a laugh, sharp and self-deprecating. "Oh, I’m very aware," he said with a smirk, though his eyes betrayed something softer, something less cavalier.

The rest of the walk passed in silence. He didn’t let go of your arm, keeping it interlocked with his, as though he feared letting go would shatter whatever fragile thing existed between you both. The city lights grew sparse as you reached your apartment building, and he walked you right up to your doorstep. Even then, his arm stayed linked with yours, his grip firm but not forceful, as if he wasn’t ready to let you go.

Dazai finally stopped, taking a deep breath. His hesitation was unusual, almost unsettling. "Can I ask you something?" he said, his voice softer than usual.

You sighed, fishing your keys out of your pocket. "I’m not going to say no, am I?"

He smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "When you say you care about me… do you mean it?"

You froze, caught off guard by the question. He wasn’t playing this time. There was no sly grin, no teasing inflection. His eyes, brown and deep as they were, searched yours with an almost childlike vulnerability.

"For someone as smart as you are, you’re being quite moronic right now," you said, your voice gentler than your words. His expression shifted slightly—confused, maybe even a little hurt. You softened, letting out a breath. "Of course I care about you, Dazai. I care about you a lot."

He blinked, processing your words, before making a quiet "Oh-ohh" sound, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information. It was such a Dazai thing to do that it made you smile despite yourself.

Sliding your key into the lock, you turned it and pushed the door open. But before stepping inside, you hesitated. Something tugged at you, a feeling you couldn’t quite ignore.

"Oh, hell, screw it," you muttered under your breath before turning back around. Gently, you reached up and cupped his face, your fingers brushing against the bandages on his cheek. His eyes widened slightly as you leaned in, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his irises, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.

When you pulled back, his expression was one of pure shock. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. You gave him a small smile, your hands still resting against his cheeks.

"Why don’t you think on that, Osamu Dazai," you said, your tone light but meaningful. Then, pulling away, you stepped inside and closed the door behind you with a quiet click.

For a long moment, Dazai stood there on your doorstep, the night air brushing against his face, his lips still tingling from the kiss. Then, slowly, a small, genuine smile curved across his face—one that no one else would have recognized.

[avatar-anna]

Can You Keep a Secret?

summary: in which Twilight did not prepare you for the real world

just a fun little blurb about vampires because it's spooky season!

"So you're a—"

"Yep."

"With fangs and everything?"

"Afraid so."

"But how did you—"

"I think it was when I went to a club. I thought someone with a studded collar ran into me and then proceeded to get roofied because the next thing I remember was waking up in a park with a massive headache and covered in dirt."

Y/n looked over her friend, eyeing his appearance warily. Her initial response was to step back, more like sprint in the other direction. But the shock of this revelation rooted her to the spot. The floor of her dorm room, specifically.

"You said that all in one breath," Y/n said. She wasn't really sure why, it was just the first thing that came out of her mouth.

"I don't think I have breath anymore," Harry said.

"Right," she said. "Because you're..."

"Dead."

"Dead?"

"I think so."

Y/n probably shouldn't have, but she stepped closer to him, peering at him with wide eyes. With her pointer finger, she poked his cheek. "You don't...look dead."

"Thanks?"

"Are you sure you're not on some acid trip?" she asked. "Maybe I'm on an acid trip."

"Nope. This is real. And it's happening," Harry said. "I'm starting to get hungry, I'm afraid."

Y/n immediately pulled her hand away from his face and practically leaped away from him. "Oh. Did you come here to—"

"No," Harry said quickly. He reached for her, but when he saw her flinch, he stayed put. "I think the overall disgustingness of actually having to drink blood has kept me from actually doing it. But—"

"But you'll have to eventually," Y/n finished for him.

"I didn't know who else to turn to," Harry confessed, distress seeping into his features. "I'm terrified and confused and am quickly starting to realize that the sun now gives me a strange heat rash and I don't want to eat people but the thought of killing an animal also just seems cruel, so—"

"Let me think," Y/n said, reaching out to hold Harry's hand. It was cold, so unlike the warm touch she'd grown used to. But the touch itself felt the same. Even though there was no blood actually rushing through his veins, he still felt like her friend. He was still her friend.

Y/n paced the floor of her dorm for a moment, rushing to close the blinds on her window when she realized Harry was confined to one corner of the room. She wasn't sure what the hell she was supposed to do in this situation. Dracula didn't seem all that accurate at the moment, or any other iteration of creatures of the night. But Harry was her friend, her best friend. She had to think of something.

"Wait here," she said suddenly before quickly leaving her room, nabbing a to-go cup she'd forgotten to throw out earlier.

She raced to the end of the hall where the bathroom was, shoving her way inside and locking herself in a stall. Holding the cup with shaking hands, she plucked her keys from her sweatshirt pocket, where she kept a bottle opener.

It took longer than she expected, and she felt a little woozy by the end of it, but for the time being, cutting open her hand and letting blood spill into the cup was the best she could think of. It would buy them some time to come up with a better solution.

Y/n hurried back to her room, leaning against it once she was safely back inside. Harry was still there, staring closely at himself in the mirror by her bed with his teeth bared. At the sound of the door, though, he turned around.

"I knew it was you coming down the hall," he mentioned absentmindedly.

"You did? How'd you even know it was me?"

Harry shrugged. "Your...heartbeat sounded... familiar ," he said quickly.

Y/n looked at him funny, knowing there was something he wasn't telling her, which she found odd seeing as he told her he was a literal vampire, but she let it go. Instead, she thrusted the cup toward him.

"Here," she said. "I figured this was safer than biting me and possibly losing control."

Harry took the cup gingerly, eyeing the contents with a grimace. But Y/n caught a flicker of something in his eye. Hunger, she realized. He didn't want to drink it, but he did.

"Could you maybe turn around?"

"Oh. Of course, sorry," Y/n said, a blush blooming on her cheeks.

She faced the door as Harry murmured his thanks. He must've dug in the moment she turned around because he could hear him slurping from the straw still in the cup. He was done in seconds, and by the time she turned around, he was wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand, the tips of his canines peaking out past his lips.

Fangs, Y/n thought. He really has fangs.

The reality of the situation seemed to hit her all of the sudden, and her knees buckled. Harry was there in a split second, and if that along with the other startling revelations from today weren't quite literally blowing her mind, she would've laughed at the parallel to that scene in Twilight.

That was all gone now. Harry was still pale, but there was more color in his skin now, culminating in his cheeks. His green eyes were more vibrant now, his lips an unfair shade of cherry red. He looked more handsome, because of course that was what reigned true among all the vampire lore there was out there, but he looked...well, he looked more alive, at least.

"You okay?" Harry asked, looking down at her.

His brows were furrowed with concern, and this close to her face, Y/n could tell the subtle differences that little bit of her blood made. She hadn't realized it before when he'd first come to her dorm, but his skin had been paler than it normally was and the planes of his face more pronounced than usual. He'd had dark bags under his eyes, and his usually curly hair had been rather limp and dull looking.

"Y/n?"

"I—Sorry. It probably wasn't much, but the impromptu blood donation kind of took it out of me," she managed to say, shaking away her reverie and steeping out of the hold Harry had her in.

"It was enough. Thank you," Harry said. "I actually feel a lot better."

"Did it taste like blood?" Y/n asked, curious to know the answer. Vampire shows always made it seem as though blood tasted like fine wine, but it was still just blood.

"I guess? Yes and no. No copper taste," he said.

Y/n hummed thoughtfully. She moved to sit on her bed, but faltered a step when the dizziness returned. Harry caught her again before helping her sit on top of her bed. He went straight for her snack drawer, which she kept in the first drawer at her desk instead of school supplies. Harry had helped himself to the multitude of goodies that resided there since they became friends, and Y/n had started to put more of what he seemed to like in it subconsciously, steadily learning his late night and study session snack preferences.

She supposed that was all different now.

"Here," Harry said, handing her a bar and a bag of cookies. "They hand these out at blood drives right?"

"Thanks," Y/n said, making room for him on her bed.

She ate in silence, Harry clearly having a lot on his mind. She had about a million questions, starting with how the hell was he going to pull off keeping this a secret and ending with did his skin sparkle in the sun. But Y/n kept them to herself while she ripped into her bag of cookies, slowly eating them while she waited for either of them to say something .

"Is your hand okay?"

Y/n looked down at where she'd hastily wrapped the cut on her hand in damp paper towels from the bathroom. It was pretty red, probably needed a bandage, but that hadn't really occurred to her while she was feeding her best friend who had accidentally got himself turned into a vampire.

"It stings," she said. "Sorry, does it bother you? I can—"

"It's fine, I just—I don't like that you had to hurt yourself for me."

Harry had been her friend since they started college together. They'd met in psychology class and had been study buddies ever since. And regular buddies, and now there wasn't anyone she trusted more. And that meant she knew him. Harry had always been protective of her, in a brotherly way, she often reminded herself. Y/n realized he probably wouldn't have been a huge fan of her plan if she'd explained it to him.

"It was just this once," she reassured him. "Just this once until we come up with a plan."

"I'm sorry I dragged you into this," Harry said, his shoulders slumping. "I just didn't know who else to turn to."

