#if his other choice was relying on humans

[marvelrivalsimagines]

A Blessing From the Gods

Characters: Hela, Moon Knight, Scarlet Witch, Winter soldier

Prompt: “could you do Moon knight, Bucky and any other character of your choice with another avatar of a Greek gods?” - anon request

Author’s note: I tried to keep which God you are the avatar of vague so you can imagine whatever kinds of powers/backstory you’d like. Also I’m not sure if the requester wanted the HCs to be romantic or platonic but I think these can be read either way. 

Warnings: None!

When Hela sees you for the first time she is immediately intrigued by your presence, for better or worse. She can tell that you are definitely no god yourself, yet she can sense that you have brushed with divinity frequently. She has had brief, and awkward, conversations with Moon Knight about his connection to Khonsu so she realizes that you must also be an avatar. But an avatar of which god? As much as Hela likes to pretend she’s all knowing and above childish emotions like curiosity, she can’t satiate her burning desire to know more until she finally talks to you for herself. 

Hela approaches you with her usual confident smirk and a snide comment about how there appears to be “yet another mortal avatar running about”. As you share your first conversation Hela's face is stoic as she bluntly asks you her burning questions, but if you are observant enough you can see an amused look in her eye. Hela is pleasantly surprised, you are far more interesting to her than Khonsu’s little knight. 

As Hela learns more about your relationship with your god she says she finds herself even more thankful for her dominion over death, preferring to rely on her legions of Hel to do her bidding over having some weak and fickle human. A lot of your conversations have this same energy lol. It sometimes feels like the goddess looks down on you, but it’s undeniable that she enjoys your presence simply because she keeps coming back to you.

A lot of the other heroes think that Hela has it out for you with how much she picks on you. It isn’t common for Hela to have good intentions for anybody outside of herself, not even her own brothers. But with all the time you’re starting to spend with the goddess of death, you’re able to pick up on the subtle tone of affection in her voice when she speaks to you. Even if her words are just as demeaning as what she would say to others. 

If you have a more adversarial relationship with your God, Hela is always eager to listen to your complaints and she always takes your side on arguments. Hela doesn’t have many good relationships with the other gods but she likes you, so as far as she’s concerned you’re always right. Hela also loves stirring the pot between other gods, so sometimes she’ll give you less violent ways to get back at your god. For example, she’ll tell you stories of something embarrassing that happened to your god centuries ago and then tell you to bring it up to your god whenever they start to bother you.

To be completely honest, the Moon Knight system doesn’t pay you much mind when you first join the fight for the multiverse. The Fist of Khonshu is here to carry out his god’s will so his senses are focused on the mission at hand, not necessarily the people around him. Marc knows you’re there as he’s cautiously aware of all the people around him, but it’s the old bird who brings his attention to you. Khonshu, with his knowledge of the other gods and their avatars, recognizes you and then proceeds to yap about your god in Marc’s head for 5 minutes straight. 

How your first interaction with Moon Knight goes depends a lot on what Khonshu has to say about your god. If he speaks positively about your god then Marc is definitely curious about what kind of a person you are. Khonshu historically hasn’t played well with the other gods, so Marc can’t help but wonder what kind of deity you’re wrapped up with if Khonshu can get along with them. If Khonshu doesn’t like your god then Marc may be pressured by Khonshu to confront you in an attempt to settle some 2,000 year old beef between gods. I’ll pray for you if that’s the case 

But whether your first encounter is out of Marc’s own curiosity or because of Khonshu’s petty drama, as the two of you inevitably talk Moon Knight feels a small connection starting to grow with you. Marc’s connection to Khonshu has always seemingly alienated him from the other heroes who think he’s plain crazy, but as a fellow avatar you’re both able to share some of your experiences with each other. Whether your relationship with your own god is as turbulent as Marc’s or not, Marc feels a slight weight lifted off his shoulders as he’s able to speak with someone who can truly understand the pressure of constantly being beneath a god’s gaze. 

Marc doesn’t let many people into his life, but when people do get close to him the entire Moon Knight system becomes very protective over them. So if you have a bad relationship with your god, or really anything in your life starts to go south, Moon Knight’s first instinct is to seek out some sort of revenge for you. However it’s obviously not possible for him to go against a whole god on your behalf and that fact is really frustrating for Moon Knight. Be careful what you complain about around Moon Knight, he will throw hands for you at a moment's notice lol.

