#but perhaps not that surprising in the grand scheme of things

[kingkaisen]

“Nanamiii, guess what?” Satoru’s face didn’t have its usual casual smirk upon it, but instead, a big grin of excitement.

As he walked into the faculty lounge room of Jujutsu High, he sat down in the chair across from Kento, but that simply wasn’t close enough. The beaming man got up and collapsed on the couch, sinking the spot next to his friend.

“What is it? Why are you so excited?” The blonde-haired man folded the newspaper he was reading and looked over at his blindfolded friend.

“Remember that woman I was telling you about? Y/N?”

Kento’s brows furrowed slightly in concern. “Yes, why?”

“Well,” Satoru’s cheeky grin widened, and a subtle shade of pink dusted across his cheeks. “I kissed her yesterday. It was a long one too, passionate, you know what I mean? God, she’s amazing. I know it’s too soon, but I really think I’ve met the one.”

“Really?” Kento’s previously furrowed brows now rose in surprise. “And does she know who you really are? And what you do for a living?”

“Why are you such a buzzkill? That’s not important right now.”

“Satoru,” Kento sighed, removing his glasses. “You spend every second of every day talking about her. Even you admit that you’re in love. How can you not tell her about curses and the jujutsu society? She might be impressed to know that you are the world’s strongest sorcerer. I’m curious to know why you haven’t been honest with her about any of it yet.”

When the former salaryman finished speaking, his words were met with silence. The couch cushions gave a low squeak as Kento sat up a bit, turning to better look at Satoru, who was no longer smiling.

His lips were downturned into a small pout. Though his blue eyes were hidden underneath his blindfold, Kento was certain that the other man was staring a hole into the nearest wall.

“Have you ever been in love?” Satoru suddenly asked.

“No.”

“Then you wouldn’t get it,” Satoru paused. “She’s a normal person. She likes to watch TV . . . likes to read. We go on dates to her favorite restaurant. One of her biggest worries right now is whether or not her pet is getting sick of their current food and wants to switch it out. My point is that she’s happy, and I don’t wanna ruin it all by telling her that curses are a thing and it's my job to kill ‘em.”

“You hardly know the girl and can’t be honest with her at the end of the day.” Kento’s words were cold, and yet, truthful as well. As he spoke, he glanced down at his watch, adjusting it pointlessly.

“No matter what your excuse is, you’re being dishonest with her. Your relationship is being built on a pack of lies.”

“And why do you care? It’s my relationship.”

“Because I want her to be happy,” Kento mumbled.

“Huh?” Satoru looked away from the wall. Now, he was staring a hole into Kento. “What did you say?”

This time, the blonde-haired man was the one who looked in the other direction, unable to face his friend.

Kento’s throat was dry. What was he thinking?

He had gone weeks without confessing his biggest secret — that he was an old lover of yours — and he dealt with the gnawing jealousy that came with listening to Satoru talk about loving the same woman he used to kiss and hold.

But he sucked it up. Kept his mouth shut.

Perhaps, Satoru wouldn’t have minded knowing that he was falling for a woman who once dated his friend. Who knew?

You were all adults, after all, and such gossipy topics weren’t as important in the grand scheme of things.

And with that thought, it became quite clear to himself why he hadn’t said a word. It was because it was more than just a past relationship; he was still madly in love with you.

“Because I want you to be happy,” Kento spoke up, changing his sentence, his heart pounding rapidly as he silently prayed that Satoru hadn’t heard his words from earlier. “I don’t want to see you end up with a broken heart if she somehow finds out the truth and decides to leave you because you were lying to her.”

Satoru turned away from him, lowering his head.

“What if she leaves me?”

The white-haired sorcerer’s words were spoken in a fearful, sad tone that Kento hadn’t ever heard from the man before now.

It was shocking.

Shocking enough to make him forget his little moment of relief over knowing Satoru hadn’t heard what he said earlier.

“She won’t,” Kento said comfortingly. “If she leaves you, it’ll be because you broke her trust, not because you’re a sorcerer. The longer you wait to tell her, the worse your chances become. Trust me.”

Satoru sighed.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience, huh? Call me crazy, but I’m willing to bet you’ve loved someone before, right? You said no when I asked you earlier, but I just don’t believe you.” He gently elbowed Kento’s arm. “C’mon, you can tell me.”

“Well, if you must know, yes. I loved someone once. It didn’t end well.”

“Why not?”

“I was a different man at the time. All I cared about was money and work.”

“What was she like?”

Right now, Kento wanted to be anywhere but here. He would have preferred being trapped in a curse spirit’s domain than sitting on a couch, having this conversation with Satoru.

“I know how . . . how cheesy this sounds, but she used to have this smile like no other. It was beautiful. It was the sort of smile that makes you feel as if everything in life will be alright. I haven’t seen her in a while, and I worry that someday, I will forget what her smile looked like . . . But I don’t think I could ever forget how it made me feel. How she made me feel.” Kento’s heart ached so painfully inside of his chest. “Anyway, I know she’s happy now. I just hate that it’s without me.”

A few seconds of silence passed, nothing to be heard except for the nearby wall clock ticking.

“Right.” Satoru pushed himself off of the couch. “Well, I better get going now. I’m gonna gather my thoughts and figure out how to break the truth to her before it’s too late. Last thing I wanna do is lose a woman like Y/N . . . but you understand that, don’t you, Nanami?”

Kento’s eyes widened. He looked up in Satoru’s direction, but the other man continued to stroll o towards the door.

“I promise that I’ll treat her well, so don’t worry, alright? I’ll make sure she continues to be happy.”

🏷️: @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @thewondrousdreamer @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @irisveinn @iwanttohitmyself @shoyosdoll @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @sonarspace @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @starlitsawamura @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @lillyxlillian @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz

[lillotte17]

*throws more Veilguard Banter into the gaping maw of Tumblr and then flees*

~~

Solas: “I have another question, Varric. If I may?”

Varric: “Just the one?”

S: “For now. I must admit, I was surprised to see that you were the one they asked to make an attempt at dissuading me from completing my mission. Not to belittle our prior bonds of friendship, but if the intent was to send an agent who might presumably hold some power of persuasion over me, I…would have thought another candidate might have seemed like the more obvious choice.”

V: “Would it really have changed anything if she had been the one telling you to stop?”

 S: “I…do not know. I should think not.”

V: “But at least you would have gotten to see her again, right?”

S: “Perhaps.”

V: “Heh, don’t you worry, Chuckles, I’m sure you’ll get your chance. The fact that I was here instead of her is more of a fluke than anything else. She was more than eager to follow up on the tip that led us to you, but then the kid insisted on tagging along, and you know how it is.”

S: “…kid?”

V: “Right, the kid. You probably haven’t seen him either.”

S: “…No. I have not. Although, I would have thought that there would have been news if the Herald of Andraste had… Well. I suppose there is wisdom in striving to keep such affairs private. I certainly have no right to voice an objection.”

V: “Why would you object to seeing the kid again?”

S: “Again? I… You are referring to Cole.”

V: *snorts* “Well, yeah. Who’d you think I was talking about?”

S: “Never mind.”

~

Rook: “So, Varric, do you really think the Inquisitor is going to show up?”

Varric: “Oh, don’t worry, she’ll be here. She’s been searching high and low for Chuckles for nearly a decade.”

R: *whistles* “And she never caught up to him in all that time?”

V: “Once. It…didn’t end well. After that, a few of our agents came close over the years, but it turns out that the world is a pretty big place, and tracking a lone elf with a network of magical transportation mirrors on his side is about as tricky as you’d expect. It’s even harder when you’ve got a notorious reputation and half of Thedas has seen portraits of your face. One whisper of the Herald of Andraste entering a city, and all our leads would vanish overnight.”

R: “But…I thought the two of them liked each other?”

V: “I think that made it worse, actually.”

Solas: “You do realize that I am standing right here?”

~

Solas: “For what it is worth, I am sorry about your Bianca, Varric.”

Varric: “Oh, you know, what’s an irreplaceable keepsake from the woman I can never be with in the grand scheme of things, anyway? At least you didn’t turn me to stone.”

S: “Your anger is justified. I do not expect your forgiveness, but I would apologize for my actions, none the less.”

V: “Look, if I were you, my forgiveness isn’t what I’d be worried about right now. Someone else has a much bigger bone to pick with you than I do.”

S: “I am not expecting her forgiveness, either.”

V: “So, you’re not even going to try?”

S: “And what, precisely, should I be trying, Master Tethras? This is hardly the sort of situation to be solved by a bouquet of flowers and a well-constructed poem.”

Rook: “Maybe you could send chocolates?”

V: “I was going to suggest groveling, actually.”

[moodymisty]

I remember this sending some time ago a variation of this fic to a Warhammer fic blog but I don't actually remember which. But I guess since I love your writing I would send it here too!!

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon were allegedly build by the Neo-Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar II for his Median wife, Queen Amytis, because she missed the green hills and valleys of her homeland. Even though it is probably a legend, I believe this is one of the greatest acts of love that ever existed! Now let's imagine this with sweet little baby boy Rogal Dorn. There has been already some time since he became the Praetorian of Terra and his beloved wife is desperately missing their homeworld, Inwit. It was a harsh place, with unyielding winters and deadly temperatures, but it was still home. Due to his love for his wife, Dorn builds a place just for herself, where she could practically live in the home where she grew up.

The Emperor, in the background, asks himself how could his generals, especially the one who's personality is that he has no personality, could be so emotional 😭🙏

Author's note: A very short thing, but this idea is cute and it's Dorn so <3 Relationships: Rogal Dorn/Fem!Reader Warnings: None

Dorn considers most verbal promises and declarations or fealty meaningless.

It was easy to say something, to promise loyalty and adoration. To act upon it and prove it was another thing entirely; What he abides by. He will never say he loves you in a million different saccharine ways- simply because why would he say it, when he could do it.

While it hadn't been intended, The Phalanx had become your home as the Crusade progressed. Dorn had little desire to have his wife so far away, even if he was far too busy to actually spend much time with you at all. To simply know you were close at hand and safe behind his stalwart walls and men was adequate enough for his peace of mind. His showing of love was assuring your safety.

However, you missed Inwit.

The cold brick of Inwit's main hold had been your home for some time now, and while the Phalanx was also quite cold, there was no wind whipping and slipping between the bricks, no constant snowfall, and no fire to sit by.

The unfamiliarity of the Phalanx had dampened your mood considerably over time. Even his men had noticed, oddly enough.

"Lady Dorn seems, forlorn. Has something been amiss?"

Dorn had, in the few moments he could catch for himself, begun to plan something for you. The Phalanx was massive, it would be easy enough to take one of it's many rooms and repurpose it for his needs. If his wife was dissatisfied, it was simply his duty to fix it.

He never mentioned it to you, in the time you had together he preferred to listen and enjoy said time rather than go on and on about his blueprints and his plans.

And perhaps, the idea of it being a bit of a surprise was appealing to him. A gift for the Lady of the Imperial Fists.

Upon letting you in, you were instantly greeted with the familiar smell of firewood. The crackle of pieces breaking, the ever so slight burn of smoke. It complimented the sight of so many things you found familiar; The bookshelves, the chaise, the fur pelts, it felt like home.

His secret project was finished after a few Terran months; It had unfortunately taken more time that he anticipated. Being unimportant in the grand scheme meant much else came before it. The next private moment he had with you he was quick to inform you he had something to share, and walked with the expectation you would follow. After only a short walk from your shared quarters he lead you to what would be the most complicated thing he had made for you yet.

Yet, being a key word for Dorn.

You could tell something was off about him right away, smart as you were. Even in his stoicism you kept looking up at him cautiously, trying to sniff out what was different. You knew him far better than he might like to say, if asked. No one could ever say that Lady Dorn didn't know her husband well.

Dorn never said a word the entire time- only watched as you touched every little thing. Your approval was immediate, sitting on the chaise and wrapping yourself in one of the pelts. The fur was soft against your skin and encircled your body with a comfortable heaviness. Dorn came over, and keeled in front of you.

While it was almost blasé sounding, Dorn's declaration of such an expected thing revealed a bit more of him than one might assume.

"Why did you do all this?" His answer was stereotypically muted and neutral.

"You missed Inwit."

To go through so much effort to recreate something down to the scent, simply because his wife was homesick. You've only heard him say the word love no more than three or more times, but each day he proved that he would move moons and stars simply to appease his lady.

You leaned forward, and your lips chastely pressed against his for a moment.

"Thank you, Rogal."

[fandom-lover2]

Sacrifices - Pt 2

Word Count - 2146

Part One

Part Three

Optimus was grateful for his battle mask, now more than ever. Only his optics could show his panic.

And, knowing Megatron as well as he did, Optimus knew Megatron could see it, and smirk across the warlord’s faceplates telling Optimus Megatron was getting the exact reaction he wanted.

