#because they got information from The Guy Who Loves Lying. i believe they were told about him after the first episode and stopped that.

[lesbiangiratina]

Banging my head against the wall. Popular testament fan on twt is telling people incorrect testament lore stuff from a youtube video i cant stand. Bang bang bang

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 BLIND TO THE PURPOSE OF THE BRUTE DIVINE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally in a position to make your first, and hopefully final, move, but the guild isn't your only enemy that's actively working against you. you were foolish to think things would be so easy.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy friday lil guys, i struggled with this chapter unfortunately and i'm not sure if i'm happy with the results </3 hopefully you guys will enjoy it more than i did hahah. comments & reblogs appreciated

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. suggestive language. reader is a bit of a cunt to fitzgerald & takes advantage of his love for zelda. she also takes advantage of zelda's fragile state to manipulate her. repin's ability (memory manipulation) is now going to be heavily in play for the rest of the series so keep that in mind. mentions of gore (blame klaus).

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

The human mind is terribly fragile, but some are more so than others.

You don’t even need to use your ability on Zelda Fitzgerald to make her crack.

One conversation to plant the seeds of trust.

Three conversations to make her believe you’re a friend of her husband.

Five conversations to convince her that Fyodor Dostoevsky was the one who had her kidnapped from her home in Manhattan, and that you, as a favor to Fitzgerald, were the one who had her rescued. 

In the seventh conversation, you hinted at knowing something about her daughter before you left for a meeting with the other executives. You let her stew on it for a few hours before returning. By the time you came back, she’d worked herself up into a mess. 

In that eighth conversation, you acted apologetic, pretended that you’d misspoke, you backpedaled and bit your tongue. You made it seem like you were reluctant to speak, like you didn’t want to betray Fitzgerald’s trust. She begged you for hours to just tell her what you meant; you refused and left.

You came back three hours after that, and you put up a nice facade of guilt when you did. You told Zelda that you didn’t like lying to her, that her husband is a dear business partner of yours and you’ve come to think of his family like your own just from how much you hear about them through him. You told her that this wasn’t your secret to share, but she begged and pleaded, and you still made sure you came across as reluctant, but this time you gave in and told her.

In that ninth conversation, you told Zelda Fitzgerald that her daughter was still alive and her husband was keeping her away, because the last time Zelda spoke to her daughter, they’d gotten into an argument that drove Frances away. Her husband thought it would be easier for Zelda to think she was dead, because for all intents and purposes, Zelda was dead to Frances. You told her that you got your information through Nabokov, because Frances was living in Russia now under a new name with Dostoevsky’s help.

She believed you.

It took four days.

You don’t really have anything against Dostoevsky. You’ve met him a handful of times during events and he was pleasant enough, but his rats have been seen a bit too frequently in Port Mafia territory and since he and Tolstoy are both Russian, it’s easier for you to help Zelda confuse them. You figure this will be enough of a warning for him to leave Yokohama. If not, it’s just another issue for you to tackle later.

Nabokov, on the other hand—he pissed you off you. You’ve never thought highly of the man, even when you visited him in Saint Petersburg, you thought he was quite despicable, and the more you heard from Klaus about the things that happened in the fighting rings, the more your distaste grew.

Now, he backed out of a critical transaction with the Port Mafia which fucked over one of Piano Man’s deals with the Family in Rome and one of Ace’s casinos, so he’s turned just about the whole round table of executives against him and you think this is a quick way of getting even with him. He would be quite unhappy once Francis Fitzgerald turned all of the resources of the Guild onto him in retaliation for spreading lies about his daughter. The man's one weakness has always been his family, he wouldn't think twice once given a name and reason.

All of this is the reason why you prefer to work from behind the scenes. There are many pros, of course, to being in an organization like the Guild where each executive member is an influential, internationally known public figure, but there’s one big con that you just can’t get over: the lack of privacy. 

The Fitzgerald family has been headline bait for all of the world’s most popular tabloids for years, and when his daughter passed away five years ago, you made sure to follow each and every story. You figured one day that the Port Mafia would end up in conflict with the Guild—Fitzgerald’s reach has always been endless, Yokohama was one of the few places out of it, and you knew one day he would move to gain a foothold here and you didn’t want to be scrambling for information about the man once it happened.

Chuuya always rolled his eyes at you when he found you surfing the tabloids, but look how handy it is now. There’d been several popular theories circulating when Frances Fitzgerald was killed in a car accident. Some people thought it was an assassination—the tabloids speculated that Fitzgerald was the intended target but his daughter got caught in the crossfires; the people that knew of the Guild’s ties with the underworld tended to think that his daughter was the intended target as a means to try to break Fitzgerald.

You didn’t buy either of those theories.

You’ve witnessed many assassinations—assassinations gone wrong, assassinations gone right; assassination attempts on you and assassination attempts on enemies. You are very well versed in the art of assassination. You’ve plotted many of them yourself with Albatross and Iceman, and the ones you didn’t, you still oversaw.

You don’t think Frances Fitzgerald was assassinated, by accident or otherwise. 

No one bought into your theory when you tried to place bets on it with the Flags—not until one of the American tabloids released an insider scoop from a relative of Zelda Fitzgerald who claimed that the mother and daughter had gotten into a blow out fight the night she died in the car accident. 

You think that was the last bit of information you needed to confirm your theory: Frances Fitzgerald was not assassinated, she was a stupid and reckless teenager who was upset after a fight with her mother and drove too fast down a road that was too windy and ended up driving herself right off a cliff. It was a gamble to bring it up now to Zelda, because you couldn’t be entirely certain, of course, but it paid off. 

You’d been right—some type of argument had broken out between them the night of her daughter’s death, and Zelda has blamed herself for her death ever since. The woman, who’d been the face of American socialites for almost a decade, had all but retreated from the public’s eye after it happened. People whispered that her daughter’s death broke her mind, and you think that they were right—this woman is hardly a shell. You almost feel bad for what you’re doing to her.

Almost.

Unfortunately for Zelda, she’s a fair trade in Fitzgerald’s eyes, and until Dazai is back to you, she will be treated in the same way you assume Fitzgerald is treating his guest. He’s lucky that you have a high enough opinion of him to believe that he wouldn’t stoop to physical torture; he’s likely just trying to turn Dazai against you in the same way you have with Zelda, but Dazai will see through his manipulations.

He will.

He will.

He has to.

Your eyes slide shut as you fist one of Dazai’s sweaters—a cashmere one you’d bought for him to wear when you take him to nice restaurants, he prefers them to button ups. It still smells like him. He wore it when you took him to a hibachi restaurant in Nishi-ku a few days before the argument the two of you had that led to all of this and you haven’t had the chance to do laundry with everything going on.

You know that you don’t have time for this—there are more things you have to do to prepare Tolstoy’s subordinate, Ilya Repin, for what you’ll need him to do. You haven’t even met the man yet; Tolstoy is embarrassed over it, he keeps apologizing and saying that Repin is fickle when he’s in the middle of projects, but you’re not exactly in a position to make demands when they’re doing you a favor. 

“Should you be laying around right now?” a familiar voice hums from the entrance to your bedroom. Your gaze flickers up to see Chuuya's concerned face staring down at you, head tilted to the side. “You look like shit, y’know?” 

Your lashes lower as you look away. “I didn’t even hear you come up,” you say quietly. “Shouldn’t you be going to the meeting with the Family envoys with Piano Man?”

You’re the one that usually handles negotiations with the Family, but Piano Man brushed you off when you said you would go. Told you to focus on getting things settled here with the Guild. Told you to get Dazai back. You almost wish he would’ve let you go so you could busy yourself with something other than torturing yourself with reminders of Dazai.

Chuuya exhales as he tosses his hat onto your dresser before sitting down on the bed next to you. You almost want to turn away from him, but he doesn’t let you. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and drags you a little closer to him, and your eyes slide shut as you sink into him, hiding the way your vision blurs against his shoulder. Your breath shudders when you feel his hand running up and down your back, slow and soothing—Chuuya is always warm, but somehow, even with his arm wrapped around you and your body curled up against his, you still feel cold.

“Piano Man’s fine,” Chuuya murmurs. “He and Albatross are handling it. Wanted to come check on you.”

Ordinarily, you would make a snippy comment about him being sappy and he would get mad, smacking you over the head with a pillow. This time, you only let out a shaky breath and a noise of acknowledgement that’s far too weak, and evidently, concerning considering how Chuuya’s hand tenses on your back.

“Why are you here, Chuuya?” you ask tiredly, voice a bit raspy, before he can say anything. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“Never that mad at you,” he says quietly. “Not enough to leave you alone. Especially right now.”

The next breath you take in is wet and ragged, the tears that mist your eyes threaten to spill over. You’ve been on the edge of collapse for over a week now and every time you find yourself alone, you think it’s finally going to happen, but for better or for worse, someone shows up and you have to pull yourself together. But now… Chuuya’s arms are so familiar, too comforting—living in a world like you are, casual comfort is a rare delicacy, one that you can rarely allow yourself to indulge in.

“I’ve got you,” Chuuya whispers. His arms tighten around you and he pulls you more firmly onto his chest, shifting so you could wrap your arms around his waist, your fingers digging into his gray waistcoat. Oh, you realize, desperately trying to bite back a sob bubbling in the back of your throat, it’s happening. “We’ll get him back.”

“I’m tired, Chuuya,” you say, the words wobbly as you fight off tears. Your breath hitches when his hand slides against your shoulder blades gently. “I’m so tired. I don’t know how you did it.”

Your words don’t register until you feel Chuuya pause in the absent strokes of your back.You look up at him, about to speak again to change the subject because you hadn’t meant to bring up what happened two years ago, but he answers before you can.

“I didn’t,” he says with a wry smile. “I destroyed a ward and shut down. You handled it, remember?”

 And you failed, you finish, but Chuuya can certainly hear the thoughts running through your head from how his arm tightens around you. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and shifts you to sit upright in the bed. You sigh when he reaches out to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“What happened back then, it wasn’t your fault. That shit was out of your control, you know that. Don’t let it start getting in your head now,” Chuuya tells you firmly. “You didn’t fail back then, you’re not going to fail now. Yeah?” 

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel Chuuya wiping the tears away. You avert your gaze and whisper, “I miss him, Chuuya. You were right. I never should have-”

You never should’ve let this happen. You knew from the beginning that you couldn’t let this go far, but you did. And even then, Chuuya warned you. He told you what would happen if you continued this, but you did.

Chuuya stares at you for a moment with an indecipherable expression before nodding to himself, pushing himself to his feet. 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go force that fuckin’ Russian to talk to us. I’m done waiting around for him to finish his shitty project.”

—

It is not Twain, James or Fitzgerald who walks through the door to Dazai’s prison cell of a room days after your alleged release from prison. It’s a girl who seems to be a little younger than him—she wears a maid’s dress and has long crimson hair tied into two thick braids.  

A girl who probably should not be there considering she looks shifty-eyed and nervous. Plus, Fitzgerald has not hid that he’s been making an effort to ensure that nobody else knows about Dazai’s presence here—he’s kept him isolated, and Dazai never hears anything going on outside of his room, so he assumes he’s purposely being secluded from the rest of the Guild for whatever reason. Probably has to do with the reason behind Fitzgerald keeping his knowledge of your ability on the low—he doesn’t trust that people aren’t listening and doesn’t want this information to get out to anyone.

So this girl is likely not supposed to be here, but Dazai can’t even bring himself to be curious as to why she is here, because he’s tired.

He is so tired. 

His gaze is listless as he tracks the girl. She acts like she’s the cornered animal as if she wasn’t the one who willingly came into his room. She paces to the corner of the room furthest from him and presses herself into it, eyes narrowed on him, studying him like he’s some sort of specimen. 

She’s his first visitor in eight hours. Dazai assumes that means it’s around morning. He doesn’t know exactly what time it is—there’s no windows in the room he’s been staying in, so he has no way to gauge the time of day, and everything has just been blending together. He tried to keep track of when they would bring him food to have some sense of the day and time, but he realized quickly that they were bringing it at uneven intervals so he couldn’t figure it out. 

He thinks it must be some kind of torture tactic—making the days seem impossibly long so that it feels like he’s been here even longer than he has. It’s working to some extent because it is hard for him to tell how long he’s actually been here. Realistically, he knows it can’t be longer than two weeks, but it feels like it’s been three or four. 

“You don’t look special,” the girl finally says, her tone slightly accusatory. Dazai’s eye twitches, he’s been reminded quite frequently by Twain that he’s nothing special and it’s exactly why you aren’t coming for him, and he doesn’t need to hear it from anyone else. “Francis has never taken a foreign prisoner and not consulted the rest of the Board. They’re not happy.”

“Does it look like I care?” Dazai asks irritably, rolling his eyes. He should probably try to get information out of this girl, but he has no patience for it.

The girl gives him a scowl in return, but her expression quickly returns to a more contemplative one. “I’m just curious. What organization are you affiliated with? Why didn’t he tell us what’s going on?”

Dazai can’t help the snide comment that spills from his lips. “Us?” he mocks, looking pointedly at the maid’s dress she wore. “I don’t think you’re a member of the Guild’s Board… Seems more like house-keeping.”

Her face flushes as red as her hair, eyes wild and angry, but more than that ashamed. Clearly, Dazai hit a sore spot and he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty for the way the girl gets embarrassed over it. Her lashes flutter as she looks away, not speaking for a moment.

“I was,” she finally says, voice strained, cracking over the word ‘was’. “I was, and I would’ve been consulted with the rest of them at the time, but I wasn’t. I want to know why, who are you?”

Dazai’s lips curl up into a taunting smile. “None of your business,” he sings, leaning back against the wall and raising his eyebrows at the girl when she nearly snarls at him in response. “Who are you?”

“Lucy,” she spits. “There. I told you who I am, tell me who you are.”

“Nope,” Dazai says with a grin. “Why would I tell you that? I didn’t promise to tell you who I was if you told me.” 

“You-” Lucy raises her voice, furious, but then cuts herself off, looking nervously at the door. She gives him a sharp look and then continues just as angrily, but more quietly, “Tell me who you are. Why didn’t Francis tell us about you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond. He thinks Fitzgerald has the right idea. The less people who know about him, the better, because if it does get out who he is to you, it’ll just give more of your enemies ammunition against you. Dazai’s done enough damage by now, he may as well mitigate as much as he can.

“You’re with the Port Mafia, aren’t you?” Lucy suddenly demands, and Dazai looks at her quickly, wondering how she managed to figure that out. She looks entirely too smug as she lifts her chin. “It explains the sudden pressure they’ve been putting on us. They blew up the S.S. Zelda a couple days ago, intercepted some of the supplies that we were sending out to our people back home, and slaughtered a whole regiment of Margaret and Nathaniel’s men. From what I heard from Mark, they’ve been nonstop for almost two weeks.You must be the reason why. Am I right?” 

“None of your business,” Dazai replies again, but this time, his chest feels a bit lighter. 

He makes sure not to let the sudden relief cross over his face, but Twain, James and Fitzgerald have made sure to leave him with no information on what’s going on in the outside world. Especially any information regarding you. But now he knows. He knows that you’re out there still fighting for him, even if you haven’t been able to get him back yet, you’ve been fighting for him—you’ve been taking out the Guild’s bases, you’ve been isolating them from their allies, you’ve been backing them into a corner. 

Suddenly, the past two weeks had become entirely more bearable. The heaviness that had been weighing on him wasn’t as oppressive anymore and the nagging doubt that had been clouding his brain was all but gone.

He knew you hadn’t forgotten about him—in his heart, he knew it, but getting verbal confirmation of it was much needed. 

“Oh, come on,” Lucy snaps. “I just-just tell me something. Tell me something I can bring back to Francis, anything, I just-

Dazai’s gaze flickers up curiously, watching as Lucy straightens, inhaling sharply as she tries to hide the tears of frustration that suddenly clouded her eyes. Her hands are balled into fists at her side, she gnaws at her trembling bottom lip as she forces herself to settle down enough to speak without her voice wavering.

‘I was,’ he remembers her saying, and realizes instantly why she came down here.

“You want something to bring back to Fitzgerald so you can get yourself out of the doghouse,” he drawls, eyes flicking over her. Her face flushes red, lips parting to protest Dazai’s words but nothing escapes them. “You want to know my opinion?” 

“I want information,” Lucy says. “I don’t care about your opinion.”

“I think that’s pathetic,” he shrugs, ignoring her. Lucy’s lips part in disbelief, but Dazai continues before she can say anything. “It is. You’re sneaking down here to beg me for information that you can bring back up to your boss because he demoted you… for what, exactly? Didn’t bring him the right food?”

Lucy swallows thickly, unable to meet his eyes. “I lost a fight,” she whispers. “I lost a fight to one of your people, and I lost everything. I worked so hard to get where I was. So hard. Harder than you could ever understand and-”

“I don’t care,” Dazai says, turning away from her. “If you want my opinion, if you got demoted to being a housekeeper because you lost one fight, you have a shitty boss and should probably find somewhere else to work instead of begging for scraps just to be treated like shit.”

Dazai doesn’t say anything else after that, and makes a show of not looking at her to make sure she knows the conversation is over. Luckily, she gives him no grief over it—in an instant, he hears the door slamming as she storms out of his room and Dazai lets out a soft sigh as he rests his head against the wall. Tired, lonely, and missing you so badly that it almost makes him ache.

Don’t keep me waiting too much longer.

—

You are irritated.

You’ve been waiting in one of the larger rooms in the Mafia headquarters for twenty minutes now—the smell of paint is giving you a headache and the sheer insult happening before your eyes is nearly enough to send you over the edge. Ilya Repin has the audacity to keep his back turned to both you and Chuuya even when Tolstoy introduces you to him. He sits on his stool and continues to paint his canvas, ignoring the two of you quite blissfully: he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t greet you, doesn’t acknowledge you. 

Tolstoy is becoming increasingly more embarrassed if his red ears and apologetic looks have anything to say about it. Unfortunately, you’re not sure if any number of apologies will save him from Chuuya’s righteous wrath at this point, because if you are irritated then he is downright murderous. 

You watch your fellow executive from the corner of your eye as his eye twitches and his lip curls up. The thin thread of control he has snaps as his tongue kisses the back of his teeth and he starts to storm forward. You stop him quickly, grabbing his wrist and giving him a sharp look.

“He-” Chuuya begins to hiss at you, but you only raise your hand to quiet him down and move forward yourself.

You don’t know if you’re making a mistake by forcing Repin’s hand before he’s ready to help, but you do know that you’re tired and you need Dazai back desperately. It’s been over a week now and if Fitzgerald has been half as aggressive with him as you have been with Zelda, then you know that he’s been playing mind games with Dazai. And Dazai is smart, yes, but how long can someone hold out when given no hope or reason to?

It takes ten long strides for you to cross the room, placing yourself between Repin and the canvas he’s working on. The man pauses, paint brush inches from your cheek, and then looks down at you with narrowed eyes.

“You’re in my way,” he notes astutely.

“And you are in mine,” you counter with a thin smile. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

Ilya Repin is not what you expected. From how Tolstoy described him, you expected an old stubborn coot who had one foot in the grave and acted like each day was his last on earth. Instead, you’re met with a man who can’t be much older than you—with tousled brown hair and light blue eyes, you’d think he was pretty if he wasn’t so irritating. 

He looks down at you with a pinched expression, like he’s considering painting right over your face, but after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a dramatic sigh and glares at Tolstoy over his shoulder.

“I told you not to let anyone bother me until I was done,” he complains, rolling his eyes. You watch as Chuuya’s eyes bulge at the way Repin dismisses you, a familiar red glow flickering around his fists, but Tolstoy responds to Repin before the artist can find himself splattered on his own painting.

“Ilya.” Tolstoy spits out something in such rapid-fire Russian that even you can’t catch what he said. Whatever it is, it makes Repin roll his eyes again before turning to you with a smile that’s too sweet for comfort.

“Her Highness finally decides to grace me with her presence. Honestly, I thought you’d be down here days ago—you’re awfully patient for someone whose lover’s life is on the line… Unless, you don’t actually love him? But then why go through all of this trouble?” Repin hums, leaning forward so close that it has you taking a step back, forgetting that his painting is behind you. His hand darts out to curl around the back of your neck, stopping you from hitting the wet paint while at the same time forcing you even closer to him. He looks down at you through his lashes, nose nearly brushing yours as he says, “Don’t mess up my painting.”

You click your tongue and step away from him, careful not to let it show just how disconcerted you are by his casual disrespect. Chuuya looks like he’s on the verge of bringing the whole building down, Tolstoy has left a wide berth between the two of them as the gravity manipulator becomes more and more vexed by his subordinate. You give him a look to tell him that it’s fine, but it doesn’t seem to ease him in the slightest.

“You’re lucky that you’re Leo’s cousin,” you finally say, giving Repin an equally saccharine smile as you stand a few feet away from him. He finally spins in his stool to turn his back to his painting and his attention onto you, a curious expression on his face as he looks down at you. “I’ve had people’s tongues taken for less.”

“What a waste that would be, my tongue could be used for things much more pleasurable than glossectomy,” Repin replies easily, tone laced with innuendo as his lips curl up into an amused smirk. 

Unbothered, you amend your statement. “Your hands, then—a fitting punishment for a painter, I think.”

Unfortunately, Repin is equally unphased, holding his hands out as his smile widens. “But then of what use would I be to you? I thought you needed my ability,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows, silently beckoning him to explain what exactly his ability is because Tolstoy thought it would be better coming from the ability user himself. The man sighs and hops off of his stool, speaking as he starts to put away his painting equipment.