Wanda is unfortunately another one who doesn’t pay too much attention to the people around her, so she might not acknowledge you at first. She’s worried about preserving the very fabric that holds her reality together, so you’re gonna have to do something kind of eye-catching to initially get her attention lol. 

As one of the most powerful magic wielding beings and the Sorceress Supreme of her universe, one thing that will definitely make her interested in you is any magical abilities your god may have bestowed upon you. While Wanda is concentrating on controlling her own chaos magic on the battlefield, her mind is still able to recognize a kind of magic she has never seen before. Cue her now being mildly distracted as she low key tries to watch you and fight the enemy team at the same time. 

Instantly Wanda has a need to know everything about your abilities, and as soon as the battle is over she’s trying to speak to you. What kind of magic do you wield? How did you get these powers? Are you just a beginner at magic or can you show her some of your advanced spells? Honestly it might kind of feel like when you tell someone you have a skill, like drawing or speaking another language, and someone just immediately puts you on the spot and asks you to do it for them. It’s especially intimidating if you know that she’s the Sorceress Supreme of her universe, like how are you supposed to impress her lol? But don’t worry Wanda means well, she’s just very blunt and is curious about the different kinds of magic people have access to in these new universes <3

Wanda isn’t known for being very social, but whenever there is down time in between missions you two tend to seek each other out now. Whether it’s a conversation about your personal lives over some lunch, or the both of you focusing on honing your magic in complete silence, Wanda is so used to your presence that it starts to feel strange when you’re not around. In her universe she’s constantly holding reality together, constantly fighting off magical threats, constantly trying to gain more control over her powers. But here with you Wanda greatly enjoys feeling more like a ‘normal’ person. 

You know, if you’re having a problem with your god you’ve now got a whole Sorceress Supreme on your side, and Wanda isn’t afraid of talking back to gods and higher beings. In her timeline she is constantly trying to stop power hungry gods from collapsing her universe, so if you need someone to just casually intimidate your god into being a bit kinder to you, Wanda has more than enough experience to get the job done. She will ask to speak to the manager for you.

Everything that’s happened in the first few weeks of the time stream entanglement has become a blur for Bucky. Suddenly he’s in another dimension with a new (and tentacle-y?) metal arm and he’s fighting alongside other heroes from different dimensions for the fate of the universe. Alright, cool. This is fine. Before all of this mess started, meeting you and being told that you’re an avatar of a Greek god could have shocked Bucky, but now that fact somehow seems like the most normal thing he’s been told in his life. 

As you, Bucky, and the rest of your team head out on your mission Bucky has heard a little bit about your background from Steve, who gave him a brief on all of their strange new teammates. As you clash with the heroes on the other side of the fight Bucky finds his normally focused senses drifting to you. Divine powers tend to be pretty flashy, and a trained soldier like Bucky can immediately see how skilled you are at what you do. As Bucky gets caught off guard by a diving Psylocke, the flash of your abilities is a welcome sight as you help him fend her off. Your reward for helping Bucky? A gruff “Thanks”, before he hones in on another enemy. Isn’t he dreamy <3

After that fight you’ll most likely have to approach Bucky first. Bucky knows he should probably give you a proper thank you for your help, but unfortunately Hydra brainwashing will do a number on your social skills. When you check in on Bucky after the fight is over, you’ll find that he’s slightly more talkative than usual - really just towards you, Steve, or Clint though. He has a lot of questions he'd like to ask you, he’s not as familiar with all these gods and aliens as some of the other heroes are, but he also doesn’t want to accidentally offend you. Bucky knows that he certainly doesn’t have a happy or inspiring story behind how he got his powers, so he doesn’t want to accidentally be too invasive. 

As the two of you grow closer you notice that Bucky tends to stick by your side a lot, both in and out of combat. In combat, Bucky sticks by your side as he knows that he can rely on you if things get rough. He also wants to be there in case he needs to return the favor and help get a diver off of your back. But when you both are just relaxing in between missions, Bucky finds comfort in your presence. Consciously or subconsciously, Bucky knows that you’re a person he can let his guard down around, which isn't a very common experience for him. With everything that he’s been through in life, the fact that the former Winter Soldier trusts you means a lot. 