4 Decepticons, 4 glass canisters, 4 vulnerable humans, 4 keys.

Optimus was surprised it had taken Megatron this long to locate the humans. While he had done everything in his power to ensure they would remain safe and undetected by the Decepticon intelligence, Soundwave’s methods were far superior then any of them could ever imagine.

Starscream stepped forward, wordlessly handing over the case that held you to his master.

Optimus lost the battle of not looking down at you, and when your eyes met his optics, his servo clenched around the Star Sabers hilt.

For someone so close to death, you seemed unnervingly calm. But your eyes, your eyes showed the truth.

Acceptance. You had accepted you were going to die.

Optimus almost stumbled back as his words repeated in his processor, over and over again.

“You speak as though your life means anything to me.”

You had accepted you were going to die, because Optimus had told you as such. He had declared loud and clear for you to hear that his own desires would always be put above your life. Had announced that your life, your future and your dreams, were nothing to him in the grand scheme of his existence.

He was going to let Megatron kill you, open your cage and let Cybertron’s atmosphere kill you slowly, painfully. He would watch on without so much as a flinch, perhaps even turning his back and begin the process of rebuilding his home.

Home? Was Cybertron still his home?

After all he had done to his planet, all the loves lost in his war, was this metal shell still his home? Would it still welcome him back? Or was it you, and your vibrant planet that now held his spark.

Things were happening around him, but Optimus could not look away from you.

Starscream taunted the Autobots, clawing at Jack’s prison. The young man, how much he’d grown since their first encounter, stated clearly for all that he was willing to die for Cybertron and the Autobot cause. His brave, little companions agreed with his statement. And, Optimus knew you felt the same.

Even after all he’d said to you, done to you. Even after the pain he had caused, you were still right there, willing to give everything up. For the team.

The team he had told you you were not a part of.

Behind him, Optimus could feel his fellow bots moments from losing control. Weapons aimed, battle stances ready.

Would they stand down if he told them to? Would they continue with the mission if he decided that 4 human lives were not worth the restoration of Cybertron?

“Perhaps we should oblige them?” Megatron taunted

How fleeting human lives were. What was considered a decently long human life span was nothing but a blink of the optic for a Cybertronian. If the humans did not die today, they would die eventually. The humans would die long before the Cybertronians had aged a year and they would be left to mourn their friends. Since arriving on Earth, Agent Fowler was their third human liaison. The first died decades ago, the second grew too old to work. Fowler was nearing that age now, when he would step away and a new human would fill his shoes.

And yet, these four little humans had had more impact on his soldier’s lives then any other human had.

“Optimus.”

The prime was pulled back to the present, called back by your voice. He looked at you, into your steady gaze.

“Don’t.”

How silly you were, thinking you could change his mind.

It wasn’t a question, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. Your life was not worth Cybertron, Cybertron was not worth your life.

He felt sick, horrified at himself that you had thought he wouldn’t fight with everything he had to save you. He hated himself that he’d allowed you to even have a moment of hesitation about what your life meant to him.

From the moment the space bridge portal had opened and he’d seen you and your fellow humans, he knew what his decision would be.

Nothing, not Cybertron, not his life, not The Matrix, nothing would mean more to him than you.

“If my decision dooms the future of the Autobot cause on Cybertron, so be it. But I will never forsake our human allies.”

Optimus speared the Star Saber into Cybertron’s surface with more force than was needed and began to step back, rejoining his fellow Autobots. Without so much more than a glance, they began to disarm themselves.

So, they were all in agreement then.

One by one, a key for a human child, until all that remained was one. Smokescreen held the final key, and Megatron had you. Wordlessly, Optimus held out his hand, a signal for the newest member of the team to hand over their final hope.

Each step towards his enemy, he felt heavier and heavier. This was it. The last hope for Autobot life on Cybertron, and he was giving it away for a human. Giving away the hopes of his people and his planet for one single human.

Optimus was before Megatron, the only space between them your cage. Optimus kept his eyes locked on Megatron, his battle mask up. He couldn’t look down at you, wouldn’t. He didn’t want to see the confusion, the concern, the uncertainty. 

It should have been relief, it should have been a sigh of relief. It should have been, but it wasn’t because he had made you believe you would die on his planet and now you could not comprehend why he was saving you.

He had failed. Failed you. And now he was failing his mentor, his people, his fellow Primes.

But, he was saving you.

He held out his key in one servo, and extended the other in expectation. Megatron extended his servos in turn, holding you out in one and wrapping his digits around the key with the other.

For a moment, neither one released either, but then Optimus’ grip on the key lessened just a smidge and Megatron opened his servo.

Not expecting the sudden weight, you fell to the hard metal surface of the dead planet. Optimus lunged to grab you, your canister bouncing once before he managed to grab you.

Luckily, the glass did not shatter, but within you winced.

Optimus barely had the chance to look you over before a second ground bridge opened and Decepticons rushed through.

One Autobot with an occupied servo could not take them all. Spinning, Optimus sprinted to the safety of his team, disposing you with the rest of the trapped humans.

The Decepticons surrounded the Autobots, blasters raised and keeping them in place as Megatron, Starscream, Knockout and Soundwave activated the Omega Lock with the Keys.

Everyone watched, transfixed as the mechanism powered up.

A keypad appeared, and Megatron selected something. With a shake and a shudder, the circle shot out a bream of blue light, the energy streaking across the expanse of the barren landscape and encompassing the ruins of the Iacon Records Halls.

Optimus watched in amazement as the building began to rebuild itself, within a few seconds transforming from the blackened ruins to the once sparkling tower Optimus once knew.

It worked. The Keys worked. Cybertron could be restored, would be restored. His home would be restored again.

Bumblebee said something, the humans making various noises of amazement, you remained silent. Briefly, Optimus flicked his optics down to you.

You were seated in your cage, hand raised to press against your forehead. Red stained your fingers, blood leaking from a cut.

Megatron must have caused more damage than he realized.

He needed to you get and your fellow humans off this planet. Who knew how much oxygen you had in those canisters, and what would happen once Megatron used the Keys to begin widescale restoration.

“This conflict is between Autobots and Decepticons.” he started. If he wanted to get Megatron to listen, he’d need to tread carefully. “Allow me to return the humans to Earth.”

“Oh I wouldn’t recommend it.” Megatron started, turning to address the Autobot leader. “They’ll be far safer here.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” you spoke up.

“Is the Space Bridge locked on target?”

“Per your instructions, Lord Megatron.” Starscream bowed.

“Excellent.” Megatron purred, turning back to Optimus and locking optics with him. “Why rule one world, when I can rule two…”

Megatron was a sadistic, megalomaniac, power hunger monster, but he could not be this insane? Could he?

Far above, a ground bridge opened up. Megatron turned back to the consol and hit the activation button. Once again the Omega Lock powered up, and shot a beam of raw energy through the swirling green vortex.

“No.” Optimus could not find any others words.

“What’s he doing?” you asked, struggling to stand. When your guardian did not answer, you changed it to a demand. “Optimus, what is he doing?”

“If the Omega Lock can restore Cybertron, then it will do the same to Earth, right?” Miko asked before Optimus had a chance to speak.

“No. It will cyber-form your planet in favor of its new matrix. And destroy all indigenous life in the process.”

There was no reason to sugar coat it, not after all you children had been through. You deserved the truth.

“Such raw power.” Megatron began to ramble. “What should I call my new domain, New Koan? How about Gilded Earth?”

Optimus knew Megatron was taunting him, and it was working. He’d given up the chance as restoring his planet and you were still in danger. In fact, now you and every human on your planet were at risk.

Optimus looked to you human companions, held by their guardians. They fought against their glass prisons, spewing threats at the warlord, like it would make him change his mind.

Megatron laughed at their attempts, his followers joining his as they watched the scanners display how much of Earth was being lost.

Optimus looked down at you, and found you already looking up at him, fear marring your face.

It was a lot easier to face your own death than to stand by when facing the deaths of all those you love and care for.

Optimus’ processor was bombarded of all the times he’d heard of the humans mention their families in passing, every meadow and lake and mountain he’d stopped to admire for just a moment on his patrols. He saw the hill you and he had spent a late night sitting on, looking up at the clear night sky as he retold stories from Cybertron before the fall.

All of that would be lost. And, once the oxygen ran out, you would die too.

Optimus took a moment to plot his course, and then he charged. Slamming away a Decepticon, he raced towards the Star Saber.

Ripping it from the ground, he arched it through the air to disable two more Cons before racing to meet a roaring Megatron. Their swords collided, bouncing off one another. Megatron had size and strength one his side, but Optimus had something to fight for.

With a clean slice, Optimus literally disarmed Megatron, but he didn’t have a moment to waste. Every second the battle drew on, more of Earth was lost.

Optimus moved faster than he’d done in many cycles, deflecting blaster shots and leaning right so Starscream’s missile sailed past him.

Using the treacherous seeker, Optimus used his body to vault himself into the air, gaining the momentum needed to swing down, embedding the Star Saber deep into the Omega Lock.

He had not the explosion to be so big. It blasted him back, sending out a wave of fire all around. It was as he was airborne that he prayed someone had managed to grab ahold of you before the force sent you flying.

Hitting the ground in a roll, Optimus righted himself instantly and looked around. The rusted structure was now blackened by the flames, small fires dotting the charred circle. He did a quick headcount, finding all his Autobots and humans accounted for.

Ratchet spoke to him over the comm link, sounding desperate. Optimus was just as urgent in his request for a way back to Earth. If Ratchet was still able to contact them, that meant the base was still intact. Who knew how much else of Earth was still organic.

Securing his sword to his back, Optimus followed his team through the Space Bridge. He needed to make sure you received medical attention.

[waitingandwishing]

everything, everywhere, all at once

In the grand tapestry of existence, the multiverse and time are not separate forces but two interwoven threads, intricately bound to one another. The structure of reality, then, can be envisioned not as a linear pathway or even a branching tree, but as a vast and fluid network—one where every timeline is both a singular entity and an extension of countless others.

You sprayed a bit of water from the sink, watching it land on their face with a mischievous grin. The cold droplets splashed across their skin, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and carefree. But before you could even enjoy the moment, you felt a flick of water land on your cheek. Surprised, you gasped, your eyes wide as the glistening droplets caught the light, and you turned to see their eyes sparkling with playful mischief. The water fight had begun.

You both started flicking water at each other—each drop a challenge, each laugh a victory. Your hands moved quickly, slinging water with abandon as you both danced around the room, ducking and dodging, trying to outsmart the other. Your clothes became heavy with the weight of the water, sticking to your skin in a way that might have felt uncomfortable in another moment, but here, in this moment, it didn’t matter. Every droplet felt like a part of the game, a part of something simple and pure.

Rather than a simple set of parallel universes, the multiverse is best understood as a web of possibility. Each universe exists within a framework of cause and effect, yet no universe is fully isolated. 

Instead, they are connected by subtle vibrations—moments of decision and fluctuations in probability. Every event, no matter how seemingly insignificant, sends ripples that do not echo through a single timeline but reverberate across multiple realities.

You bowed before them, padded knee against the ground as you raised your sword high. You didn’t deserve this title, one that you certainly could not live up to in the grand scheme of things. Sure, you had trained for this your whole life, but… You weren’t ready.

They told you to rise, to come forward. And you did, with your head not daring to meet their royal eyes and your sword by your side. They stood up, reaching their hand to your face and caressing it so gently that you were sure this was a dream. You should be cursed, cast out, but instead were met with a gentle whisper of praise. You did enough.

Time is an illusion of structure. In reality, it behaves more like an ocean than a river, shifting, eroding, and reforming its paths with the weight of existence. The past, present, and future are not fixed entities but shifting constructs. Some moments are more resistant to change—fixed points where the probability anchors them into stability—but most are fluid, subject to alterations caused by interference, both internal and external.

Every night at 2:47 AM, a person appears in your dream. They’d confess their love for you then caress you softly and hold you close. You have no idea who this person is, but every day no matter how horrible or good, they are there. And they comfort you even though they’re a stranger.

You want to find them but can never speak in your dreams, can never change the fact that they are pulled away from you time and time again, but… They’re there. It never sat well with you that you could never find this person who whispered sweet words to you. But there was some comfort that even if you two were strangers, they’d always end up loving you.

At key moments, timelines and universes brush against one another, forming convergence points. These can take many forms. For example, echoes. Residual imprints of events from one timeline appear in another, creating déjà vu or premonitions. 

Or perhaps crossroads, decision points so powerful that they send tendrils of possibility stretching into multiple realities, ensuring that at least one version of existence bears witness to every choice. Or, on rare occasions, merging phenomena. When two or more timelines collapse into one, their histories intertwine into a singular thread where paradoxes are absorbed into reality itself.