“Essentially, I can take memories from people and store them in my paintings,” Repin explains, walking over to a covered painting and pulling the cloth off of it, revealing a scene of a midnight rendezvous between two lovers. “This is a favor I did for an acquaintance. He was cheating on his wife, his wife figured it out and was going to grill him, he asked me to remove his memories of his mistress so his wife didn’t realize he was lying. I don’t really like him, so I keep the painting on me and light the bottom on fire whenever he irritates me.”

“What does that do?” Chuuya asks, side-eyeing the painting before turning his attention to Repin distrustfully.

Repin gives him a once over before looking back at you pointedly. You don’t have to look at Chuuya to know that he must be livid, so you give Repin an equally pointed look and wait for him to answer Chuuya’s question.

Repin sighs. “Burning the painting returns the memories to whoever they’d been taken from, so whenever I light the bottom on fire. He starts to get that looming feeling that he’s forgotten something important. He’s tortured with that feeling of something being on the tip of your tongue but unable to fully remember it. He calls me all wound up about it whenever I do… I think I might be his only friend, which is kind of sad considering I can hardly stand the sight of him…”

He’s rambling more to himself now than to you, frowning as he taps the tip of one of his paint brushes to his chin. You press your lips together as you think—removal is good, you need to have Fitzgerald’s memories of Dazai gone, along with any other of his subordinates that might’ve seen or met him.

But you need more than removal.

“What about implanting memories?” you ask, interrupting his stream of babbles. He casts you a curious look. “You can remove, but can you implant new ones to take the place of old ones?”

He studied you now, an intrigued expression on his face as if he’s seeing you in a new light. “I’ve done it once,” he says after a few moments. “It’s a far more… demanding process.”

“How so?”

“I need to have a painting ready for it,” he says. “More than that, I need a scene. A story. Every painting has a story—that’s the theory my ability is built on. Memories are stories that can be captured in paintings. I need to have the same depth of detail that a memory would have to make a painting that can be implanted as one. It’s much harder than you’d think. One lack of detail, one inconsistency, it could throw everything off, and once someone becomes suspicious that an implanted memory is a false one, it unravels. I burn the paintings here to return stolen memories; they, figuratively, burn the implanted memories in their mind once they start getting suspicious.”

Not quite as reliable as you’d hope, but you can make it work. You have to make it work. You’re running out of time, each day that passes—each hour that passes… You need to make your move, and you need to do it as soon as possible.

“If I can give you a detailed story, how long would it take you to create a painting that can be implanted as a memory?” you question.

Repin smiles, tilting his head to the side. “With the right muse? A couple of hours,” he murmurs.

Finally, you think. The relief that hits you is almost debilitating; you let out a sigh as you nod, giving Chuuya a long look. For the first time since your arrest, you feel an inkling of hope; you see the first rays of the sun breaking over the horizon, shattering the long night that’s been hanging over you.

The end is in sight. You’ll have Dazai back before nightfall. 

“Good,” you say. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Have everything ready to start.”

You don’t bother to listen to the response, turning on your heel to leave the room. You have one last thing to take care of with Zelda, and then, you can sit down with Repin to finish up the final preparations. It’s almost vindicating when you pull out your phone to send a location and time to Fitzgerald.

Just a little longer. I’m almost there. 

—

Dazai is lounging in bed when the door opens again. 

“I was sleeping,” Dazai says irritably. He wasn’t sleeping, but they don’t need to know that. Twain and James are the ones unfortunately gracing him with their presence, which is odd considering they’ve never shown up at the same before. “What?”

“Up,” Twain says, clapping his hands together twice as he ushers Dazai out of bed. “C’mon, kid. Francis is waiting. Let’s go.”

Dazai scowls when Twain grabs his bicep to pull him off the bed, slapping away the other man’s hand. His skin crawls where his fingers had once been—Dazai has never enjoyed physical touch, not until he met you, but even then it’s limited to you and you alone.

He misses you.

A heavy air settles around him as he drags himself out of bed. He doesn’t know why he’s started to descend into such a depressive spiral since Lucy’s departure from the room, he thought he would be happy knowing that you haven’t forgotten about him, but he’s only become increasingly more despondent. 

His fingers feel numb and clunky as he pulls on a pair of shoes—you bought him them. You bought him everything he’s wearing right now, actually. Despite the fact that Fitzgerald has brought Dazai several new pairs of clothes to wear, he hasn’t changed out of the outfit he’d arrived in. He’s sure it smells terribly and he must look like a mess, but Dazai’s mind has always been cruel and now more than ever, it enjoys playing tricks on him.

He’s never slept well before. Usually he doesn’t sleep at all, but when he does, he’s plagued with nightmares. The past few days, weeks, however long he’s been here, it’s been no different. When he sleeps—which is frustratingly often because of the head injury he received the day they kidnapped him—he wakes from long, vivid nightmares of lives where he never met you. He wakes entirely convinced that the entire past few months with you was just an elaborate dream that his mind made up to torture him, that you don’t exist, that you’re just a figment of his imagination created to show him a life that he could’ve had if he were more normal.

It’s only the physical evidence of you that drags him out of a dangerous spiral—the clothes you bought him, the lingering scent of you on him, and the few marks that remain on his body from the night spent with you in the cabin. But your scent is fading and the marks are disappearing, so all he has is the clothes on his back to remind him that you’re real, you’re alive, you’ll come for him.

You’ll come for him. 

“Where are we going?” Dazai finally asks, finishing getting on his shoes, but he doesn’t budge as he stares at the two of them, waiting for a response. They don’t give him one. He wonders if the Guild is done with him, if they’re skipping over torture and going right to execution. “Hello? I asked a question.”

“I told ya,” Twain tells him, stepping out of the room and raising his eyebrows, urging him to move along. “To Francis.”

“But why?” Dazai presses. “Why didn’t he come here? Where are we going?”

Twain and James share a long look, like they don’t want to explain to Dazai where they’re going. And-

And Dazai doesn’t dare get his hopes up—he knows better—but it’s impossible to stop the way his body physically reacts to the realization he just came to. His throat swells and he works on over time trying to stop the way his heart suddenly starts racing. He can’t.

Twain would’ve eagerly told him if they were marching him off to be executed; he’s been gloating over the fact that you ‘left him to rot’ since you were released from prison. If this were the Guild getting rid of him, Twain would be just as vocal about that, but it’s not, so could it be…? 

He stares at the two members of the Guild. He wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to be disappointed, so he waits to see what they say.

It’s an eternity before Twain rolls his eyes and says, “Seems your girl didn’t forget about you. She called for a parley. We’re going out to meet her.”

Dazai lets out a wavering puff of air, one that he can’t bite back. The tension in his shoulders instantly dissipates, after what seems like weeks of darkness and despair, Dazai finally sees the light at the end of the tunnel.

“I told you,” he tells them, voice a bit more breathless than he meant for it to be. “I told you she’d come. Maybe you should’ve listened to me.”

Twain clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Get moving,” he snips, forcing Dazai out of the room and leading him down unfamiliar halls. Dazai is quick to map out the place, noting all of the twists and turns just in case he somehow ends back up here. He’ll get out on his own if he has to, he’s not spending another night in this place. “Don’t get your hopes up. I doubt she’ll be able to come to an agreement with Francis.”

Dazai is a bit too smug as he says, “If she reaches out to meet you, then it’s already over. She wouldn’t have reached out to meet you if she wasn’t sure things would land in her favor, otherwise she would’ve reached out days ago.”

It’s the truth—Dazai knows it. His faith in you wasn’t misplaced, never has been and never will be. You just needed time to make sure everything was in place because you didn’t want to find yourself on unequal grounds during the negotiation. He almost feels giddy as he follows Twain and James out of the building, walking in the direction of a long black car.

Their base is in one of the southern wards, he recognizes immediately. Sakae or Totsuka… maybe Kanazawa. It’s in a residential district, and there's a road sign to Kamakura, so he must be in Sakae or the southern part of Totsuka. His gaze flickers back over to the two escorting him, wondering why they wouldn’t have blindfolded him before leading him out of the building.

Maybe they think it doesn’t matter—they don’t intend on coming back to this base for whatever reason after their meeting with you, or maybe… Dazai’s gaze lingers on the side of Twain’s face, noting the way his jaw is tight and his eyes keep flickering around aimlessly. He looks over to James, seeing the larger man in a similar state.

“You’re nervous,” Dazai voices, still entirely too smug. When Twain doesn’t respond, only giving him a sharp side-eye, he realizes that his assumption was right, and it makes him even more amused. As he gets into the black car, he gives the man a simpering smile before saying, “Good, you should be.”

Fitzgerald is already in the car waiting for them. He’s so hyper-focused on his phone that he doesn’t even realize the three of them entered the car until Twain says something. Dazai should probably be paying attention to what they’re saying, but he finds himself dizzy over the thought of seeing you again. 

When the car starts moving, his heart starts racing. He doesn’t know where they’re meeting you, but it can’t possibly be more than a thirty minute drive and that means he’s thirty minutes from seeing you again after days—weeks, maybe—of isolation. He finds himself nervous, almost, because he doesn’t really know what to expect from you—are you mad at him for what happened? Do you still want to be with him? Dazai is unsure because he thinks that even if you did want nothing to do with him anymore, you’d still make sure to protect him if he got caught up in this.

He chews the inside of his cheek, doubt whittling away at his excitement; he’s only drawn back to the present when Fitzgerald responds to something that Twain says.

“I haven’t heard from Zelda today,” he murmurs, looking a bit unsure. “She usually calls when she wakes up in the morning.”

Zelda, Dazai notes the name down, recalling that Lucy had mentioned it too and thinking back to the comment Fitzgerald had made during the second conversation he had with him. I’ve only met one other… you remind me much of her. His gaze flickers down to the man’s left hand, seeing the gold wedding band sitting on his ring finger.

Fitzgerald notices Dazai’s lingering gaze and sighs before looking away, staring out the windshield as the driver continues down the road in the direction of Nishi-ku. After a few moments, he says quietly, “Zelda is my wife… All of this, it’s for her.”

His tone is solemn, eyes heavy as he stares ahead. Dazai tilts his head to the side as he studies the older man, curious. “All of this?” he asks dryly. “You kidnapped me because of your wife?”

Fitzgerald’s lips curve up into a resigned smile. “Yes,” he says. Dazai’s brows furrow, mind racing as he tries to put together the few puzzle pieces he’s been given. What does his endeavor in Yokohama and with the Port Mafia have anything to do with his wife? He’s missing something. “I’ve done terrible things in the name of love, I’ve gone well past the point of no return. I have to see things through now.”

“I would do terrible things for you, Dazai Osamu. I have done terrible things for you, and I would do them again and again and again.”

Dazai misses you. The reminder of your words from the beach house makes his body ache with longing. Yet, Fitzgerald’s words don’t settle well with Dazai. They make his skin crawl with nerves, itching uncomfortably beneath his bandages—he needs to replace them, he’s hadn’t had the chance to change them since the Guild kidnapped him. They’re all yellowed and grimy now, and they’re almost intolerable against his skin. He wants to go home. Wants to be with you. 

“What do you mean?” Dazai presses. “What does this have anything to do with your wife?”

Dazai figured that the Guild was just trying to expand into Japan and wanted their first foothold to be in Yokohama to unseat the Port Mafia as the reigning leaders of the Eastern Hemisphere’s underworld… but what would that have to do with his wife? It doesn’t make sense. There’s something he’s missing, something that runs deeper than just territorial conflicts. 

Before Fitzgerald can answer, Twain clears his throat, giving Dazai a suspicious look before speaking to his boss. “I’m sure Zelda is fine,” Twain says. “The nights have been getting longer and colder back home, she always gets more quiet when winter comes around.”

Any disposition Fitzgerald might’ve had to answer Dazai’s questions is gone as the man sighs and leans back in his chair. Dazai shoots Twain a dirty look, to which he receives an entirely too smug one. Bitter and irritated, he hopes that you humble the redhead severely in the meeting.

“You’re right,” Fitzgerald says more to himself than to anyone else. “I’ll see if J.D. can stop by the high-rise after this meeting, he offered to check in on her since he decided not to come along.”

Fitzgerald doesn’t seem inclined to continue any conversation at all. He looks out the window of the passenger seat and a tense silence falls over the car—Dazai is wildly uncomfortable between Twain and James. He can feel both of their thighs bumping against his with each turn the car takes and the forced physical contact makes all of this even more unbearable. 

The seconds feel like hours, the minutes feel like days. When the car finally pulls to a stop, Dazai is itching to claw past Twain so he can have fresh air and personal space. The other man takes far too long to open the door—Dazai thinks it’s on purpose from the way he gives him an entertained look. Dazai scowls at Twain and shoulders right past him, frustrated and antsy, and then-

And then he sees you.

Dazai’s breath catches when he steps out of the car, nearly tripping over his foot when he realizes that you’re standing outside of the teahouse. There are two people on either side of you, but he’s tunnel-visioned on you and you alone. The world could be burning around him and all he would be able to see was you.

You look beautiful. You always look beautiful, but you look especially beautiful now when he’s been deprived of the sight of you for so long. The sun is setting over the bay and Dazai thinks he could drown in the image of you, that he could die happy now that he’s seen you again. You’re dressed neatly in a suit and your expression is cold and closed off, but he can see the way your eyes soften as soon as he’s in sight and it makes his whole body warm with a comfort he’s been so awfully deprived of the past few weeks.

He loves you. He’s missed you. The apology that he’s been rehearsing every day since he was kidnapped threatens to burst from his lips along with everything he wished he said to you but thought he’d never have the chance to. He refrains, if only barely, because he knows now isn't the time for this, not in this setting, but he itches to be at your side, to feel your skin on his again. 

“Don’t try anything funny, yeah?” Twain says with an unkind smile as he nudges Dazai forward. He feels the muzzle of a gun pressed to his lower back, a silent threat for if he was thinking about running to your side.

Fitzgerald walks in front of the three of them, stopping at the bottom of the stairs you’re standing on—a power play, Dazai recognizes, you on a higher ground forcing them to crane their necks to look up at you. Now that Dazai is only partially dazzled by your appearance, he recognizes Nakahara Chuuya and Piano Man on either side of you. The three of you seem to be purposely blocking the entrance of the teahouse and don’t make any effort to move once Dazai and three members of the Guild start making their way to you.

“Do you intend for us to parley out in the open? I would’ve thought that the Port Mafia would appreciate discretion more than that,” Fitzgerald notes dryly.

“I’m afraid we will not be parleying under the current circumstances,” you sigh, and your voice. God, your voice is heavenly, he’s missed it desperately. “You send your… guest over to the car waiting right over there, and then we can talk.”

Hm? Dazai watches curiously, wondering what you’re playing at. There’s no way that the Guild will just hand over their leverage before going into a negotiation, even Dazai knows that much. He knows that you wouldn’t have called this meeting unless you got yourself on even footing with them, but even footing wouldn’t be enough to force Fitzgerald to hand his only advantage over to you. Unless… 

“Unfortunately, you’re in no position to be making demands,” Fitzgerald says with a thin smile. “Once we’ve come to an understanding, I’ll be happy to return your lover to you.”

Lover, Dazai thinks a bit dreamily as if he’s not currently a hostage.

You let out a soft laugh, but it’s not a kind one. Dazai snaps himself out of the borderline trance he was in because of how he was addressed when he hears it, gaze flickering back over to you. The smile on your face is small, but equally unkind, like you know something that Fitzgerald doesn’t. From the way Fitzgerald stiffens, he seems to realize that too.

“I fear that I’m the only one in any position to be making demands,” you say light-heartedly. Dazai watches as you slide something off of the ring finger of your left hand, brows furrowing as you hold up a ring between your thumb and pointer finger, showcasing it for Fitzgerald. “Beautiful ring, truly… You must really love her.”

You flick the ring toward them carelessly. Dazai watches as it bounces against the ground with a soft plink once, then twice, and then everything descends into chaos around him. 

His eyes widen as a gold glow emanates from around Fitzgerald—within a blink, he’s in front of you, Chuuya and Piano Man, fist raised as he threatens to land a devastating blow onto you. Dazai’s lips part in a cry that doesn’t even have the chance to escape his lips because Chuuya is instantly between the two of you, the Tainted Sorrow activated as he throws Fitzgerald back roughly into the road. 

The gun that had been pressed to Dazai’s back is now at his temple, and as Fitzgerald rises back to his feet, you raise your hands in mock surrender. 

“Careful now,” you say, an amused lilt to your tone. “We don’t want things to get violent before negotiations even start. Zelda is a lovely woman, I’d hate for something to happen to her.”

“Give me my wife back,” Fitzgerald says, voice strained, but he deactivates his ability, expression hard as he glares at you. “She has nothing to do with any of this. She-”

“Neither did he,” you interrupt, the easy tone replaced with a much colder one. “Let him go, and then you can come in and we can talk.”

The standstill that takes feels like an eternity. James and Twain stare at Fitzgerald, waiting for orders, and Fitzgerald stares at you, angry and frustrated. It’s almost odd seeing the suave and collected man that’s held him captive the past few days acting like a cornered animal. Dazai supposes he can’t blame him—if he’s done all of this for his wife only for you to now have her as a hostage… Dazai would pity him if he still wasn’t so bitter about the head wound and weeks of captivity. 

Finally, Fitzgerald nods. After a moment’s hesitation and with a conflicted expression, Twain drops the gun that’s pointed at his head. Fitzgerald is stiff as he makes his way forward, Twain and James a step behind him, leaving Dazai standing alone at the bottom of the steps of the teahouse.

You smile thinly as you step out of the way for them, letting them walk into the building. “Good choice,” you say quietly, mockingly because you know that he didn’t have another choice. 

Chuuya and Piano Man share a quick look with you before following the Guild members into the building, leaving you alone outside with him. Dazai stares up at you, all of his practiced words failing him, he wants to walk up the stairs to you but his legs are rooted to the ground. He doesn’t need to move though, because as soon as the doors shut behind them, you’re rushing down from your high ground to him.

Dazai nearly collapses into you as soon as he feels your arms around him. One arm curls around his shoulders, hand cradling the back of his head, and the other wraps around his waist to hold him steady when he leans his full body weight onto you. He has so much he wants to say to you, but he can’t even speak a single word—his breath is ragged and his nails bite into the back of your suit jacket, face pressed in the crook of your neck.

I’m sorry, he wants to say, I’m sorry for what I said, I’m sorry for running out on you, I’m sorry for putting you in this position, I’m-

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. Your voice cracks over your words and Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows back a lump. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, voice muffled against your skin. His lashes flutter as his eyes slide shut, basking in the familiarity of your arms. For the first time in weeks, Dazai feels safe, he feels warm, he feels like he’s home. “I knew you would come.”

Your arms tighten around him and Dazai almost wants to ask you to skip the meeting with the Guild and come home with him. He doesn’t—mostly because he doesn’t think he has any grounds to ask you to do anything after everything that’s happened, but also because a part of him worries that you might agree to it and he knows this meeting is critical. 

When you pull away from him, Dazai barely bites back a protest but he can’t stop the way his face drops as soon as your arms drop from around him. You notice, a soft smile curling at your lips as you lift your hand to cup his cheek. Dazai leans into your touch, eyes lidded as he looks down at you.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Dazai whispers after a few moments. He’s always struggled with apologies, and even now, the words taste like ash in his mouth, but he forces them out. “I’ve caused you so much trouble, I-”

“No,” you say, shaking your head, not even letting him finish. “Don’t. I shouldn’t have let the argument escalate the way it did, I knew better. What happened isn’t your fault.”

Dazai begs to differ. Your words don’t ease his guilt, but he doesn’t want to argue with you about it, so he lets it drop. His eyes flutter shut again when you run your thumb along his cheekbone, fingers carding absently through the tips of his hair. He doesn’t want to leave you again, almost wants to ask if he could stay for the meeting, but again, he doesn’t.

“Atsushi and Kyouka are going to go back to the apartment with you,” you finally tell him what he’s been dreading, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before you send him off. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

Dazai lets out a heavy sigh, a bit more dramatic than he intended, and you give him a fond smile.

“I left some crab linguine in the microwave for you,” you add. Dazai lights up at the mention of his favorite food—he hasn't had crab since the night he was kidnapped by the Guild. “Go, the quicker I can get this over with, the quicker we can get home and curl up in bed together.”

Dazai makes a show of pouting and being unhappy, but he does step away from you in the direction of the car. He doesn’t get out of arm’s reach before he’s pausing and looking at you again, you raise your eyebrows, silently asking him what’s wrong.

“I love you,” he says very softly, almost like he’s hesitant. Not hesitant in his love for you, just hesitant voicing the words out loud when he knows how much the world likes to fuck with him. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it’s the first time he said it first.

You give him a small, adoring smile. “I love you too, Osamu.”

Dazai lingers for a few seconds longer before making his way over to the car. As his fingers curl around the handle of the door, he pauses and looks back at you, remembering something crucial that he’d been meaning to tell you, calling your name.

“Yeah?” you ask with a frown, looking a bit concerned.

“The Guild isn’t working alone,” he says. “Fitzgerald… he mentioned that he had allies, referred to them as rats that he didn’t trust not to be spying on conversations. He also knows what your ability is, one of your executives is feeding information to him and the Ivory Eagle.”

Your expression shifts into a more unreadable one, gaze shifting from him to look out at the horizon. “Rats, hm?” you say quietly, more to yourself than him. “That explains a lot, actually.”

Dazai isn’t sure what you mean by that, but he figures he’ll bother you for more information when he gets the chance later. He gets into the car with another quiet goodbye, hardly paying attention as Atsushi and Kyouka greet him. His eyes stay on you even as the car pulls away, and you don’t budge from your spot at the bottom of the steps until the car is out of sight.