Bucky really empathizes with you if you have a bad relationship with the god you serve. He has a lot of experience with being used as a living weapon, being treated like your only worth is what you can do for the person giving you your orders. He can’t stand to see another person live that way, especially not when it’s you. Bucky knows that he can’t go up against a god, and he knows enough about these kinds of power dynamics to understand that trying to stand up for you might actually make your situation worse. So Bucky commits himself to supporting you in whatever way you ask him to.

[lassify]

[Spy x Family ch. 109 spoilers]

I just finished the chapter as of two minutes ago, and I have to tell you, I am having the best time getting to use whip out my psychology degree again.

Good people of tumblr, allow me to introduce to you:

Capgras delusion

It's interesting that Melinda disclosed that she was a patient of the hospital before. It is no small feat to be admitted into psychiatric care - especially in a hospitalised setting. Psychiatric hospitals typically deal with very high-risk disorders and behaviours, with many patients being admitted to hospital either for their own safety, or for the safety of those around them.

What has this got to do with capgras delusion?

Capgras delusion is a very serious psychiatric disorder in which a person believes that someone very close to them has been replaced with an impostor.

It is not uncommon for sufferers of capgras delusion to believe that their loved ones have been replaced by aliens, a doppelganger, or a clone.

It can be from many causes: psychosis, schizophrenia, brain damage, neurodegenerative disease. In very rare cases there have even been documented unexepcted triggers such as ketamine, diabetes, migraines, and urinary cystitis.

And, crucially; it is not unheard of for sufferers of capgras delusion to be physically agressive towards the perceived impostor.

(Is that why she was sent to psychiatry before? Is that why she is estranged from Donovan and the children? Is that why she is kept under very close watch? Or is there something more sinister going on?)

From this chapter alone, I wonder if we will see a link between Melinda's delusion, and her past experiences. If Endo chooses to take the scientific route, we may see a history of physical abuse that resulted in brain damage, or a history of psychological abuse that made Melinda vulnerable to psychosis.

I would be really interested to see if Melinda's current way of thinking may have originated from having an initially loving relationship with Donovan Desmond, but she saw a sudden change in behaviour in him to become the heartless warmonger we now know him to be, which could have pushed her into this delusional belief.

After all, how could the man she fell in love with (conjecture), have turned into such a monster? The only explanation must be that Donovan Desmond is not the Donovan she knew, and just an impostor, right?

....Right?

[maryasmorevna]

one thing that must be said about coriolanus and katniss is that they both share such a snarky inner voice that despite the seriousness of thg saga (especially mockingjay - the last chapters almost reduced me to tears, it was that heavy) it made me chuckle more than a few times

[yandere-daydreams]

your puppy!yuuta got me thinking about being hybrid!sukuna mate🗣️he'd either be regular house cat(probably stray) or a tiger

i did actually want to write a hybrid sukuna piece sometime soon, but,,, he's such a hard character to pin down T-T there's a lot of options, but nothing that really clicks, so if i may present some options for the judges:

Stray Cat!Sukuna, who's the scrappiest, most feral tomcat you've ever met. He's quick to hiss, covered in scars, and yours is the only house he'd ever be seen inside of (and, even then, he'd rather not be seen spending time with a human). He lets himself in through open windows, helps himself to any meat you've got on-hand, and only ever purrs when he's asleep or ""scenting"" an article of your clothing. He's a nuisance of a cat, and even if you wanted to, you'd never be able to get rid of him. If he's going to put up with a human, that human's going to have to be his mate, and that's not a decision he needs your input on.

Tiger!Sukuna, who's less of a predator and more of a king. Most carnivorous hybrids only hunt out of necessity, but not Sukuna - he seems to take joy in cutting down anything that crosses his path. He's a beast, even for a big cat, but around you, he might as well be a housecat - always purring and sprawling across your lap, making sure that you know that he'd rather chew off his own foot than ever dig his teeth into you. It'd be a sweeter sentiment, if you weren't so aware that his kindness doesn't extend to those he feels have spent a little too much time too near to his territory.