For centuries you have wandered the earth, untouched by time. For centuries you have seen your friends and family die. After a few centuries, you have learned not to love. But then why did the lungs that you never knew were there make you lose your breath whenever they looked at you? Why did a heart you didn’t know you had skipped a few beats every time they kissed you? 

You told them stories of places you had been and ancient civilizations you had witnessed, but you never shared the truth. You could feel their growing attachment to you, and the weight of knowing you could never truly grow old with them was unbearable. You saw the glimmers of hope in their eyes, the desire for a future—their future—and you knew that, like all the loves before, this one would be destined to end in tragedy.

While some aspects of existence are seemingly unchanging, the interplay between free will and fate is an ongoing struggle. Within this theory, fate is not a force that dictates a singular path but rather a gravitational pull—one that can be resisted or redirected but not entirely ignored. Some beings exist in multiple timelines simultaneously, their consciousness stretching across realities, while others are bound to the linear perception of time, never aware of their counterparts in distant echoes.

A couple sits side by side at the kitchen table, papers scattered across the surface. The air is filled with the quiet rustling of forms, the clicking of a calculator, and the occasional sigh. There's a rhythm to your collaboration. Every so often, you pause to share a look or a laugh about the complexity of the tax code, both trying to make sense of the labyrinth of deductions.

Despite the stress, there’s a sense of camaraderie between you. You’ve learned to navigate this annual task together, finding humor in the little mistakes and the occasional frustration. At times, you argue over the numbers, but the tension usually dissipates easily. It was all part of the process.

Changes to the past rarely only overwrite reality. Instead, time exhibits a form of self-correction, where contradictions resolve themselves by redirecting the course of events rather than outright erasing them. 

A paradox does not destroy reality but instead forces it into a new equilibrium, ensuring that continuity persists in some form, even if the details shift.

You grab the detergent, carefully measuring out the right amount, your eyes glancing over at them with a smile as they fiddle with the dryer settings. They’re the one who always forgets the fabric softener, but you don't mind—it’s a small quirk that makes you laugh.

There’s no rush, no pressure. Laundry is just another part of your day, but it’s also a chance to enjoy each other’s company in the quiet moments. Folding clothes, laughing at an old shirt that brings back memories, chatting about everything and nothing. The task is simple, but together, you make it something a little more—something shared, something that makes your home feel warmer.

Concluding things, to navigate the multiverse and time is not to travel through space or history but to understand the delicate balance of choice, consequence, and convergence. Reality is not a single truth but a shifting mosaic of infinite possibilities. The past and future do not merely exist in isolation—they are sculpted by the infinite interactions between worlds, each moment a ripple in the great and boundless sea of time.

[shini--chan]

The second part of the ask of @thatanimeramenchick , Enjoy milady

Yandere Lelouch vi Britania - Character Sheet I

Trigger warnings: emotional abuse, guilt tripping, imprisoning, physical abuse, victim blaming, manipulation, implied stalking

Attributes - What sort of Yandere is he/she?

As a yandere, he would be extraordinarily persistent. Even if he would have to wait years to see his plans come to fruition, he would cease his pursuit. Maybe he wouldn't have the power or the resources to properly court you or perhaps there would be other things keeping him occupied. Nevertheless, he would never forget you or the “love” he would hold in his heart for you. His thoughts would always dwell on you to a degree, no matter the time and distance, he would still loyally yearn for you and plot to entrap you. 

Likewise, he wouldn't let any attempts of yours to dissuade him from entering a relationship with you or any monologues on morality scare him away. The picture of a happy life with you would be crystal clear to him and he would strive to attain it no matter the cost. If he would have to set the world on fire to be by your side, then so be it. Also, he would try to combine his more political goals with obtaining you. Two birds with one stone, as they say. 

Another one of his traits would be his possessiveness towards you. You would be the apple of his eye, and also lack the agency he'd pride himself in. To him, you would be a morality pet, something to keep him grounded. At the same time, you would also be the princess in the tower - not a person that acts, but reacts at most. Your words would be frequently disregarded, because they simply wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things. In the end you would be a source of enrichment and entertainment, you would need him in every way. On the other hand, Lelouch could survive very well without you, besides your death causing him to lose it and burn down the whole world. 

With you, he would be surprisingly playful. His usual apathy and the way he'd treat others in his school boy persona wouldn't make the transition all too noticeable. His image and role as Zero would stand in sharp contrast to this playfulness, yet would still be executed in a way that wouldn't seem alien to his role. Before he'd lock you away from the rest of the world, his teasing and suave attitude would lead other people to rib you about it and push you into Lelouch’s arms. There would be a lot of external pressure on you to enter a relationship with him, and he would count on this.

His aforementioned possessiveness would entwine with his protective tendencies to a horrid cocktail. You would become his motivation to usurp the world and warp it into what he would deem safe for you. Here, he would know what is best for you and he wouldn't tolerate your interference. Until then, he would just have to form your surroundings so that you wouldn't be crushed beneath the wheels of history, and that other people wouldn't exploit you to get at him. If it must be, then he would crush your dreams underfoot and lock you in a gilded cage. 

Standing in juxtaposition to the traits listed so far, would be the surprising amount of coldness he would display towards you. Kisses and hugs would be rare and there would be a surprising amount of emotional distance that he would maintain. This would be to prevent you from hurting him with any noncompliance or also rejection. And to throw off enemies. Deep down, this would also be a measure implemented to keep himself from losing control. You would mean the world to him, and that would be a weakness nobody would be allowed to know. 

Cornering - How would they get you?

Lelouch would make sure to approach you in an environment and setting where you are not enemies. To be noted is that he wouldn't shy away from creating a completely new identity and appearance in order to safely enter your social circle, if he would deem it necessary. If he would be a friendly face to you, then you would be less likely to notice the chains tightening. Besides, it would mean he could rely on human nature in the form of other people's meddling to push you closer. He would charm your friends and family and compatriots to encourage you to interact with you more, to paint him in a good light so that he would be more attractive to you. 

Or, he would or would also manipulate other external factors to push you closer to him. The important factor here would be that he'd do his utmost best to make it look like he had no influence or involvement over the ensuing incidents. People would spontaneously ditch you and he would just happen to be close by, his interests would coincidently overlap with yours and superiors/people of authority would just happen to assign you to work together. It would be painted as fate and he would try to convince you of such. It would be a romantic notion that would suit his roles of revolutionary and prince. 

Once he would have you secured, he would either slowly chip away at your social circle until you would only have him left. Perhaps he would even take further steps to disrupt your dreams, like having you injured or freezing your bank account/funds. It would be steps to make you dependent on him, and also emotionally vulnerable. Show weakness, and he'd worm his way through the cracks and infest the wound. 

Expectations - What do they expect of you?

He would treasure a sense of fragility in you, and try to nurture it. To him, you would be akin to a porcelain and just as pretty and precious. In ways, you would have your own elegance and nobility to you, something that would have to be protected from the cruel, cruel world that the both of you would inhabit. Like a figurine in a music box, you would have to be kept away from prying eyes and admired in privacy and security. Ideally, you would be reserved for his eyes only - a treasure that only he would really appreciate and know how to take care of you. Such a delicate thing like you would have kept in a strictly controlled environment, lest you wilt. And that would be exactly what he would do. 

Lelouch would love it if you would be eloquent and had a way with words. It would allow him to have long conversations with you deep into the night and until the wee morning hours. Being able to articulate yourself well is an art in and of itself and it would just add to your beauty in his eyes. Therefore, he would also use you as a proofreader for his speeches and constantly inquire about your opinion. In a way, he might even have you convinced that he would only have kidnapped you in order to conduct his propaganda machine. Generally, I see him as being very much drawn to a person with artistic leanings. 

Now for something more tricky - he would either wish for somebody feisty, or for somebody demure. The people in between wouldn’t really reel him in. On one hand, a person with spirit would be enchanting. Having somebody to but heads with, to be able to test his mettle and endurance against a person that would be just as uninclined to back down as he is. A lass or a lad that could match him blow by blow would stroke a fire in him. On the other, having a demure spouse that would match the description of a proper spouse would also be very fairytale-esque. He would have his very own personal happy ending that he could look forward to. You would present the chance to switch off at the end of the day and indulge in a lifestyle that is more at home in myths than in reality. 

Something that would also be attractive to him would be if you would be the analytical sort of person. Going hand in hand with that trait would be a tendency to overthink, a weakness that he would exploit to its fullest. He would have you tripping over your own trains of thought and thinking yourself into knots. Somebody that can at least hold a candle to his flame would catch his eye, and he would inspect you thoroughly. Lelouch would revel in playing mind games with you - he would take it to the point that it would very much be psychological torture. �� 

Faded - Would they let go of you in any way?

Not really - he'd burn the world to cinders before letting you go. Your death would destroy something in him, and thus he would lose interest in saving the world or leading humanity to a more prosperous future. Indeed, he might just as well seek to punish the world for taking you away from him. On the other hand, if you were to be kidnapped or severely injured or somebody put out of his reach, then his actions would be driven by a frightful desperation. There would be a sense of urgency in his actions and he would be far more prone to lashing out. When he'd have you in his arms again, he'd melt like butter in the sun. Privately of course. 

So, one of the few ways he would be able to “let go of you”, would be if he would suffer from amnesia and completely forget about you. There would still be the persistent feeling of something missing, yet he wouldn't be chasing after you or razing the world so it would still be better than him pining after you. Of course, if he would regain his memories or also find out the truth, there would be hell to pay. 

Another option would be if he'd have a replacement goldfish of you in the form of a clone or digital copy. It goes without saying that it wouldn't really compare to the real deal, but he would accept it as compensation. Another option would be you having a Geass that would allow you to live past the demise of your mortal flesh. He would be frustrated, yet it would lead him to declaring war on humanity as a whole.

Punishment - How would they proceed if you do something they disapprove of?

Many of the things he'd do that you'd categorised as punishment would be protective measures in his mind. If you were a bird, then he would clip your wings. Likewise, if you would prove to be particularly difficult, then he would injure you. That way, you would be vulnerable and dependent on him. Chances are that he would manage to create a trauma bond. With most of your energy invested in healing, you wouldn’t really have time to contemplate escaping. Besides, the pain and the feebleness would make you more compliant and your sick state would make him more inclined to dote on you. 

Aside from that, he might force you to wear uncomfortable shoes or even bind your feet. This way, you wouldn’t really be able to run away even if you would be inclined to. Your helplessness would make him softer towards you and he might decide to give you one or the other treat as compensation. Something about your helplessness would trigger the more protective side of him, regardless if he would be the cause of your suffering. 

What would really be labelled as punishment, would be spreading rumours about you. If you decide to make his life difficult, then he would reciprocate the gesture with interest attached to it. The nice side effect here would be that he would see your wits in action, and also have the chance to chip away at your social circle. If he would have already passed the point of no return (kidnapping you and treating you like a princess in an ivory tower) then he would remove treasured possession or also the means to exercise the meagre hobbies that he would allow you. Should you ask, then he would either gaslight you until you either question your own grip on reality or give in and apologise. Or he would spell it all out so that you understand exactly what happened and why and that you would hold any misconceptions about the situation. After all, you would have to learn the rules of the game somehow. 

Misbehaviour would also be blamed on your friends and loved ones and former lords. As such, he would punish them to punish you. In the most extreme cases, you would unpack another gift from him to only find a head in the box. This would also be one of his cruellest methodes, one that would be designed to give you a mighty shock and grant you a few sleepless nights. Or, he would show you photos and videos and other media to show you ruining their lives. Could you handle blood being spilled because of your disobedience?

Reaction - How would they react to you escaping?

Interestingly enough, he would be the sort to panic. In his eyes, you would be a fragile doll and running away would only lead to your demise or wounding. Lelouch would storm around the quarters he would keep you in and interrogate anybody that could have an inkling of your whereabouts. During this frantic search he would pray to whatever higher power there may be that the worst had not really come to pass. 

Naturally, he wouldn't be able to show his anxiety in some situations nor would he be able to question just about anyone. Nevertheless, he would be far less controlled and careful and it would bleed through whatever facade he would throw up. 

He would invent some mission for the Black Knights or the military that would include retrieving you. As mentioned before, he would be waspish the entire time and his patience would constantly be worn thin. The yandere here would also switch to severe micromanaging, and his comrades in arms would put effort in getting you back just so that the status quo could return. 

If it would be a more domestic matter, he would conspire with Collin to get you back - the latter would do so for the gossip and to return Lelouch to a more bearable state.

Turnabout - Scenario: You have the upper hand? What would be different from their usual MO?