Y/n was reminded of a book she'd once read that had vampires in it—maybe she was the person to turn to for all this—that said that vampires had more intense feelings than a normal person, that every feeling, good or bad, was dialed to eleven. She didn't know if that was true in Harry's case. Hell, she didn't know what was true anymore. But on the off chance it was, it was probably in Harry's best interest to lift his spirits.

"I'm your friend, I'd be pissed if you didn't," she said. "We'll figure this out together, I promise."

"I'm not letting you do that again, though, okay? Don't hurt yourself for my sake. It's way too dangerous," he told her seriously. He looked at her, eyes boring into hers, and Y/n suddenly didn't want to look anywhere else but his eyes. She marveled at the peculiar shade of green that made up his irises, and the full lashes that framed them. She didn't want to blink so as not to stop looking at them for even a moment. All she wanted to do was stare. Stare and not hurt herself for him—

"Y/n? You with me?" Harry asked, snapping his fingers in front of her face.

Y/n blinked, thoughts of Harry's pretty eyes vanishing with the sharp sound coming from his fingers. Shaking her head, she looked away. Well, compulsion is real, she told herself. She'd have to start keeping a list. A Comprehensive List of What is True and What Popular Culture Has Lied About Regarding Vampirism.

"We are going to figure this out," she said with more confidence than she felt. "I am a woman of science, and there has to be an explanation for all this. I mean, you said it yourself, someone had to turn you right? At the club?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, but—"

"Then that means there's at least one other vampire out there, which probably means there's more. And they can't just be starving in the shadows. There has to be a method to all this," she said, the gears in her brain already turning.

"I suppose," he said sullenly.

"Cheer up, H," Y/n said. "We're going to figure this out, okay? You're not alone."

Harry looked at her skeptically, his eyes scanning her up and down, perhaps trying to decide if she suffered a brain injury on the way back from the bathroom. But he merely nodded and said, "You're taking this all exceptionally well."

He had a point there, but maybe the shock would come later. "Life just got a little more interesting, that's all."

Harry smiled, and Y/n couldn't help but look at his canines. They looked normal, but she knew what was hiding beneath now. "So," he said, clapping his hands together. "Where do we start? Vampire lore? Finding the person who did this? How to safely acquire blood?"

"Statistics," Y/n said. She reached down for her backpack and pulled out her textbook, setting it before them. When she looked up at Harry, she laughed at the bewildered look on his face. "What? Just because you died and came back to life doesn't mean you can stop going to school."

"Um, I think that's exactly what it means," Harry argued, baffled by the topic change.

"I don't think so, Styles. If I have to suffer through my senior year, then so do you."

Harry only protested a little more before reaching for his own books. Silence settled between them comfortably as they sat shoulder to shoulder. Her mind was still partially coming up with a plan to keep him fed while she went over her notes, but she imagined she'd be doing a lot of multitasking from now on.

After a while, Harry bumped her shoulder with his. She looked up, and the look of sincerity on his face made her heart stutter. "Thank you."

It took a moment to respond, and this time she could blame the compulsion. "Of course. You'd do the same for me."

Harry seemed content to leave it at that. Y/n reached for her pen, then winced. "On second thought, maybe the first order of business is to get my hand fixed up."

"Right. Of course," Harry agreed, helping her off the bed and following her out of her dorm.

[sideysvault]

𓍼ོ Ad Astra Per Aspera 𓍼ོ (PT. 3)

Preservation

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

wc: 1015k

Tags: [sfw] Arranged marriage, slow burn, angst, mentions of dead, mature themes, enemies to lovers, hurt, comfort.

full series masterlist. read part four

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“You must indulge me and carry a weapon with you. You are my wife now. That implies risk in these circumstances”.

The Princess couldn’t help herself, she blurted out a laugh as she playfully —not without a hint of cruelty, of course— added “Are you having delusions of power again, dear husband? We are not the ones responsible for the royal lineage, remember?”.

Aemond snapped his tongue in annoyance, forgetting everything he was taught on the matter of manners and polite diplomacy. It was always the same with her, the constant bickering, her vain mockeries. He was sure it was some kind of delusional defense against the act of political marriage, because he had seen her be nothing but sweet towards Heleana and his niece. Despite knowing that fact, he still felt that their differences and her inclinations towards confrontation constituted an act of personal defiance. 

On the other hand, his wife was tired of his constant oscillation between coldness and strange tenderness, he had been cruel to her about their lineage, and now was he seeking to protect it? 

Whatever spell had been cast upon them on that dreadful night, whichever feelings were discovered, however warm their touch had felt to one another, it was now undoubtedly broken. 

She knew that despite being feared and undermined, Prince Aemond was also passably seasoned in the art of war, and of civility at court. She did not consider these traits to be of great merit, as even a chimpanzee would be considered to be formal and of considerable intelligence if it stood directly beside The King.  The Princess was not entirely sure where his urgency was coming from, but, knowing of The Queen's Dowry’s great cunning expertise in Machiavellian machinations, she was not sure if she should be afraid.

She scoffed out loud without meaning to. His paranoia must be rubbing off. Aemond seemed offended, as he exclaimed with irritation “You of all people must know what happened. We ought to do what we can to protect ourselves against the enemies of the crown“.

While it was true that the white cloaks wasted the entirety of their time drunk on wine and whores, the truth was that she felt safe with her husband. She would have never said it out loud, of course. Much less to Aemond himself. But she simply could not deny that he was fairly capable with the sword, childishly paranoid and positively ruthless. The Princess really felt no need to arm herself like a scared lamb. And she told him so. “Such displays are in bad taste”. 

This was his time to mock her with a snort. 

“Being precautionary is in bad taste now?, I had not yet been enlightened with that information” The Princess frowned. She was still getting used to her husband biting back, instead of his usual annoyed and quiet nature. 

“It merely functions as a cry of desperation, not to mention it announces a lack of control within the own walls of your home”

The Prince, clearly tired of the back and forward, tiredly stated “Well, let it be small then. Conceal it if you wish, but we must start being careful”.

She felt a pinch of guilt. On some days —such as this one—, she wondered why she always had to put her worst face forward with him. She naturally had her reasons, but most of the time, when he was not ignoring her, she could tell he was making an effort to be cordial. 

“Why are you so suddenly preoccupied with my well-being?” The change of tone in his wife's voice confused him. The serious ring to it was suddenly replaced with a playfully lighthearted one. Noticing his discomfort, The Princess tries a new strategy, while exaggerating her inflections slightly, she dramatically sits on the arm of the chair in which her husband rested and grabbed his cup. “Oh! Husband. You must stop drinking that tea immediately” It was wine “If I knew you loved me that much I would’ve never poisoned it” Evidently charmed by her own ingenuity, The Princess laughs at her own joke as he rolls his eyes with a small smile on his lips. 

He took the opportunity which her proximity granted him to look at her. On a good mood, with that smooth and resolved attitude of hers, and the smile, and the way her hair ran through her slightly exposed shoulders… He stopped his sequence of thoughts before it was too late, and he lost all ability to do so.

His strong features recovered their sobriety soon enough though, as he whispered to her “Heleana and Jaehaera will suffer greatly if something were to happen to you”

The Princess, unable to control her body's reactions, rapidly felt her face feverishly enraged with embarrassment. Not knowing what to answer, she simply instinctively began to fidget with the baroque embroidery of her dress's sleeves. It was certainly true that she has not been any careful about her new-found relationship with the queen. She knows that if he ever uses it against her, there is no one to blame but herself for it. 

She gazed at her husband. He was strikingly handsome, especially under the dim lights which always seemed to highlight his cheekbones, especially when his silver hair reflected the moonlight of the marital chamber, especially when he was being kind. The Princess sighed.  

“If you are so bent upon the matter, I suppose I ought to comply. But it must be discrete”.

A wide grin appeared on his face; Cunning, triunfant. He carefully put his wine cup on an improvised protective cover her wife had made In an effort to stop hearing his winning about dust and marks on the table. She smiled.

Prince Aemond got up, ceremoniously bowed towards her, and buttoned his garment before making his way to the door. Before he left, he slowly turned around to see her one more time, just once. He gazed at her and proudly stated “I promise. As small as the pen you write your stories with, dear wife.”

Dear Gods. He could be such an annoying bastard. 