Somehow, Dazai still has a looming feeling that he’s not out of the woods yet.

—

You enter the teahouse a few moments after the car disappears around the bend leading to the main street of Nishi-ku. The air is brisk and familiar, you’ve spent many days and nights at this teahouse dealing with business for the Mafia. It's your favorite place to bring adversaries for negotiations—the owners are always quick to accommodate you even for last minute meetings, and they’re pleasant enough company when you’re there early waiting for the other party. 

Despite having seen and held Dazai, you still somehow feel discouraged. There’s an unexplainable heaviness in your chest as you make your way into the private room in the back of the teahouse, closing the door quietly behind you.

Chuuya and Piano Man sit on either side of the empty chair left for you; Fitzgerald opposite you with his two lackeys on either side of him. An executive of the Family sits at the head of the negotiation table—originally, you wanted Tolstoy to oversee the negotiation, but you figured that Fitzgerald would be at ease with a more neutral party as the host, and two executives of the Family were already in Yokohama to meet with Piano Man. While the Family is definitely more aligned with the Port Mafia, they also have significant business endeavors in Guild territory, whereas the whole world knows that the Three Deaths and the Port Mafia are pretty much extensions of each other because of your relationship with Tolstoy.

The Family executive is a young woman—you recognize her vaguely, most of your meetings have been with Goldoni himself, but she usually follows along like a silent shadow. You think Goldoni has her set to take over as the next ‘Father’ after him. Regardless, as soon as you take your seat at the negotiation table, she looks at you, waiting for you to begin the discussions. 

A tactical advantage, one that you appreciate. 

“Now that-”

“Where is she?” Fitzgerald interrupts, knuckles white around the edge of the table. “Where is my wife?” 

The executive of the Family turns an unimpressed look onto Fitzgerald. What a fumble, you think, amused. Negotiations aren’t just political devices to create a space for peaceful conferences between rival factions, they’re also used as avenues that can make or break alliances. Disrespect the mediator of the negotiation and you might just find yourself on the outs of the entire organization—the mediator chooses who gives the first dialogue of the negotiation, you don’t ignore that unless you want to piss people off.

You raise your eyebrows at Fitzgerald. “I didn’t say I would give her back to you if you let him go. I said we would talk.”

Fitzgerald slams his hands against the table and rises to his feet. His two subordinates share a look with one another, and you feel Chuuya’s hand rest on your knee, ready to activate his ability at a moment’s notice if Fitzgerald tries to attack you.

“Give me my wife back,” Fitzgerald says, jaw tight and voice rough, clearly trying to restrain himself. “I let him go, so give me her back.”

Your lips curve up into a small smile, and then you say, “No.”

Chuuya doesn’t sigh, he knows better than to not show a united front at the negotiation table, but you know that even though he knows this is necessary, he doesn’t like it. Still, you find yourself enjoying it—what Fitzgerald is feeling right now, you’ve felt for almost two weeks. You’ve never claimed to not be vindictive. 

Your smile widens a bit when Fitzgerald stares at you, expression entirely unreadable. You raise your hands up casually as you shrug, finding the whole situation entertaining. 

“Why would I do that?” you ask, amusement clear in your tone. “I never would’ve given Dazai up in your position. Much less without even getting a promise out of me to get your own hostage freed. That’s crazy.”

You almost expect Fitzgerald to launch himself right at you, no ability activated, just throwing hands, but after what feels like an eternity, he sits back down, back rigid and teeth grinding together. 

“What do you want then?” Fitzgerald asks, his voice is still strained but he’s calmer now.

“Why are you in Yokohama?” Instead of telling him what you want, you hit him with a question yourself, watching him carefully. Now that he’s calmer, your ability starts to go to work—not nearly enough to override how on edge he is because of the situation with his wife, but enough for you to work with. “We both know this isn’t about territory, Fitzgerald-san. Let’s start this off right; tell me what you’re really here for, and maybe we can come to an understanding.”

Fitzgerald’s subordinates share a look with one another, and Fitzgerald himself does not seem keen on answering your question. Interesting, you think, what’s so important that it makes him hesitate even under these circumstances? This is something big, it has to be, especially if Dazai heard correctly and Dostoevsky is involved—that man only ever gets involved with conflicts that have high stakes that he knows he can win, and that doesn’t bode well for you. 

“It is about territory to some extent,” Fitzgerald finally says, resigned. When you narrow your eyes, he shakes his head and continues. “We’re looking for something here in Yokohama. So yes, we were trying to get a foothold in the city so we would have an easier time looking.”

What?

You can feel both Piano Man and Chuuya give you a sharp look, but you keep your gaze trained on Fitzgerald. Your mind races trying to figure out what he means by this, but you just don’t have enough pieces to put the puzzle together. You need to press for more. 

“Looking for what?” you ask coolly.

Fitzgerald stares at you, lips pressed together, expression cold and conflicted. You stare right back, unrelenting. After a few moments, he shakes his head and says, “A book.”

“A book?” you echo. 

“A book,” Fitzgerald confirms. “A reality altering book.”

“What?” Piano Man asks sharply, unable to help himself. You give him a look from the corner of your eye—only the two people sitting in the central seats are supposed to speak during negotiations, but you honestly can’t blame him, because you don’t fully understand what Fitzgerald just said to you.

“What do you mean?” you ask slowly. “A reality altering book here in Yokohama? Where did you hear this from? How do you know it’s real?” 

“Fyodor Dostoevsky of the House of the Dead-” You almost roll your eyes. Of course, it’s him. You’re glad you decided to go with the route you did now. “-approached me about it. It’s something that I simply can’t let pass me by… my daughter…”

Fitzgerald’s face twists in pain; you almost feel bad for everything you’ve done with Zelda. Almost. His two subordinates—Twain and James—lower their gaze to the table, frowning. After a few moments of silence, and carefully constructing a question to figure out if this ‘reality altering book’ might be real’, you speak again.

“And how do you know this book is real? I know enough about you to know you wouldn’t start a full blown war over what could just be a wild goose hunt, what makes you think this thing actually exists?” 

“James was with me when I spoke to Dostoevsky, his ability allows him to decipher whether or not someone is lying. More than that, I’ve seen the Book at work,” Fitzgerald says. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise at his words, more so at the fact that he doesn’t seem to be lying. “Dostoevsky… he has one page of this Book. To prove its ability, and to secure an alliance with the Order of the Clocktower and the Guild, he used a section of it. The Book is real, I was promised a page of it to bring my daughter back if I helped Dostoevsky retrieve it.”

What the fuck. 

You stare at Fitzgerald, careful to keep any emotion off your face even though you’re full of turmoil on the inside. If there’s even a chance that Fitzgerald is telling the truth and there’s now a reality altering Book at play, and not only that, if Dostoevsky already has a page of it, that changes everything. There’s no telling what has or has not been altered, the entire truth of this reality is at question. How much damage could be done with a single page? How does it work? There’s too many variables. 

It might not even be real, you think, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Dostoevsky is notoriously manipulative, there’s always a chance that he manufactured the existence of this book to get Fitzgerald and Christie to do his dirty work. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s pulled something like that—he could’ve used someone else’s ability to make it seem like the page of the Book altered reality to ‘prove it’ to the two other leaders… but somehow you have a feeling that might not be the case. 

“What does the Book have to do with the weretiger you put the bounty on?” you ask. 

You’re starting to feel a bit anxious—this is way more than you anticipated, and there’s so many bad implications that you almost feel overwhelmed, but now’s not the time to let it get to you. You need to focus, you can’t afford to shut down. You need to understand what’s happening before finishing up this negotiation, especially now that Fyodor Dostoevsky and Agatha Christie are seemingly involved. 

“We were told that the weretiger is essential in finding the Book,” Fitzgerald says after a few moments. “I wasn’t told more than that. I intended on getting my hands on him to figure out why.”

Atsushi doesn’t know anything about this Book. The first thing you did when you got ahold of him was interrogate him for any reason the Guild might’ve put so high of a bounty on his head. Your mind drifts back to Dazai’s theory—that maybe the tiger is a separate consciousness, maybe the tiger knows something about the Book, but you’re not going to voice your theories now. You’ll talk about it with Chuuya and Piano Man later.

“I see,” you say with a thin smile. “How enlightening.”

“Where’s my wife?” Fitzgerald asks again. “I told you everything you want, I-”

“I didn’t promise to give you your wife back if you answered my questions,” you tell him dryly, tone a bit mocking. “That’s twice now. You’d think you would learn.”

You almost commend Fitzgerald for not instantly snapping at you. He stares at you, expression tight and voice strained as he speaks, “Tell me what you want for my wife. Enough of this.”

You watch him listlessly for a few moments, trying to decide if there’s any more pressing information that you should get for him. You’ll have a chance later, but you need to figure out if there’s anything more that might affect the plan you’ve concocted with Tolstoy and Repin. You don’t think there is, and you have to be careful with what you say anyway considering the human lie detector is sitting right next to Fitzgerald, so after a hesitation that lasts too long for Fitzgerald’s comfort, you finally give him your answer.

“How many of your subordinates are aware of Dazai’s existence?”

“Just the three of us,” Fitzgerald replies. Your eyes narrow, so he continues, “I didn’t want it to get out to Dostoevsky. I was worried he would capitalize on the situation before I could. These two were only made aware because they were the ones I had bring him in.”

“Is that so?” you ask coolly. “And which one was the one that left the massive bruise on the side of his face?” 

You don’t get a response, you don’t expect to, but you do catch the way that both glance at the man sitting on the left—Henry James. Your gaze slides from the man over to the far right corner where Akutagawa is standing; Klaus is in the far left one, but Akutagawa will be more brutal if you let him off his leash for this, and you want him to suffer. The boy catches your gaze and gives an imperceptible nod, acknowledging your silent request.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say even though you’ve gotten your answer. “I’ll release Zelda to you, but there’s one non-negotiable condition to it.”

“Tell me it,” Fitzgerald demands. “I’ll do it.”

You lean back in your seat, tilting your head to the side as you study him for a moment, and then you tell him, “You’ll meet with a friend of mine. He has an ability that allows him to alter memories. All memories of Dazai will be removed.”

The room goes silent at once. The redhead, Twain, stiffens in his seat and casts a justifiably wary look toward Fitzgerald who looks caught off guard by the request. You imagine that he probably assumed you would demand he stops working with Dostoevsky and leaves Yokohama. You don’t need to demand that, because that will come as soon as Repin does his job… but Fitzgerald doesn’t know that, of course. 

“How do I know you won’t mess with other things in my head? That you’ll only remove those memories?” Fitzgerald asks tightly.

Originally, you planned on lying and telling him that Repin’s ability didn’t have the power to do anything more than memory removal, but you can’t do that with Henry James sitting next to Fitzgerald, so you're forced to pivot.

You shrug and say, “You’ll have to trust me not to.”

Fitzgerald stares at you, and it feels like hours even though it’s only been a few passing seconds, but when he speaks, you feel as though you’ve won. 

“Fine,” Fitzgerald agrees, expression pinched and conflicted, swallowing thickly. “Fine.”

Your lips curve up into a small smile when you realize he’s decided to trust you—not that there was much of a choice for him if he ever wanted to see his wife again. 

“Good,” you say softly.

Still, a fatal mistake. 

—

“So… uh,” a white-haired boy says awkwardly as soon as Dazai settles in the car next to him. A girl with black hair dressed in a red kimono sits on the other side of him, back stiff and expression eerily blank as she watches Dazai—she doesn’t blink, hardly breathes, Dazai is almost unnerved. “Don’t mind Kyouka. She takes our missions… really seriously, and you’re our mission right now, so…”

“I’m your mission?” Dazai asks dryly, sighing as he rests his head against the head rest, careful to not touch either of the teens sitting next to him. God, he’s tired of being around people, he just wants to curl up in bed. Preferably with you. 

“Mhm.” He nods his head a bit too enthusiastically. “Boss told us to make sure you get to her apartment. We’re gonna stay with you until she gets there.”

Great, Dazai thinks, a little bitter over it.

Evidently, it shows on his face because the boy cringes in on himself and says, “We’ll leave you be, I’m sure you’ve had an, uh, exhausting past two weeks. You won’t even know we’re there. Promise.”

Dazai side eyes him, noticing the way the boy stares ahead embarrassed as if contemplating all of the words he just spoke. He looks… normal for the most part—not like the girl sitting on Dazai’s other side, definitely not like that emo Akutagawa that trails after you like a lost dog, and certainly not like that unhinged brat Klaus who follows you around.

“What’s your name?” Dazai asks for a few moments, sparing the kid from his own thoughts. The kid looks at him startled as if he didn’t expect Dazai to willingly speak to him. “Well?”

“Ah-” he splutters out and then smiles a bit. “I’m Nakajima Atsushi. Just Atsushi is fine though. It’s nice to finally meet you, y’know, without the others around.” 

He lets out an awkward laugh and Dazai recalls the last time he saw the boy—he was with the other two outside of your building when Dazai first got the blackmail on you. Of the three of them, he seemed the most nervous. He’s met both Klaus and Akutagawa since then, unfortunately, but never him.

“That’s Kyouka-chan, by the way. She’s not much for conversation, but she’s great. I would’ve introduced myself sooner, but the first time we met wasn’t exactly the best situation, and boss has me training all the time to try to learn better control over my ability, and Kyouka’s always on missions for Kouyou-san so you probably haven’t met her yet.”

Dazai nods, although he’s not fully paying attention. “What’s your ability?” he asks absently, wishing he was sitting at the window so he could at least distract himself with the passing buildings. 

“I can, uh, turn into a tiger. I can’t control when though,” Atsushi explains, tossing Dazai a sheepish smile. “That’s why I’m always training. I need to be able to control it without relying on boss or, uh, the collar.”

“You’re the weretiger,” Dazai realizes, glancing at Atsushi and then down to the collar around his neck. He can’t tell from first glance what exactly it does, but before he can figure it out, the boy is speaking again.

“She’s mentioned me?” Atsushi leans forward, eyes wide. “What did she say? Did she say anything about how my training is going? She’s been so busy, I haven’t really been able to get any feedback from her, but I’ve made some progress with controlling my transformations… Kind of.”

“Uh,” Dazai says smartly. Weak-hearted, too soft, not fit for the Mafia. Atsushi's smile starts to drop, so Dazai quickly adds, “Yeah, she has. She’s noticed all of the work you’ve been doing. She’s impressed.”

Atsushi frowns and side eyes Dazai. “She’s never impressed with anything. You don’t need to lie.”

Dazai grimaces and decides not to argue. Instead, he asks, “How did you end up with the Port Mafia?”

“Oh, ah… it’s a long story,” Atsushi says, laughing awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. “I lived at an orphanage, but I got kicked out because there wasn’t enough food. Or well, actually it was probably because I was attacking people when I turned into a tiger at night. But it was for the best anyway! And, well, I ended up here in Yokohama, and I guess at night when I transformed, I started attacking Port Mafia warehouses. So boss sent Klaus and Akutagawa to, uh, kill me, I guess. Or capture me, maybe, for the bounty. I’m not sure now that I think about it; it felt like they wanted to kill me, but they’re both also always trying to kill everything, it’s just their natural state. But I wasn’t tiger-me when they got there, I was me-me, so they brought me back to her… um, and then I talked to her for a bit and she told me about the bounty, and then she fought the other executives to not hand me over to the Guild, and now I’m here.”

Dazai stares at Atsushi. “Wow,” he replies blandly. “Quite the story.” 

Atsushi flushes. “You asked,” he accuses, scowling at Dazai and looking away.

“Yes, very narrative, ten out of ten story-telling skills,” Dazai says with a simpering smile. He notices the stone-faced Kyouka’s lips curl up as she looks out the window, as if trying to hide it, so he considers it a win, even if Atsushi gives him an outraged look. “What?”

“We can’t all be literature majors, some of us spent our entire lives in an orphanage only to be kidnapped by the Mafia as soon as we got out,” Atsushi hisses, face still pink as he pointedly looks away from Dazai. 

“Actually, I’m a creative writing and classics double major if we’re being specific,” Dazai corrects with a sweet smile. “... How did you even know that?” 

Atsushi clicks his tongue and side-eyes Dazai. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart?” Dazai squints at Atsushi, a bit insulted. “Where do you think I heard it from?”

You, Dazai realizes, lips curling up a little instinctively. He wonders how much you talk about him—Atsushi isn’t the first to throw in his face that he’s supposed to be smart. Klaus did when he first met Dazai outside your building, Chuuya has too. He imagines you must brag about him, and it makes Dazai’s chest feel warm and bubbly because he’s never had someone brag about him before. Never.

“You make her happy, y’know,” Atsushi says quietly. He’s not looking at Dazai, opting to stare out the window instead. “She’s… not as… Forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“You can’t just say that,” Dazai complains, interested in knowing what Atsushi was about to say about you, but the boy seals his lips shut and stares out the window. Dazai rolls his eyes.

“Hime is not as cruel as she pretends to be,” Dazai startles at the voice of a young girl, almost forgetting that Kyouka is on his opposite side. “She looks out for everyone, but doesn’t let anyone look out for her. Acts like she doesn’t care so no one cares about her, but she does. A lot. Ane-san worries about her, I can tell.”

Atsushi nods. “When she found out everything that… happened at the orphanage, she had the whole staff removed and replaced them. Made sure what happened to me didn’t happen to anyone else,” he says quietly, an indecipherable look in his eyes. Dazai isn’t sure what happened at the orphanage, but he doubts it was anything good. 

“Hime and Ane-san helped me figure out the truth of what happened to my parents,” Kyouka agrees softly. “Ane-san couldn’t have gotten the files without her help.”

“And she’s done stuff for Klaus and Akutagawa too,” Atsushi adds, “but she won’t let anyone else help her with anything. Not me, not Klaus or Akutagawa. Hardly even Executive Nakahara. She relies on you though, I think a lot more than she realizes… she’s not been good the past few weeks.”

Dazai’s expression drops, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor of the car. He’s wondered while he’s been captured how you might be doing. When he got really in his head, he imagined that you were doing perfectly fine without him, didn’t even care that he was gone. He thinks maybe he would’ve preferred that than to know that you haven’t been doing well, he doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like that you were hurting because of him and his stupid decisions.

He’ll just have to make it up to you, he decides. He’ll make it up to you once everything has calmed down. But how? He can’t buy you nice things like you do for him because he’s broke. If he tries to take you out somewhere to eat (not that he can even afford it), you wouldn’t let him pay the bill. Maybe… maybe he could show you what he’s been working on for his poetry workshop.

His face flames up at the thought, pushing it away immediately.

No, he’ll think of something else.

“Why is your face all red?” Kyouka suddenly asks, eyes sharp as she stares at him. “Are you ill? Did they poison you before releasing you? Look at me, I can call Doc-”

“I’m fine,” Dazai bristles, flustered. “I’m fine, I’m not sick.”

Kyouka looks unconvinced, reaching forward to try to press her hand to Dazai’s forehead. Dazai leans back, almost into Atsushi, who yelps and worms away from him.

“Stop that,” he hisses, grateful when the car rolls to a stop in front of the familiar sight of your building. Dazai is climbing over a protesting Atsushi and pushing open the door before the car has even fully stopped. “Thank god.”

He almost trips and falls, foot catching on Atsushi’s leg as he stumbles out of the car. He ignores Atsushi and Kyouka rushing to scramble after him as he rushes into the building. He’s too eager to be back in your apartment, he has every intention of getting up there and locking himself in your bedroom until you get back. 

He’s home free now, nothing else matters.

He’s home.

Home.

It’s almost too surreal for him to believe. He’d just about come to terms with the fact that he was never going to see you again, that his fate was in that cold and ugly room the Guild had him trapped in, but now he’s moments away from being back in the familiarity of your apartment. 

Moments away from being home. 

In a few hours, when you’re back, he’ll be able to curl up in your arm, he’ll be able to hear your voice, he’ll be able to be with you. He just wants to be with you. And he will be. Soon, he-

Dazai freezes when he takes a few steps into the lobby of your building and feels the muzzle of a gun press to his lower back. His eyes widen and he hears Atsushi and Kyouka skid to a stop a few steps behind him. He swallows thickly, realizing while he’d been lost in thought, he’d also lost track of his surroundings. 

There’s a group of unfamiliar people in the lobby of your building, all armed and all wearing strange collars around their necks. Not like the one Atsushi wears, these ones are large metal ones with a gem implanted in the middle. Your doorman, an older man named Hinata who Dazai has become acquainted with over the past two months, lays dead on top of his desk, hand still reaching out for his phone. 

“Who-”

“Shhh,” an equally unfamiliar voice says dismissively. It’s nasally and grating to the ears, Dazai already knows this man is going to be a piece of work. “Don’t speak, I want to get this done and over with.”

“Ace,” Atsushi shouts angrily. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from him.”

“No can do, weretiger,” the same man, Ace, drawls. “On orders from the Boss. I suggest you step out of the way, I was told he needed to be alive… but anyone that tried… well, you see what happened to old man Hinata over here. Never liked him, thought because he answered directly to our precious hime that he was something special. He wasn’t. Neither are the two of you, so get out of the way so I can complete my mission, yeah? Yeah. Good.”

Atsushi and Kyouka don’t verbally respond, but they don’t need to. Kyouka seemingly responds well enough from the sound of her katana being drawn, Dazai wants to turn around to look, but the gun against his lower back stops him. He’s so frustrated that he almost wants to cry, of course things couldn’t be this easy. He should’ve known better.

Ace clicks his tongue and Dazai still can’t see him, but he can tell just from the mocking tone he uses that the man must have a really punchable face. “Careful, Kyouka-chan, you won’t be the only one getting in trouble for going against the boss’s direct orders. Little hime and Kouyou-san will face the consequences for your disobedience too. You don’t want that, do you?” 