Flipping the tables would leave Lelouch feeling very queasy. He would be well versed enough in actual politics and such to know that the more powerful person in a relationship wouldn't be omnipotent or omnipresent. As such, he would still have freedoms he could utilise and stunts he could pull. He might garner himself a powerful patron and then play them out against you, or oppose you by threatening to involve them. However, he would never be able to bear being under somebody else's thumb. He would make himself indispensable to you in one way or another so that you would need him. Once his position would be established, he would weedle concession after concession out of you. 

Should it devolve into a situation where you would have the upper hand due to him being injured, sick or bereaved, then he would pull at your heartstrings and your personal integrity to make you docile. He would be awfully chatty and demanding during this time, all in order to occupy your time and keep you from realising that you could simply walk away. 

If he would end up as a prisoner at your mercy, then he would strive to be high maintenance if only to enjoy more of your attention that you would willingly give him. He wouldn't like you having the upper hand due to the increased likelihood of betrayal and because he would see himself as having a better overview and plan of your life than you do. 

Vengeance - What would they do in the face of competition?

Ruin lives, dish out military defeats, dial up the propaganda - the usual in most cases. If he can, he might simply have his opponent slaughtered in military combat. In the case of the opposition being particularly tenacious, then he would take matters in his own hands and fight them personally. 

Otherwise, he would use his Geass to make them commit social suicide. Let them see how their chances are with you after they have humiliated themselves in front of you. Given the strength of his powers, he could also make them commit suicide. Perhaps he would kill two birds with one stone and make them kick the bucket in a way that will further his other ambitions.

All that aside, there would also be the good o'l manipulation where he'd drip poison into your ears to make you cut off contact with the people in his way. Or he could do it the other way around: he could  convince his rivals to give you a large berth.

[elryuse]

To celebrate the release of part 1 of your Hierarchy series how about a fic about Yoon He-ra in where the readers family decides to help her out when her family was in debt, but the readers family made a condition in where the Reader and He-ra would be in an arranged marriage

A NEW BEGINNING

YOON HERA X MALE READER

The rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the storm raging within Yoon He-ra's heart. Her family, once a beacon of hope, was now drowning in a sea of debt. The weight of their financial burden pressed down on her shoulders, a heavy, suffocating force.

A flicker of hope ignited when an unexpected offer arrived. The wealthy Kim family, particularly their son, Y/n, had extended a helping hand. Their generosity was overwhelming, but it came with a steep price.

The Kims' ultimatum was clear: an arranged marriage between He-ra and Y/n. It was a cold, calculated move, a strategic alliance to secure their interests. He-ra, a mere pawn in their grand scheme, was forced to accept her fate.

As the wedding day approached, He-ra found herself increasingly isolated. Her friends, once a source of comfort and support, began to distance themselves. The harsh truth was that they were uncomfortable with her newfound status as a future heiress, a position they couldn't relate to.

In the midst of this social upheaval, only one friend remained steadfast: Jae-i. She had always been different, a true friend who saw beyond the superficial. She understood the weight of He-ra's burden, the sacrifices she was making for her family.

"You don't have to do this, He-ra," Jae-i said, her voice filled with concern. "You deserve better."

He-ra, her heart heavy, shook her head. "I-i have no choice, Jaei-ah" she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

As the wedding day approached, He-ra couldn't help but feel a growing sense of dread. She was marrying a stranger, a man she barely knew. What would their life together be like? Would they be able to connect on a deeper level, or would they remain mere acquaintances bound by a contract?

On the day of the wedding, He-ra finally met Y/n. To her surprise, he was nothing like the cold, calculating figure she had imagined. Instead, he was kind, gentle, and surprisingly understanding. He seemed genuinely concerned about her well-being and made a conscious effort to make her feel comfortable.

As they spent more time together, He-ra began to question her initial assumptions. Perhaps this arranged marriage wasn't as terrible as she had feared. Maybe there was hope for a future filled with love and happiness.

As she prepared to start a new life with Y/n, He-ra couldn't help but wonder how their relationship would evolve. Would they be able to overcome the challenges of an arranged marriage and build a genuine connection? Only time would tell.

The night was still young, the moon casting an ethereal glow over the city. He-ra and Y/n sat on a secluded bench in the park, the soft rustling of leaves providing a gentle backdrop to their conversation.

"So, Y/n," He-ra began, her voice barely a whisper, "what do you expect from this marriage?"

Y/n turned to her, his gaze soft and tender. "I simply want to spend my life with you, He-ra," he replied, his voice filled with sincerity. "I want to care for you, to protect you, and to love you unconditionally."

He-ra's heart skipped a beat. His words, simple yet profound, touched her in a way she hadn't expected. She had been so caught up in the complexities of their situation that she had forgotten the most important thing: the human connection.

"But... but what about the family expectations?" she stammered, her voice filled with uncertainty. "The pressure, the obligations..."

Y/n took her hand in his, his touch warm and comforting. "We'll face those challenges together," he assured her. "We'll create our own happiness, regardless of what others expect."

He-ra's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She had never felt so vulnerable, so exposed. Yet, there was a strange sense of peace that washed over her. Perhaps this arranged marriage wasn't so bad after all.

As they sat there, lost in each other's gaze, a spark ignited between them. It was a spark of hope, a spark of love, a spark that could ignite a beautiful future.

The limousine glided smoothly through the city streets, the soft hum of the engine providing a soothing backdrop to the intimate moment unfolding within. He-ra and Y/n sat side by side, their fingers intertwined.

As they drew closer to Jooshin High, Y/n's hand, bold and confident, slid across the seat and gently rested on He-ra's thigh. A shiver ran through her, a mix of surprise and anticipation. His touch, soft and tender, sent a wave of warmth through her body. She closed her eyes, savoring the moment, her heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement.

When they arrived at the school, Y/n leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Have a good day, my love," he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

He-ra, her cheeks flushed, nodded silently. As she watched him walk away, she couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging, a sense of security.

At school, He-ra immediately became the center of attention. Whispers and curious glances followed her every move. It was as if she had become a celebrity overnight. Some students were envious, others were simply amazed.

Jae-i, noticing the unwanted attention, approached He-ra. "Don't mind them," she said, her voice firm. "They're just jealous."

He-ra smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Jae-i. You're a lifesaver."

With Jae-i by her side, He-ra was able to navigate the day with relative ease. Together, they faced the curious stares, the snide remarks, and the hushed conversations. And together, they emerged victorious.

As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, He-ra gathered her belongings and prepared to leave. Just as she was about to step out of the classroom, she felt a familiar presence behind her.

"He-ra," Y/n's voice, soft and gentle, broke the silence. "Would you like to grab a bite to eat with me?"

He-ra's heart skipped a beat. She glanced at him, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. His warm smile and inviting eyes made it impossible to refuse.

"Sure," she stammered, her voice barely audible.

As they walked together, the other students couldn't help but stare. They were an unexpected pair, a match made in an unlikely heaven. But as they watched the way Y/n looked at He-ra, filled with affection and adoration, they began to understand.

Perhaps love, like fate, could surprise even the most cynical of hearts.

- To Be Continued -

[nohaijiachi]

I've been seeing just about all moments of GO S2 being put under a microscope and absolutely dissected frame by frame

And still I am yet to see anyone mention a moment that might be small in the grand scheme of things, perhaps not as character defining as many other that have been (rightfully) analyzed a thousand times over, but which was *so* important to me, and every single time I watch it I'm just filled with so many feelings and jhaghagha

(putting this under a read more to not spam y'all with a ginormous post clogging your dashes)

The moment in question is this (my apologies for the pics, I currently don't have a proper way to take screenshots of S2 and had to snap photos of my tv screen lol)

It's such a quick moment, a small blip in the entirety of episode 5, but let me tell you why it absolutely destroys my heart every single time.

First of all let's refresh our memory on Aziraphale's relationship with Heaven and Gabriel specifically, shall we?

The very first time we see Gabriel in S1, he surprises Aziraphale at a sushi restaurant. Aziraphale looks to his left, because that's the side where Crowley usually appears when approaching him, but instead of his boyfriend the familiar Demon, he sees the reflection of Gabriel at his other side, and he turns around with what reads to me as very much an "oh shit" expression.

In episode 2 we see Gabriel again, along with Sandalphon; they are flanking Aziraphale and leaving him no way to escape in what to me seems a blatant intimidation tactic, especially with Gabriel being all "hey you remember Sandalphon, right :)" and Aziraphale being like "Oh yeah, likes smiting and turning people into salt, I sure do! *nervous laugh". There's literally no reason for them to be acting like this if not to (un)subtly remind Aziraphale what his place is, and that he is NOT safe, not even in his bookshop.

Whenever we see Aziraphale in Heaven he is constantly standing ramrod straight, hands kept caged behind him, none of his usual mannerism to be seen. He always smiles like a hare being stared at by a hawk and the cinematography very much underlines that tenseness by both showing the impossible, cold and sterile expanse of Heaven in contrast to the camera being shoved right in the characters' face to make the viewer feel just as uncomfortable as Aziraphale is.

When Gabriel and Aziraphale speak in the park there's this moment after it looks like Gabriel is leaving, but he pops right back up in Aziraphale's space in an instant, causing the reaction we see in these screenshots. Aziraphale is clearly taken aback and tense, eyes widening which is like, fair considering Gabriel pretty much jump scared him, but that's rather the point, isn't it? Gabriel pretty much jump scared him. He didn't just turn around and jog back to Aziraphale to ask him about the sword, he purposefully moved himself up to him without any warning. Like sheesh, talk about terrifying bosses.

No Gabriel here, but just another example of how much Aziraphale does NOT like being in Heaven. When he gets discorporated and finally manages to stand up for himself, saying he refuses to fight a war, he still looks like *this*. Like he's one step away from just discorporating a second time and without an actual body out of sheer anxiety.

When all it's said and done at the Tadfield airbase and the four horsemen are gone, Gabriel and Beelzebub decide to go check what the heck is going on, at which point Aziraphale pretty much seems to be bracing himself, straightening his back, adjusting his clothes nervously and then holding his hand in front of him in a show of dignified quietness I definitely read as him doing his best to hide just how anxious he truly is.

Of course we don't see Aziraphale's reaction at being told to shut his stupid mouth and die already by Gabriel due to the body swap, and at this point is pretty safe to say Crowley has never shared with Aziraphale that little tidbit of information, but even not knowing the extent of the cruelty Gabriel showed toward him at the end, he still knows that Gabriel and, by extension, Heaven was more than willing and ready to murder him.

Even at the start of S2, when an amnesiac Gabriel arrives at the bookshop and then hugs him (awkwaaaard), Aziraphale looks like he's entirely frozen and unable to react to the improbability of what is happening, and when Gabriel asks him if he can go inside the bookshop Aziraphale's immediate reaction is to pretty much recoil with an immediate "No!".

Of course he is then forced to let him in because there's a naked man on his steps while the whole neighborhood is watching, and we get some many more little moments of Aziraphale anxiety emerging through his body language: The pacing, the way he sits ramrod straight in front of Gabriel, and him literally backing away multiple steps when Gabriel asks him "You know how it's like, when you don't know anything at all, and yet you're totally certain that everything will be better if you were just near one particular person?"

(Because of course Aziraphale knows how that feels, and that's exactly the same reason why he's been so scared of Heaven for-fucking-ever!) (Also as an aside let me just bless Michael 'Acting Choices' Sheen for that smile that lasts a shard of a second after Gabriel asks that. You can pretty much see the word "CROWLEY" stamped in big bold letters on his forehead in that moment lmao)

(Also as an aside to the aside. Jon Hamm is just fantastic. Gabriel comes across as such an asshole in S1, but Amnesiac!Gabriel is a fucking cinnamon roll and he pulls it off so well ajahjahja)

Then of course we get the whole exchange about the 'something terrible' that sends Aziraphale into more anxious frenzy until another tiny, kinda overlooked moment hits us in the shins, in which Gabriel says "You're funny. I love you." And like, can't blame anybody for not looking at that moment without much thought, I know that that sentence had me crying laughing multiple times on multiple rewatches, but also... God, you can see the way some of that fear instantly leaves Aziraphale, the way he relaxes ever so slightly and ??? Aziraphale??? Is that all you need to instantly start trusting someone who wanted you dead? Who treated you like shit for who knows how long? (Why am I even asking this, of course that'd be enough, it's Aziraphale we're talking about, here.) Then of course the rest of season 2, he and Crowley having a row about what to do with Gabriel with Aziraphale insisting that he needs them, as his friends, yada yada, we get back to the initial moment that sparked this post.

We get there, Aziraphale's (eldritch) Ball and the romantic moment he's been working himself up for ruined, murderous Demons at his steps putting both he and all the humans inside in peril, and all he would need to do to avoid any harm coming to them is to give Gabriel up, and... "You came to me. I said I would protect you. And I will." Not just the words, but the way Aziraphale says them; voice lowered and serious, that hint of hesitation and fear at the start that melts away into full blown confidence at the 'And I will'.