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Notes: THANK YOU! The comments and re-blogs really do bring me so much joy. Here is a short but sweet chapter in order to celebrate that i got into one of my target unis! I am beyond happy. During these moments of stress being on tumblr has been a safe heaven. Anyways, as always, take care! -Sidey xx

Dedicated to the sweet @immyowndefender and @theresalwaysquotes whose comment really made me smile

[loveundrwrld]

yandere alphabet- yandere femboy

template i used can be found here

(cws: blackmail, violence mention, very unhealthy relationship dynamic, stalking)

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

he can be very smothering with his affection, very touchy and clingy. he likes to hug your arm or hold your hand, rest his head on you, and cover your face with light kisses. but, with his verbal affection- he’s more sugary sweet than he is passionate or intense.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

mischa is not the violent type, nor is he really able to fight anyone... sorry reader, but he's not willing at all to get his hands dirty. both since he wouldn't know how to fight, but also since he thinks of himself as being better than people who use violence on others. he thinks of himself as a normal person, who doesn't need to lower himself to such things... despite everything else that he does. he’d also be deeply unnerved and scared in any situation in which physical violence is involved, for both your sake and his own.

in the right circumstances though, he may blackmail someone, manipulate someone, or lie to ruins someone’s reputation… but that’s mostly if he feels threatened by a romantic rival.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

mischa is a little sadistic in the emotional sense, but he's more likely to tease you or to poke at your issues while pretending to be innocent. he’s more trying to get a reaction out of you than to actually hurt your feelings though.

he has a general sense of when he’s gone way too far in his teasing of you, and he’ll ease up on that sort of thing for a bit if so. and, naturally, turn up the affection towards you to distract and comfort you.

generally speaking, he’s very clingy, needy, and affectionate- he spends a lot of time around you. just about as much as he can get away with, really.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

yes- kissing and cuddling. he'd be pouty if his darling refused his affection, and would try to act upset so that you would feel bad enough to let him kiss you. he can be pushy and insistent on getting you to lower your boundaries… like allowing him to sleep in the same room as you, or letting him sit in you lap.

he’ll also make sure that you say things like “i love you” or call him pet names from time to time. after all, he does that to you, so why not return the favor?

he isn’t pushy about sex though, that for him is something he can easily do without. 

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

since part of his ideal relationship is to essentially act a certain role 24/7… he is not vulnerable to you in any real way, not at all.

even though he loves to put on crocodile tears and feign being hurt or insulted by things, he's actually not going to tell you about his real fears and insecurities. it may seem strange to you that he seems so open with some things, but also seems strangely cagey about others. 

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

if you physically attacked him, he'd be shocked and would probably be very offended. he doesn't see himself as being an actual threat to you, so this would be a betrayal in his eyes.

but if you just stood up for yourself verbally- he’d just pretend that you were being cruel or mean to him, in the hopes that you’ll think that you were overreacting. but, secretly he is pleasantly surprised and amused that you did- he finds it fun to mess around with you, seeing how long it takes for you to decide that enough is enough.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

seeing how you react to him, and how much he can push your boundaries before you react is very much a game to him. he's amused by seeing you squirm and sigh when you're overwhelmed.

seeing you try to spend less time with him or avoid him does upset him a little though. he does genuinely want to spend as much time as possible with you, after all.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

a darling who doesn’t do anything he asks, and is evasive, avoidant, and emotionally distant to him would also cause him to reach a certain reaction from him… where he feels he needs to step up what he’s doing to get any sort of fun out his darling. this is where he gets more emotionally sadistic, and risks angering you to just get a response out of you. maybe he should text your ex strange things, or maybe he’ll secretly let people know about some of the stuff you have that you thought was well hidden in his room… 

and, of course, he’ll be there for you while you’re scared, anxious, and confused… 

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

he definitely wants to be married, to keep his darling by his side forever. he wants his darling to do a lot of the ‘hard parts’ of life for him, and let him live a very spoiled and pampered life. so, probably both cooking and cleaning, as well as things like taxes or yardwork…

although he would love to essentially be a cutesy trophy husband, he does know that to have the lifestyle he wants he’ll likely have to settle for both you and him having jobs. sadly </3

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

he does get jealous, both of platonic relationships (you getting attention in general) as well as any romantic partners... past or present.

if you had a longterm partner while you met him- he’d be very quick to try and ruin your relationship, and possibly try to decimate your partners reputation. he may pretend that your partner hit him to make you want to break up with them, or something similar.

when he gets jealous he doesn’t lash out in the typical way, but he lets out his frustration in strange ways. he’ll be a little passive aggressive when talking about the other person with you, subtly digging on them. “hm… they sure do chew very loudly, don’t they? that’d be very annoying to hear that on dates, wouldn’t it? just thinking.”

he’ll also be teasing you more, making you do all these favors for him to see you fret over him… it helps make him feel less stressed. after spending some time with you he can calm down. though, he’ll still try to manipulate situations so that you won’t spend so much time with that person anymore.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

he acts like a clingy and loving, but ditzy and sensitive boyfriend to you. he wants all of his strange behavior to come off as him being “needy” or something similar. it’s not that he’s breaking your boundaries, it’s that he’s sad and needs comfort.

essentially, he likes being seen as cute and innocent with people, and that extends to you too. 

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

generally using you for amusement and attention at first, just like he does with everyone else. then, he’ll essentially just… casually show up around you or text you more often. it’s less that he’s trying to convince you to date him, since he has a big ego and believes that you are lucky to have him. he just knows that forcing you to date him too soon could end up in you getting freaked out and ghosting him or something.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

yes, mischa is the type of yandere to fake his personality (see:kisses above.) he’s a manipulator and quite a bit selfish, but he acts cutesy and nice with others. 

the way he acts with his darling is just a more intense and focused version of how he used to treat everyone around him. to an extent he still acts that way around everyone too, he just pays significantly less attention to other people.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

he’d never admit to it being why he does it, but loudly crying around other people works well for this purpose. it gets his darling to be more nervous of repeating the same behavior in the future, while also guilt-tripping them…

also, while he wouldn't normally go to such extremes, see: hell above.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

much like with tanner he generally lets you do whatever you want, but is just... also there with you. or he drags you to wherever he wants you to go, but the only thing stopping you from leaving is social etiquette (and if you’d feel bad for him for being “upset” that you did that.)

he's not necessarily strict, but he is very manipulative. he doesn't really need to force you to not be around your close friends... he takes up so much attention and energy from you that you don't have time for most other people. and he can just convince you in other ways to spend less time with them.

if you are more of a naïve and/or a people pleasing type, he's very likely to successfully get his way in what he wants.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

he thinks of you being unwilling or resistant as amusing, basically. he isn’t the type to get all that angry at you, at worst he’ll be passive aggressive. but he does get impatient when he feels that he isn’t getting your full attention, so he’s quick to become more blatant with his efforts to manipulate you. 

and, he becomes less patient when he starts to feel jealous. he thinks of everyone else as ‘unworthy’ of your attention and thinks of himself as ‘worthy’ of it… it makes him irritated as he feels slighted from you not recognizing this like he does.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

he does actually love you, so this would be very hard for him.

if you died, he'd be in shock. he'd be depressed for a long time... he had never even thought that this was a possibility. he'd have a lot of difficulty pretending to be cheery and playful, and may never get over the loss.

if you escaped (as in, moved to a new city or something without warning) he’d scramble to try to follow their lead and try to find you. but, he doesn’t have a ton of resources and connections, so it would be very difficult for him. he would try very hard for a long time, though, as he does genuinely want you by his side again.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

despite doing things that are definitely illegal, mischa doesn’t think of himself as being a “criminal” and thinks of himself as being above such a thing. to him, stalking is only technically illegal, so he thinks of himself as being a normal person.

instead of abducting his darling in the typical sense, he’d rather just cling to them under more ‘normal’ circumstances. the closest extreme that i think he’d go to is showing up in your house and not leaving. he would feel pretty guilty if you're clearly terrified of him after that… after all, even if he messes with you his goal is never to make you think you are in any genuine danger. he'd just be more sweet and giving towards you for a while, hoping that will help you calm down and acclimate to the situation a bit.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

mischa grew up in a good family who loved him, but he did have some issues growing up.

his family immigrated from germany when he was relatively young. his parents became more busy with their jobs and had difficulties acclimating to the culture and language, which both often distracted them from spending time with him. he at the time also felt isolated from those around him, and wanted to cling more to his parents as a result. he's used to acting out for attention and getting rewarded for it, as his tired parents just wanted to give him what he wanted whenever he threw a tantrum.

he's never really faced any consequences for his actions and knows that he likely won't, so to him... if he wants you, why not have you?

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

i think he'd be unnerved at a true breakdown, screaming or anything similar would make him feel a bit guilty and reflect on his actions. did he really do so much to make you snap like that? he'd be more cautious for a while, and may tread lightly around you for a bit. he'll keep a careful eye on you to assess why you’re having such a breakdown.

if it's just crying, he does feel a little guilty, but he’s much less worried. if anything, he sees this as an opportunity for him. he sees that as an opportunity to cuddle them and pretend to be the typical loving caring boyfriend- he's thinking this will likely make you feel more attached to him. 

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

it's not necessarily a moral thing, but as i said in blood above, he's not really going to hurt anyone physically, much less kill them. he also won't abduct the reader in the typical sense.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

mischa is short and physically weak, so it's not hard at all to intimidate him.

also, see: regret above… you aren’t being abducted and tied down, so in theory you do have the freedom to do whatever you want. if you are able to avoid him for a bit, you do have a lot of options available to you.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

nope! he's not the type to hurt his darling... not physically, at least. 

however, he can have some sadistic tendencies when it comes to teasing you or putting them in a situation that scares or bothers you (such as trying to trick a darling who's afraid of spiders into letting one crawl on them, sending the darling notes to make them know that they have a stalker to get them scared and paranoid... etc)

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

he doesn’t show it in the typical way as many yanderes would, but he does put you on a pedestal in his head. after all, he sees everyone around him as being ‘below’ you and being ‘unworthy’ of your time and attention.

he does smother you with high praise and compliments, and its coming from a real place as he really does find his darling attractive, sweet, kind, charming, etc.

but a significant reason for him doing so is for his own sake- he knows that his affections towards you, both verbally and physically, are going to make you more likely to fall for him. he’s definitely putting a concerted effort into winning you over… he’s certain that it will happen eventually, he just wants it to happen sooner rather than later.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

depends on what "snap" means in this context, since his behavior doesn't really suddenly escalate. he starts off strong and then there's a quick escalation, but there's no real point of him 'snapping' into something extreme.

but, if this just means 'general yandere behavior and manipulation'... it's not a very long time at all. once he realizes he's jealous of others getting your attention, he fairly quickly realizes how he's feeling and tries to get you to be around him more often. this probably takes a few weeks or so. then, he slowly escalates over a few months or so as he tries to see just how far he can take things. 