“Kyouka-chan, it’s okay,” Dazai says, voice deceptively even. “It’s okay.”

It’s definitely not okay, but if they’re not going to kill Dazai on the spot, then he can safely assume that they want something from him. That means he’ll have time to stall. Enough time for you to finish up the negotiations and get here. 

“But-”

“You heard it from the man himself,” Ace sings, forcing Dazai to turn around to walk right back the way he came. “Swords down and claws away, kids, and step over to the side so my men can make sure you don’t go and let our shining star know what’s happening too early, alright? Let’s give her time to handle things with the Guild so we don’t have to worry about those irritating Americans anymore.”

Dazai was right. Ace’s face is extremely punchable, and his hands twitch at his side when the man has the nerve to give Dazai a very smug smirk. 

“I’ve been waiting for someone to knock that girl off her high horse for a long time. Longer than you can imagine,” he says wistfully. “I’m so glad I get to be the one to do it. Get moving.”

“She’s gonna kill you,” Dazai says quietly.

“And disobey a direct order from the Boss?” Ace mocks. “You must not know her as well as you thought you did. She’s like a loyal hound to that man. A real bitch if I do say so myself.”

Dazai’s body moves before he actually processes the words, arm shooting out and fist cracking against the man’s jaw hard. Dazai is almost proud of himself as he watches Ace crumple to the ground, groaning, realizing that even after all of this time, he can at least somewhat remember the self-defense lessons that Odasaku forced Dazai to take part in. Though he doesn’t have much time to bask in his pride, because for the second time in less than a month, his head is bashed in by a baton and he crumples to the ground hard.

Shit, he thinks, pain coursing through him as his vision starts to go black. This is bad. This is-

—

“Is it done?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Repin says, holding up his hand as he swiftly walks past you. “I have paintings to create. Too many memories are flooding my head right now, if I have to see that moron you call a boyfriend for longer than I have to, I will gouge my eyes out.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Don’t forget our deal,” Repin shouts as he leaves the room. “I’ll be cashing in on it. Those additions you asked for were not easy work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say dismissively. “Go do what you need to do.”

Chuuya looks concerned. “Deal?” he demands. “What deal?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you sigh, shaking your head and turning your gaze back to the one-way glass showing the room that Twain and Fitzgerald are sitting in.

The two are chatting with one another, oblivious to what just happened to them. Repin told you to give it a few minutes before going in, let their brain adjust to the new memories he implanted, but you’re impatient. You want to finish things up here so you can get to Dazai. You miss him desperately already—the few seconds you were able to hold him in your arms were simply not enough. Each passing minute without him now is agonizing.

Before you can spiral deeper into your thoughts, the doors to the room behind you open. Akutagawa and Klaus step into the room—an impassive look on the former’s face, as if his coat isn’t dripping blood onto the ground beneath him, and the latter has a wild smile on his face and an even wilder look in his eyes. Akutagawa evidently allowed the other boy to partake in the bloodshed considering Klaus’s face is smeared with an equally disturbing amount of blood.

“It has been done,” Akutagawa announces, raising his chin. “Henry James was killed.”

“Really fucking brutally too,” Klaus interjects with a laugh that almost disconcerts you. “Wanna come see?”

“No,” you say flatly. “Call the clean up crews.”

Klaus visibly pouts at your words, but Akutagawa nods and pulls out his phone, taking a step away. You turn your attention back to the room, lips pressed together. It’s… odd almost—Fitzgerald and Twain talk casually, not knowing that the negotiation that took place between the two of you even happened, not knowing that 

Not odd—scary. 

You’ve encountered all types of abilities before. Chuuya and Akutagawa have two of the most lethal abilities you’ve ever come across. Klaus’s ability has always disconcerted you with the way it takes and takes and takes from the boy, knowing that someday it would consume him entirely. There was a child you once met with an ability kind of like yours—a type of mental manipulation triggered by physical harm to the user that ravaged the human psyche with hallucinations; they couldn’t control their ability, couldn’t even stop it at their own will, so you had to have them killed. Ayatsuji Yukito, the notorious Homicide Detective that the Special Division has recently leashed, concerns you because the man could kill just about everyone you care about with minimal effort if he’s ever brought into Yokohama to investigate the Port Mafia.

But this is different. Repin’s ability alters the mind so fundamentally that you don’t even know your mind has been altered. That scares you. It scares you almost as much as the prospect of that reality altering book Fitzgerald mentioned. The idea that one person could completely manufacture your perceived reality and you’d have no idea…

It scares you.

“What’s wrong?” Chuuya asks quietly as Akutagawa and Klaus leave the room to direct the cleaning crew to wherever they butchered Henry James. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head. “Just want to be back at my apartment.”

“Soon,” Chuuya tells you, nudging your shoulder. “You wanna go in and talk to them now?”

“You think it’s been long enough?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya says. “Go for it. I’m gonna head up to the conference room. Mori wants to see us after you’re done here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to see Osamu first,” you mutter. “I need to make sure he’s okay before…”

Before getting back into all of this bullshit. You just need to spend ten minutes with him before doing anything else. Ten minutes. Even though he’s back, and you know he’s safe, you watched him get into the car with Kyouka and Atsushi… you’re still on edge. You don’t know why, but you’re still on edge.

Chuuya nods. “I’ll cover for you,” he promises. “Now go finish things here.”

You don’t say anything else, sighing as you make your way over to the door. You wrap your fingers around the door handle, pausing for a second to collect your thoughts. You already know what you’re going to say—you’ve scripted it out, rehearsed it a hundred times. You’ve gone over information with Repin dozens of times to make sure everything is ironed out. 

You know what you’re going to say, you just have to say it, and then you can go see Dazai.

With that thought in mind, you push open the door to the room where the two Guild members are waiting for, making sure the smile on your face is warm and inviting while amping up your ability just enough for it to have a physical effect on them. The tenseness in their shoulders eases, and Fitzgerald rises to his feet with a small smile. 

“Ah, Miss Mori-” God, being called that makes your skin crawl. You can’t remember the last time someone actually referred to you that way—you even prefer hime to it. You have to make an effort to not let the irritation show on your face as Fitzgerald continues speaking, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Fitzgerald-san,” you greet lightly, holding your hand out to him. He shakes it firmly and you add, “I wish it didn’t have to be under the circumstances.”

Fitzgerald grimaces as he nods and takes a step back. “Yes,” he agrees, voice low. “My wife. You have her?” 

“I do,” you tell him, taking a seat next to him. “She’s… not doing well.” 

This is a more casual setting, a sitting room in one of the central building’s higher levels—a few couches set up in the center of the room around a coffee table, a window overlooking the city and a bar on the opposite side of the room. Twain lounges back in one of the armchairs in the corner of the room by the window while Fitzgerald sits closer to you. You chose this setting on purpose: it’s more intimate, less official than a negotiation room. 

More like a meeting between friends than enemies, which is exactly what this has become with Repin’s meddling. 

Fitzgerald sighs and looks away, lashes fluttering. “I feared that would be the case,” he murmurs. “How bad is it?”

You give him a small, sympathetic smile as an answer and Fitzgerald inhales sharply, rubbing his hand across his lower face, forehead creased in worry. 

“I should’ve known better than to deal with Dostoevsky,” he sighs, despondence lacing his tone. “I was warned, but…”

“Many have made the mistake of falling for his charms,” you say quietly. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Good, you start to become a bit more comfortable. Repin pulled through. If all went according to plan, Fitzgerald should believe that Dostoevsky was the one to have Zelda kidnapped, and the Port Mafia was able to intercept. You’ve spent the past few hours tying up all the loose ends—Tolstoy handled the security cameras in New York, you the ones here in Yokohama, there’s no physical evidence left of Tolstoy’s involvement in Zelda’s kidnapping and you’ve ensured rumors have already started spreading about Fitzgerald reneging on his alliance with Dostoevsky and Christie by withholding information. You don’t need to whisper anything else, the entire world knows that Fyodor Dostoevsky does not take treachery lightly, the assumptions will be made on their own. 

“I can when my wife is on the line because of it,” Fitzgerald snaps, and then lets out another heavy breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just frustrated with myself.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him easily. “I understand.”

“Can I see her?” Fitzgerald finally asks hesitantly. “Or is she…”

You make sure the expression on your face is contemplative, a bit concerned and then say, “You can, but I don’t know if it will go well… Dostoevsky… he did a lot of damage to her psyche with the stories he was telling her. I’ve hardly been able to make any progress with her, I’ve only been able to convince her that I’m a friend.”

Fitzgerald grimaces and looks away. While he decides what to say, you contemplate your next move. You have Lippmann ready to bring Zelda into the room; you know that she won’t take the sight of Francis kindly, you’ve ensured that much. Zelda Fitzgerald’s mind has been all but shattered even without the use of your ability. But if Fitzgerald insists on taking her with him, which there’s a good chance he will, you’ll lose some very critical leverage over the Guild. If Fitzgerald ever manages to unravel the memories Repin has woven into his mind, it’ll leave the Port Mafia vulnerable to a full blown war with the Guild without a hostage in hand. 

You really don’t want to lose Zelda.

But… maybe you can still make this work. 

“I want to see her,” Fitzgerald says after a few moments. “Please.”

You nod and glance down at your phone to shoot a text to Lippmann. You’ll only have a few seconds before he walks through the door with Zelda, but you’ll have to figure out your exact approach once you see how visceral her reaction is to Fitzgerald. Though you know it'll be bad, if it’s not bad enough, you won’t be able to convince Fitzgerald that she needs your help. 

The door to the room cracks open and Fitzgerald is on his feet in a second, holding his breath as Lippmann steps in, holding the door open for the fragile woman. His blue eyes are glittering with amusement as he catches your gaze, and you find yourself relaxing, realizing he must’ve been able to get her worked up before leading her in here.

You lean back in your seat, folding your hands in your lap, settling in to watch the show about to unfold. 

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for it to begin.

Zelda freezes in the door frame as soon as her eyes fall on Fitzgerald. You watch the way her breath catches, the way her eyes widen and the way her pupils dilate. She mouths the word ‘no’ before speaking it, shaking her head slowly.

“Honey,” Fitzgerald whispers, taking a step forward, but Zelda takes a step back as soon as he does. “Honey.”

“Stay away from me.” Zelda’s voice breaks over the words, lips visibly trembling as she presses her back against the door frame. She looks like she’s on the verge of fleeing, but Albatross’s sudden presence in the door stops her. “Stay away. You lied to me. You lied. Frances… our daughter, my daughter, you…”

“What?” Fitzgerald breathes out, brows furrowing in confusion. “Zelda, honey, what are you talking about? I don’t-”

“You lied,” Zelda cries, voice rising. “You lied to me. You took my daughter from me, get him away from me, get him away! I don’t want to see him, I don’t-”

Zelda is hyperventilating, hardly breathing properly, eyes wide, wet and watery. You nod at Lippmann, and the man leads her out of the room. It’s quiet once she’s gone—your gaze sweeps across the room, Twain looks sick from where he’s sitting stiffly in the chair he’d been lounging in and Fitzgerald, the powerful leader of the Guild, looks crushed, ashen as he takes a shaky step backward to sit back down.

To his credit, he still tries to keep himself put together. You can tell from the way his breaths are robotically even and his fingers are trembling in his lap. You watch him for a few seconds before reaching out to place your hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve been trying to help her,” you say, carefully choosing your words. “I’ve been told you know what my ability is, is that true?”

You know that it is, you were careful to make sure that Repin didn’t disturb any of those memories. You figured it could help you in convincing him to let you keep Zelda if he thought you could undo the damage ‘Dostoevsky’ had done. 

“I don’t want you messing with my wife’s head,” Fitzgerald spits out. “That Russian bastard has done enough damage.”

“Of course not,” you agree amiably. “That’s not what I mean. I can use my ability to keep people at ease. Every other hour she’s going into violent fits of hysteria… tries hurting herself, I-”

Fitzgerald lets out a sharp breath, looking away. “What did he tell her?” he asks, voice wavering. “She mentioned Frances. I-”

“From what I was able to gather, she seems to think your daughter is alive and you helped her… escape to a foreign country to live out her life away from Zelda,” you say, watching Fitzgerald’s face twist in distress and frustration as he buries his face in his hands. “I can release her to you, if that’s what you want, but-”

“You can help her?” Fitzgerald demands, looking at you. His eyes are red and glassy but his face is tight. He seems to be doing his best to not fall apart until you’re gone, but his self control is wavering the more he hears about Zelda. 

“... I can.”

“How?” he asks. “How will you do it?”

Here’s your chance. You can’t mess it up.

“When Zelda is having those… hysterical fits, she’s impossible to reason with and can’t settle down on her own. I’ve only been using my ability to calm her down so I can speak with her. It’s taking a lot of time, but since I’ve managed to convince her that I’m a friend, I think I’ll be able to make progress in convincing her that Dostoevsky's lies were just that—lies. It’ll be… tenuous, definitely won’t be a smooth path, but I think, with time, I’ll be able to do it.”

“Will there be any side effects to you using your ability to calm her down?” he questions, watching you carefully.

“Nothing major,” you say honestly. “In the future, she’ll probably feel instinctually more relaxed around me—her brain will just associate me with being at ease, so even if I’m not actively using my ability, it’ll still reflect that way, but no lasting effects.”

After an agonizing few seconds, Fitzgerald nods. 

“Help her. Please,” he says, voice raspy. “When Dostoevsky comes to Yokohama, you’ll have the Guild’s support in dealing with him. I swear it. Just help my wife.”

Wow, you think, almost unnerved by how well this worked out. You have Dazai back, you managed to keep Zelda, and you turned the Guild against Dostoevsky. You can’t help but feel like there’s going to be some sort of catch, or that it’s going to backfire. It would track considering how poor your luck has recently been. But for now, you roll with it and hope for the best. You'll start preparing for the worst after you’ve been able to spend a few days with Dazai. 

“I’ll do everything I can for her,” you say, rising to your feet and giving Fitzgerald a small smile. “You can stay here for as long as you need. I’ll have one of my men wait outside to escort you back to the lobby when you’re ready.”

Fitzgerald thanks you, and you finally turn to leave, ready to see Dazai. You just need fifteen minutes with him before you go off to your meeting with the other executives. You need to see him, hold him, talk to him. Need to make sure this isn’t all some cruel, elaborate trick your mind has played on you before heading into another exhausting meeting. 

Klaus, Akutagawa and Albatross are waiting outside for you. Albatross parts his lips to speak but you shake your head, not wanting to risk saying anything until you’re well out of ear shot of this room, just in case. They follow you to the elevator, and it’s only once the doors close that Albatross bursts into laughter.

“You’re one evil bitch,” Albatross snickers. “Fucking that woman’s head up just to play the hero? That’s messed up even for you, doll. I don’t know how you sleep at night.”

Your lips curl up into a smile as you toss a wink at Albatross. “I’ll sleep just fine tonight with Dazai in my bed.”

“Gross,” Albatross complains, rolling his eyes. “No, but really. This was one big play—less than two hours and we’ve managed to totally turn the tables. Crazy. What exactly did you have Repin do besides remove their memories of your boy?” 

“Before Dazai went back to my apartment, he told me that the Guild was working with Dostoevsky,” you explain as the elevator gets to the lobby. Albatross walks at your side, Klaus and Akutagawa trailing behind the two of you as you make your way out of the building to walk across the property to your building. “I already intended on using Dostoevsky and Nabokov as scapegoats, but this made it a lot easier. Fitzgerald was withholding information from him-”

“Everyone knows that bastard doesn’t let disloyalty slide,” Albatross grins sharply. “Of course he’d retaliate.”

“Exactly,” you agree. “I had Repin twist the situation. Made them believe that Dostoevsky was the one that had Zelda kidnapped, but we were able to intercept. Only Tolstoy’s executives, our executives, and my direct subordinates know the truth. Tolstoy handled CCTV in the States, we handled the ones here. If Dostoevsky tries to convince Fitzgerald that it’s not true, there’s no proof—only he said, she said—and even if he does…”

“We still have Zelda,” Albatross finishes with a sharp grin. “Evil. I can’t believe we managed to come out of that with your boy back, the Guild on our side, and the hostage still in our custody. God, I love you. You can be fucking terrifying sometimes, y’know that?” 

Your lips part to make a quip back at him as you push open the doors to your building, but the words die on your tongue as your gaze lands on what’s awaiting for you in the lobby. The first thing you see is your doorman slumped over the desk, blood dripping over the side and pooling on the ground in front of it. The next thing you see is Kyouka and Atsushi, both unconscious, needles discarded carelessly on the ground next to them.

You don’t see Dazai.

“What the fuck,” Albatross breathes out, pulling out his gun and shifting to stand in front of you. “Klaus, go check on Atsushi and Kyouka.”

Klaus and Akutagawa rush from behind you—Klaus to Kyouka and Atsushi, trying to wake the two of them up, and Akutagawa in front of you and Albatross, Rashumon at the ready. You can feel Albatross’s hand tight around your forearm, you can hear him talking but you can’t make out any word that he’s saying.

“This isn’t real,” you say flatly as you stare ahead. “This cannot be real.”

Something bubbles in your chest—you don’t know if it’s rage, distress or sheer hysteria, you think a combination of all three because although your blood is simmering, you feel your eyes misting over and a laugh about to burst from your lips because what the fuck? 

You press your hand to your mouth, hardly even registering what’s going on around you. Klaus is trying to shake Atsushi and Kyouka awake, Akutagawa is scouting out the rest of the lobby to make sure no assailants are still lingering, and Albatross is trying to get your attention but you don’t take notice of him, shaking your head, and trying to hide the way your lips are curling up into a disbelieving smile.

What a joke, you think, breath catching as you pace over to Klaus, Atsushi and Kyouka. Shit.

As soon as Atsushi’s eyes flutter open, you’re grabbing his chin and craning his neck to force him to look you in the eye. “Where is he?” you ask, voice surprisingly steady. “Where is he? What happened? Answer me, Atsushi.”

Albatross says your name and grabs your wrist to try to get you to back off, but you toss his hand right off of you. Atsushi is still out of it, not understanding what you’re asking him, but before your frustration can bubble over, you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. 

Your hand drops from Atsushi’s face to reach into your pocket. Your fingers are stiff and clunky as you pull your phone out, and as soon as you see the name on your screen, you know. 

You don’t say anything as you answer the call and lift the phone to your ear, waiting for the person on the other line to speak first. 

“Hello, little hime,” Mori says, you can hear the smile on his lips. “Have you finished with the Guild?”

“Where is he?” you ask in response. “Where is he?”

“Safe for now,” Mori hums, sounding entirely too amused. “I’ve had quite an interesting conversation with him. I can see why you like him as much as you do.”

“Everything I do for you,” you hiss, the nails of your free hand digging into your palm. “Everything I do, and this is how you repay me. I’ve spent my whole life doing everything you want, and you can’t even spare me a shred of fucking loyalty. You-”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, dear,” Mori sighs and your blood pressure skyrockets. “I’m doing this to protect you, as has everything I’ve ever done. You truly have no faith in me.”

“To protect me?” you shout, your throat burns and it’s a struggle to force yourself to breathe properly. You feel dizzy, a panic attack coming on, but now is not the time, you need to calm down. “You did this to protect me?”

“I did,” Mori agrees. “This boy had been lying to you for months. I had a feeling, but I wanted to confirm it before bringing anything up to you. I know you care for him. I didn’t want to unnecessarily break your heart.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense, I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve never lied to you, little hime. I have to many people, but never you. He’s been lying to you about who he is… I suggest you get up here quickly.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. Your voice wavers this time, you can’t stop it. You can feel several sets of concerned eyes on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet any of them. “Stop being cryptic, just spit it out.”

“The boy’s name is not Dazai Osamu, dear. It’s Tsushima Shuji.”

Your ears ring as his words slowly process through your head. Your silence is enough of an answer for Mori.

“I’ll be waiting in the conference room for you. Do get here soon.”

[rekino2114]

Hello, this is my first ask so it might be terrible but here goes. I want to ask for Teruko Tawaki, Arei Nageishi and Min Jeung finding out that their lazy Male Ultimate Lucky Student S/O actually cheated on the raffle to get in the school and his motivation is to prove that you can succeed without effort becuase he was overworked from studying as a kid. You can reject this if I accidentally broke any rules.

Teruko arei and min with a lucky student s/o who cheated on the raffle

Teruko tawaki

She was already suspicious of you from the beginning. After all, she's the ultimate lucky student (despite how ironic that title is), and she wasn't informed that anyone else with the same ultimate was gonna be attending Hope's peak but she chalked it up to some weird occurrence because of her bad luck and she didn't think about it anymore especially after you two started dating.

She doesn't mind your laziness that much (she would be lying if she said she isn't lazy too from time to time) but she definitely scolds you for it sometimes.

When you told her that you cheated on the raffle she just sighed and hugged you, she kinda already deduced that but is really happy that you trusted her enough to tell her that. She's not that mad at you and understands why you did it.

While she can't exactly relate to what you've been through, she definitely agrees with your philosophy. She literally got her talent because she got lucky once despite her entire existence of bad luck, so she literally put no effort into it.

Arei nageishi

Arei though your talent was pretty cool,( and she maybe expected that your luck would kinda transfer a little bit to her while dating you) but that obviously wasn't the reason she started dating you

She realized your luck....didn't actually work. Due to your title, she assumed you would be lucky in everything you do and she was kinda disappointed you were just a normal guy in that department so she decided to straight up ask you trying her best not to sound rude.