It isn't just Aziraphale being scared by Gabriel mentioning the 'something terrible' at the beginning, nor the brief moments of cryptic recollection that he witnesses Gabriel going through-- It's that Aziraphale sincerely accepted to protect him, and he wasn't going to give that up. He is a Guardian and a Principality, after all.

And like, I see this and how am I supposed not to get my heart utterly shattered by it? If Aziraphale had rejected Gabriel, or treated him unkindly in any way, I hardly doubt anybody would be hard pressed to say Aziraphale did not have the right to do so, not after the way he's been treated by Gabriel and Heaven his whole life. But he doesn't. He is kind to him, if a tad long-suffering at times. The protection he extended over Gabriel is utterly sincere and unwavering.

And ngggggggh I don't even know where I'm going with this. I just. Love Aziraphale so much. Stupid, clever, anxious, brave man-shaped thing that he is, recklessly throwing himself into the line of fire for somebody that, by any means, did not have any right to ask something of that magnitude from him. He is my scrungly, and by God am I ever so excited to see how everything will play out in season 3. I want him to fully grasp that bravery and raise absolute -metaphorical- hell with it. Shine bright, you crazy bastard.

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME BALDUR'S GATE 3 / PART SIX

leave us in peace and we shall leave you in kind.

cut the crap.

we just want to go home.

enough of this charade.

i'll not play pretend anymore.

you'll soon learn what it means to ally yourself with the likes of this garbage.

i'm free now, and i'm never going back.

fuck them.

felt good letting off a little steam.

if i burn any hotter, i might explode.

don't get too close until i've found a way to calm down.

it's a bit early to be getting into tragic backstories.

let's save the scar-show for later after we've worked up an appetite for tragedy.

in the grand scheme of things, i'm inconsequential [to her].

she favored me like a child favors a captive pet.

it had the makings of a good stage show, but i did not want to be one of the players.

torture, bloodsport? or perhaps just a good old-fashioned walloping?

you owe me nothing.

i could extort you, if that's what you want.

you're teasing me now.

ignorance is alive and well it seems.

don't make me get the wooden spoon.

you'd best have one hells of an apology for me.

if you think your precious little god holds any power here, you're in for a surprise.

do you treat all your guests so poorly?

i don't like busybodies.

you are as thick as they come.

are you telling me you made love to a goddess?

i shared a bed with a goddess and yet i wasn't satisfied.

shall i share the story behind it or would you rather head straight to its sordid finale?

how are you still alive?

we've come this far together and we'll continue on together.

even i am tired of the sound of my own voice.

i'll rip your spine out of your asshole.

i'll use your blood to spice my stew.

i'll keep you alive until i've sucked the marrow from your bones.

killing me is a waste of time.

you bastard, you ruined everything.

this is an interesting way of thanking me.

a slap is all you deserve.

a hag was never going to help you.

they don't help anyone but themselves.

that double-crossing, filthy, lying hag.

focus on the positive.

forgive the aroma.

perhaps that is why i have survived so long where more fearsome peers have not.

your loyalty is admirable but misplaced.

his kind have charm beyond our mortal means to resist.

who'd keep a secret like that from his friends?

you can't trust anyone these days.

even in the middle of nowhere, he can reach me.

why do you insist on exhuming the past?

people think the biggest threat to a vampire is a cleric with a stake.

they're scheming, paranoid, power-hungry beasts.

i am what i must be, says what i must be.

how does it feel to be a devil?

i can't tell if you're being silly or serious.

you have to admire the man's ambition.

i promise i will not betray your trust.

you kept me by your side despite the menace i am.

i learned quick how to stay alive.

to feel invincible again.

this isn't where i thought i'd end up.

maybe when this is all done, you can show me where you came from.

i'm not normally one to begrudge someone their secrets, but..

i'm already blessed to have you at my side.

don't you cut a fine figure.

i am not some lower city coinlad offering you a tumble.

there is nothing so depressing as learning one's true value.

i could use someone with your skills.

they're ravenous predators with fangs like daggers.

it's hardly an irrational fear to harbor.

you've been decent to me, so far.

everyone's got their own fears.

maybe that's what i like about you.

all of this was for nothing.

if you're here to help, get to the fight quickly.

gods, i thought you were one of those beasts.

i'm not chasing after it, if that's what you're thinking.

the little beast's charming once you get accustomed to the smell of rotting flesh.

[sepublic]

            I realize I never did give my insight regarding the info Dana gave during the opening of her Gallery Nucleus, so after basically a month I may as well!

            Firstly, in the ORIGINAL idea of the show, Luz was going to Hell, but Dana clarified she wouldn’t have died to do so; She’d meet a witch and learn dark magic. Given the pitch bible is how the show was initially pitched to Disney, I presume that either Dana had a prior failed pitch of the show, or this was a draft she’d made before settling for the pitch bible, and then settling on the final version. Because W O W could you imagine that???

            I guess the cosmic order of this TOH’s universe would not be so cruel as to condemn an innocent teenager like that, but it does make me wonder if Dana would’ve delved into the whole concept of Christianity, if Hell WAS the fate of sinners, or if it was just its own independent place outside of any grand scheme, and it was humans who labelled it that way; Perhaps that’s the origin of the first episode’s line about how all human myths came from the isles.

            Dana confirmed that King was always going to be a Titan prior to the shortening, which I suspected; I mean, people were guessing it since the first episode just from his design alone, it was always there. But what really got me was the confirmation that the Collector WAS always intended to be part of the show pre-shortening, specifically Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Hooty’s Door; And THEN their character was revised to be a child that King could get along with!

            This is all deeply vindicating, and goes along with what I’ve speculated before; That the Collector was always planned as this cosmic entity that Belos got the draining spell from, but due to the shortening, the writers revised them into a much more reasonable, negotiable character, thereby making a resolution with him a lot more attainable within a truncated runtime; Otherwise, they’d have to figure out a way to defeat such a powerful being. And they might’ve!

            However, the Collector was reimagined for the sake of King’s arc, to give him a friend to accompany him throughout each other’s eternal lifespans! Given the shortening, this certainly makes up for a truncated version of King’s intended character arc, and gives him a less existential resolution by the end of the day.

            I’m not surprised that the Collector sequence in K3oHD was pre-shortening; Production takes a long while in advance, and this part was likely written into the script, which was done before the storyboarding and animation. And it’s not a brief still like the Grimwalker book, which could’ve been added last-minute into S2A’s production so the writers could save runtime on things besides setting up that concept; It was a whole scene!

            So this ‘Beta Collector’ as one could call it likely would’ve been a malicious entity, may or may not have been freed near the end of the show, or just remained that way as karma. Who can say for sure? Them and S2B-onwards Collector were different enough, due to having different intentions, that the writers retconned the Collector’s first appearance as a separate character, as it’s implied; More than likely one of their Archivist siblings! They were different characters on a meta level, so the writers took this to the natural conclusion by making them separate in canon.

            That adds to my theory that the Archivists were created specifically to account for this different characterization, but also be the actual murderers of the Titan genocide because let’s face it. If the whole point was to give King a friend who could grow with him, having that friend be the murderer of his species would’ve made their eventualy dynamic so nonsensical as to be impossible.

            Even if the writers went with the idea that this Beta Collector didn’t know about death, on King’s end, I don’t think he could find it in himself to ever forgive this character, or at the very least be friends, if that happened. And in the end, the Collector’s revision was for the sake of one of the core protagonists of the show, go figure! Thus, King’s needs were prioritized.

            I do wonder what the Song of Stars in the original Elsewhere and Elsewhen Storyboards was; Was it just a previous take on the draining spell, and would’ve involved Beta Collector doing some sort of twisted music? Would they have been the final villain of the show, remained trapped, been destroyed alongside Belos? Again I liken the three Archivists to the three petrification statues, but that would imply there was always supposed to be three Collectors.

            On a lighter note, Dana confirmed that bard instruments have their own magic in them? Yeah, that made a lot of sense, it tracks with Raine’s viola, although tbf Dana did confirm it also contained a transformed version of their Palisman Fiddlesticks. But otherwise, I imagine bard instruments, like healing/construction glyphs, training wands, or oracle orbs, are essentially potions but for other forms of magic; Someone else’s magic, but stored/enchanted to be used at later convenience.

            And outright confirmation that Oracle spirits are just that; Spirits, but not the deceased! I always suspected and operated as such, otherwise there’s a whole can of worms regarding which characters could come back as ghosts or not. Especially when the finale cemented so much the idea of death being permanent.

            So oracle spirits are intangible entities but not the dead, and I recall likening their situation to how Ghostbusters has some ghosts be just like that; Fittingly, there was a reference to TOH’s version of ‘Ghostbusters’ who handled an outbreak from the ghost dimension that Eda caused during her years at Hexside… We also hear mention of ‘Astral Planes’ at one point, you think they’re the same, the source of these spirits? Imagine if we’d gotten an episode delving into this other dimension (if that’s what it is), it could’ve tied into Luz’s attempts to get back home!

            There’s also one more question Dana answered, which I’ll answer as its own post.

[darksigns-exe]

the night and the light | prologue

a bad omens cyberpunk au

warnings: mentions of violence, guns, blood, scars

word count: 676

Wind rushes through her hair, throwing it back into her face. The city below her rushes along, never stopping its constant, restless movement. It never stops. Night City always moves – never sleeps. She watches quietly as it continues to writhe like a worm. Sometimes she wonders how she manages to keep up with it at all, or if she even does. 

The past year seems so inconsequential now that it lays behind her. In the grand scheme of things, nothing much has changed. She’s grown a year older, learned a thing or two, but apart from that, she doesn’t feel too different. Maybe she’d grown a little more resentful of the noise and the dirt below. 

So many lives had been lost, uselessly thrown into the aether, and sometimes she wonders if it had even been worth it. There had been so much death and destruction in their wake, so many lives that didn’t need to end yet. Sometimes she can still see the blood on her hands. But in the harsh neon lights of the city it quickly vanishes again. There’s always something, something more exciting, a new advertisement, a new face. Something always happens, and her mind just can’t stand still anymore. 

A set of arms wraps around her middle. She doesn’t need to look to know who they belong to. The coloured lines of ink and scar that line his skin make him so easy to identify. His chin comes to rest against her shoulder, and she knows what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth. 

We could just leave, you know.

And she isn’t surprised when he says those exact words. 

He gets these wistful moods every now and again. But they both know that they’ll never leave Night City. 

No one does – not forever, at least. 

The second they’ll leave the noise and the crowds behind, and they’re alone, everything will change. And that terrifies her. She doesn’t quiet know how to be a person without the lights around her, and she doesn’t know how they’ll be when there’s nothing around them to distract them from the glaring issues they both have. 

But maybe that’s exactly what they need right now. 

She lets her head drop back against his chest. She’s never felt safe in these streets, not until she’d met him. And even then, it had taken her some time until she had felt safe around him. 

“We could all just pack up and leave. Go somewhere else.” he continues, voice still soft and gentle, “One of these gigs will be the last. One way or another.” 

She knows that he’s right. 

One of these days, a bullet will hit one of them and there won’t be anything that can be done about it. There’s a solid chance that it won’t even happen on a gig. She’s witnessed enough people falling victim to stray bullets. 

Sirens blare below as gunshots tear through the white noise of the city. She hasn’t flinched at the sounds in years. 

She does now. 

Instinctively, his arms tighten around her middle. Not to restrain, but to safeguard. He’s warm, comforting, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. That cold, hard shell has been started to show cracks. He’s not growing soft, no, it’s something else, something she doesn’t want to admit to herself yet. 

She feels content here when he holds her like this. 

But there has to be more to it all, right? More than just being content with how the world is. 

More than being content with being who she is. 

There’s a whole world outside of this city, and she has barely dared to venture outside of its borders. Perhaps it is time to peek past the edge of his proverbial plate. A year ago, she would have questioned her sanity for even thinking that, but now it feels as if her eyes are truly open for the first time. 

She leans further against him, and his embrace somehow grows just a little tighter. 