Fox!Sukuna, who's as fox-like as they come. He's mischievous at the best of times, but he's more like a trickster spirit than a forest hybrid, always teasing and taking advantage of his kind-hearted, empty-headed rabbit mate. You're always getting stuck in his snares and falling for his silver tongue and somehow, you always end up on your hands and knees, drooling and sobbing as he forces you to take his knot. It's just unfair, but as a smaller prey hybrid, you don't have any other choice but to rely on him. No matter how mean he might be to you, Sukuna always makes sure to take good care of his stupid little mate <3

[luna-azzurra]

Give your protagonist flaws.

Some examples of character flaws that can add humanity to your protagonist

Stubbornness

Stubbornness can cause your protagonist to cling to their viewpoints, even when they know they are wrong, often leading to conflicts with others. This trait can create dramatic tension and drive the narrative forward as the protagonist struggles with the consequences of their inflexibility.

Michael, a seasoned detective, refuses to consider new evidence that contradicts his initial theory about a case. His stubbornness leads to conflicts with his team and delays in solving the case.

Impatience

Impatience can make your protagonist demand immediate results, struggling with long-term goals or slower processes. This flaw can add layers to their journey, showing the difficulties they face in learning the value of patience and strategic planning.

Celeste, an aspiring entrepreneur, rushes the development of her new app, pushing her team to the brink. Her impatience results in a product that is not ready for launch, jeopardizing her startup's future.

Self-Doubt

Self-doubt, despite evident skills and achievements, can impair the protagonist's decision-making and actions. This internal conflict adds a relatable dimension, making their journey toward self-acceptance and confidence compelling.

Jordan, a talented musician, constantly questions his abilities despite receiving praise from peers and critics. His self-doubt hinders him from seizing opportunities that could advance his career.

Short Temper

A short temper can cause your protagonist to react aggressively to provocations or challenges, creating interpersonal issues. This flaw can drive subplots involving reconciliation, personal growth, and the learning of emotional control.

Maria, a brilliant surgeon, often lashes out at her colleagues and patients under pressure. Her short temper strains her professional relationships and threatens her career.

Selfishness

Selfishness can lead the protagonist to place their own needs and desires above others, costing them sympathy and support. This flaw can create opportunities for the character to learn empathy and the importance of selflessness.

Chris, a charismatic lawyer, often prioritizes his career over his family, missing important events and neglecting relationships. His selfishness alienates those who care about him, forcing him to reevaluate his choices.

Arrogance

Arrogance can make your protagonist overestimate their abilities and underestimate challenges, leading to dangerous or embarrassing situations. This flaw provides a platform for the character to learn humility and the value of listening to others.

Mandy, a top student, dismisses her classmates' ideas during group projects, believing she knows best. Her arrogance leads to friction and eventually to a significant mistake that humbles her.

Trust Issues

Trust issues can make it difficult for your protagonist to trust others, hindering teamwork and relationships. This trait can create tension and development opportunities as the character learns to open up and rely on others.

Liam, a former spy, finds it hard to trust anyone due to past betrayals. His trust issues complicate his relationships and collaboration with a new team.

Perfectionism

Perfectionism can lead your protagonist to set unrealistically high standards, never being content with their or others' performance. This flaw can drive stories about the struggle for balance and acceptance of imperfection.

Olivia, an artist, is never satisfied with her work, constantly striving for an unattainable level of perfection. Her perfectionism causes stress and burnout, affecting her creativity and personal life.

Fear of Change

Fear of change can make your protagonist cling to the familiar and avoid necessary or beneficial changes. This resistance can create narrative tension as they are forced to confront and adapt to evolving circumstances.

Jamie, a successful business owner, resists adopting new technologies or methods in his company. His fear of change threatens his business's relevance and growth.

Haunted by the Past

Being haunted by past mistakes or traumas can influence your protagonist's present behavior and decisions. This flaw adds a rich backstory and provides a path for emotional development and overcoming personal demons.

Zack, a war veteran, is haunted by his experiences in combat. His traumatic past affects his current relationships and decisions, leading him on a journey of healing and redemption.