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

although he's not violent or extreme like the typical yandere, you are likely going to be mentally exhausted by his antics and being around him all the time. i think that in general he is the type of yandere that would very much wear you down over time until you get to a breaking point. 

so, you wouldn't break in the typical way this word is used for yandere stories- but you would very likely have an emotional breakdown after a while.

[iho6hi2]

Infrunami.

Type: Oneshot

Pairing: Matsuno Karamatsu/F! Reader

Summary: Getting kisses from a hot lady? Karamatsu would love that. Almost getting ran over by a hot lady? Not exactly on his bucket list, but Karamatsu checks it regardless.

Warnings: Near Death Experiences, Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Light Angst, Drinking, Getting to Know Each Other, Feel-Good, Ridiculous

Word Count: 8,037

A/N: MY HOMESLICE 🧀🧀 Karamatsu deserves someone he can be a flop with T__T BTW Im so insecure about this so pls either give me a 10 page essay on why this sucked or one 'this was cool Lol' otherwise ill kms

Karamatsu ambles near the bridge, his usual hotspot for courting women in this cruel game life likes to call love; or more accurately the place where he stands still like a traffic sign with the hopes of someone giving him the time of day for once (huge spoiler alert: nobody does, as expected).

He chuckles, feigning smug amusement as he runs a hand through his hair in one smooth motion. "The stars must not favor me today, for all of my Karamatsu girls are nowhere to be seen. Heh, if that is the fate of a sinful man, I shall accept it and retreat with peace.''

The looks passersby shoot him border on mentally perturbed and downright horrified, because who the hell monologues atrocities like these out loud? Without being under the influence of something, nonetheless.

With that declaration out of the way, Karamatsu straightens up and decides to head home for the day, deeming it appropriate. What with his love endeavors turning out to be unsuccessful once again, also to no one's big surprise really.

On his way home, whenever the opportunity presents itself, he stops to window-shop every time he passes by a fashion boutique and admires clothes his broke bum probably couldn't afford.

Of course, he attempts not to appear interested, and instead only crosses his arms critically and gives the mannequins clad in clothing the stink eye (even if he's wearing shades of all things) while the workers glance at him warily through the window.

Before another demented sentence is said, suddenly all chaos breaks loose and there are people yelling and instantly he's all too aware of the motorcycle nearing him with each passing second. Karamatsu shrieks so loud he's sure everyone from the next town over had heard him.

"Get out of the way!" The biker shouts and waves a hand to the side for emphasis, and he feels like a fly being swatted away, but even if Karamatsu wanted to move it's almost as if his legs are rooted to the ground.

A wave of panic washes over him and strangely enough there was still enough time for dread to settle in the depths of his stomach. Even if it may be cliché, his life does end up flashing before his eyes － and it's just plain sad how fucking boring it is.

"Get out of the way," you repeat, though you sound more adamant, your tone coated with a sense of urgency.

Ahhh, Mommy! I'll die a virgin, I'll die a loser! Karamatsu cries in his mind. If I survive, I'll get a job, I swear! I'll even stop talking in English, just please! He pleads mentally, to whom is unknown.

Suddenly, you remember that brakes exist and you swerve with such mastery you weren't even aware you possessed up until now, coming to an abrupt stop right in front of your spared victim, tires screeching harshly against the pavement. Karamatsu deadpans, God had a real sense of humor.

He's still frozen in place, barely containing the natural instinct to piss himself. Though he's also pretty sure the urge to urinate will hit him like a shit ton of bricks post-shock.

Fortunately, he's not Ichimatsu and so he doesn't shit himself in front of the cute girl getting off of the motorcycle, even if she barely missed out on becoming his murderer.

You approach him cautiously, expecting the berating of a lifetime. Though judging by his state － him shaking like a leaf despite his thick leather jacket, also not to mention the buckets worth of sweat rolling off him －, you doubt you'll get an earful.

"Are you okay?'' Obviously, he's not. ''You're not hurt or anything, right?''

Karamatsu shakes his head timidly despite not even listening to a word you said. Then, he gulps and raises a trembling hand to his face, lowering his sunglasses just a smidge to take a good peek at you. ''H-Heh, you have, um, nothing to worry about my dear Karamatsu girl..."

You do your best to smile at him in response, but the need to physically recoil is understandably strong. ''Oh, uh, that's good to hear. I'm sorry for, you know, almost killing you and giving you a fright... It happens a lot for some reason.''

You need to get your license revoked, Karamatsu's eye twitches but he smirks regardless, willing to disregard everything that had occurred just because you were one hot lady. Plus, he is a gentleman, if nothing else.

''As if! You have no reason to fret, mon amour. The thrill of living or dying, chasing that high is what makes or breaks a man! Such a thing couldn't possibly scare me."

''Are you sure? 'Cause I'm certain I heard you scream,'' you grin with more teeth than you should. It'd be such a pleasure to knock him down a couple of notches, you think.

''T-T-That was most definitely not a scream, my darling, I assure you! It was but a noise of excitement at the divine gamble, ahahaha, that's all!'' Karamatsu stutters, stumbling over his words.

You blink, positively unimpressed. "You were excited to get ran over?"

After that, an uncomfortable silence stretches between the two of you. You're pulled into reality by the fact that just about anyone could see your number plate, so it was time to leave and flee the supposed crime scene. You're not getting fined for this, hell no. If anything, you're the one who's in desperate need of reparations after this degenerate conversation.

You mount your motorcycle again and look at him with an almost impish smile, ''You have weird tastes, man." And with that last comment, you're gone in the same breath, leaving behind only a cartoonish dust cloud.

Karamatsu's legs give out and he collapses, falling to his knees. Nobody helps him up.

★

Karamatsu doesn't really visit clubs often. Going by himself makes him feel strangely out of place, going with his brothers makes him feel like a circus attraction, though it's not like it has ever bothered him before.

He would usually lie through his teeth and strive to come off as unbothered and remarkably experienced; a well-seasoned veteran among premature ejaculators, but crowded places like these aren't his scene, at all. Never really have been in the first place.

Perhaps that's why he thinks he doesn't belong here as he observes the rest of the partygoers live it up on the dancefloor while babysitting his beer, one sip at a time.

The music isn't even good, Karamatsu frowns and pinches his eyebrows together, deep in thought. Man, did this place fucking suck. How much did they have to cough up in order for others to rate it a 4-star club?

Well, he supposes it doesn't really matter in the end. As long as the booze's good, that's all he needs to forget this horrible day. A 'nice' hangover is all it takes to wipe his memories clean, which isn't much to brag about.

''Oh, it's you!'' Someone exclaims and he whips his head forward before spitting out his alcohol. What are the odds? You point at him, just as shocked as him at this turn of events, ''Mr. Painful!''

Karamatsu chuckles, raising his glass full of beer as a greeting. ''Madame. Charmed to see you here.''

You roll your eyes but that doesn't hinder you from grinning back at him, ''Oh, the pleasure is all mine, trust me.''

''I would hope so. What are the chances of our paths crossing once more? It leads me to believe that this is no chance encounter. Hmph, why it must be fate.'' Karamatsu blabbers on, implementing wild gestures into his dialogue, takes his sunglasses off and his eyes shine with what you presume is a romantic glint.

You cough a little and wipe the bar clean with a towel, ''Yeah, no. I just work here.''

''The universe works in mysterious ways.''

You laugh. ''Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy.'' Then, you pat the back of his hand twice. You watch him jump up in surprise and tilt your head to the side, confused.

Karamatsu clutches his hand to his chest, but realizes how fucking ridiculous he must look and simply clears his throat with that same proud expression.

You squint your eyes. ''You're not sick, are you?''

Karamatsu hurries to shake his head, which did nothing but give him a sense of déjà vu. ''N-Non, non! Don't worry your pretty little head over my health, angel. I'm nothing else if not alright, haha.''

You narrow your eyes at him further.

His hands are bundled over his crotch and he has one leg crossed over the other and if Twitter had taught you anything useful at all, it would mean that these are early signs of cock shame. And all of his prior mannerisms, could it be that he is... ''A virgin?''

You did not mean to say that out loud.

Karamatsu's face turns blank for a brief second before he's flapping his hands left and right in firm denial. His face is flushed, panicked, and you swear he's on the brink of tears.

When you said that you wanted to knock him off his high horse, this wasn't what you had in mind, at least not exactly. As a matter of fact, you feel sort of bad for the poor guy.