“Maybe we should.” 

maybe. 

taglist: @deathblacksmoke @circle-with-me @sitkowski @ladyveronikawrites @baddestomens

@malice-ov-mercy @chels3a-smile @ferduttini @somebodyels3 @itsafullmoon

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@rumoured-whispers @cheyyyyr @mathfairchild1 @thewrstinme @Follow-me-down-to-wonderland

[vigilskeep]

sorry for rambling in your inbox but having recently finished a cassandra romance, your post abt people not, like, analyzing her got to me. i know you have arthur who romances(divorces) her and makes her divine but i don't know if you've fully played that out, actually seeing it in-game made me feel rabid. it's kind of an insane thing to do to her... cassandra is the divine candidate who /wants/ the position the least. leliana actively puts herself forward as a candidate, vivienne would never be so gauche as to be direct but she clearly is interested in the position. for cassandra it is a duty she must accept, bordering on a burden (particularly if she can never marry an inquisitor she loves as a result). she became the right hand of the divine as a teenager!!! she loathes the trappings of her name and nobility but she's been trapped by duty instead her whole life. free my girl she did all that but i understand her

it makes me feel insane.

i haven’t played it through no. and i don’t even consider myself to know cassandra particularly well (this is true of a lot of inquisition companions, having never finished the game fully with dlcs and thus never felt completely comfortable watching through banter compilations and alternate endings and low approval scenes and so on.) but from everything i do know about cassandra, the very fundamentals, making her divine feels so... cruel? it’s terrible for literally everybody involved except possibly the snakes in the grand cathedral who are going to eat her alive.

cassandra is a woman of action and passion, brash and violent, a blunt weapon, forthright in both her accusations and her affection. the life of a divine is everything she hates; she might as well be the noblewoman in a gilded cage she was raised to be (in a childhood that poisoned her entire extended family and nation for her), or perhaps an honoured corpse preserved lifeless and useless in the grand necropolis (the ones a young cassandra thought looked so “very sad” in the midst of all their buried, wasted finery.)

i was struck during dawn of the seeker by what an obvious publicity stunt it was to make her the divine’s right hand after her success against the conspiracy. a duty she had to accept, was even publicly surprised into accepting. at her age, would she ever have been put so forward in the seekers to be engaged in fighting such a conspiracy, if not for her name? she would not even have been allowed to join the seekers when she did if not for that. she has no skills of good judgement or leadership and it’s only due to the accident of her birth that these pressures she isn’t equipped to match are constantly placed on her shoulders.

she already wanted to leave after beatrix died, but justinia convinced her otherwise, for a failed vision that ended in death cassandra blames herself for. i find it harder and harder to blame her for dodging the inquisitor’s position, considering all that. and to make her divine... she won’t be good at it, she’ll fall into every politician’s scheme and old orthodox pattern even as she tries for ‘reform’ that she has no clarity of purpose for, she’ll be trapped there for the rest of a long grey life with none of the passion she longs for. she won’t be good at it!!! nobody in thedas benefits either! it’s worse! what the hell

(it’s kind of why i love my arthur and this ending the way i do, because of the equivalency. she does terrible things to him, reinstating the circles while he stands alone as her archmage. but he also did a terrible thing to her, by putting her in this position! by ruining her life and also lying all this time to someone he supposedly loves! neither justifiable or comparable, love loses, nobody wins, they are drowning there is no sign of land etc etc)

[gingerfan24]

A Word

His attention was split tonight. A dangerous state of mind considering the circumstances but he simply couldn’t help himself.

At the moment Heinrix was primarily listening in on the Saurback’s conversation. They were one of the families of Dargonus most known for their vocal opposition to the Rogue Traders rule but tonight, for the moment, they seemed to be discussing fairly mundane politics. Toriana Gaprak was immersed in conversation with Macharius Saurback, the patriarch of that noble house. With the humiliation of Cubis Delphim’s treachery on Kiava Gamma, the Gapraks were almost certainly seeking allies wherever they could.

And yet, without fail, he once again found himself turning his attention to the woman of the hour herself, Anastasia Von Valancius, newly minted Rogue Trader and a sanctioned psyker much like himself. At the moment she was directly across the ballroom from him, engrossed in conversation with her fellow Rogue Traders Calligos Winterscale and Incendia Chorda.

Tonight she wore a blue dress in the shade and color of her dynasty, while patterned sequins and delicate gold chains decorated the circumference of her waist. Around her head, crowned like a halo was a stylized version of a psy-augmetic often worn by Primaris psykers. It rose from behind her half-shaved head like a golden sunrise.

Not for the first time Heinrix found himself wishing he could dance with her. To hold her close to himself and drink in her scent, to feel her black hair through his fingers as he leads her across the floor and to feel her heartbeat against him. He has seen this woman charge head-first into battle against some of the worst horrors this galaxy had to offer and hold her own and yet……the thought of what could potentially happen tonight made his blood run cold.

Calcazar was making his move.

His master had reassured him that this was merely a demonstration, a show of force to remind the new Rogue Trader of her role in the grand scheme of things and Heinrix had little reason to doubt this but…..he knew Xavier well enough to know what things could potentially turn into. And he knew Ana well enough that a warning in advance was….advisable to say the least.

But what to say?

To tell the full truth was obviously so out of the question as to be inconceivable. The Lord Inquisitor wished to surprise her in her quarters after festivities had concluded, a common tactic that left the target more vulnerable to the questioning that would follow.

He couldn’t not let her know that something was going to happen this evening but as he was pondering this thought further he heard her laugh, a sound that made his heart flutter in his chest and a certain heat rise to his cheeks, and then he saw her bid her guests farewell before she turned in his direction and began to walk towards him, glass of fine amesec in hand and a rosy flush to her cheeks. He watched her regard him with a curious expression and a slight head-tilt and felt the familiar gaze of someone who seemed to be able to pierce the very soul with their questioning gaze.

“Interesting conversation?” She asked him light-heartedly as she approached him far too close for propriety. The scent of her perfume and her close proximity made it hard for him to breathe and think.

Throne help him.

By sheer force of will he managed to retain a relatively inscrutable appearance. “It’s been very illuminating. Given me plenty of food for thought.”

Something in his expression must’ve given him away however. Or perhaps, being the telepath she was, she detected it in traces of his thoughts and emotions. Her expression grew more inquiring.

“Is something the matter? You look tense. Well, more than usual.”

Heinrix found himself fidgeting nervously. “I….I need to tell you something but I can’t divulge it here. Meet me in your quarters and I will say what I can.”

Her expression grew more serious in spite of the intoxication. “Very well then Heinrix, lead the way.”

[milky-aeons]

— FEVER PITCH

౨ৎ�� . . . following a mission that could have gone perilously wrong, you decided you have had just about enough of DAZAI OSAMU and his manipulative tactics.

warnings: criminal themes, sexual content, arguments, unprofessionalism, swearing, manipulation, emotional dysregulation, pet-names, slight toxic!dazai, power-play, love-biting, female reader, mentions of sociopathy, mdni, w.c 6.2k

♪ . . . ˗ˏˋ ꒰ bloody valentine — machine gun kelly ꒱ ˎˊ-

𝐍𝐎 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 between you two during the walk back to his agency apartment. Mainly, because you made it your mission to walk at least ten steps ahead of him, eyes fixed forward, hands balled. You couldn't believe him, but the thing was, it was so typical of a man like him that you cursed yourself for being so surprised.

What did you expect? Dazai Osamu was a high-functioning sociopath who didn't take human empathy into consideration when making decisions. There was a brief moment where you tried to make an excuse for him — to give him the benefit of the doubt, even though you knew Dazai only gambled when certain he was ten steps ahead.

If you made the different choice during the mission today and didn’t stop the train, those people wouldn’t have lived. He did not gamble dozens of human lives on a split-second decision you would have to make.

He did not lie to you about the severity, the stakes at play.

He did not wager human lives like they were mere toy-things, variables in his grand scheme that always worked out so perfectly.

Only that, he did. He absolutely did.

You were sure to slam the door in his face when you reached the apartment before him to show how angry this had made you. No, anger wasn't the word. It was too shallow and weak. The emotion making your chest physically heavy was akin to devastation. A brother so close to betrayal. You were pacing his sitting room with your hands buried deep in your hair when he came in and closed the door softly.

Scream, strangle him, do something, you pleaded with yourself. But everything was racing and your heartrate was speeding just as fast. All you could do was continue pacing and breathing, attempting to keep it from crashing down on you.

You could have let them all die.

All of those innocent civilians. Mothers, children, sons, grandparents.

How was he so sure you would stop the train?

How could he make a gamble like that, only to hinge it all on you?

"Will you allow me to explain?" His voice cut the tense air from far away.

It was like the key pulled from a grenade, enough to make you wrench your hands from your hair and pin him down with a sharp look.

"I should." You hissed. "I should demand an explanation from you and nothing short from it. But the thing is, Dazai — I don't know if I can trust anything coming from your mouth right now."

He didn't like that. There was a dark storm in his eyes.

Those intelligent, cold and calculating eyes.

You wanted to gouge them from his pretty face.

"Perhaps, it would be better for you to calm down first—"

"Calm down? You've been lying to me this entire time and you have the audacity—!"

"I was not lying."

Shock slapped you hard against your face. You openly balked. "Are you seriously lying to me now, of all times, too?"

Calmly, as if you were the only one having a heated argument, his eyes slipped closed and he sighed.

Sighed.

"It is true that the mission today held a certain level of danger, and that the heart of the plan ultimately teetered on what choice you would make." He spoke quickly before you could combust in emotion at that declaration. "But I don't believe I have ever told you that it did not."

"No. You withheld that it was." There was a sneer to your lips. The words you spoke with were a caustic brew as you began to stalk to him.

"That's the thing with you," Both your hands came up to the side of your face in a squeezing, frustrated gesture. Like you could curl your fists and punch him and his impassive stare. "You keep things from people. It's like you figure everything out and get joy from watching everyone else struggle to do so. The information you keep is how you're so indestructible — to the Agents, the Higher Brass, the Police Force, the fucking Port Mafia, Dazai. It's because you leverage information they don't think you know in times where it benefits you!"

A pause as he stared right at you and didn't even flinch. You wanted to shake him. You wanted to scream.

"Is that what you wanted to do to me?" Such a careful question you asked in a shaky whisper. "Have this information over my head until it benefited you? So you could just use me as some—some sort of—!"

The question was a snap that made him move. Walking forward, devouring the distance with his long legs. Startled, you took a few steps back, but you didn't back down.

"[Name]-chan — Bella," He said evenly. You hated that nickname. You hated how controlling he sounded when you were about to lose it. "Listen to me."

"Don't you dare order me around right now."

His hands lashed out until they gripped the sides of your face.

He was forcing your eyes forward, the touch not overly painful but strong, firm.

Because he’d never hurt you. Or would he?

"If you would just—"

Your hands came up and you slapped his from your cheeks. The echo of skin was treacherous to a conversation taking a devastating turn.

"I don't think you understand." You said in a tight voice. Hysteria was moments away from gripping your heart. "You wagered lives and the safety of others like they were inanimate things—"

"Risks are probable with all calculations, [Name]-chan—"

"But you still lied!"

The talent he had for reasoning his way to justice even when he was sorely in the wrong was making heat claw at your face. A searing one of frustration and anger. "You lied to me this whole time and made me believe in you. I could trust you with my life Dazai, and now I find out you've been lying to me about something as important as this!"

Dazai subdued to silence, but never once did he look away from you. Arresting you with his intense stare, like he was figuring out just what words he could say to calm you right down. But you wouldn't let him. For once, you wouldn't be on the receiving end of his manipulation when he was putting all his effort into it.

But what he said next was so unexpected it knocked all the wind out of you.

"I suppose, if we are discussing with-holding things from each other to keep the other safe," It was a smooth murmur as he cast his eyes to the side. "I don't believe you are entirely innocent in that regard either, [Name]-chan."

Your mouth threatened to fall open.

He knows.

Even though the phone right now is in a cabinet in the bathroom, off and untouched, he knows about the blackmailing texts you have been receiving about him. Knowing you were a co-worker of his, these crooks from the underground threatened his very life lest you co-operated to give him up. Not that you ever would. But you had also declined to tell him about it, taking the issue on yourself, intent to shield you co-worker from harm above all else.

Because you’d never hurt him. Or could you?

You didn't even have to ask him how or what he knew. He was Dazai freaking Osamu who leveraged information in times where it benefited him.

One tight swallow and you raised a hand to point at him. "I didn't gamble with lives."

"Yet you gambled with your own~" He shut you down. "Your safety, your wellbeing, all because you believed holding the information to yourself would keep me safe."

Instead of being caught red handed and admitting to it, you felt your lips crack into a grin. Your tongue poked at your cheek and you began nodding your head.

"Alright," Spoken like you were engaged in a battle with him. One of wits and emotions and secrets. "You want to play this game? Share things we keep to ourselves to quote on quote benefit each other? Then explain to me why I also met a lady today who you slept with last week. A damn lawyer on one of our cases, Dazai!"

It made the air drop in temperature, the turn this blow-out was taking. Dazai leaned back and put his hands in his pockets, breathing in a way that told you he knew this conversation was coming.

You were not in a relationship, had never been intimate with the brown-haired detective before you, yet would be lying to yourself if you said your feelings for him weren't driving you absolutely fucking insane.

"Truly? What was her name, remind me?"