When you revealed the truth to her, she resisted the urge to tease you and just looked at you with an "OK and?" Look. She couldn't care less that you cheated to get here. After all, if you didn't, then she would have never met you the person she loves and who helps her on the road to become a good person.

She can't fully agree with you though, she put a lot of effort into not only becoming the ultimate bowler but also escaping her abusive sisters so she thinks her success is because of all the effort she put in, but she will try to support you the best she can it's the least she can do for you

Min jeung

She didn't care that much about your talent at first she doesn't really believe in things like luck anyway (after seeing teruko she might change her mind though) and she's kinda jealous that you just won a lottery to get into the school while she had to work incredibly hard for it.

Your personalities are basically the opposite. You're lazy and don't really want to do anything, and meanwhile, she's basically almost always studying. That's not always a bad thing, though you have to force her to take breaks, and she really likes that you do that because otherwise she might pass out from exhaustion.

She was pretty disappointed in you when she found out you cheated on the raffle cause she really hates cheating in any form. Even if she loves you, she doesn't understand why you would do that.

but when you told her of your story she was almost crying because it reminded her so much of her own childhood, the way her parents and Hope's peak itself basically forced her to study her whole life for a test and become the ultimate student . She was incredibly sympathetic and forgave you almost immediately. She felt herself love you even more after realizing how similar your stories are.

[serene-faerie]

Doriath Dashboard Simulator

🍃 leafyboi Follow

Oh to meet a Maia in Nan Elmoth and just get lost in her eyes for 200 years

#i want whatever thingol has with his wife

( 2,450 notes )

🌳 daily-doriath-pics Following

Neldoreth under the Stars

#doriath photos #sindar #neldoreth #beleriand #middle earth #my pics #night skies

( 600 notes )

🌺 queen-melyanna Follow

Baby girl is growing up quite well.

She's a very curious child, and she has a tendency to glow when she's playing with her toys.

I suppose having a child who is half-Elven and half-Maia can yield some interesting results.

#adventures in parenting

( 190 notes )

🌌 princess-tinuviel Following

Dark hair and rugged beards have got me acting rather.... unwise

#shut up tinuviel #do not rb

( 2 notes )

🌲 beech-girl Mutuals

ngl I did not have "Princess Lúthien falls in love with hairy mortal man in the forest" on my 465 bingo card lmao

#honestly??? good for her #go get that mortal dick!

( 1,569 notes )

🦌 king-elu Follow

Call-out for the Noldor

I cannot believe I am doing this. But it is my duty to inform the people of the deceivers we have been harboring in Doriath.

And yes, this is about Alqualondë and the kinslaying that has been wrought upon Olwë's people.

TW: Violence against Elves, kinslaying, theft and destruction of property, lying, deceit

Read More

#personal

( 350 notes )

🏹 strongestbow Following

Fellas is it gay to hold hands with your human best friend when hunting in the woods together???

( 2,600 notes )

🍁 maidenofneldoreth Mutuals

Just curious:

⭐️ feanors-second-wife Follow

Excuse me???? How are we "treacherous" when the Teleri literally wouldn't give us their ships when we asked???

If they didn't want to be slaughtered, they should've just given us their swanships when we told them to. Besides, the Teleri aren't even Thingol's people! And it's not like your king was there to watch us kill the Teleri! He was literally hiding behind his wife's skirt!

🦋 flutterby-of-nivrim Follow

Wow, what an entitled piece of work you are.

First of all, way to victim-blame the Teleri of Alqualondë. They had every right not to surrender their swanships to a bunch of entitled jerks like you. You guys just stormed their lands, slaughtered them for saying no, then took the ships anyways.

Second of all, I don't understand your logic. So because Thingol wasn't there to see the kinslaying, he shouldn't be angry about it??? Girl, we Sindar are literally descended from the Teleri! Some of us had relatives who were killed in Alqualondë! And King Olwë was Thingol's kinsman! Of course Thingol has every right to be upset about the kinslaying!

Thirdly, Thingol was not "hiding behind his wife's skirt". We were literally fighting Morgoth before you guys even left Aman. We're more familiar with the evils of Morgoth than you Noldorin Elves. The whole reason why the Girdle was put up was because we lost a good chunk of our army.

Lastly, why are you even on the Sindarin side of Tumblr? Shouldn't you be kissing up to the Fëanorian princes on your own blog???

🌼 bloomingblossoms Following

🦋 flutterby-of-nivrim Follow

Lmao they blocked me

Guess I scared 'em good

#typical noldor #they can dish it out but they can't take it #finrod doesn't count tho #he's a sweetie and we all love him

( 8,901 notes )

🕊️ dior-of-doriath Following

Reblog if you think the Fëanorians are gutless, craven cowards

🌿 lord-0roph3r Follow

Damn you just woke up and chose violence today huh?

🕊️ dior-of-doriath Following

Damn right I did

There's two more Silmarils in Morgoth's crown

They can go and steal those for all I care

#no way am i giving up the one that my parents risked their own lives to get #you want em so badly #go on and fight morgoth for the other two you cowards

( 750 notes )

🌸 flowermaidenofmenegroth Follow

Did anyone else have "Thingol gets killed by Dwarves" and "Melian's girdle fails" on their bingo card this year???

#got a bad feeling about doriath's future

( 1,500 notes )

🌱 thr4nduil-the-fair Mutuals

It's been a long journey, but at last, we made it to the Havens of Sirion.

Unfortunately, our king and queen fell in battle, and Menegroth is in ruins. Even worse, we couldn't find the twin boys in the forest. Though I pray that they are alive, deep down, I know that the worst has come to pass.

Luckily, we managed to escort Elwing to safety, but my heart aches for her. She's still so young, and in only one day, she's lost her parents and brothers.

But though her family is gone, I will do my best to help in raising her. I feel that she will grow into a strong young lady one day.

For now, it's time for us to rest. Thank you everyone for your thoughts and prayers.

From tomorrow, we must start healing.

#personal #ruin of doriath

( 79 notes )

[lovelyo]

You Can’t Spell Polin Without Colin

Let me be clear. This ain’t a Colin appreciation post. Colin is an entitled, selfish dweeb but even I can see from his POV.

And somehow the Polin fans who swear up and down they love him can’t.

“Colin is a bitch boy”

“Colin stayed mad at Penelope for too long”

“Where’s supportive husband Colin? Where’s Colin ‘My Wife’ Bridgerton?”

“He just needs to forgive her already, get over it!”

This is gonna be a long one.

“Colin is a bitch boy”

That’s a perfect way to invalidate a man’s feelings. Let’s rage about misogyny but talk shit about guys who has feelings 😒. How is he a bitch boy for being upset at someone he loves for lying to him for years, even before they came intimate and when they were just friends.

He was open and transparent with Penelope every step of the way, bared his heart to her, was vulnerable with her and was happy to see that what he wanted was right there in front of him… only for him to find out she’s LW, the person who has been dunking on him and his family, LW whom he loathed. He cried ffs when he found out. The reason that hurt the most wasn’t that she was LW, it’s that she lied to him. She didn't spare a thought that he needed to know about such secrecy i.e, not giving a shit about his feelings. It mirrored exactly what Marina did. (On top of that, he realized that it was her that sent Marina to her doom) She didn’t reciprocate that same vulnerability he did for her and by the end of the season, still chose LW over him and he just had to sit there and take it.

You wanna talk about men not giving a shit about women’s feelings but it’s alright for women to do the same for men in the name of “girlbossing” 🤢

Colin in 2 weeks simmered down about the hurt Penelope has caused him while it took Penelope several months to get over one comment he said about her, which isn’t even detrimental because COLIN DOESN’T OWE PENELOPE A GODDAMN THING! You can’t get mad at someone who doesn’t want to date you. Who do you think you are to even believe you have a claim to someone like they’re a possession. She ghosted him for months over this while he had and did get over lies, shame, and betrayal in, again, a small amount of time. Who’s the bigger whiny bitch?

“Colin stayed mad at Penelope for too long”

Staying mad for too long? He didn’t stay mad long enough! Please contextualize. This man has been in scheming scandals with the Featherington family since season 1 lol. People are forgetting the trauma that he got from the pregnancy scandal, mainly the embarrassment from it being exposed by LW and having the whole ton know his business, which is humiliating as fuck and made him look like a fool(this is why I keep telling you ding dongs to stop saying LW saved the Bridgertons, she did not!) He had to null the engagement with the diamond of the season.

The start of his hatred for LW started from season 1. Colin told Penelope that she should’ve told him to his face about the pregnancy.

“Aschually 🤓☝️, she did try.”

Actually, she did not.

She tried to hint that Marina was still in love with a soldier, not “hey, the misses you trying to spit game at is preggo.” So his friend, knowing this info, instead of telling him the proper information privately to his face as a fricking friend should, printed out his business.

And let’s play devil’s advocate. Ok, Pen told Colin about the pregnancy and Colin didn’t listen. In the same season, we saw Violet do damage control and spinning the rumor windmill to help her daughter get the fuck away from Berbrooke. Penelope knows how supportive and protective the Bridgertons are with each other and also knows how much they like her since she’s friends with Eloise and Colin. Violet would’ve definitely listened, told Colin, and stirred something up to aid the situation.

But nah.

So that happened plus before that scandal came out, LW mocked Daphne for her lack of suitors and said Marina was incomparable, not Daphne. And then the Eloise scandal, all because of LW. Three Bridgertons struck. Even Season 3, LW talked shit about Colin being fake, so Penelope embarrassed him in front of the ton twice. And of course, she had an excuse, “I just wanted the old Colin back!” So you embarrassing him in front of the ton was gonna make him sweet and kind again? 😬

The woman he loves belittled him twice and clearly stands by it 'cause she’s not giving up LW, just not writing it under anonymity. 'So imma acknowledge that I hurt you, the person I love, but I’m not gonna do anything to fix it, but I want you to still support and love me, regardless of what I do,' is essentially what she's saying.

What utter shit, and then we got Pen stans/Polin fans: “Stfu Colin, your angst is ruining my fantasy ship, go kiss, finger, and fuck Penelope already.”

Oh Christ. It’s like whoever doesn’t cater to Penelope deserves the noose.

“Where’s supportive husband Colin? Where’s Colin ‘My Wife’ Bridgerton?”

Where’s supportive wife Penelope? Where’s Penelope ‘I Love You’ Bridgerton? She has declared her love but hasn't really shown it throughout season 3. Show > Tell. Action > Words. With the lies told to him from past to current, this guy undoubtedly has trust issues. How can he believe her? We the viewers saw Pen Hilton pining after Colin through season 1 & 2, but Colin himself doesn't know that she liked him before then. He even said that he thought she wouldn't feel the same about him as he did about her. So when the feeling is finally mutual, Penelope just doesn't do much. It's like she tells him, "I love you" just so he can shut his fucking piehole.

We've seen, despite Colin being upset, him still loving her, wanting her and working through the pain so he can look at Penelope and not immediately think of LW.

"B-B-But, uh, the entrapment comment was too harsh!"

First off, you people act like you have never said mean things to someone out of anger during a fight.

Second, like how you guys say LW is harsh but tells the truth(which is a complete lie, but nothing surprises me anymore with this fandom) that comment was harsh, but he told the truth. She did trap him. While he did ruin her previous proposal, he did chase down her carriage, but right after he proposed, she blabbed to the whole ton the next morning about the engagement(this showed how much the Bridgertons are morons, but I digress). If anything happened, it’d be hard for him to back out without everyone knowing and questioning his honor. It’d be his second time cutting off an engagement and it’d be his 3rd time being humiliated.

He asked if she wanted to be intimate, she immediately said yes. Eloise told her to tell him even before they had sex, but she didn't. Penelope knew Colin hated LW but still agreed to sex before she told him. She didn't even tell him, he had to found out tailing her carriage! So screw you freaks, that comment was well needed for her ass. As said before, Colin has been duped by the Featherington family so him lashing out and saying that is him telling her, 'Prove to me you're not like Marina." (She isn't. She's worse).

"Book!Colin was more supportive!"

Of course he was; LW didn't hurt him, his family, or anyone else. LW wasn't vicious like she is in the show. When Book!Colin found out about LW, him and Penelope were still friends, they weren't engaged, they didn't have sex; Book!Colin didn't hate LW. He was just jelly that Penelope made a legacy own her and he was there still purposeless at age 33(something the show tried to emulate but fell flat in a pile of horse shit). The situation in the show is way worse than what it was in the book. Book!Colin would hate Show!Penelope.

Where was Penelope's support when she saw that he was emotionally damaged by the LW reveal? Where were her attempts to mend the drift when she saw that he wouldn't sleep with her in their marital bed? Where was the comfort when she saw him lying on the couch, mentally worn out? She just passed by him and even suggested leaving in separate carriages. She did not support him when he was at his lowest, his own wife. Now if the show showed Penelope trying to talk to Colin and comfort him and he responded, "Give me more time.”, then fine.

But that didn't happen. He had to be the one to fix the relationship when she was the reason he was depressed. He never considered giving up on her, clearly with him still marrying her and sleeping on the couch they screwed on right outside their room door where he could’ve slept in another room in that huge ass house. He wanted her to try and reconcile but Penelope gave him nothing.

But he’s being too sulky and not supportive enough though Penelope ain’t returning the favor.

We get drowned with LW drama with the Polin fans admonishing Colin for not being a proper pet to Penelope.

Isn't this show named Bridgerton? What in the fresh hell?

He chose her over his own pride, pain and emotions. Penelope didn't do the same but people want to act like Colin isn't supportive or barely supported her, when in a relationship, it goes both ways. His purpose shouldn't be to prop up Penelope but that's what the show limits him to, F his feelings, f his mental health, girlboss Penelope deserves her man and her HEA as if he's a reward or a consolation prize, not a person deeply hurt by someone he thought he knew.

“He just needs to forgive her already, get over it!”

Y'all are trash for this. After all what Penelope has done to him, you want him to get over it so quick so you can have more cringe romantic scenes and soulless sex scenes. It took Eloise a year to forgive Penelope(and it happened in the dumbest fashion, but that's another can of worms). Just because they're together doesn't mean a speedy recovery. Actually it's worse 'cause they are together. He even told Eloise that she’s lucky she’s never been in love; it hurt that much.

The fact he chose to stay is already a big step of him getting over it, but that’s not enough it seems. You want him to get over the hurt she did to him, the lies, the loss of his own agency ‘cause like it or not, Colin still wanted to marry Marina even after knowing the truth but Penelope took away his decision to ensure his availability for her. She embarrassed his family a good number of times. But hey, get over it Colin.

He’s second when it comes to Penelope. He asked this beotch to give up the gossip column, a thing that caused him and others pain throughout the years, to be with him, forget the past and start their new life together. Nope, she chose her career. LW is power and she still wants that manipulative power so take the L from your wife Colin. Her ego won the day, not their love; Penelope is Colin’s first. LW is Penelope’s first, get over it Colin. It’s harsh af knowing you’ll never be first in the heart of the woman that you love.

If anyone needs to get over anything, it’s Penelope. She should’ve been got over Colin’s comment, now stew in her own shit for months; she’s not entitled to his feelings. She should’ve gotten over the damn gossip column that does more harm than good ‘cause if she’s such a great writer, then explore other avenues of writing. You’re already established, it’ll be nothing of you for your works to become popular since the ton already knows you’re a great writer.

The damage for Colin is deep but he must get over it to be the cushion for Penelope, for him to be in the shadows so Penelope can take all the shine ‘cause “feminism woo hoo!” She’s a career woman and Colin’s purpose is just to love Penelope and nothing more.

Penelope, Penelope, Penelope, it’s all about Penelope.

Their relationship shouldn't be imbalanced like it is. The ship is called POLIN. Colin is just as important as Penelope, but the show and even the fans don’t treat it as such. He’s turned to some irrelevant sidekick who’s an accessory for Penelope and his purpose: well of course it is Penelope.

The show made him publish his journals at the end to be like “see look, he does have a purpose of his own!”, though we rarely saw a lead up to that. It’s addressed once, the LW drama comes in, that part of him is buried until the final episode where it’s framed that his anger was jealousy all along, not him having a vendetta against LW for harming him and his loved ones.

Bullshit on top of bullshit.

Yeah, maybe he should’ve went up there and stood with her when she was giving her god awful speech, but his ‘If my only purpose in life is to love a woman as great as you’ toxic feminism speech would’ve just dulled it. Plus, I don’t think people know how abusive that speech is.

They should’ve stood together, Queen deus ex machina gives her pardon, and then he gives her a speech about how the wound is still there but he knows it’ll heal, to be honest with each other going forward, to put the past to rest and continue on into the future, hand in hand as Mr and Mrs. Bridgerton. Cringe, but at least love is the focus. Him being the man behind the woman instead of the man beside the woman undermined their love story and undermined the ridiculous feminism narrative too, sacrificing the equality aspect of both of it.

I’m just ranting at this point but anyway, this ain’t the Penelope show. Give Colin some fucking grace like you do your Mary Sue.

[ficreadergirl]

Dangerous Inquiries (2.ch.12)

"As far as I know, you only took 3 days off. Where were you yesterday?" your colleague asked curiously. Remembering yesterday, you blushed faintly. Jason really kept his promise about... anyway.

"I was... uhh... a little bit sick." you lied quickly, hoping he wouldn't pry any further.

"Really? It must be because of the weather. It's very unstable." he said sympathetically. You thought he was such a sweet person and you kind of felt bad for lying to him.

"Yes. You're right. So... is there anything new about that thief we think is the murderer?" you changed the subject, wanting to focus on something else.

"Not yet. But streets say he might be dead." he informed you. That caught your attention immediately.

"What do you mean by dead? Who says that?" you asked carefully. He sighed heavily before approaching you.

"Of course it's just rumours but... some says he's killed by Red Hood." he whispered like it was some sort of forbidden knowledge. You froze when you heard those words.

"Uhm... when exactly this happened?" you forced yourself to ask casually. Even though he found your attitude strange, he answered the question without saying anything.

"Yesterday. Rumours say he beheaded that thief." he whispered again. Yesterday? It was fake rumours. Yesterday, he was so busy with you. You wondered where he heard that rumour.

"Who said that?" you asked trying not to seem so curious. When he realized that you were curious, he started to explain more enthusiastically.

"I heard it from this girl I knew who works at the bar near the docks. Her boyfriend is a part of the gang that Red Hood sometimes hangs out with. I heard that this girl witnessed her boyfriend talking to some of his friends. What the girl said, these guys were telling that the guy called Red Hood cut off a thief 'who also attacked to a courthouse' head." he explained.

"Just that? There isn't anything else? Who's that said boyfriend? Who's that girl?" you asked.

"Well... she wants to stay anonymous and wants to protect her boyfriend. But she said they also were talking about an antique dealer who was murdered some while ago." he told you. You gasped. An antique dealer who was murdered...

"That's..." you couldn't finish your sentence. Could it be true? Was Jason involved in all this mess? How could he be? He was with you all the time. The girl must have been lying. You left office to get some fresh air. You called Jason as soon as you got out.

"Hey love. What's wrong?" he answered, sounding sleepy.

"Did I wake you up?" you asked trying to keep your cool.

"No. I was just resting my eyes. What's going on?" he replied, already alert now.

"I have to see you." you said firmly.

"Really? You missed me that much?" he teased.

"It's important, Jason. Please meet me at the coffee shop across the street from the courthouse. We need to talk." you insisted.

There was a pause. "Okay. Be there in ten minutes." he agreed, his tone serious now.

You hung up and hurried back to your office, feeling a mixture of fear and determination coursing through you. Whatever was happening, you needed answers. After telling your colleague that you were meeting with a client, you headed to the café.

Jason arrived a few moments later looking worried. "So what's going on?" he asked once you were seated together.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. "I heard some things today. About the man we're after."

His brow furrowed. "What kind of things?"

You told him everything you had learned, leaving nothing out. As you spoke, his expression grew increasingly concerned. "I don't believe that you killed him Jason." you assured him when you finished. He looked up at you, searching your eyes for any sign of doubt.

"But why would someone make up a story like that?" he asked clearly confused.

"I don't know but what if..." you trailed off, hesitant to voice your suspicions aloud. Jason waited patiently, watching you intently. "Do you think that Wilson girl is here, messing with me again?" you asked finally.

He frowned considering the possibility. "Maybe..."

Both of you fell silent, lost in thought. Finally, Jason reached over and took your hand in his. "Look, whatever happens, you should know that I'm not involved in any of this."

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I know. I believe you." you said softly. Your hands remained entwined as you sipped your coffees, gazing into each other's eyes. His touch was making you feel better, more secure. You didn't want to let go. Your leg brushed against his under the table and you couldn't help but feel a jolt of desire course through you. He was surprised but pleased, returning the touch. The moment lingered, and then, without another word, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. Jason's lips were warm and soft against yours, and you could feel his heart racing. He broke the kiss after a few seconds, looking into your eyes.

"What was that?" he breathed almost in a whisper. Your leg under the table slid up against his thigh.

"Can't I kiss my boyfriend?" you teased as your leg moved up and down, pressing against him. He was hard beneath his jeans, and you could feel his breath hitch. "Or are you telling me you don't like it?" you asked arching an eyebrow.

"Don't you have to go back to court?" he managed to say between pants.

"Do you want me to go?" you challenged grinning mischievously. "I can go back now." you said as you moved to leave the café but he grabbed your arm, pulling you closer. You could feel his erection pushing against your hip. "In all these people? Jason..." you protested quietly while moving your body against his.

"There're only 2 more people Y/n..." he murmured, his hands moving up your arms to cup your shoulders. "We can use the toilet I think."

"Do you think I can be quiet?" you teased nipping playfully at his bottom lip before capturing it between your teeth.