''Hahaha... What are you talking about, my Karamatsu girl? You should be able to tell by now that a man like me is sought after, which is one of the many punishments I must endure!'' He announces, posing with his index and thumb on his chin, a shaky smile slapped on his sweaty face.

You blink, then prop your elbows on the front bar, lean in and ask, ''And in reality?''

Karamatsu sits back down in his stool, then promptly downs the rest of his beer. ''A jobless virgin who lives in his parents' house.''

You register the somber look in his eyes. You sigh under your breath and open up the fridge, pulling out the same brand of beer he had been drinking until now and pass the bottle to him casually.

Karamatsu looks up at you in disbelief, glancing between you and the bottle of beer frantically. You flick his forehead, ''Drink up, it's on the house just this once.''

Karamatsu stiffens and then smiles gently, rubbing his wet eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, snivelling. ''Thank you, my Karamatsu girl!''

You cross your arms and huff, ''It's [Name]. And besides, I almost ran you over earlier today, it's the least I can do for you.''

''Thank you, [Name].'' Karamatsu parrots himself and happily takes a swig of his new, freshly refilled drink.

You watch him out of the corner of your eye while serving other customers. When a majority of the people disperse, leaving the two of you mostly alone again, you quickly scribble down your number on a napkin.

''Here,'' you call out to him as you hand him the piece of paper. When he shoots you a curious look, you redirect your attention elsewhere in mock embarrassment. ''You seem like fun, let's drink together for realsies next time. My treat.''

Karamatsu gasps, screaming like a banshee with a voice mutation and you think he emotes a strange, outdated gag while leaping ten feet in the air.

His head hits the ceiling but he comes back down just as quick, blood dripping down his face. Planks come crashing down on top of him, somehow on fire, and you clench your jaw. This will definitely be deducted from your paycheck.

★

Karamatsu wakes up, but he doesn't remember how or when he got home.

He ruffles his hair, only to find his broken shades and several bandages wrapped around his head. He attempts to jog his memory and yet the only thing he's able to recall is slamming face-first into a roof and... And...

He sits up and Olympic dives straight into the couch, barbarically searching for that blessed piece of paper which could very well change the entire trajectory of his life.

When he pulls it out of his leather jacket's pocket, he breathes heavily and fakes a falsetto, opting to roll around on the floor in some sort of wild frenzy.

This is it. I'm finally presented with an opportunity to abandon my virgin ways, Karamatsu thinks with a serious expression, shadows covering his eyes dramatically.

He raises a lone victorious fist in the air, cutting through the Matrix itself. Then, Karamatsu gulps and surveys the area, noticing that the living room is empty, which can only mean one thing. Now is the perfect time to plan a romantic rendezvous with you.

Tip-toeing his way to the hall where the landline is located, Karamatsu muttered curse words whenever the floorboards creaked under his weight.

When he reaches the house phone, he gently unfolds the napkin and smoothes out the wrinkles, then sucks in a deep breath and forces his balls to turn into pure steel.

Dialing your number with practiced caution, he bites his nails and anxiously taps his foot. The longer he waits for you to pick up, the more he loses hope.

Just as he was about to hang up and snap back to his miserable reality, maybe cry for an hour or two, your voice croaks out a, ''Hello, who is this? I can hear you breathing, creep. Helloooo?''

''A-Ah, [Name]! This is, uh, Karamatsu.'' He stutters and twirls his hair around his finger. ''I was pondering over the possibility of us taking a stroll together, bathing in the sun and sharing masterful pastries－"

''A date. You want us to go on a date.''

''Yes,'' Karamatsu admits, or rather embraces the simplified idea of it all. ''It's okay if you don't want to, of course, m'lady! I-I wouldn't force you or anything, it's entirely up to you.''

You pinch your nose on the other line, ''Karamatsu, shut up, 'kay? Yes, I wanna go on a date with you, otherwise I wouldn't have paid for your broke ass last night. Now give me a time and place.''

''You do? You actually want to willingly hang out with me?'' He questions and you can practically smell his meekness and self-doubt oozing out of him even through the phone.

''You're the one who hit up my line first, no takebacks hotshot.'' You say, half-joking.

''Why, yes of course. As expected of my favourite Karamatsu girl!'' My only Karamatsu girl up-to-date. ''Obviously, you desire to spend every waking moment together with me, just as much as I do.''

''Time and place, please and thank you.'' You cut him off mid-effusion.

After arranging the date and going over the details, Karamatsu giddily spins and hugs himself. Then, he slaps his face and nods to no one in particular, as a form of confirmation to his invisible hype men.

Choromatsu stares at him judgementally from the stairway, face twisted in its usual sociopathic manner.

Osomatsu leans over in order to whisper in his ear, "What's up with him? He's acting weirder than usual."

Choromatsu scowls. "I don't wanna know, besides if we show interest that means we're going to have to put up with him."

Osomatsu nods in agreement and rubs under his nose with a finger, "True. It's way too damn early for his theatrics." Then, he throws in his assholish laugh for good measure.

The two of them choose to close their eyes and pretend this never happened in the first place, trudging up the stairs and going right back into their shared room without a care in the world.

★

You check the time and grimace. He's awfully late for someone who asked you out first. You wouldn't say you're the most punctual person in the world, but even still you decided to get all dolled up and ended up arriving early for a change of pace.

At first, you didn't mind waiting for him. Life happens after all, right? Maybe something came up last minute and he couldn't put it off, but if that were the case he would have informed you beforehand, right? Right?

You feel as though you're a step closer to becoming a wacko, but suddenly shake your head to rid your mind of such thoughts and smile to yourself. He'll show up, you're sure of it.

But after thirty more minutes of this nonsense, you're on the verge of throwing a tantrum and disrupting the public tranquility because you got stood up. What a fucking jerk, you think and puff out your cheeks.

Just as you're about to leave, maybe actually run someone over and kill them to make yourself feel better and perhaps blow all of your money on cheap gigolos, you stop and widen your eyes at the sight that greets you.

There's no mistaking those sequinned pants and shiny cowboy boots. Your date, with his wounds all gone and miraculously healed, saunters over to you like he's a runway model, catwalking with a bit of an attitude as if he didn't keep you waiting for half an hour.

He halts when there's barely any distance between the two of you, takes off his shades and flashes you his pearly whites which emit an ominous sparkle and you're temporarily rendered blind. ''Sorry for the wait.''

You grind your teeth together and force yourself to grin, ''Don't worry about it, but what took you so long.''

Karamatsu nervously chuckles and glances to the side, looking anywhere but you.

How the hell is he supposed to tell you that he spent most of the time hiding and sneaking peeks in your direction, but simply didn't have enough courage to approach you and that it took him at least twenty minutes to muster it? Simple, he won't tell you.

Instead, he strikes a pose under the nonexistent limelight. ''A star like me is obligated to be fashionably late.''

''Well, the star better make sure it doesn't happen again or it'll be one sad day for your fanbase,'' you threaten with an innocent smile, batting your eyelashes.

Karamatsu gulps and nods, but an invisible light bulb turns on above his head and he snaps his fingers. ''Oh, yes! How can I forget? I got a present for you, my Karamatsu girl."

You 'ooh' and 'aah' in curiosity, while he retrieves whatever he brought along with him in the meantime.

When he pulls out a tank top with his face on it, the exact same one he's wearing as well, you don't know what to say in response. In fact, your brain might actually be buffering.

Have we lost the impact of shame in our modern-day society? You think in disdain, fighting off the pain in your ribs.

He blushes and hands it to you nonchalantly, ''Here, wear this so suitors know not to mess with you. Once they see you and I together, matching garments and walking hand in hand, they shall understand who the one true power couple is.''

You blink twice and slowly accept the gift, then without any hesitation whatsoever you put on the tank top and wear it over your clothes. You're in too deep already, anyway.

''Thanks a lot, Karamatsu. I, uh, don't know what to say,'' you fake flattery at his sincere act of courtesy, though you're not necessarily lying either. You genuinely have no idea what to say to this entire ordeal.

''No need to thank me, sunshine.'' He pirouettes in slow motion and when he stops, he stretches his hand out for you to take. There is an aura surrounding you and you can make out dreamy bubbles floating around him. And where did the harp come from? ''Now allow me to whisk you off to paradise.''

You grab his hand and excitedly lead him to your parked motorcycle. ''Great, let's go!'' You pat the pillion and stare at him expectantly.

Upon noticing his silence, you stop ushering him to the seat. ''What's wrong, Karamatsu?''

He scratches his nape and lets his head droop low. ''Is it... Um, do we have to get on top of that...'' He points a weak finger at the bike and trembles. What can he say, he has a fear of motorbikes now.

You pout at his inquiry. ''What, you don't wanna? But I thought you were into stuff like this. Why else would you wear a leather jacket?''

Karamatsu winces and immediately rushes to pacify you. ''No, no! That's not it! I was testing your limits, my dear Karamatsu girl. I apologize if－''

You laugh and place a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly. ''I was just kidding, but if you're really scared we don't have to. It's my fault, after all.''

Karamatsu juts his lip and furrows his eyebrows in determination. He draws a breath and wraps his fingers around your wrist with ease, advancing towards the vehicle with you right behind him.

You gaze at him with something akin to awe, or is it incredulity? He plants himself on the seat and looks back to address you.