"Oh, you fucking asshole."

"Such vulgarity, [Name]-chan! Now I'm sure she'd never speak like that~!"

That was a low blow. You wondered if he was trying to hurt you. So you did it right back. Without stopping to think of its consequences.

"So we're deciding to say fuck it to professionalism, then? Fine. I kissed Kunikida-kun."

If atoms could physically freeze in the air, they would have in that moment as Dazai suddenly went still. Statue-still, and you knew you shouldn't have said it when you did. Caught up in a moment where you two butted heads, each of you were getting nowhere with this conversation. But the damage had been done.

Slowly, almost perilously, he craned his neck to the side and locked you in place with that stare. The one he had crafted when Mafia-black blood ran hot and thick in his veins. One eyebrow arched.

"Oh?"

Suddenly, you began fearing for your friend's stability in his job. Because who knows what a pissed-off Dazai Osamu could do when he was angry. And you knew he was becoming agitated because he looked like he wasn't. Concealing anything with that mask he threw up to deceive everyone but you, who could read how the storm in his eyes took a violent, turbulent turn.

"But why should you care?" You spat at him. "You slept with our client just fine, so what if I kissed someone else on the case? Newsflash, Dazai, but we're not in a relationship and we never fucking will be."

Dazai was eating up the distance between the both of you until your chests barely touched. You were breathing heavy, felt tears threaten to fall down your cheeks. Through it all you noticed that his breaths were shallow and a little quicker, like he was keeping his emotions under check with everything he had in him.

"Stubborn woman." He breathed. "Why don't you see reason?"

You looked into his eyes with as much strength, as much sincerity as you could after an exhausting shouting match with him. Into their bottomless depths. Seas of chocolate and whiskey and so, so guarded. You wanted to reach into his soul and tear his guards down. Make him see your reason.

"Don't lie to me." You shook your head slowly without breaking eye-contact. One single tear rolled down your right cheek against your will. "And I won't have to dig past all of them to find the reason, dammit."

"I told you," He urged in a softer tone. Reaching up, he brushed the tear that he caused against your cheek with a tender touch. Pull away, you said, but hadn't the strength to. "Everything I do or said was to help you along your path, [Name]-chan. I knew, out of all of the agents that I could rely on you the most."

Is he lying right now? How could you know?

"Why do you have to go about everything in such a round about way?" You asked quietly.

Dazai's hand was hovering in front of where he wiped your cheek. Perhaps he didn't want to touch you as you gave the impression that you didn't want to be touched right now.

Perhaps you're both as bad as each other, sacrificing parts of yourselves and keeping secrets because you thought it'd be for the better.

"What are you looking for?" Dazai asked when you continued to study him.

You shrugged. "An answer."

"To?"

Tears glistened on your lashes as you looked down. Crushed crystals that glittered when you found words. "To why, even after you're such a big pain in my ass to deal with," You took a sharp inhale. "I still can't see myself anywhere but at your side."

He saw an opening to exploit in order to get you to forgive him, probably. That, or you had given him a confirmation he had been seeking right after you told him why would you care if I kiss another man? Because one searching flicker of his eyes across your face and he suddenly swooped in.

At first, you were unwilling to take his kiss — was about to pull away, because he was wrong to think he could manipulate you physically if he couldn't mentally.

"Forgive me," He whispered against your lips softly. "I didn't think keeping it from you could affect you this deeply."

Next, you watched as he tilted his head against yours to touch your foreheads. Maybe it was Dazai's way of showing emotions he had trouble displaying like most humans did. Instead, he attempted to connect your mind with his — that wicked mind that was capable of things humans believed impossible. "I will admit that emotional impact on others is not dominant when I make decisions for a grander picture."

You didn't pull away. At the very least, he was trying to show you an emotional side of him. Remorse, God help him. You could see it in the way he formulated a riddle for you to solve, didn't show any feeling on his face but did something as intimate as tipping your forehead to his and brushing his lips against yours.

Dazai Osamu had the tendencies to do things just because he knew, logically, it was the best thing to do. He promised to keep those people safe on the mission today, you locked eyes with him, and he had done that. Although not in the way he made you believe he would.

"Good." You whispered. "As long as you're aware of how much of a problem you can be."

His chuckle was low and shallow. Dark in a way that told you a lustful side of him was stirring at the proximity of you both, but the sound was a little warmer. Shared between two people attempting to build a steady connection with each other when both their lives had, at some point, been hit with chaos.

And maybe that was why you let him kiss you again. It wasn't an admission of defeat, it wasn't your way of saying you forgave him. But you could accept the fact that you had made the Dazai Osamu find fault in his sociopathic reasonings. He had went as far as to administer an apology, in his own way, and didn't lie to you when you asked him not to. That and the bastard already had his place in your heart. Kissing you with a tenderness and care not typical to him was bound to have you swaying, wanting to believe he was being serious, sincere.

"Don't lie to me again," You said when he pulled away. "Promise me you won't."

"Hmm?" He brought his lips to kiss your cheek. "I don't have a good record with keeping promises."

"Then give me your word."

Give me your word. It brought you both back to when you first met in a shadowed alleyway bar — when he had sought you out for that interesting Ability of yours. Months upon months ago that felt like an aeon. He had told you that his word was something he never broke. And he knew what you were asking, because his whiskey eyes that swam with speckles of stars underneath his pale spotlights flickered to yours.

"Is my word held at such high value?"

"It's how you managed to sway me in that shitty bar to join your group of misfits."

Another hum against your skin. He attempted to attack your neck, probably because he knew that was the area in which you fawned the most.

"Dazai." You warned, and he drew back. "Give me your word that you won't lie to me again." It was nothing short of a final order.

He eyed you for a second. And surprisingly, "You have my word."

It was the finalisation of his apology. Or, the very best you were going to get. In some way, it was also your admission to allow him to kiss you again, as if a reward for being reasonable with you. And he took up his reward by claiming your lips in a kiss that was longer than the last. It was hot and in some way raw, breathing through his nose and slanting his mouth against your own in a lip-lock you were a little overwhelmed by.

His hand came up and dug into your soft hair to cradle your head as he teased your lower lip between his teeth. Unwittingly, you sighed into his mouth and pushed against him. Melding your curves with his lean build and grasping at anything you could ball your hands into. Be it his shirt, his shoulders, sighing deeper each time. A tongue licked at your lips, his hands were locked on your hips with a searing message, everything he was doing right now was oddly rushed and coming at you all at once. As if to prove something. To translate a message.

"Tell me," He rasped in a throaty voice. "When was it that you shared such an intimacy with Kunikida-kun~?"

Oh, you should have known. But instead, you contested him. Your hands came up to bury into his deep hair and you played his own game.

"How about," Your lips attacked his face, barely getting any words in as you attempted to prove your own point. "You tell me when you decided sleeping with some random lawyer was a good idea?"

Both of you began breathing a little shallower, a little more urgent with need. Perhaps the need was on your part mostly, but there was an uncoordinated jerkiness to the way Dazai began tugging at his coat sleeves. As if he was slipping out of control. You were helping with your own messy movements to push off his coat when he asked a lawyer? with a tremor of amusement.

"That woman. The one last week. On our case." Smooth warmth underneath his shirt when your palms glided down his shoulders. Why were you both so hot?

"Ah," He helped you shrug his jacket to the ground. It fell with a heavy sound. "She was a lawyer, wasn't she~?"

"Sophisticated, beautiful, the whole package. You just couldn't resist, could you?"

Dazai, when free of his coat, reached up to gently undo your blouse. One button at a time, and you allowed him to. Your chest heaving, his fingers warm. 

"Well," His eyes were locked on the skin you've never shown him as it became increasingly visible the more buttons he popped. Leaning in with hooded eyes, his voice was a dark and sinful whisper against your skin. "If you must know," A searing kiss to your temple. "I didn't think she was that sophisticated. But she was beautiful," Your cheek. "Beautiful, because she reminded me of you."

Your heart, which was busy slamming against your ribcage, stuttered for a second. Dazai was teasing your face with his mouth and almost done your blouse when he sent pleasure shooting down to your core with mere words; 

"And I, poor little I, finished before her. Because in my head, it wasn't her that I was fucking underneath me."

And then he kissed you. Hard and messy and unlike his calculating nature. Using his tongue to lick at your teeth and send you moaning into his mouth, there was a passion in the way he intensified the kiss. Your blouse was open now, and you couldn't help the subconscious aged fear that was always there due to insecurity when he splayed his fingers on your abdomen. As if sensing your apprehension, he didn't look down, kept kissing you with such a wild fever that was driving you near senseless.

You felt his palms scrape your sensitive skin on your torso with coarse bandages. An almost welcome feeling unique to him alone. They lightly tickled your skin, eliciting a shiver, a reminder that this was real. That you were ravaging Dazai Osamu in the heat of a moment that was so intense you thought you would burn.

Your breathing hitched when his hands smoothened across your sensitive ribs to palm your breasts through your bra. Your skin was tight with anticipation, pulled taut over your body that he massaged — making you arch into him. A moan, startled and raw, ripped from your throat. He chuckled, increasing the pressure of his rough palms over your skin, pleased he was the one making you feel this way and no one else.

You decided to give him the peace of mind he wanted.

"He kissed me," You told him when both of you broke for air. "Kunikida— before our Christmas Party. He kissed me, beforehand."

"My, my. Such a passionate Idealist." Dazai commented with an edge to his voice.

"Would you like to know what I thought of when he did?"

His palms were inching around to the small of your back. "Do tell." Was all he said. Slowly, dark as the colour of his dilated eyes. 

"You."

Pull, he hauled you against him when you let the word fall from your mouth.

Skin on the fabric of his shirt, your skirt the only thing between you and the obvious readiness of him that was an unbearable pressure between your legs. It was a point where words were not needed anymore. Instead, you kissed him with as much neediness you convinced yourself he showed you — your fingers fluttering against his waistcoat to get the infernal thing off. Because right now there was a wild, strange thing so powerful it must have been held back for too long fluttering in your chest. It wanted nothing more than to feel him, see what he hid under his clothes, bite at his skin until no other woman touched him.

He helped you, with a laugh of course, until you were now making clumsy work of his shirt. Clumsy, because he was placing provocative open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive column of your neck and threatening you to your very knees.

You shrugged his shirt off his shoulders after a second and took a step back to look at him. Truthfully, you didn't exactly know what it was that you were expecting to find under all his clothes, or to what extent his bandages ran. Although you weren't very surprised to find that his abdomen and chest had a layer of bandages just like his neck and arms, but sparser and less covered up. It allowed the pale skin of his chest to catch your eyes, and his own scars that snaked between cloth that didn't cover them.

Scars.

One careful, hesitant step forward with your eyes locked on skin you've never seen before, and you reached out. First you trailed a curious finger against the lithe muscle of his stomach that flexed at your touch. Then, you placed your entire palm flat against his warm skin and glided it up to his chest. It was rising and falling quickly when you did, shallow breaths of anticipation that quite matched your own.

His eyes were a blaze of molten coffee when you looked up at him.

"Are you a tempting siren?" He asked you. Your colleague who could drown you, but at that point, all you could think about was the heat punching you from his body and the desperate ache between your legs.

So for once in your life, you decided that a risky answer was better than overthinking. Your tongue jutted out to your bottom lip and you answered him honestly.

"If we were still in that bar," You said in a small, wanton croak. "And you asked me again if I should come home with you. I'd say — yes."

Dazai went for you. 

He was kissing you the moment you gave him the permission he was searching for. You felt his fingers skating up the side of your legs and under your skirt until he teased one god-awful touch against the damp fabric of your underwear. A jolt of pleasure exploded through you and you reached behind to get the skirt off, desperate for more. Fabric fell to the floor with a heavy thud and you bore down onto his fingers with no shame, no resolve except to give into him and all his sinful talents. Hooking your leg up and around his waist as he worked his touch up and down, hiking your pleasure to high points only he could find.

You hummed and kissed him deeply, encouraging and urgent. If anything, your responses were fuelling that male ego he had about him. Every time your moans became that bit higher, he'd have the spot that did such a thing to you memorised, and he's hit it again. And again, and again, until you were rocking into the palm of his hand through your soaked underwear and whispering his name like a lost prayer.

Fuck—Fuck, he was too good at this. He was—!

He curled his fingers just right and you swore.

The winding in your gut snapped in an intense wave of climaxing pleasure so sudden it caught you unawares. You moaned a sound that could have been a scream, it was so overwhelming. All your sighs and shouts were lost in his mouth, and to show your gratitude, you kept tugging and scraping at his hair. Perhaps it unfurled the last seams of his control; your moans, your scent and your tugging you would fantasize he liked. Because he hooked your other leg up and around his waist with no warnings until he held you up against his body.