"Let's see if you can." he growled before leading you to women's toilet, locking the door behind. Once inside, he pushed you against the wall, one hand holding onto your hair while the other slid up your shirt, cupping your breast roughly through your bra. You moaned into his mouth as he kissed you hungrily. His tongue was seeking entrance into your mouth, demanding attention. It was hot and rough, passionate and urgent. You felt yourself growing wetter by the second. His hand on your hair started to move lower, trailing along your neck and collarbone until it found its way to your hip. He pulled you even closer, grinding his hips against yours.

"Jason...," you whimpered, unable to form coherent words anymore. You wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting more contact, needing to feel every inch of him pressed against you. He groaned into your neck. His hand on your hip slid down further, cupping your ass through your pants and squeezing gently.

"Fuck..." he muttered, kissing your neck and jaw. His lips trailed lower, sucking and nipping at your skin as they made their way towards your breast. When he found your nipple, he circled it with his tongue, causing you to arch your back and cry out.

"Please..." you begged, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "I need..."

"Need what baby?" he breathed against your skin. "Tell me what you need."

"I need you..." you confessed. "I need you inside me."

Without another word, he undone your pants and lowered them, taking your underwear along with them. His fingers found your aching entrance and pushed inside, stretching you. You cried out, arching your back as he thrust his fingers in and out. He leaned in, kissing your neck and nipping at your skin, driving you wild. You were kissing his head as he slowly fingered you, setting a pace that was both gentle and demanding.

"Jason... please..." you moaned, your hips moving with his fingers. "I'm... so close..."

He growled, speeding up his movements, his fingers moving faster and deeper inside you. You could feel the familiar tightening in your core, the impending release building up. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you came, your voice muffled against his neck. He held you tight against him, still thrusting his fingers as you cried out in pleasure.

"Turn around Y/n..." he breathed against your ear. "Let me take you properly."

He pressed you to wall as you turned around. "You're so eager baby..." you said while hearing him undoing his pants. That sound was arousing enough, making your sex throb and ache for him. You couldn't see him but felt his length pushing at your entrance. He lined himself up, and then slowly slid inside, inch by inch. It felt so good to have him inside you again. "Oh fuck..." you moaned, arching your back. "Slowly Jason... take your time..."

He groaned, thrusting deeper, burying himself completely inside you. His hands cupped your ass, holding you close as he began to move. It was slow at first, his hips rolling against yours in a sensual rhythm. "Y/n..." he murmured against your ear. "You feel so good..."

"So do you..." you breathed, feeling your body relax into his touch. "Just like this... so good..." you moaned, your hands on the wall, fingernails digging into the paint. "Go slowly Jason... I wanna feel you..."

He listened, slowing down even more. His hips barely moved against yours as he held himself deep inside you. You could feel the weight of his cock stretching you, filling you completely. "Like that?" he asked, kissing your neck. "You want me deep and... slow?"

"Yes..." you moaned. "Just like that..."

He smiled against your skin, his hips starting to move again, but only fractionally. It was almost like he was teasing you. His hand slid up your stomach, cupping your breast over the fabric of your shirt. He pinched your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger as he began to thrust more deeply.

"Jason... I love you..." you whispered, your eyes closing as you felt your body beginning to respond to him. His hand moved to your other breast, massaging and squeezing it through your shirt. "Oh god... baby... it's so good..."

"You're so good for me Y/n..." he groaned, his hips beginning to move faster. "I love you so much..."

"Jason... take me..." you gasped, digging your nails to wall. "Take me love... like that..."

He growled, thrusting harder, deeper. His hips slammed against yours, driving his cock deep inside you, claiming you completely. You arched your back to meet his lips, kissing him with a passion that was almost desperate. His hand slid under your shirt, stroking your bare skin as he continued to thrust, his rhythm becoming more and more urgent. "Jason! Keep going!" you cried out, your body trembling with pleasure.

"Y/n... quiet..." he gasped, his lips finding yours again. His hips moved faster, his cock thrusting deeper with each thrust. You could feel the head of his cock brushing against something inside you, driving you crazy for more.

"So good... so good..." you moaned, your legs shaking as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. "That's it... oh baby..."

"Quiet..." he growled, his hand covered your mouth. "They'll hear us..."

"Mmph..." you moaned into his palm, unable to help yourself. He growled, thrusting harder still as he felt you tighten around him. You could feel the rush of pleasure overtaking you, your body tensing and shuddering as you came, your orgasm radiating out from your core and through your entire body. "Mmphh!" you cried out, arching your back as your walls contracted around him.

Jason's thrusts became erratic, his hips slamming against yours as he came as well. He groaned, his eyes closed, his teeth bared as he emptied himself inside you. After a few more moments, he pulled out, his breath ragged. "God... Y/n... you're incredible..." he panted, kissing your shoulder.

You leaned back against him, your heart still racing. Turned your face to his and kissed him softly. "I love you, Jason..." you whispered. "I love you so much..."

He was holding you, his lips pressed to your neck. "I love you too, Y/n..."

"Fuck... I feel like I'm paralyzed." you complained laughing.

"I can carry you to courthouse if you want." he joked back. You both laughed as you started to get dressed. Before unlocking the door, he turned to you and kissed you softly on the lips. "God... I'm so lucky to have you."

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back. The kiss was almost desperate. "We should go do our thing before I get wet again I think." you teased, trying to play it cool.

"Whenever and wherever you want." he whispered, his eyes locked on yours. "I'll take you anytime, anywhere."

"Jason... fuck..." you groaned, feeling your body heat up again just from the look in his eyes. "Let's go before I'm late to work because of our second round."

He laughed and leaned in for another kiss. "Yes... we'd better get going. Don't want anyone to get the wrong idea." he said turned to kissing you again.

"Jason..." you moaned, melting into him, deepening the kiss. "I need you again... oh fuck..."

"I'll satisfy you tonight, love." he whispered, his hand sliding down to cup your ass. "I promise."

"I can't believe how we got here. I mean a month ago I was hating you and now... I can't focus on anything else." you confessed before kissing him again.

"Neither can I, Y/n. I love you so much." he whispered, kissing you back. You were trying to push your tongue into his mouth, desperate for him. "Stop before I change my mind. Or--"

"Or what?" you whispered to his lips, licking them gently, kissing him again.

"I'll fuck you again baby... and I won't let you leave this time."

"Oh really?" you asked, teasing, pulling him into another kiss. "What will you do, Jason? Stop me?"

He groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed his body against yours. "I'll show you..." he whispered, his voice rough with desire. "I'll show you tonight."

Read more

[takenbypeter]

Hiii! Could you do 19. "You moron... Why are you so careless!?" with Matt Murdock? Thanks in advance! 🥰🥰🥰

Tale As Old As Time

Matt Murdock x reader

Words: 712

Number 19: “You moron…why are you so careless!?”

Author’s note: reader does not know Matt is daredevil, also thank you from requesting! Love you!

Matt swallowed hard as he focused on trying to subtly take control of his breath. It wasn’t new that he got bruises and cuts, but most of the time they were ones he could hide, this…you couldn’t hide this. His ears were ringing, not too heavily but just enough to deter his focus.

But, despite the ringing and the pain that was successfully fading, he tried hard to focus on your footsteps that were in the other room. He heard your footsteps move then pause, then move again.

Along with your steps he heard you grumbling not so under your breath, “you moron…why are you so careless? Making me worry…should’ve called me when it happened.”

He sat in silence unable to argue with your words until eventually you came back to him.

“Here,” you pressed something cold lightly against his shoulder and he took it, appreciatively, “thanks.”

You shook your head and crossed your arms as he pressed the item against his cheek, blinking at the chills that were created because of the ice pack.

“Tell me, how did this happen again?”

“I told you,” his hand dropped down with the ice pack and you lifted his hand back up enforcing him to keep it in place, “I ran into a pole.”

“That’s it? Are you sure? Because it looks serious,” you say, moving his hand slightly to gain a closer view at the bruise but he inches away, pressing the pack over where you were just trying to look.

Your arms dropped down at the distance now created between you two. You wanted to believe him but it was just so strange and very unlike him. Sure he was clumsy but running into a pole?

Sensing your uneasiness with his answer he added a little to his story, “okay I didn’t just run into a pole.”

You breathed in through your nose, happy he was finally giving you some information.

“…I was in such a rush earlier and I bumped into some guy who shoved past me. When he shoved me, he shoved me right into the pole.”

It was a ridiculous lie he knew, but he was hoping that it was just so ridiculous that you just might believe it.

After a brief pause you exclaimed, “that jerk!”

His chest relaxed knowing that you believed him. I mean it wasn’t a total lie some guy did shove him, just not into a pole. It’s not like Matt enjoyed lying to you, he did feel bad, but he just couldn’t tell you the truth.

He couldn’t.

“I wish you had eyesight so you could point out that bastard to me and I could beat him up. God, how rude can people get?”

Although the whole story was a fabrication, Matt still appreciated how sincere you were about defending him, and you taking on some guy for him was nice in theory. But he wasn’t going to let some imaginary guy ruin your day.

“What’s done is done, let’s just forget it. Please?”

You don’t want to forget it, you want to be pissed. But if Matt wants to move on, there’s nothing you can do. Accepting defeat you sit down on the spot next to him, “you still should’ve told me.”

“I’m sorry,” Matt scoots closer to you and you lean your head on his shoulder trying not to put too much pressure on him just in case he was hurt in any other area that you couldn’t see.

You shrug, “it’s alright, things happen. Just please…be careful and communicate with me when things happen.”

Matt nods in response and you turn your head planting a little kiss against his shoulder.

That kiss right there. That small act of endearment…yeah that just added to the guilt he felt about hiding everything from you. And for a moment his grip against the ice pack hardened as he felt a wave of truth hit him. Truth about how deep you’re in already without knowing. Truth with how hurt you’d be when you found out.

But another kiss from you pulled him out from that thought.

“Okay let me get you something for that cut, I feel like that was the first thing I should’ve done,” you said, pushing yourself off of the seat.

-

Dialogue Prompts

[t0rturedangel]

lanyon with someone who's from the future and deliberately traveled to past claiming that their gadgets are from magic just to piss him off? afaik in the novel he doesn't support supernaturalism and jekyll's balderdash so the intereaction would be funny lmfao (could be platonic or romantic depends on you)

take care!

-🦋 anon

𝟎𝟎𝟏. 𝘍𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤 '𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘤'

⠀⠀⠀: ᯓ 𝟎𝟎𝟐.⠀ LANYON X READER

› 〉 𝟎𝟎𝟑. SYNOPSIS, Lanyon just doesn't believe in magic and you're not making it any easier

› 〉 𝟎𝟎𝟒. WARNINGS, none apart from maybe out of character historically wise.

› 〉 𝟎𝟎𝟓. AUTHOR'S NOTES, I'm happy to do another Jekyll and Hyde request!! :) I may have went overboard.

「 ★ 」 ⠀・At first Lanyon is gonna be very skeptical of you, I mean you're this random person (dressed in some really weird clothes btw) preaching to him about how you're 'magical', it's slightly insulting to him.

⠀「 ★ 」 ⠀・He questions you a lot, mostly the basic ones like "who are you?" and "where did you come from?" and of course, the classic "what do you want from me?" I mean lets be serious it is slightly tiring because he keeps repeating himself.

You sighed, clearly annoyed- Lanyon kept asking you the same damn questions and it was eating away at your brain, who knew someone like this would be so irritating to be around? You sure as hell didnt. "Lanyon, Lanyon- please just stop, I already told you I'm NOT an alien, or some freaky monster that's gonna come after you... jesus" "I don't believe you" you deadpanned, wow- how the actual fuck does this guy have friends "Well then why do you keep asking me these dumb ass questions?" you retorted, leaning back on your chair, blowing a rasberry to the cieling of his room.

"Well pardon me for questioning the person who just broke into my home, you should feel lucky I havent even informed the authorities." his comment made you laugh, did everyone in this time period seriously talked like this? It sounds stupid, like no one from your time line ever speaks like this, no one calls the feds the 'authorities' unless they're older than 60. Your laughing seemed to make him extremely upset, though it wasnt like he could do anything he tried when you arrived: he tried to shoot you out of terror but the moment the bullet came closer to you it disintigrated. "Don't laugh at me." "My deepest apologies my dearest gentleman!"

「 ★ 」 ⠀・Thats pretty much how your 'friendship' started, and from then on you wouldn't leave him alone, always talking about how magical you are and use your devices to annoy Lanyon. Whenever you two are alone he tries to study you to see if you're lying or telling the truth

「 ★ 」 ⠀・Since you're always around him you've got to meet his friends; Utterson and Jekyll, who liked you (but thats only because you didn't act the same as you did to Lanyon). Jekyll esspecially found you interesting but you avoided him- after all you know his secret and dont really wanna get involved with stuff like that PLUSSS you gotta keep Lanyon company.

「 ★ 」 ⠀・speaking of, whenever you're around Lanyon you use a phone, which freaks him tf out because what the hell do you mean you can text people in RUSSIA within seconds? That's impossible.... to him.

"[name]?" you heard the voice of lanyon call out to you, in turn you lifted your head and met his eyes "Yeah?" "What is that?" he pointed to your phone "It's my phone?" ... "what is a phone?"

Yeah you loved explaining a phone to him, watching his eyes buldge out of his skull as you kept talking about the internet and what Wi-fi is. Then everyday, when you two would have a chance to talk you'd show him other devices you owned, to which he'd allways call you a 'witch', whether it was a joke or not you really didn't care.

「 ★ 」 ⠀・When Lanyon found out about Hyde and Jekyll being the same person you were there, making sure to keep him as sane as possible and safe in case Hyde or Jekyll tried anything- after all you and him grew closer over the months you were with him. You did also video everything with a secret camera just incase of anything.

「 ★ 」 ⠀・You expected him to not get as sick as he did originally because you were there and shocked him but unfortunately you couldnt stop it. He was going to end up dying, and in a sad way you blamed yourself; you did force the plot forward.

"[name] I dont need you here okay? I'll be okay, my servants will take care of me" "Bullshit! they don't know anything about medication or taking care of someone" You agrued with Lanyon, staring at him solemly- he was dying and you could tell, you've seen people die like everyday (while you did glorify the future world to Lanyon it was all just you projecting, your timeline is just as bad as the medieval one). "I still have a bunch of stuff I can try to use" You rummaged through your bag after calming down, not daring to look at your friend's sad expression, it would make you emtotional too.

"If nothing can help me from your items, let alone mine, then I'm not worth it... I just still cannot wrap my head around everything." "Then dont, it will only make you worse Lan" You finally had the mental strength to look at him, seeing his pale and tired face made your heart ache, maybe if you never came he's be okay?. no of course he wouldn't be, he'd still die except it would be alone. You just thought that with your arrival and your tech you would be able to at least numb his reaction a bit but I guess seeing a murderer transform into one of your old friends would cause everyone to live in shock, or maybe not. "[Name] listen, promise me, that if I die... which I will, will you keep Utterson company? I fear at the thought of him.... or you being alone after my death"

When did he become so fucking sentimental? with a sad chuckle you responded "I thought you hated me? becuase I'm magical?" "No, I mean, I still find your antics slightly frustating but nothing can be done now. Just please promise me" "okay... fine Lanyon, I promise" ... it took him a while to answer you but he did "Thank you [name], not for just that but for being around me? I suppose your company brought me some sense of joy....." "Thank you too Lan"

「 ★ 」 ⠀・It did break your heart to see Lanyon die, but you had a promise to fufill, and that you did. You kept Utterson company until the day he found about everything too and eventually accepted everything. Even though he gave you chacne to leave him alone you didn't, afterall you had made a promise to Lanyon. What kind of a friend would you be if you didn't keep your promise? a terrible one.

「 ★ 」 ⠀・You justed hoped that Lanyon was at peace.

[keepingwrongsecrets]

To my best friend in 10th grade

Hi, Paige! I know you probably don't remember me (as much as I pray you do) and likely think I forgot about you, too. The truth is, I have been looking for you for FOURTEEN YEARS. You are probably wondering who the hell I am, yeah? Sadly I cannot share my name here BUT I was the really short person who was in academic English (Mrs. Whelan) and Healthy Living (Mr. Seymour; he's the VP now) with you. We hung out in both those classes 100%. You know; the one with the black with rainbow heart backpack? We spent a LOT of time hiding out and just shooting the breeze. You adored Doctor Who and told me that's how I would find you online, remember? You also told me about your boyfriend in Europe and how you wanted to be a biologist, I believe? You told me your last name but my brain just did NOT process it and I was always embarrassed to ask you to say it again. When you left to go to Montreal at the end of 10th grade, you promised me you would come back and we'd see each other again. (And because you were supposed to come back, we never bothered to exchange numbers or anything. We were 16 and thought we knew everything, I guess.) But the fall came...without you. I asked other people if they had heard from you but all your other friends ignored me and refused to give me your FB. (Which ok, I guess was a good move because giving out contact info of your friends is shady AF.) I asked the principal (Mr. Russel) if he could give me any information which I know was wrong but you really were my only true friend and I guess I panicked? He didn't give me anything, of course. I actually hid and cried for a while; I missed you a lot and even after 14 years, I still wonder where you are, how you are, and if we would still be friends now? I like to think so; you were an amazing ally and person in general as a teenager so I imagine you only became more amazing as you got older! A lot has changed for me! In a way, anyway! I am a guy now! (But closeted as it's not safe for me to come out.) I still write but am not published yet! Remember that poetry group I was in? It fell apart and ended up being a pack of lying, racist jerks who bullied everyone who was different! (I was a favorite target.) But, I have joined another one composed mostly of members of the last one who were tired of the toxic vibes from it and wanted to start over. It's mostly good but I am still the youngest member and feeling like the odd one out! I also learned I am pansexual, polyam, largely unable to feel attraction as I prefer to fall in love with their souls VS looks... I still have that old backpack, you know...I refuse to get rid of it since it holds a lot of good memories of the one year we were best friends! I know you will likely never see this but wherever you are? I hope you are as happy as you ever wanted to be, are in good health, and always-always-ALWAYS finding success in all you ever do! If you DO see this (or if anybody out there thinks this may be for you), reach out to me here if you wish. Or not. Whatever you choose, I respect.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hi! First of all i want to thank to you for being a real and honest people. Nowadays, like all areas psychology has some popular social media personas which doesn't feel sincere and most importantly real. But your approach is admirable.

I'm an intj, 24, female. I'm not even sure asking such questions to you would be a good idea. But i thought "why not" so please excuse me if i'm wasting your time. It's a classical childhood trauma which it doesn't heal. I got bullied about my physical appearance several times when i was a child. I called ugly mostly and even a girl from my class told me that i should've work twice cause i'm ugly. Now it's all passed but the feeling it's still there.

Actually my real problem's about what's gonna happen if i have a relationship because no matter what i don't feel beautiful. Sometimes some of my friends or a guy who is trying to hit me calls me beautiful and thinks like that. But i feel like if i would accept that everyone would laugh at me. Everyone's lying cause i am ugly. That's the truth. Of course this isn't a healthy though i know but i can't get rid of that feeling no matter what i did. If i would turn into a super model nothing would change inside me so this proves that my thought's aren't healthy and something's wrong.

I only ask because I'm afraid if i would love someone in the future i couldn't have a healthy relationship. This really bothers me. Thanks for even my question was useless to ask to you and stole your precious time.

----------------------

1) I think you've made a great point about social media personas. The self-help business is big business because it speaks to people's deepest suffering. Unfortunately, it is easier to manipulate and exploit vulnerable people, so there are lots of charlatans out there looking to take advantage. That's why I avoid social media and always prefer to learn from the recognized experts in a field.

Nowadays, we are all flooded with so much information, so it's more important than ever to be careful about who you listen to and whether you're getting the right information, especially when it's about your psychological health and well-being. An important part of nurturing a healthy spirit is feeding it a healthy "diet" that promotes personal growth, which means avoiding people who would feed you false or biased information.

2) Bullying is defined as forceful behavior that serves the purpose of dominating or intimidating people. The experience of repetitive bullying is a recognized form of psychological trauma because it damages your sense of dignity, making you believe your existence is insignificant. A bully's greatest success is when you learn to bully yourself with their words. They don't even have to be present anymore because you're doing all their work for them through voluntarily putting yourself down and punching out your own spirit.

When you experience trauma as a child, you don't have the intellectual capacity to make sense of it, so it's as though your mind gets stuck in that period of time. As a result of not being able to move forward in psychological development, childhood victims of bullying are much more likely to suffer mental health issues like depression, anxiety, and low self-esteem as adults. They don't know how to escape the perspective of victim, often feeling fearful, helpless, powerless, or hopeless.

Children have the wonderful qualities of being open, sincere, and trusting because they need to learn about the world quickly. Thus, they easily believe everything they are told. But every coin has two sides. Being trusting makes them more susceptible to manipulation by irresponsible actors. You're 24 and still believe what you were told about your physical attractiveness as a child. As an adult, you should now have the intellectual capacity to think more critically about your beliefs and values. And you should be able to develop the independence of mind to choose beliefs and values that are more aligned with the truth.

You now see there is something wrong in your thinking because you've realized it didn't originate from you. Good. Are you capable of changing your thinking? INTJs tend to be intellectual creatures, so perhaps you should start by doing a careful examination and analysis of the concept of beauty, to counter the beliefs your bullies instilled in you. E.g. What is beauty and how is it defined? What is the true purpose of labeling things "beautiful" or "ugly"? Who gets to define what is beautiful, and why? What are your beliefs about beauty and where did they come from? Do you need to change your beliefs to be better aligned with the truth? How would changing your beliefs also change your attitude and behavior?