''A real man knows better than to turn down a lady and disappoint her,'' he states conclusively. You chuckle and follow suit, sitting down on the saddle.

You grip his arms and move them so they're wrapped around your waist. You twist and turn the key and the engine roars to life in one swoop. ''Hold on tight, [Name] boy.'' You tease his way of talking and take off without a second warning.

His head smacks against your back with a rather rough thud and Karamatsu's clasp around your midsection is already tight enough to cut off your air supply. And even if you feel his tears dampening your clothes, you don't comment on it. Instead, you pick up even more speed and in turn, Karamatsu's hug deepens.

''Shouldn't we be wearing safety helmets,'' Karamatsu yells through the lump in his throat, his ears ringing and head spinning.

You shout back at him, ''Who even wears these things nowadays?'' At the lack of your elaboration, he figures you're dead serious and he's petrified all over again.

You laugh maniacally, or at least you do so in his mind, as you go off course, making sharp turns left and right at every corner to wreak havoc on innocent people's lives.

You narrowly dodge two pedestrians and Karamatsu is finally desensitized enough to smile and blush as he takes in the ever-changing view.

There's something sweet in the way you repeat a certain motion whenever you hear him chuckle and cheer, he can't pinpoint if that's the starving desperation that thirsts for touch and companionship or something else entirely.

But then something punctures your tire and he's pulled out of dreamland all at once.

The two of you wobble on the unstable bike for a bit before you pull him by the jacket and jump off the motorcycle, rolling on the ground like you two were in an action movie. The motorcycle continues on its way without your guidance and eventually crashes into a tree, exploding.

A tire with a flame on it flies over your heads and you study the fire, unimpressed with pursed lips. ''Thank god it was a gift from my ex, otherwise I would've been in some deep shit.''

Karamatsu sinks to the ground and curls up in a ball.

★

You plop your ass on the grass next to Karamatsu, handing him a soda you bought from the convenience store nearby. Karamatsu mutters a small 'thank you' and takes a sip.

The two of you sit in complete silence on the riverbank and you're too abashed to begin talking first, finding the whole outcome to be your fault. You've given this man too many apologies for them to feel truthful at this point. Maybe he should do the most logical thing and start evading you. You deserve it.

Amidst your inner conflict, Karamatsu fixes you with a solemn look and chooses to break the ice. ''[Name], am I ugly?''

Taken aback by the unusual question, you cock your head to the side. ''Huh?''

''Tell me, am I ugly?''

You consider him for a moment longer and then gently cup his face with your hands, inspecting it from every possible angle you could manage.

You narrow your eyes in concentration before ruffling his hair. ''Not at all.''

''Really?''

''Not in the slightest. Well, at least I see the appeal." You shrug noncommittally. ''Why're you asking, though? That pretty much came out of nowhere.''

''Because if I'm not ugly, then why would you want to kill me? Every woman I meet either ignores me, beats me half to death or hates me. Why? Am I really that painful? Is that going to be my fate for the entirety of my life?''

You blink and hum in thought, placing a finger on your chin. ''Very, you're real painful but not enough for me to want to kill you, I guess. I think you just have extremely bad luck.''

Karamatsu frowns and crosses his arms, ''You think so? Is it really just bad luck or is there something bigger at play?''

The two of you ponder over what the real cause of Karamatsu's misfortune may be before your stomachs growl in protest simultaneously.

This seems to revive his alter ego because Karamatsu jolts and he appears pleased, almost as if he had been waiting for this exact same moment. He chuckles and spreads eagle, facing the sun. You're concerned he's going to get a heat stroke.

''It's finally my turn,'' Karamatsu announces, though you're not sure he knows what he's talking about. ''I shall take the princess to an exquisite place, where she can try real fine dining!''

He strokes his imaginary facial hair, winking. Even his eyebrows seem more refined. ''Follow my lead, dove.'' You were going to do just that even without him saying anything, but you salute him regardless.

Even though mere minutes ago it was still sunny, for some reason it's already dark out. You and Karamatsu trek for what must have felt like hours until he stops dead in his tracks. You wonder why until you spot the lonely food stall and smile.

You and Karamatsu make yourselves comfortable on the bench and he greets the owner, ''Yo, Chibita! How's your night been so far?''

It just turned nighttime... You deadpan.

''Y'know, dealing with jackasses of your kind－,'' Chibita scoffs before pausing, turning to you with unblinking eyes. Then, after he's done assessing you, he redirects his attention to Karamatsu. ''You payin' for rental girlfriends again? Get some dignity, man.''

You raise an eyebrow in question, but sneer and hide it with your fist. ''Rental girlfriend? That's a good idea, why didn't I think of that?''

Karamatsu's expression sours. ''[Name] isn't a rental. Besides who are you to talk, Chibimi?''

''Shut up, don't remind me! I was in a dark place, idjit,'' Chibita yells in response and smacks him on the head with a ladle and you watch their antics with a hint of amusement.

''Anyway,'' Karamatsu waves him off, despite the large bump he earned on his forehead. ''Give us the best oden and beer you've got in store, I'll make sure my woman eats right tonight.''

You shudder in surprise as Karamatsu takes your hand into his own, gazing at you with what must be an entire galaxy in his eyes and you wonder where he found those E.T. contact lenses. ''Don't hold back, order whatever your heart desires. It's all on me.''

Chibita complies with the request, serving two portions of oden and the beverages Karamatsu asked for. Though, he can't help but want to sate his curiosity. ''With what money?''

''With the money I exploited from my Mommy,'' Karamatsu boasts like that's something to take immense pride in.

After three to four rounds of drinking and pigging out on Chibita's oden, it was time to wrap up and call it a night.

Karamatsu snakes his hands in his pockets in search of the money he claimed to have, but he freezes as he finds nothing instead. Turning his pockets inside out, a fly flutters out of them and Karamatsu pales.

You seem to get the memo and nod conspiratorially his way.

You square your shoulders as Karamatsu nervously clears his throat. ''Chibita...,'' he begins before throwing you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. ''I'm so sorry, I'll pay you back someday!''

Chibita stands still for a couple of seconds, processing. Afterwards, he lunges over the counter and begins chasing you. ''Damn it, idjit! You promised you'd pay, get back here! Damn it!''

With Chibita hot on your heels, Karamatsu goes through several alleyways as last resort shortcuts, and you come to the conclusion that Chibita is probably really scary if Karamatsu's going through so much trouble just to lose him and shake him off your trail.

"You can put me down now," you grumble and make a face. Karamatsu panics, just now realizing what predicament he had put you in, and sets you down with extra care.

"I apologize for that," he huffs out, attempting to catch his breath with his hands on his knees. You rub his back, acting as his emotional support.

Looking around the vicinity in search for any signs of Chibita, you come up empty. Helping Karamatsu to his feet, you deliver the good news. "He's gone, so you can stop looking constipated."

He sighs, relieved. "Such is the result of an eventful night. However, I will make sure your journey back home is undisturbed."

You shake your head in disagreement and throw an arm around his shoulder. "I think you've had enough, tough guy. Here, how about I take you home?"

Karamatsu seems distraught at the very idea of it, but for your sake he flips his hair and leers. "Your wish is my command."

With his directions, you manage to escort him back to his house safe and sound. Karamatsu opens his mouth to blurt out something, but is caught off guard by the abrupt change in the weather.

You both run with impressive speed under his house's roof to take cover and you deduct that the rain wouldn't be letting up for a while.

"Well, this sucks," you point out the obvious. Karamatsu nods wordlessly.

You think about calling a taxi, but something gets draped over you. You look down and are pleasantly astonished to discover that it's Karamatsu's leather jacket.

Said man is quivering in his flimsy excuse of a tank top, licentiously grinning at you with a very obvious snot bubble emerging out of his nostrils. "C-C-Can't le-let my favorite Karamatsu girl catch a cold." He elaborates for whatever reason.

"Well, I can't keep my favorite [Name] boy out for much longer, either." You give him a brief hug and were about to pull away, but Karamatsu is apparently not done dishing out surprises.

He grips your shoulders with resolve, before leaning in and kissing you on the cheek. It's a quick, demure kiss and if you were to blink, you would've missed it.

Nonplussed by his own boldness, Karamatsu stumbles towards the door with two left feet, barely succeeding in opening it.

"Get back home safely, [Name]!" He bids you farewell in true virgin fashion and slams the door shut in your face. You cackle, violently laughing to yourself and then crack a small smile, pressing a palm to your kissed cheek.

You must look like a fool, standing out in the rain while wearing a loser's clothes, but honestly? You've never felt better after such a tragic date.

★

You sigh and sling a towel over your shoulder, more than a little happy to finally clock out. Tonight had been particularly busy for some reason and working with a slight hangover was far from ideal, but it wasn't something you couldn't handle.

You dab your fellow bartender up, not even bothering to spare him a glance, and begin packing up your things with fervor.

He issues you a sly wink, ''Going home so soon, [Last Name]?''

Get a clue, wise guy. You internally roll your eyes, but only offer an exhausted smile. ''Not necessarily, got to make a pit stop on the way home.''

Akihito, you remember, folds his hands behind his head, rocking on his heels. ''Paying your boyfriend a visit?'' He hums cheekily.