"You'll drop me, you idiot." You giggled deliriously. Dazai was walking you to the nearest upstanding object to trap you against. In this case, it was his bookshelf.

"I'd never drop you, beautiful Bella~"

You lapped at the skin of his neck, just below his ear. Possessed by some intense, primal part of you, your teeth sank into his neck and you sucked just enough to leave a bruise. The bookshelf rattled when Dazai locked you against it, and you could feel how he ground his jaw in rigid control when you marked him in such a possessive way. No woman, clearly, had ever placed intimate bruises on his body, and you were happy to be the first. That and, your teasing and tasting only looked to charge Dazai more with that same insatiable need to take you here and now.

Without any questions asked but a mutual understanding hanging in the charged air that this was well overdue, he reached down to remove his own pants. When he did, he repositioned himself so he could angle you better with his body.

His head bowed in front of your black bra decorated with notes of lace and he bit down on one of your stiff nipples through the fabric. The shock and pain that quickly raced into pleasure soured through your blood, making you wrap your hands around his head and push your chest against his face proactively. He kept toying with your nipple between his teeth through the black fabric, truly a man who knew all the pressure points to drive a woman wild. 

It was through delirious pleasure, but you were at an angle where you could shift your hips to press on the rigid outline of his length with your damp, aching core. Dazai's lips stilled on your chest when you rubbed your heat against him; a provocative tease up and down that had you receiving a punishing nip on your clavicle. A bruise of his own, you'd find out, but not in that moment. Not when you gave one final roll of your hips against his and your colleague's unfurling control wore too thin.

His hands came down to pull your underwear off you while he still kept you pinned up against a bookshelf. Through it all, he never let his bottomless gaze falter from our face. Not once. Not even when he had to free himself from his last piece of clothing and take measures of protection. The way he looked at you, like a treat he'd been saving for a very long time, was enough to have another knot of pleasure coiling in your gut.

"Are you ready?" He asked you.

You nodded. "For a while."

"Such a tease~"

And then, with his warm hands on your hips did he guide himself into your entrance. It was slow at first, tasting you almost, but the moment he edged the tip of himself into your damp, twitching heat did he snap his last thread of self control and thrust long and deep. You cried out in ecstasy, and he dropped his head into your shoulder with a broken sound of overdue pleasure, bracing a hand on the shelf behind.

You breathed out shakily, running your hands through his wild hair to communicate that you were comfortable for him to move.

He drew out, and slammed right back into you — the depth of him this time making little white stars appear at the sides of your vision. There was no patience, no savouring on Dazai's part as he kept a heavy rhythm of thrusting into you until the bookshelf was rattling with your movements, some falling to the ground. He was devouring you, taking from you a pleasure he'd denied himself for so long because you were unwilling to give it to him.

And you regretted not doing it sooner. Because the way he felt sliding in and out of you, the way you connected that felt so unfathomably perfect— 

"Could anyone else do this for you?" His voice was heavy with panting in your ear. You were too high to scold him on the blatant controlling way he said the words; "Hm? Could any other person," A particularly heavy push of his hips into you that made your mouth fall open silently. "Make you feel this way?"

Caught in your daze, you shook your head. It was the truth, of course. But you also didn't lose all of your wit.

You locked your ankles together at the dip of his back and took his face in both hands. "Could your lawyer make you… act so… wild?"

"Wild? Me?" His voice broke in a thick laugh as his thrusting became sharper and faster. Your back kept hitting the shelves behind with every one, but your hands stayed against his cheeks so as you could see him in the height of pleasure you caused. That beautiful face of his sheaning a little with exertion smirked. "I'm not wild for anyone, [Name]-chan."

"Then fucking put me down." You teased with a dazed smile of your own.

"Not a chance~"

His smooth, deep thrusts became slightly more jerky when you were just about to topple over the edge — but you wanted to take him with you, so you resisted for as much as you could. His mouth bit down against the side of your neck and he gave one, two, three long rocks of his hips before he was groaning agonisingly deep against your skin.

The very sound was enough. Your walls clenched around him and you too, hit a climax like no other. One that made you feel like a star — imploding in such a dazzling light show as you fisted at his hair and arched your body backwards. Or a mirror, magnificent in its beauty that he cracked into a trillion tiny pieces. Each fragment reflecting how you held onto him and cried his name out loud and desperately, like the world was ending and he was your very last salvation.

[azxremoon]

BE MINE!

day of devotion dimitri x reader

ingredients : SPOILER-FREE, gender neutral reader, introspection, fluff, minimal dialogue, slight angst (dima is mean to himself), graphic imagery, implied background pairings, intentional lowercase.

note from the barista : i'm not late to put this out if his day of devotion banner is still running :')

dimitri does not handle flowers. or perhaps it is more accurate to say that if he can so much as help it, he tries not to make a habit of handling anything fragile.

the same could be said about most, whether they be objects or people. but flowers specifically are high upon that list. they are notorious for their fragility. one wrong move could snap the thin stems keeping them upright, or tear the delicate petals from the receptacle. it means little in the grand scheme of things, that is true. it is a mere flower, another can and will be grow and cultivated. but dimitri does not want to be the one to destroy something so lively, so precious and beautiful.

but dimitri is like a rock against glass — bound for destruction. it has followed him since he was young and will continue to do so until he is laid to rest. this moment is hardly any different. one could blame the precarious nature of his crest. after all, it's provided him with strength nearly unparalleled by others. but a sword does not swing and pierce through by itself; an arrow does not fly and lodged itself into its target on its own. the responsibility is his and his alone.

perhaps it makes him a hypocrite, considering how tenderly dimitri cradles his feelings for you close to his heart. if it does, then he cares not. it was a daunting task to allow himself this kindness when he knows he is undeserving of it. there are many days he considers letting go of them, despite the gaping wound it would surely leave. you deserve better than him. someone who is not tormented by their past and held together by a thirst of revenge that can't come soon enough. dimitri's hands shake around these feelings, handling them like the precious treasure they are.

but make no mistake, dimitri is well aware that you are not fragile. you are one of the strongest people he knows and he loves that. he loves you. he would worship you if you permitted him! dimitri swore to him that no matter what happened, the bloodstained claws disguised as human hands would never tear into you. he would use them to protect and love you. still, dimitri knows he must be careful. with this cursed strength beneath the flesh of his palms, he fears that a single mistake will leave you—

dimitri grimaces. a petal falls and lands atop the toe of his boot. he will not think of that. not today. but it is so difficult. all of this self doubt came rushing forward and revealed itself at the first opportunity presented. now it refuses to leave him lone, clinging to him like rotten flesh to bone. that is to say, dimitri accidentally crushed one of the flowers within the bouquet and the guilt was all-consuming. and now he is plucking the tiny petals from the mutilated plant, one-by-one, as he mutters, "they love me. they love me not."

dimitri has not played this game in years — literally. the last time he had, it was before the tragedy. those were different times, when things were simpler and the truth was hidden behind a veil of childish innocence. when he and his childhood friends were still young. when loved ones and innocents still drew breath. glenn taught the four of them this game, as a matter of fact. dimitri cannot recall how it came up in the first place, something about the holiday itself, but it ended with him, felix, sylvain, and ingrid each with a flower in hand.

he and felix only went along with it because glenn introduced it. sylvain, to no one's surprise, already knew of this practice and teased them, insisting that this method was reliable. dimitri hadn't believed it. but a bright-eyed felix had taken him at his word and tore through what had to be several flowers. ingrid was a little more reluctant and instead counted the petals. dimitri has never since seen her flush as bright as she had when glenn casually mentioned not needing a flower to dictate his feelings.

dimitri is quick to dismiss those thoughts before they, too consume him more than they already have. he forces himself back into the present and it takes him but a moment to recall that he is stilling sitting upon the fountain's ledge at the heart of the marketplace. a comically large bouquet of flowers is cradled in his arm like a babe, its weightlessness surprisingly intimidating. spring snowflakes, if he recalled correctly. they are so small and droopy that dimitri was almost convinced they were sickly. the florist had to assure him that they were, in fact, healthy.

the prince had not bought this bouquet with the intention of doing this. it was meant to be a gift, after all. a gift for the most wonderful person dimitri has been graced with meeting. it feels more like an honor, a blessing he is undeserving of. but the longer dimitri sits for, the more restless and nervous he becomes. now dozens of tiny white petals line his feet and the stem lays limp and pathetic in his palm.

"they love me. they love me not. they love me. they love me not."

dimitri has been muttering those same words for what feels like hours now. his tongue grows tired and numb after repeating them like a mindless husk of what once was. but dimitri refuses to give up. if he has so much as a chance for his feelings to be reciprocated, then he wants to reach out and take it.

dimitri's hand stills around that last petal and watches as it slips between his fingers like a lost opportunity. he reaches for another flower from the bunch and—

"dima?"

dimitri nearly rips the whole stamen off of the flower. that lovely voice rings in his ears like church bells and if he was standing, he's sure he would have fallen to his knees. his head whips upwards and his eyes find the most ethereal shade of color he will ever see in his lifetime. dimitri's heart flutters with a sort of adoration he has little idea what to do with.

"ah, you're here!"

an odd mix of exhilaration and anxiety bundles together in his chest. dimitri eagerly rises to his feet and it's a miracle he doesn't trip over his feet like a fool. the heavy weight of his cloak is a welcome pressure upon his shoulders and it's the only thing keeping him even relatively composed. dimitri clears his throat and stands a little taller, a little straighter.

"i was beginning to think you declined my invitation," dimitri confesses in an attempt at casual conversation, but his worry is unfortunately palpable.

"i wouldn't miss this for the world," you say. "i'm sorry for running late."

dimitri does not hesitate to offer his assurances, almost jumping at the chance to do so. "no, please do not apologize. it's quite alright. to be honest, i just appreciate you meeting me here today."

dimitri spots the relief in your demeanor, in that lovely expression you give him. he can feel his heart soaring and lodging itself in his throat. he would be perfectly content letting it asphyxiate him if it meant you would keep your eyes on him for even a moment longer. he forgets all about the world around them and the other heroes that pass with their special someone in celebration for this day. frankly, the only one who has his attention is you. always you.

it's during his incessant fawning that dimitri's eyes follow yours to the ground when it lingers elsewhere. specifically, to where the petals are scattered and the spot on the fountain's ledge where bare stems lie next to where he had been sitting. vague amusement crinkles at the corners of your eyes and the slight upturn of your lips, and it only becomes even more prominent when you look back up at him. embarrassment washes over dimitri like the waves lapping over one's bare feet at the beach.

the prince pointedly ignores the fiery warmth upon his cheeks. he shifts so his frame hides the unfortunate sight behind him and steps over the petals. he can't even feel them beneath his boot, but the knowledge that they're there is like his own personal torment. dimitri chuckles, an awkward attempt at moving past this.

"in any case, it's good to see you. i'm aware it has not been that long at all since we last saw each other, but...i truly did miss you."

he offers his hand, palm to the sky. your hands slides so smoothly against his glove, his fingers curl so perfectly around yours, and he swears that he can feel your skin through his glove. his hand is a little bigger than yours, and yet dimitri is so certain that they were made to fit so perfectly together. dimitri bows his head, lifts their hands, and brushes his lips against your knuckles. even when he stands upright once more, dimitri does not let go just yet. he will be a little selfish today, even on such a pure holiday as this.

"this is for you. i hope you will accept it."

dimitri extends the bouquet in his other hand, and—

it is a single spring snowflake. the last from the bouquet he had bought, to be specific. it's blanketed neatly in the wrapping and tied with a blue ribbon, but it's like a child wearing their parents' clothing. it stands out so comically in all the ways it's not supposed to be. something like horror and guilt smacks him across the face and dimitri swears his heart gives out in his chest.

he has no chance to amend this horrid, detestable mistake when his offering is taken from him in tender hands, cradled with a gentility only you possess. he dares say that your eyes are soft as you observe the gift, your fingers brushing against the tiny white petals. anxiety bubbles in dimitri's chest as he looks between you and the gift. he doesn't know how to rectify this without hurrying back to the florist and purchasing another bouquet.

"oh, it's beautiful," you marvel. to him, your voice is as soft as a tender caress. "i love it. thank you, dimitri."

dimitri swears he falls in love all over again in this moment. the way the bright sky gleams down on them highlighting them in a light that makes them appear almost ethereal. the soft look in their eyes that dimitri is the always sole recipient of. dimitri does not feel deserving of it, nor has he ever. he doesn't think he ever will. but he has it. he has someone who looks at him, sees him, and likes what they see. he has someone who sees him as he truly is, this dark and ugly and foul creature, and still wants to stand at his side.

"anything for you," dimitri says breathlessly. he offers his arm. "i would love to see the rest of the festival with you. what say you?"

© azxremoon. please do not copy, edit, translate, or use for ai training.