3) Changing your ideas about beauty can help you be more rational in your judgments about it. However, this doesn't erase your memories of the past. Memories plague us because of their painful emotional content. When the emotional trauma is too intense, it is advisable to work in a safe environment with a therapist to guide you.

You shouldn't want to get rid of your memories because those experiences are necessary for your personal identity and psychological growth. You can learn to look upon past experiences differently, from a bigger perspective. Big picture thinking should come naturally to Ni doms. By making better sense of what happened and putting those experiences in the right perspective, you can eventually come to weaken or neutralize the negative emotions.

Imagine that you were walking down the street and you saw someone yelling at a small child, calling them "ugly" and all sorts of vulgar names. The child is crying quietly but cannot get away. Would your first instinct be to join the bully in berating the child? Or would you feel a strong desire to protect the child from harm? If you have any humanity, you would not hesitate to conclude that treating the child this way is morally wrong and should be stopped as soon as possible. If you had the capacity to stop the bully and speak to the child, what would you say to them? How would you help them?

Now, imagine that the child is you. Do you believe that you deserved the bullying? Do you believe that your bully cared about you and was telling the truth about you, or were they just trying to destroy your dignity and dominate you for their own purposes?

To put traumatic childhood experiences in the right perspective, you have to be able to transcend the perspective of the innocent child and adopt the vantage point of a wiser adult. Instead of looking upon the situation through the eyes of the helpless victim you were then, you can now look upon it as someone with the power to help and stop the victimization. Look upon that child with empathy and compassion, and you may start to see how beautiful the child actually is and how much they deserve to be loved after what they've been through.

Being granted the strengths of Te-Fi, healthy TJs are generally fearless and formidable people. They don't fear making mistakes, because they are confident in their ability to recover and learn from them. They don't succumb to control, because they form their own beliefs and do what they want. They don't need to be told what is right, because they follow their own moral code. They don't wait around for a hero, because they know how to be their own hero. This power already lies within you, but you have to change your perspective on yourself in order to release it.

[sapphire-weapon]

i just wanna say thank u so much for that in detail wiki post. legit i feel so much more informed now and thank u!! as someone newly getting into re (slowly working on the first 2 games--both the remakes and the ogs bc i love seeing how different they are !) ur fr doing a favor and its honestly a shame that ppl are just straight up lying. wheres the wiki editor honor? honoring actual fact and citation on wikipedia is usually pretty serious lol

🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

The wiki editor honor in survival horror fandom in general died in 2015 with a mental breakdown about circumcision in the Silent Hill wiki, which never stops being weird no matter how many times I say it.

What's frustrating about this whole thing with the RE wiki is that like... a lot of the bad info on there didn't come from nowhere, and it's not something that I necessarily want to hide from new fans. It's fun trivia to learn that, once upon a time, both RE2 and RE4 were completely different games, so there were actually several different character concepts written up for Leon, and here's what they were.

The whole saga behind RE1.5 and then the three different versions of RE4 that resulted in two of them becoming Devil May Cry and Haunting Ground is fascinating -- as is the whole drama about Shinji Mikami begging Capcom to let him develop RE4 on the PS2, and him being told repeatedly that that was never going to happen because Nintendo had an exclusivity deal, and how the betrayal of that ("If RE4 ever comes to the PS2, I'll cut my own head off with a chainsaw.") led to Mikami leaving Capcom all together, and that's why the story of RE got so fucked up starting at RE4.

Like... that's all really interesting stuff that I love sharing with new fans. But the wiki takes those old versions of those games -- those versions that never released -- and just matter-of-factly states that details about them are still canon, regardless of what the final product actually looks like.

The mafia background that people are so adamant these days as being canon for Leon was a joke to early-to-mid-aughts fandom, because it's so ridiculous and was clearly said before RE2's story was actually finalized and has nothing to do with Leon's actual character or arc. I don't hate new fans knowing about it; I love bringing new people in on old jokes.

But... that's not how it's being treated these days, and it's causing confusion and strife in the fandom, and that doesn't sit right with me.

And now, to go a step even further than that and insist that an advertisement for an airsoft gun is more canonically correct than Resident Evil 6?? I can't actually believe that people are doing this to new fans. It's not right.

Part of the fun of old fandom was always cooking up our own backstories for the main cast, because none of them have one canonically -- and now haughty weeaboos who consider themselves judge, jury, and executioner of canon are trying to take that fun away from modern fandom, and that sucks.

My inbox will always be open if you guys have any questions, and I will always be sure to explain where a detail came from and how actually applicable to the games it is. Don't be a stranger!

[littlemisssunshineshair]

back to hell

i am scared to go back to university this semester. i don’t know if i can take much more of the bullshit thrown my way. last semester, i was gaslit and was made to believe that i was the one in the wrong because i wanted my friends who wanted to be in a relationship to be honest with the friends they were lying to. turns out, they were lying to me as well. most of the group was keeping their “affair” or whatever a secret and they were lying straight to my face. it’s so stupid. it’s so ridiculous. they made something so simple as telling the truth and being honest to one of their friends into something so complicated and made it into this huge drama thing. it’s so fucking stupid. i can’t stress it enough. i thought they were better than that, but they really are just cowards. they live in this delusion that everything shitty and horrible that they do is somehow okay. they rationalize the hell out of it, and when someone calls them out on their bullshit, they play the victim card and get pissed at you FOR TELLING THE TRUTH. if what you’re doing is perfectly moral and fine, then why do you hide it? why do you get other people to lie for you? why do you have to do so much fucking damage control? it’s absolutely nuts. it’s madness. it’s a fucking soap opera.

since i had a falling out with my ex-“friends” from last year (we’ll call them Cherry and Olive) the rest of my friends have been acting super weird around me, and i’m not stupid. i have been through this bullshit before. i know what Cherry is capable of. I know what she has said about other people and i know she’s not above saying horrible things about me. she’s said horrible things about our friends while we were still friends even though they haven’t done anything. Cherry is the type of person to smile in your face and then spread rumors about you behind your back. she’s done it to this guy she had a crush on last year. i used to think that what she was saying was true, and maybe some of it was, but now i wonder if anything she ever said was true. she showed me fake text messages last fall that she made that made him look like he was flirting with her as a teenager. she told me that she made them and that they were fake and that she was very tempted to spread them but she stopped herself. i told her that she was better than that to try to discourage her from doing it in a kind and friendly way. i wanted to see her do better, but i got myself involved with someone very toxic. she flat out showed me who she really was and i was still blinded from seeing her true colors. i understand how it feels to be rejected by someone you are infatuated with and the pain, anger, and self-destructiveness you feel dealing with that rejection. in hindsight i realize that it’s normal to feel those emotions, but it’s not normal to go out of your way to create false information to smear the person that hurt you. that’s really harmful and that’s why i feel like she’s not who she says she is. i wanted to believe her for so long. i wanted to see the growth, but she does horrible things and then stuffs them under the carpet. i’m not even sure if she actually stopped herself from spreading those snapchat messages or if she lied to me then to make herself look better.

i swear to god, if i have to put up with another soap opera drama fest these people at madhouse university love to participate in because they are so miserable with their lives, i will scream. i would rather be alone than deal with their bullshit again. i would rather have no friends than be around a bunch of liars and drama starters. i have never in my life have dealt with people more insane, shallow, hollow, and superficial than at point piss university. these people have tried to take so much from me and i’m so done with it. they have tried to rob me of my happiness, my friends, my reputation, my passion, someone i love, and my truth. they make me feel absolutely crazy just thinking about being around them again. last night, i just sobbed because i was thinking about how horrible everything has been and how much pain that place has caused me. sometimes i seriously consider transferring to another school again because that place makes my anxiety soar through the roof. i try so hard to be strong and to not let all of this get to me, but it’s maddening. sometimes i just feel so alone and that i can never find the right people no matter how hard i try. i try so hard to do good, to keep my integrity in tact, but people are just awful. my family is awful (my extended family). my “friends” are awful. who does this shit? i would never do this to anyone. i’m tired of always having to be alone. i’m tired of having to walk away. i’m tired of always being strong. i want someone to be my rock for once. to help me pick up the pieces of my broken heart. it’s getting harder to breathe.

[god-whispers]

jun 16

a different way to pray (a repeat daily)

"but you, when you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly." matt 6:6

so many out there do not have the prayer life they really want.  maybe they have good intentions, but just cannot ever feel really connected.  i well remember how i used to get antsy and view the clock often.  our flesh begins to burn the closer we draw to the holy.

the following story might give you an intro into an intimate and cherished connection with our Lord.

we all take baby steps to where ever we're going.  they may be small, but if we persist, they will get us there.  this is something we all need if we are to "endure" to the end.

-------

a man's daughter had asked the local pastor to come and pray with her father.  when the pastor arrived, he found the man lying in bed with his head propped up on two pillows and an empty chair beside his bed.  the priest assumed that the old fellow had been informed of his visit.

"i guess you were expecting me," he said.

"no, who are you?"

"i'm the new associate at your local church," the pastor replied.

"when i saw the empty chair, i figured you knew i was going to show up."

"oh yeah, the chair," said the bedridden man. "would you mind closing the door?"

puzzled, the pastor shut the door.

"i've never told anyone this, not even my daughter," said the man.

"but all of my life i have never known how to pray. at church i used to hear the pastor talk about prayer, but it always went right over my head.."

"i abandoned any attempt at prayer," the old man continued, "until one day about four years ago my best friend said to me, 'joe, prayer is just a simple matter of having a conversation with Jesus.  here's what i suggest.  sit down on a chair, place an empty chair in front of you, and in faith see Jesus on the chair.  it's not spooky because he promised, 'i'll be with you always.'  then just speak to him and listen in the same way you're doing with me right now."

"so, i tried it and i've liked it so much that i do it a couple of hours every day.  i'm careful, though.  if my daughter saw me talking to an empty chair, she'd either have a nervous breakdown or send me off to the funny farm."

the pastor was deeply moved by the story and encouraged the old guy to continue on the journey.  then he prayed with him, and returned to the church.

two nights later the daughter called to tell the pastor that her daddy had died that afternoon.

"did he seem to die in peace?" he asked.

"yes, when i left the house around two o'clock, he called me over to his bedside, told me one of his corny jokes, and kissed me on the cheek.  when i got back from the store an hour later, i found him dead.  but there was something strange, in fact, beyond strange-kinda weird.

apparently, just before daddy died, he leaned over and rested his head on a chair beside the bed."

- author unknown

-------

you know, i like stories most that were composed by unknown authors.  they seek no glory or praise for themselves.  they want it all to go to God.  it seems to me, that's as it should be.  "for by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God,  not of works, lest anyone should boast."  eph 2:7-9

there is no boasting that we have earned our way to heaven.  we are all unworthy of the great gift He has given.  any good works we might have accomplished since we came to Christ was just His working in us and through us.  that is dependent on how much we yield ourselves to Him.  even then, it is His precious love that draws us.

"[for my determined purpose is] that i may know Him [that i may progressively become more deeply and intimately acquainted with Him, perceiving and recognizing and understanding the wonders of His Person more strongly and more clearly], and that i may in that same way come to know the power outflowing from His resurrection [which it exerts over believers], and that i may so share His sufferings as to be continually transformed [in spirit into His likeness even] to His death".  phil 3:10 ampc

[casspurrjoybell-18]

Mutual Desire - Chapter 14

*Warning - Adult Content*

After regarding these pictures and the few information that the internet had of Alexander Nabokov, Damien Clark abruptly closed his phone and his bad mood intensified oddly. 

He closed the TV and his eyes. 

Yet sleep still wouldn't appear. 

Damien ironed the photos again and again in his head.

 Although he had sighted them for a few seconds, Damien was capable of recalling every minor detail of the pictures. 

From Nabokov's upright and imposing posture, from his much too perfect and calm face, from his eyes that were as breathtaking in the photo as in real life. 

In the end, it had been a terrible idea to undergo with this research because now, Damien only had Nabokov images in his disordered mind.

And that caused him to sleep only two long hours later. 

When he woke up the next day, Craig was lying next to him, sleeping. 

Damien did what he undertook each time he wakes up, he lovingly watched Craig for a few minutes and ran his hand gently through his messy brown hair. 

He then got up from the bed, picked up his phone from the bedside table, went to the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast. 

After preparing the ingredients for the pancakes, Damien decided to call the garage to make an appointment. 

No one answered the first phone call or the second. 

The third attempt was the right one and someone answered after the fifth ring.

"I have no place this week. It has to go to next week," the mechanic guy said when Damien asked him if he could come today.  

Damien couldn't believe he'd been so stupid not to make an appointment and think there would be room for him if he called at the last minute.

As if the garage was his mother's.

"I really have to bring the car to the garage. It's been making a weird noise for the past few weeks."

"Sorry, man. I really have no spot this week."

Damien sighed but didn't insist and let the guy go on the other line. 

He had no success with the other three garages he called. 

None of them had room for him today. 

Damien abandoned any other attempts. 

Anyway, it was all his fault. 

He only had to reserve a place in advance. 

The breakfast prepared, Damien brought it in the room where he put the tray on the bed. 

The smell was surely what wakened Craig because his eyes opened a few seconds later. 

Damien and Craig ate breakfast and they discussed Craig's clinic project. 

The delightful morning of their day resembled that of yesterday. 

Damien let Craig go back to his sleep, he who had had little time to sleep since he woke up earlier than usual. 

When Craig woke up for a second time, he watched TV with Damien and then made love to him in the shower.   

Around one in the afternoon, Craig left for his meeting, leaving Damien alone in the apartment. 

His garage plans being completely ruined by his fault, Damien now had some free time to spend. 

He thought of calling Nick, who told him to do so if anything new came up. 

Although he also wanted to spend time with Nick, Damien didn't intend on digging his own grave. 

Thirty minutes after Craig left, Nick called. 

For a moment, Damien thought his best friend had installed surveillance cameras but then he remembered he was at Craig's apartment and his unjustified paranoia disappeared. 

Damien let the phone ring, hesitating to answer. 

Realizing he was acting like an asshole because his best friend wanted to spend time with him and he was hesitated because of a stranger, Damien decided to answer after the fourth ring.

"What?" Damien answered dryly.

Nick chuckled at the end of the line.

"I'm going to start believing you're sexually frustrated. Do you want me to talk to Craigson?"

Damien smiled slightly.

"As if you had the courage to actually talk to him."

Nick laughed gently.

"You got a point, asshole!"

Nick didn't hide the fact that Craig was intimidating him.

According to him, Craig possessed the coldest blue eyes on this earth.

"Are you at the garage?"

Damien stayed silence for a second, hesitating on which answer to provide to his annoying best friend.

"Yes."

"You"re such a terrible liar. You know I can hear the TV, stupid?"

"My appointment is scheduled for later."

"Oh! Yeah? At what time then?"

"At three."

"Bring your ass right now, Clarke."

"Why do we have to meet at your office? Let's meet up where we're eating," Damien suggested, hoping he wasn't giving away anything that would cause Nick to believe he didn't want to go to his work.

"Uh... actually, I'd like you to take a quick look at the software. I received some constructive feedback from my boss and would like to improve some things."

"You're fucking unbelievable, Nicolas."

"I know! I'm often told so in bed."

Nick laughed lightly at his own unfunny joke.

"In how long will you be here?"

Damien sighed and stroked his hand through his hair.

"Give me an hour."

"Hurry up!"

And the little shit hung up without letting Damien slip a word. 

Damien almost regretted answering the call. 

But again, what were the odds of meeting Nabokov? 

Very slim. 

So, Damien didn't have to worry. 

Nabokov was likely at a meeting or something. 

Damien was convinced he wouldn't be crossing path with Nabokov today. 

Not a freaking chance. 

Despite this, Damien carefully analyzed the clothes he was going to wear, making sure to be dressed in style. 

It had nothing to do with the slim chance of him meeting Nabokov. 

He was going to a workplace where people dressed properly and Damien was just complying with the norm.

Simply that.

During the relentless drive to Satan's building, Damien hoped with all his heart that Satan himself was somehow trapped in his office with no way of getting out. 

The closer he was to his destination, the faster Damien's heart beat.   

When he entered the underground parking lot with the electronic access card that Nick had sent him, Damien knew there was no turning back. 

He didn't grasp why being just in the same building as Nabokov refrained him from breathing normally. 

A man Damien had met just two days ago was the overwhelming cause of those thoughts, reactions and feelings that remained completely incomprehensible to him. 

Was it finally an obsession?

No, it couldn't be that.

Damien couldn't explain what he had and what the hell was happening with him all of a sudden. 

He had, however, reassured himself by being convinced that he was never going to meet this man who now seemed to become a torment in his life and that the fierce encounters he had with him would never happen again. 

With time, Damien was planning to forget his more than perfect face. 

He knew he just had to let time do its work. 

He had to. 

Damien arrived in hell and despite his resistance, he just couldn't help but being impressed by the luxurious decor of the lobby. 

While walking to the exact spot of his first meeting with Nabokov, Damien couldn't help but remind himself about the rough meeting with the king of the grand building in which he had entered. 

Which wasn't a big surprise since, not one minute from the time Damien met Nabokov that his thoughts weren't for the man, though it trampled his ego. 

Damien felt every little thing brought him back to thinking of Nabokov.

Nope, not obsessed at all.

When Damien arrived in front of the elevator, it opened simultaneously.

 A man was already standing in front of it, waiting to get it. 

Several people exited the elevator, vacating it. 

The man, who was presenting his back to Damien, entered the machine. 

The man pressed the button where his floor number was written on it and turned around, his back touching the depth of the elevator. 

Damien's gaze promptly locked with the man's and at that moment Damien's eyes met a grey color he had recently encountered.

No, this is impossible. 

Damien's breathing stopped and his legs refused to move.

‘Grey Eyes’ was staring intensely at him.

His fascinated stare wasn't cold as usual but impassive and spectacularly beautiful.

Alexander Nabokov had his right hand in the pocket of his pants.

He wore, with class, a grey suit as his eyes to die, without tie.

 He didn't wear one either when they initially met. 

He literally illuminated this elevator. Damn, this asshole was too hot for his own good Damien shamefully thought. 

Damien still didn't move.

Couldn't move.

His legs were instantly frozen and he couldn't feel them anymore, as if they had been given a large dose of anesthesia. 

Damien remained completely motionless in front of the elevator whose doors were wide open and waiting for his entrance. 

And contemplating Nabokov's face, he too was waiting for Damien to come in. 

Still executing no gesture, the elevator grew impatient and went off to close. 

Damien prepared to breathe a sigh of relief when suddenly Nabokov stepped forward a bit and prevented the elevator from closing by putting his hand between the two doors. 

He then backed away a bit, his back being almost stuck at the depth of the elevator.

"This is the first time we meet without collision. Should we celebrate that?"

Nabokov's hoarse voice was composed and had a subtly slight hint of authority that was unintentionally causing bizarre effects in Damien's body.   

Not even thirty seconds had passed since they had encountered each other again, that Nabokov seemed to want to challenge Damien's patience and ruin his mood. 

But Damien didn't react to these provoked words though he did want to throw at Nabokov some smart-ass comments but Damien seemed far too paralyzed by the presence of this man who was the object of his thoughts at the moment.

"Why are you hesitating to come in? I don't have my coffee cup in my hands, and you don't have your phone in yours, so we should be fine," Nabokov said with his hoarse and masculine voice, while remaining completely impassive.  

Damien was completely stunned by Nabokov's presence in front of him. 

Fate really hated him. 

Of all the people he could have met in this gigantic building, it had to fall on Nabokov. 

The last person Damien wanted to see. 

The foolish reason behind his hesitation to come here. 

Damien was completely dismayed. 

Despite this, he was capable to extract some words out of his mouth.

"I'll wait for the next one," Damien finally said, stuttering.

"The elevator is empty, Mr. Clarke."

It was the first time that Damien had heard his last name come out of Nabokov's mouth and this first experience had a bizarre effect on his body. 

The kind of effect that one shouldn't have for a stranger and even less when in a long-term relationship. 

Damien's heart, which was already beating extraordinarily strong, accelerated even more like he was having a panic attack.

How does this guy know and remember his last name?

Damien became perplexed. 

The questions tumbled like sharp rocks in his head. 

Then, Damien remembered that during the presentation, at the time of introducing himself, Nick had also introduced his accompanist who was none other than Damien. 

Nabokov had memorized his full name and this idea made Damien strangely happy.

Maybe the Russian man simply had a good memory. 

Nabokov continued to stare impassively at Damien, waiting for him to finally get into the elevator before it closes again. 

Seeing he had no way out, Damien finally decided to enter the machine, knowing well that he was just as much entering a trap that he wasn't going to get out mentally unscathed. 

The elevator closed and Damien's blue-green eyes did as much. 

The third round was going to start and this time, Damien had every intention of winning.