You blink. ''Huh?''

He gestures towards the paper bag in your hands, which barely concealed the shitty leather jacket you were so generously lent.

You furrow your brows and scratch your cheek with an awkward expression. ''Wouldn't really call him a boyfriend...''

Akihito stretches, whining, ''You can be so cold, y'know. I feel sorry for the poor guy.''

''Another word and I'll really make you sorry.''

Akihito throws up a peace sign, grinning from ear to ear. ''Night, [Last Name]!''

You grumble under your breath and throw the towel on the ground. Akihito hears you say something along the lines of 'thought so' and other such death threats, but he feeds off your negativism. He odiosynthesizes and you know that, which makes you feel better about brushing him off, at least.

The walk to Karamatsu's place is as unmemorable as can be, and while it wouldn't kill you to see him again and chat for a bit, you don't think you'd be able to put up with him for long (or anyone else for that matter). When you spot his house, you brace yourself before sharply knocking on the door.

Well, you were supposed to knock but somehow developing last-minute Spidey senses, Karamatsu tears open the door to his balcony and puts a stop to your supposedly evil schemes. ''Don't'!'' He manages to both whisper and scream at the same time.

''What are you doing here at this hour, angel? Trying to get me crucified, perhaps?'' Karamatsu interrogates you and considering how disheveled his appearance is, you reach the conclusion that his fictional persona is merely an afterthought at the moment. You find a peace of mind at the conjecture.

''I'm just here to return your jacket,'' you say like it was obvious, which it should have been.

''I see.'' He doesn't see jackshit. ''But I cannot help but wonder why you didn't call beforehand. I, too, need my fair share of beauty sleep, sweetheart.''

Your eye twitches and you ball your fists, but remember to count to ten in your head.

''For your information, I called three times but maybe if someone bothered to pick up, I wouldn't be robbing you of your sweet dreams,'' you hiss in reply, proud of yourself for not chucking his damned jacket in the trash can in his presence.

Karamatsu rubs the crust from his eyes, though he does appear sheepish to a degree. ''My sincere apologies.''

You scoff, glad to have come out on top at this pointless back-and-forth.

Karamatsu anxiously chews on his lower lip, trying his best to conjure up a plan that will avoid his certain death at the hands of his brothers. Not even for waking them up at three in the morning, but for the mere fact that he was 'romancing' a hot chick.

Then he grins and looks down at you like a mad genius. He couldn't be further from the word.

''Climb up and join me on the roof, [Name],'' he suggests and acts as if it was a perfectly reasonable demand.

You undeliberately blank out for a second before chuckling lowly and nodding in understanding. ''I get it now. You're actually fucking nuts and escaped from a correctional facility.''

Look who's talking, Karamatsu wants to retort but he keeps it to himself. He beckons you over encouragingly, ''Please, [Name] dearest. I promise I won't let anything happen to you. I'll be your guardian angel.''

You're acutely aware that something will definitely happen, so you only click your tongue, still apprehensive about the proposition.

Karamatsu continues to stare at you with that tender smile, though it's different this time. His hair is sticking out in different directions, ungroomed. His eyes are heavy, bloodshot and sleep still clings to him as he staggers slightly in his step. But he's smiling at you, it's real.

You put aside your concerns for now and exhale slowly, biting the handles of your paper bag.

You jump and grab a hold of the portico, flailing your legs to help stabilize yourself. Your fingers burn because this is the most physically exerting thing you've done in your life thus far.

You push yourself up on the portico and, just like a mollusk, inch forward bit by bit. Karamatsu tries his hardest not to laugh at your misery, but he's unable to take you seriously. You're moving slower than an old man with two broken legs, plus you look like you have a stick shoved up your ass.

Once you're a safe distance away from the edge, you extend your arms and Karamatsu takes this as his cue to act and be useful.

He grabs your hands and hauls you up on the balcony, but this quest is not over just yet. You have to conquer the final boss; the rooftop.

''I have an idea,'' you both blurt out at random. You don't care much about that, but Karamatsu is over the moon at the perfect synchronization.

Coincidence or not, the two of you end up cooking up the same strategy.

You get on top of Karamatsu's shoulders and with the sudden added height, reaching the roof is a piece of cake. After settling your ass down on the tiles, you grit your teeth and clasp hands with him for the umpteenth time, having him work his way up as well.

With a heave-ho, Karamatsu is free to lie down beside you.

You're hit with a much needed reality check. All of this over a second-hand jacket? Unbelievable.

Tossing the paper bag on his lap carelessly, you scowl. ''You're welcome, asshole.''

''C-Come on, my dear Karamatsu girl. It wasn't that bad, right?''

''Speak for yourself...''

Karamatsu props up his elbows, craning his head up just enough to be able to see you. ''It's such a shame, however. The view from here is perfect, all that's missing is my guitar. Too bad my precious brothers are sleeping soundly.''

''Yeah, about that. I don't know what any of your brothers have to do with this, 'cause whatever the fuck this was could've been easily prevented.'' You cross your arms and turn away from him, establishing a decent amount of room between the two of you.

''You wouldn't understand, darling. Yes, even if I did give you an explanation.'' He responds, and you feel as though he was reading your mind. You shiver at the sheer thought.

The two of you don't indulge in idle chatter afterwards since you're too busy looking back on all of your previous life decisions, trying to figure out what led you to go down such paths. Karamatsu, on the other hand, is gliding himself closer to you.

You notice his ventures and decide to cut him some slack. You shift, erasing the previous space you set and move a hand to place on his shoulder. He hiccups at the touch and begins stammering, playing with his fingers. ''Hahaha... your eyes shine so brightly under the moon's glow.''

You shush him, still not in the mood to listen to his poetic nonsense and bullshit of similar nature.

The two of you stare each other down and Karamatsu does his best to put up a brave front, but you're not blind and you see the way he peers at you from under his lashes, sweating like a musclehead.

Before things could escalate any further, which you doubt is something that would have happened considering who exactly you're dealing with, the both of you slip off the edge.

You're falling and Karamatsu is too, and while you're mostly accepting of the scenario, he isn't. You're more surprised at the fact that this man-child's shrill wails aren't waking up the entire neighbourhood, though they're probably accustomed to these kinds of phenomena by now.

In order to break your fall, Karamatsu adjusts mid-air so as to be under you. He shoves your face into his chest, embracing you but his actions prove to be the wrong move as they merely speed up the process of nosediving into the concrete.

The two of you flop like prepped meatballs on a grill, a sinistrous thump resonating at the dead of night.

You briefly register the sizzling elbow pain you've obtained and Karamatsu's jaw headbutting you at the last second, but other than that you took it pretty well － all thanks to Karamatsu's interference. Perhaps chivalry isn't dead?

While you got out of this with barely any injuries, just small scratches, the same couldn't be said for Karamatsu, who was currently experiencing concussions.

You pat his chest lightly to snatch up his attention. Karamatsu groans, seeing stars floating above him. You make yourself comfortable despite the joint strains, snuggling up to him. ''I'm egging your house soon, be aware.''

He passes out before he could formulate a coherent reply.

★

You haven't seen neither hide nor hair of Karamatsu ever since the rooftop fiasco. And you don't want to sound needy, or downright crazy for that matter, but you miss the man with horrible pick-up lines and over-the-top attitude. Him and his awful sense of fashion, not to mention the strong cologne.

Perhaps you've been infected with some new kind of mental illness, one so new and fresh out of the oven it has yet to be diagnosed by teenage girls with too much free time on their hands.

First, you visit Chibita for any sort of intel he might possess.

''Karamatsu? Sorry, him and his brothers hadn't stopped by as of recent.'' He shrugs apologetically and whips out oden skewers, serving them to you.

You nod and grin at him in understanding, paying for the food before scurrying away on a full stomach.

Next, you consider what other options you have at your disposal. Calling him has proven to be absolutely useless and you're not sure if paying his house a visit would be a good idea, given how worked up he got over such a possibility last time.

You search far and wide, in every nook and cranny, not leaving a single stone unturned. But alas, no dice. Not a trace of him anywhere and you speculate the probability of him glitching into The Backrooms.

You're about to give up, hunting Karamatsu for sport and worrying about him won't do you any good.

You're not getting paid for this, you also don't know him all too well to be actively seeking him out. His dramatic temperament has rubbed off on you, but you're ready to wash it off.

See if I care, you huff and kick a stray can in your way. You're aware of how childishly you're behaving, but you bluff fake indifference as if anyone would be stupid enough to believe you.

You stomp angrily and punt another can with your foot, but accidentally hit someone when doing so.

You flinch and prepare to half-ass an apology before realizing you hit the man you've been getting grey hairs over.

''Karamatsu?'' You blink and crouch down to shake him by the shoulders. ''Hey, what's wrong?''

Karamatsu weakly smiles and shuffles away, offering you a seat next to him on the curb.

You frown, ''Seriously, what happened?''

Karamatsu laughs, manspreading. ''I'm grateful for your concern, but it's... Well, it's simply a foolish thing to be upset about.''

''If it upset you, then it's not dumb.'' You respond, reassuring him to the best of your ability. ''Now, spill the beans.''

''I've been thinking about my personality, I guess?'' He mutters and cracks his knuckles, he tends to fidget quite a lot. ''Like, am I annoying? Trying too hard? Should I stop?''

You listen to him and stay quiet, occassionally rubbing his back. ''I want to be liked.'' You quirk an eyebrow at that, but don't interrupt him otherwise.

''It's lame at my big age to want to be popular, but I wanna be kissed. I wanna have a girlfriend and go on dates, but I'm afraid my personality will drive everyone away."

For fuck's sake, he was called Shittymatsu and frankly, he's surprised you were able to withstand him for so long.

''Karamatsu, want me to be completely honest,'' you ask. He nods rapidly at you. You hum softly, ''I didn't lie before, you are painful. You say so much corny stuff, I'm impressed you can even look yourself in the mirror.''

He cringes, but you pay him no heed. Instead, you continue, ''I mean, really? Who wears tank tops with their face slapped right in the middle, what a fucking dork. But, y'know, I kinda like it now.''

''Huh?''

''I think that type of shit grew on me, for better or worse. I, too, have become a member of the cornball community." You admit and you shudder at your mushy honesty.

You rub the back of your head in embarrassment, "When you say all of these dumb nicknames and act like you own all of Akatsuka Ward a small part of me wishes I die on the spot, but I don't necessarily hate it.''

You hug him and bring him closer to you. You snicker and peck him on the forehead, ''Don't worry so much about who ignores you or hates you is all, when you have someone who likes you despite every cringe one-liner right in front of ya.''

''You're right.'' Karamatsu returns the hug, sniffing and holding back tears. ''[Name]?''

''Yeah?''

''You're a true Karamatsu girl.''

Getting kisses from a hot lady? Karamatsu would love that. And the prospect of you being the one to give them to him, with that warm smile which makes your nose crinkle up, makes the scenario sound even better.

But for now, he's content with you simply pressed up against his side, where he can easily peer over at you and study your face until it's burned and etched forever into his brain. Subtly, of course.

You look up at him with a raised eyebrow after feeling him drill holes in your head since forever, which in turn leads Karamatsu to let out an urbane chuckle and lamely pretend to fix his stray strands of hair, and you can't help but snort at his usual theatrical character.

You sigh and rest your forehead against his. "Painful," you mumble under your breath, though definitely loud enough for him to hear, then giggle.

Karamatsu playfully frowns in response. "My flower, you should know by now that no pain means no gain." He tuts with an exaggerated wag of his finger, eyes animatedly glittering.

You laugh in utter disbelief before shaking your head, wrapping a loose arm around his waist. "Sorry, sorry. You know damn well I don't mean it, right?"

Karamatsu hums and his lips curl upwards to form a small, fond smile. He places his chin on your shoulder and you lean into him even more.

Yeah, Karamatsu could get used to this. For now, that was more than enough for him.

Getting kisses from a hot lady really would be nice, but watching the sun set on the cold pavement with you next to him feels good, too. And hey, you are a hot lady, so what's there to hate?

And to think all of this was thanks to your irresponsible driving.

Osomatsu whistles, nudging Choromatsu as they stared at the two of you from afar. Despite their earlier sentiments, curiosity got the better of them and they decided to investigate their brother's own private time. It's not like he could file a restraining order against them, he would be tortured.

"Kudos to Karamatsu, I actually salute him for managing to bag a real human being. Didn't think he had it in him." Osomatsu snickers, hands deep in his hoodie's pockets.

Choromatsu appears depleted beyond belief, eyeing you both with evident disapproval on his facial features, "What sort of lobotomized romance was this? Felt more like a simulation."

Osomatsu and Choromatsu sigh, both fully synchronized, and groan out, "It should have been me."

[echosoftheflower]

I feel like there is so much missed potential in this fandom when it comes to Jimmy's part in EVO.

Like yeah, Grian constantly pissed off the watchers by being too greedy and taking more than he should, and we all know it was Grian who was taken by the watchers after the ender dragon fight and made into one of them.

And we know that in the Life series, Martyn's character is spoken to and told to do various things for the Watchers and saved by the Listeners.

And Jimmy has some kind of Canary Curse that causes him to die first every time.

But, there is a lot more to this that people don't use simply because they haven't seen Jimmy's Evo series.

Most of my headcanon ideas are after my little recap of all the listener moments from Evo and you can skip to that, but if you have never seen Evo or never watched past Grian's POV it is pretty interesting and I think I summed it up pretty well.

----start of very long Evo Recap----

Back in Evo, the Watchers never really liked Jimmy or at points Martyn. This is seen when they get gifts from them representing the Watchers' opinions. Jimmy gets one of the worst ones (a chest with some gold and saplings, likely meaning 'room for growth') matched only by Grian's (a chest of coal with one diamond meaning 'diamond in the rough').

Martyn is shown to be disliked when later on he declares himself mayor due to Taurtis having left, his and Jimmy's Property Police station gets a meteor sent through it by the watchers. 

In Jimmy's episode 75 he and Martyn follow a strange noise underneath their destroyed station. They find the listener symbol in bedrock and signs reading 'There are some who watch, we are those who listen. Heed our melody, and await your first mission. Tell nobody." This is the first time we hear about the Listeners and we don't see anything about them again until Jimmy's episode 98. 

They had just defeated the ender dragon and had been told the news that "10 will become 9" and that they were taking Grian. In the end credits when they were told this, multiple members were mentioned by name for various things they had done, all except Jimmy.

In Jimmy's episode he spawns in alone. The spawn is destroyed and grown over and in front of him is the Listeners symbol. He finds a book in a chest simply titled "your mission" and 9 enderchests.

The book reads: "there are some who watch, we are those who listen. It is finally time for your first mission. Dragged forwards through time, your spawn old and rotten. Even in the end credits, your name was forgotten. Cruel are the Watchers who think they know best. For us please deliver each player a chest. SHhhh...."

He goes on to do as they ask,  one ender chest in each player's base. He is never told what these chests are for. Later the rest of Evo spawns in thousands of blocks away at the new spawn, they make their way back and find the Listener's symbol Jimmy had found is now a Watchers symbol.

The books titled "the future" read: "Our meeting was short and your victory grand, now 10 become 9 and you must leave this land. Our reasons are just, though you won't understand. Your actions have caused this, accidental or planned. Tread now to your homes, carry only what you can. Anymore will be drowned on and the sentence, a ban. We The Watchers Have Spoken."

They find the chests Jimmy had left them and inside is a note from the Listeners labeled "Greetings": "There are some who watch, we are those who listen, and we do not agree with their most recent decisions. 'Carry only what you can', what you deem best, We grant you more space by making use of this chest. SHHhhh....."

Later Jimmy finds signs from Martyn telling him what's going on and where to go. Jimmy shows caution and distrust towards the Watchers but follows all the same. 

They set up everything at the new spawn, but in Jimmy's episode 112, he noticed an odd musical ticking sound beneath spawn. He goes around to everyone's base to leave them a sign asking what it is to make sure they know about it. They all gather at spawn and find that it was the Listeners who did it.

Under spawn they find a book titled "Freedom" by the Listeners. It reads: "There are some who watch, we are those who listen, if you flee you'll be free and complete your recission. Single versions are slow, new adventures in store, come with us and we'll give you lots more to explore. Make haste through this maze as a portal awaits, make the choice quick and take control of your fates. SHHhhh...."

They make their way through the maze and eventually find the last portal. They all get ready to make the jump for the last time, and go through the portal. For most this is the end of Evo (Jimmy, Pearl, and Netty do Christmas specials but those are only 2 episodes) meaning that this portal was really some kind of escape.

----end of very long Evo Recap----

This means that not only had the Watchers always had a dislike for Jimmy, but the Listener always had an interest in him and Martyn.

There is also the fact that Jimmy was the one the Listeners chose to deliver the enderchests. Bringing him to the original spawn under the Watcher's nose for this task, giving out something that will later help get around the Watcher's decision. And the fact that he was the one to first notice the strange sound at spawn and then go and warn the others? or at least inform them of this allowing them all to eventually find their escape? 

It seems to me like Jimmy had long ago gotten a target painted on his back by the Watchers. With everything from

 1) going against them 

2) working for the listeners 

3) influencing others to go with him

4) they just generally didn't even like him beforehand.

By the time everyone escaped Evo it's a fair assumption that Jimmy is probably at the top of their list of problems.

So, when they make a new experiment with the death games and they have him there? Well, they can't have him staying around long enough to start figuring things out and influencing people, now can they. 

And speaking of warning others, he seemed to be so intent on warning the other Evolutionists against the Watchers. What would be a better punishment for going against them, for being one of the main catalyst in it all, then to be cursed to always be the warning. Cursed to always be the first to die, always gone before something big goes down, the Canary in the coalmine.  But no matter what his death warns of, there is no escape this time. The coalmine's entrance is sealed and no matter how long you last, soon everything inside will suffocate.

And maybe this feeds into Secret life where he mentions how the Secret keepers symbol looks familiar, or how he decides to team up with Martyn just like in Evo. 

Maybe him surviving a little longer in the games and coming back after death as a guardian angel is a testament to how the listeners are stronger in this season. An apology/gift to their first chosen for everything their actions had put him through. 

But that's probably just me making far fetched connections and reading too far into things. Could be cool though.