[tefibetancourt]

okay, so maybe this was like… kind of fucked up. standing in phoebe’s perfectly cutesy apartment, having her smile at her like she was doing phoebe some big favor by spending the night, it was starting to get a little bit uncomfortable. like something was squeezing her ribcage, or she had held her breath for too long. phoebe was nice. she was a truly, genuinely nice person. she didn’t deserve to be betrayed by tefi. she didn’t deserve to have her new friend be some sneaky bitch trying to ruin her life—well, foster’s life, but phoebe’s life by extension. seeing that eager hopefulness on her friend’s face, tefi was feeling less like some secret agent, and more like a… like a…

a fucking asshole.

it was too late, though. the plan had already been set in motion, and if she had actually cared about phoebe’s feelings, she never would have started it all. she would’ve just straight up told phoebe who she was, and that foster was a lying bastard that abandoned people without a moment's hesitation. that during their entire relationship, he had never once said that he loved her, and he was probably just going to abandon phoebe like he had abandoned her if things got too difficult. he was the one that didn’t care about the feelings of others. he was the one that ran out without another word, never to be heard from again. she had no way of knowing where foster was or that he was even alive until her ex-fiancé hired a private investigator! foster was not a good person, and neither was tefi. at least tefi knew that about herself, it was foster that deluded himself into believing he was some sort of victim in this situation. like he was so fucking innocent! so, yeah, she was fucking blackmailing him and trying to ruin his life. boo fucking hoo. it was unfortunate that phoebe was caught in the crosshairs, but as her father said in the rare moments where she actually went to her father for comfort: them’s the breaks.

she had to push away any guilt or shame, because it did not serve her in her mission to ruin foster’s life to get all sentimental. she needed to just get over any latent feelings of remorse, keep tonight light and fun while she tried to extract as much information as possible, and try to see if there were any cracks she could exploit in foster and phoebe’s seemingly perfect relationship. and, if she were to be honest, there had been a secret she was keeping: she wanted this, too. she wanted an easy, fun girls’ night where she could gossip about guys or talk shit about her coworkers or raid phoebe’s closet for an impromptu fashion show. it was a fact that made her sick. she actually liked phoebe, and if it weren’t for the foster of it all, she thought they might genuinely be friends. instead, tefi was lying to her, and the only thing that made her feel a little less guilty was that foster was lying to her, too. she might’ve been a fucking asshole, but so was foster!

tefi laughed, scrunching her nose when phoebe divulged her college stalking tale. “damn, girl. you’re a bit freaky, huh?” there had been no malice or disgust in her voice, only amusement. in fact, she respected that.  stalking was bad, of course, but it seemed like something tefi might’ve done if she had gone to college. further education had struck her as a waste of time, and no one really encouraged her to go. all of her dreams were fame-based and who needed a stupid bachelor’s degree for that? other little girls had wanted to be a nurse or a figure skater or an astronaut; little tefi had just wanted to be britney spears. she nodded solemnly as phoebe referred vaguely to sharon tate’s horrible fate, but quickly moved past it as a bright, excited smile flittered over her face. “ohmigod, you’re gonna totally fall in love with her after this, i promise!” tefi had, at the very least. she watched the valley of the dolls for the first time at fifteen and it was like her life had changed. she had fallen in love with not just sharon, but the melodrama and the aesthetics of it. something opened up within her and tefi suddenly found what she had been looking for, without even realizing she was looking for something.

in the kitchen, she surveyed the snacks that were already on display and nodded along as phoebe listed everything she bought. “wow, you really went all out!” tefi giggled, happy that phoebe went to such lengths for their sleepover. it gave her another pang of regret between her ribs and she had to fight it off, taking another sip of her wine. “we could do a pizza, maybe?” she suggested, though she wasn’t sure how they were going to get through all of the snacks and candy along with a pizza. she couldn’t just eat sugar all night, though! “does pie numbers deliver? i don’t have a car—i took the bus here, which was… not easy with all my stuff.” she laughed lightly. “i expect we’re gonna be on the wrong side of sober soon, anyway.”

picking up a bag of sour gummy worms, she opened it and fished out a few strawberry-grape flavored ones (the best flavor, in her opinion!) and then passed the bag to phoebe. “we could totally do some facemasks. i brought all my skincare and some makeup in my bag, if you wanna go through it.” maybe phoebe would let her dress her up like a ‘60s bombshell! tefi thought excitedly, but then that stupid fucking pang hit her ribs again and tefi calmed herself, chewing the head off of a sour worm. “where’s your boyfriend, by the way? you don’t have him holed up in your bedroom, do you?” tefi asked jokingly, keeping her tone light and cheerful. she didn’t want to seem too interested in foster’s whereabouts, lest her friend suspect something, but she had to be sure he wasn't going to pop up at some point tonight.

She couldn’t help but snort at the nickname Tefi christened her. “Tefi and Feefee,” She remarked with a giggle, shaking her head at both how ridiculous and fitting it seemed. Phoebe had tried over the years to make more girl friends. She tried to be as much like the other girls as possible: she wore makeup, she liked boy bands and vampires and the color pink. But none just seemed to stick. Even now, the girls she befriended in college no longer lived in Blue Harbor. And sure, she was friendly with Maya who owned Latte Love, and she found herself spending time with Dylan and Lainey, but they weren’t…sleepover friends. Maybe it was the internal misogyny her mom — shunned by the few girls she befriended in high school for the mistake of getting pregnant with Phoebe at sixteen — tried to drill in her. Why she clung to Seb and Linc during formative years she should have been playing with dolls and learning how to braid hair. 

But Tefi had provided the opportunity of indulging the years she missed out on, and she wouldn’t let a second go to waste. 

Her stomach did swoop though, noticing the brief flicker of discomfort on Tefi's face at the mention of Foster, and felt awful. Here Phoebe was, in her little love bubble with her chef boyfriend and their cat and apartment, whereas poor Tefi had a psychotic sounding ex who dropped her for no reason and gave her things away without giving her a chance to salvage anything. She felt incredibly guilty, like she was rubbing salt in the wound, but vowed to not bring up any more boys again for the rest of the evening.

… Unless in the form of fictional vampires, of course. “No, you’re right and you should say it!” She encouraged,  “Edward Cullen was my first love. There was a guy in one of my classes at college who looked almost like Robert Pattinson. I think I spent the first semester of Freshman grade just…blindly following him around, like an insane stalker!” She laughed. “Admittedly, I don’t know much about Sharon Tate except for…” Phoebe trailed off, not wanting to speak about the atrocities that happened back in the sixties, but smiled widely after a beat. “Well, this could always be something we share together!”

Since Foster began becoming a more permanent fixture in her apartment,a lot of the more aesthetic components that were sprawled through the living room and bedroom were moved in favor of  chef-approved ‘necessities’,  thus really breaking the space up in a way Phoebe still hadn’t gotten around to solving. She knew it was a big mood shift, thus trying to keep their visit to the room short and sweet. “Snacks! So…” She placed her wine on the counter, moving to the cabinets, where she did a Dreamland Market / Gulp ‘n’ Go stockpile. “We have chips, dips, various candies of the gummy and chocolate persuasion, popcorn, and some little fruit cup things in case the sugar makes us feel gross.” She got each item out of their corresponding homes as she listed them, leaving all but the fruit on the counter, placing it back in the fridge. “And if we want food-food, I was thinking takeout? Oh, remind me, I have some like, facial spa stuff if you want. It’s a silly thing I do with Linc when he comes over so we don’t have to!” But she was putting anything and everything girly and fun out on the table.

[finallydelight]

Thank you so much for the request, I love it when they are very detailed! I hope it is like how you imagined and lives up to your expectations! I appreciate your kind words and support <3 requests are always welcome! Normally, it would have been uploaded sooner, but I had to make changes to the original post and tumblr wouldn't me save it, so I had to make an entire new post. I hope you enjoy it!

I'll Always Look Out For You | Ming Chapter

April, 2021

''Hey guys, have you seen this?'' Seungkwan asked the other members of the vocal team. He motioned for them to gather around his phone. 

The five of them looked at his screen. ''What the hell..'' Woozi mumbled. 

Seungkwan had shown them a post someone had made leaking Ming's phone number and also the ones of other members. The person's reason for this is that Ming had allegedly been ignoring their advances and rejecting their love. 

''Why would someone do this?'' Dokyeom didn't understand why people were like that, leaking the personal information of someone. Jeonghan rolled his eyes. ''Another person who sees our Yerim as their personal property and thinks by doing this it will grab her attention.'' 

''The post says that she has been ignoring his advances, but she has never mentioned anything about someone bothering her, at least not to me.'' Joshua commented, reading the post again. 

Woozi shrugged his shoulders. ''Maybe he hasn't been bothering her and he just wanted to leak the phone numbers.'' 

''Yeah, or she accidentally picked up when they called. Yerim would have said something to one of us if this person had been actually making advances towards her.'' Dokyeom suggested, not believing Ming would keep something like that from them. 

Jeonghan walked back to his seat. ''Let's just hope the company handles this well.'' 

-

''Yerim-ah!'' Coups called for her. 

Ming was laying on the couch watching a movie on her own. ''Yes?'' 

Coups took the space next to her. ''The post is taken down and the company is arranging new numbers for us.'' He said to her, rubbing the back of her head. ''That's great.'' She smiled at him and brought her attention back to the movie. 

''They didn't bother you, right? In the post they said something about you ignoring their advances.'' He asked her, still confused as to what the person meant by that. 

She didn't turn her head, her eyes glued to the screen. ''No, I got nothing.'' She answered him. 

''Alright, good.'' Her nonchalant attitude made him less worried. She didn't seem to be worked up about it, so why should he? 

''I'm gonna have dinner with Jeonghan and Shua later, you can join us, if you want?'' He invited her. 

She shook her head. ''No, that's okay, I don't really feel like going out.'' She declined his offer, smiling at the leader. 

''Okay, but we're probably gonna be back late, so just wanted you to know that.'' He said to her, getting up from the couch. 

As she watched him leave, she felt the guilt creeping up on her. The truth was that the person had in fact been bothering her. She didn't like lying to her members, but everyone has so much going on at the moment, she didn't want to add anything more to the chaos. 

At first, it was just phone calls. Throughout the day and for weeks on end, this person would call her. For a while they actually stopped, she felt relieved and concluded that the person must have given up. However, that was short-lived. 

Calls turned into texts, consisting of love confessions. The individual, who she assumed was a man, wanted to be with her, get married, have kids and move to a foreign country. Obviously she was weirded out by it, but the texts were harmless, so she didn't mention them to anyone. 

She tried blocking his number, but the texts kept coming back. Her lack of response must have also pissed him off, cause the love confessions gradually changed into full on threats. He told her that if she had a significant other, he would kill her and her partner. 

The threats didn't really scare her, because they didn't contain any truth. She wasn't in a relationship with anyone nor was she going on dates. 

Eventually, it started getting worse. Before a schedule with the other members, Ming had to be at the hair salon. While her stylist sat her down in the chair, a staff member of the salon approached her. ''Excuse me, Ms.Kim, someone left their contact information for you.'' They handed her a paper with an email address, a phone number and even the number of the person's work phone. Ming thanked the person and put the paper in her bag, not planning on doing anything with it. 

This started happening more, at the nail salon she went to monthly, the house of her vocal coach and even at the place where she did her pilates classes. 

Ming knew that she had to mention it to one of her members or at least someone of the company, but she didn't. She wasn't the only member that had these privacy issues due to fans who cross the line and she didn't want to be a burden by adding even more problems. 

She had the dorm to herself that night, as Joshua and Coups were out with Jeonghan and Minghao was having a movie night with Vernon in his dorm. 

She was scrolling through social media on her computer in her room, she loved seeing what the fans were up to and how everyone was doing. She wasn't able to access her phone anymore, since it got overwhelmed by all the phone calls and text messages. 

She was enjoying everything, until a certain long post caught her eye. The post was from the same account that leaked their phone numbers. It started with the person saying that they had been trying to pursue a relationship with Ming for several months. They further said that they hadn't been able to sleep, eat and felt sad since it came with no results. They continued saying that if she was secretly dating and kept it from them, it would hurt them so much that they would have to end her life. A few minutes later another post was uploaded, stating they had plans to go to the Seventeen dorms and approach Ming to discuss their relationship. 

What freaked her out was the fact that they knew the exact area where their dorm was situated. ''I really should've gone to dinner with them.'' She said under her breath. She continued scrolling through the account, seeing if they had posted anything more. 

Her attention was grabbed from the screen by sudden noises coming from the front door. You need a code to enter the dorm, so when she heard someone putting the wrong code in as it buzzed, she started slightly panicking. For a couple seconds it was silent, but soon she heard the person pressing the digits again, but this time they were right and the door opened. 

Calm down, Yerim. You have three roommates, it could be any of them. 

''Coups?'' She called out, silence. 

''Shua?'' Silence. 

''Myungho?'' Again, silence. 

She could feel her heartbeat starting to pick up and her hands started shaking. 

''Hello?'' She called out again, but there wasn't an answer. 

She closed her computer and got up from her bed with shaking limbs. Her mind was going crazy with panicking thoughts. 

They're here. They have found me. They're gonna hurt me. They're gonna kill me. 

She tried to open her bedroom door as quietly as possible. She stopped herself, realising she had to have something to defend herself with. She frantically looked around her room, trying to find something that could hurt someone enough it would give her time to run. Ming opted for a pair of scissors that she had used a couple days earlier to cut out pictures that she could hang in her room. She quickly grabbed them with shaking hands and made her way out of her room. 

She could hear commotion in the living room. Her chest was tightening from the anxiety she was experiencing at that moment. Her steps were slow, yet she felt like she was going fast. How closer she got to the living room, how harder it became to breathe. 

She was about to take her first step into the living room, but was stopped by someone grabbing her from behind. ''Yerim'' 

She dropped the scissors from her hands and started screaming like she had never done before, while trying to separate herself from the person that had grabbed her. 

''Woah woah woah! Hey calm down!'' 

She started hitting the person as they still were holding on to her. ''Let me go!'' 

''Yerim, calm down, what's happening?'' She felt more hands on her, grabbing hers so she stopped hitting the person behind her. 

''Yerim-ah! It's Joshua, stop hitting!'' 

She stopped trying to get herself loose and saw Coups and Jeonghan standing before her. She looked behind her and saw a shocked Joshua. Her body became too heavy for her and she fell to the ground. Gut-wrenching sobs tore through her chest and tears ran down her cheeks. 

Coups, Jeonghan and Joshua had gotten back a bit earlier than intended from their hangout, deciding they could still have some drinks at the dorm. While Jeonghan and Coups started taking drinks and some snacks from the kitchen, Joshua went to the bathroom. When he left the toilet, he saw Ming weirdly walking to the living room. He thought it would be funny to scare the girl, but he quickly panicked upon her reaction. Jeonghan and Coups flinched hearing Ming's sudden ear piercing screams, but reacted quickly and ran to the hall. When they were met with the sight of a panicking Ming hitting a clueless Joshua, they were taken aback, but quickly went and tried to help. 

Ming started yelling at them through her sobs. ''Why didn't you answer me?'' ''I thought someone had broken in!'' 

Jeonghan crouched down and tried to hug her, but she slapped his hands away. ''No!" 

''Yerim-ie, just calm down, alright? You're safe, we're here.'' Coups started talking to her, in a soft voice, contrasting her screaming. Her yelling stopped, but the sound of wailing kept echoing throughout the apartment. 

Coups slowly approached her and crouched down next to Jeonghan. He grabbed her hand, letting out a sigh of relief as she didn't move away from him. 

''Just breathe, alright? In and out.'' He started to guide how she should breathe, trying to get her heartbeat to slow down. After a while, her breathing matched his and the tightening in her chest was almost gone. 

Coups cupped her face upon seeing her gradually calm down. ''Yeah, just like that, good girl.'' He noticed the tears were still escaping from her eyes and tried wiping them away with his thumbs. 

While Coups was busy with Ming, Jeonghan stood back up from his crouching position. His focus turned to Joshua who was standing behind him. He took notice of his shaking hands and his raised eyebrows. Joshua noticed his friends looking at him. 

''You okay?'' Jeonghan mouthed. 

Joshua merely nodded, still in shock by the event that happened earlier. 

''Come here, we'll get you off the floor.'' Coups put her arms around his neck and he lifted her up from the ground. It was like a father picking up his kid when they're too tired from walking. 

He sat her down on the couch and went back to the kitchen to grab her a glass of water. Meanwhile, Joshua and Jeonghan sat on each of her sides on the couch. Joshua put his hand on her knee and Jeonghan grabbed her hand and rubbed her back. 

The leader came back from the kitchen holding a glass of water and he sat down on his knees in front of Ming while giving it to her. ''Here you go, don't drink too fast.'' She did as he told and slowly took sips from the water. When she was finished Coups took the glass from her and put it on the coffee table. 

''So,'' Jeonghan started, ''you want to tell us what just happened?'' His eyes observed her face, waiting for her to start talking. 

She was still shaken up, her mind was all over the place. ''I thought there was an intruder, I was scared I was going to get hurt.'' Her voice was still quite scratchy from the crying. ''Why did you think you were going to get hurt?'' Jeonghan asked, a bit confused by her answer. 

Ming remained silent, not wanting to mention the threatening posts that the stalker made, knowing she would probably have to come clear about everything. 

The guys glanced at each other, not understanding her silence. ''Yerim?'' They all looked at her, but Ming's eyes stayed glued on her hands in her lap. 

''Yerim, what's going on? Jeonghan asked you a question.'' Coups nudged her knee, thinking her mind had drifted off and she hadn't heard Jeonghan. 

She hesitantly met Coups' eyes. "I lied.." She mumbled, looking back down again. "What do you mean?" Joshua spoke up for the first time. 

She took a deep breath. "That person who leaked our phone numbers, they have been bothering me the last couple of months." She revealed it to them.

Coups was about to start his scolding, but Jeonghan stopped him before he could. "What have they been doing?" He tried to sound as calm as possible, knowing that if they started scolding her, she would shut down and not tell them anything.

"Uhm, well at first it was just phone calls and texts, but then they started leaving their contact information for me at like my hair salon and stuff," she explained to them, "but then cause I didn't respond to them, they leaked our phone numbers and after you guys left they posted that they were gonna come to our dorm and they even got the area right-"

"Shh, remember to breathe, you're working yourself up again." Jeonghan interrupted her, putting his hand on her chest to check her heartbeat. She took a couple of deep breaths. ''They know where we live.'' She finished off. 

''Where's the post?'' Jeonghan asked, turning his phone on. ''It's from the same account as yesterday.'' She replied to him. 

After a couple minutes he found the post and showed it to the others. ''Jesus Christ, what a fucking psycho.'' Joshua was just disgusted with the whole situation. 

Coups broke his silence. ''Did they ever try to talk to you in person?'' He asked her, worry evident in his voice and on his face. 

Ming shook her head. ''No, I don't even know what they look like, I've never seen them.'' She answered him. 

''I don't know if that makes me relieved or even more worried.'' The leader said, standing up from the ground. The three members on the couch could see the frustration and anger radiating off of him. 

Joshua straightened his posture. ''I think we should call the company.'' He suggested, already grabbing his phone in his pocket. 

''The company? Shua, we have to call the police! This crazy stalker needs to be fucking locked up!'' Coups argued with him, raising his voice. 

''We don't need to call the police.'' Ming spoke up, not wanting the situation to get out of hand. 

Coups turned to her. ''Yerim, this is gonna sound cruel, but by not telling us, you let it get this far. We know you probably meant well, but now you need to let us handle it.'' Despite his frustrations with her, he tried to sound calm and collected. 

''I didn't want to tell anyone, because everybody has so much going on already. People are stressing about the comeback, other members have the same privacy issues and Mingyu is still on a break. I just didn't want to add more problems.'' Ming told them, truthfully. 

Jeonghan gave her a sad smile. ''We understand that, Yerim-ie. But you also have to understand that that person wants to hurt you, they don't see you as a person, they see you as their property, as their product. We have to take drastic measures, we need to take care of you and prioritise your safety.'' He explained to her, the desperation and sincerity in his voice brought the tears again to her eyes. 

''We just want to protect you, because we care for you and love you.'' Coups continued. 

Joshua rubbed her back. ''Maybe we should continue this tomorrow, when we all have a clear head, you know?'' He saw everyone getting upset and he didn't want anyone to say things they don't mean and then regret later. 

''Yeah, good idea.'' Coups bid everyone a quick goodnight and disappeared into his room. Joshua did the same a few minutes after. 

''You're gonna be fine?'' Jeonghan asked her, the pair was still seated on the couch. She gave him a timid nod. He got up from the couch and opened his arms, to which she got up as well and put her arms around his waist. ''If there's anything, just call me, I don't care if I'm sleeping.'' He told her. She chuckled, she felt touched by that, knowing he's a light sleeper. ''I will.'' 

''Good, now go sleep, I'll let myself out.'' He gave her a quick kiss on the head, bid goodbye and left to go to his own dorm. Ming started her usual night routine. Quick shower, skincare routine, taking her medicine and putting on her pajamas. 

She made her way over to her room, but stopped once she passed Coups' room. She absolutely hated seeing him so worried and knowing she's the reason for it, makes it even harder. 

She knocked on his door and waited for his sign that she could come in. ''Yes?'' Upon hearing his permission, she opened his door. Coups was laying in his bed, playing with his phone. As soon as he saw her open the door, he put his phone away and sat up. ''Hey, little one.'' 

She sat herself down on the edge of his bed. ''Are you mad at me?'' It had been bothering her since he told them goodnight. 

''No, I'm just frustrated, that's all.'' She could see he had calmed down from earlier, which made her a bit more relieved. 

''I'm sorry, I should've said something from the beginning.'' She apologised, fiddling with her fingers. Coups noticed and grabbed her hands. ''We'll talk about it tomorrow, we should go sleep now.'' 

''Can I stay with you tonight, please?'' 

The tone with which she said, broke his heart. It had been a while since she last asked him if she could stay with him. She used to stay with him a lot when they were younger, mostly when there would thunderstorms or when she was sad.

He opened his sheets for her and she laid herself next to him. ''Thank you, I really appreciate this.'' She moved her head on his chest and he put his arm around her. 

''Goodnight'' 

''Goodnight, I love you.'' 

''I love you too.'' 

Taglist: @lunarxsun@cosmicwintr@mythicalamphitrite@billboard-singer@stopeatread@still-astray@sakuurra