[lilianade-comics]

Stolen Sanguine World-Building Dump

@taptrial2 asked and ye shall receive. What follows is a mass information pit for my Vlad Cleavage AU Danny Phantom vampire AU, Stolen Sanguine. This post will just be about world-building, the storyline will be covered separately.

The time period and culture influences are deliberately vague, but it's pseudo-Victorian, pseudo-fantasy, pseudo-pre Industrial Rev with no consistent clothing styles beyond the vampires being obnoxiously slutty.

Vampires live among humans and the ones that live the longest and thrive the most are the rich and powerful, highly immoral ones. Common people who are turned and not willing to become gluttonous murderers are usually swiftly dispatched by hunters. Being turned involves intent on the part of the vampire, and venom is the agent. New vampires are not common or accidental (unless you're Danny) because in general vampires like the status quo and creating more competition for territory isn't in anyone's best interest. Vampire on vampire murders aren't common for the same reasons. Vlad, however, is an insane little freak and has killed his own kind before. To drastically paraphrase one notable instance is Aragon, who once decided he'd pick on the new guy in town by kidnapping his four year old and turning her into his vampire bride. Vlad stabbed Aragon about three dozen times, recovered Dani safe and sound, and no one has bothered them since.

Society is entering an era where the general populace at large is becoming more collectively aware of the existence of vampires and other paranormal folk and it's more difficult to work in the shadows than it used to be. Hunters are becoming more mainstream, and while vampires have always placed emphasis on securing wealth and power, it's now more critical to have those societal protections in place.

Generally speaking, vampires are almost exclusively loners and not social with each other. This is mostly because every vampire believes that other vampires are insufferable, and they are the singular delightful exception. Penelope Spectra, Vlad's neighbor and ally, is an outlier, as she is very social for a vampire and often holds parties. She herself lives with Bertrand, whom she turned some years ago.

The vampiric power system revolves around blood. By consuming human blood, vampires regularly renew their immortality and their enhanced strength and healing. Vampiric blood itself is also endowed with certain powers, as it remains tied to the soul of the vampire even after it leaves their body. There's a culture of blood jewelry given as gifts to favorite thralls as a mark of ownership.

To say vampires merely consume blood is to ignore the whole reality. It's not just the blood, it's what the blood contains, that is, the vitality or life of the individual. Every time a vampire feeds off of someone they consume a bit of that person's life and soul. It's an active parasitic relationship that brings only misery to the consumed. Animal blood will keep a vampire alive, but it won't grant them the powers they rely on and it won't fully satisfy their hunger. Danny is doing his best, but he's basically starving himself.

A human that a vampire frequently feeds on turns into a thrall. Thralls are sickly, clingy and basically brainwashed into being willing juice boxes. You don't want to become one. Some vampires will keep them in their houses because it's very convenient. Vlad has his blood supply imported, because he's got a daughter to think of.

Vampiric weaknesses include sunlight, which burns them, and the need to be invited into dwellings or suffer the loss of their powers. There are ways to circumvent both weaknesses, however, and Vlad has found ways around both during his years of experimentation. The only way to kill a vampire is to destroy their heart, so the classic wooden stake is the weapon of choice for hunters. Jack and Maddie are particularly creative with their weaponry, though.

The GIW exist here, as a sort of white-tunic wearing anti-vampire cult/organization. Their designs are pending further thought, because white robes and hoods have some unfortunate connotations I'd prefer to avoid.

Werewolves and dragons exist here, but they're mostly mentioned in passing and also because I think it would be amusing if Danielle tried to date a werewolf prince while Vlad makes semi-serious plans to turn the poor boy into a rug if the relationship goes awry.

There is a Vampire King, but he's been sealed away in eternal slumber because he's more trouble than he's worth. Vampires will go through long periods of sleep every so often if things are going poorly for them, and it usually involves a coffin and a hidden crypt. They are of course, nocturnal beings, but they don't have to sleep as much as humans and Vlad is committed to raising Danielle diurnally. This causes some problems for him, but he's extremely stubborn and refuses to let the sun get between him and his daughter.

Other vampires consider Vlad to be completely out of his mind after the unfortunate Aragon incident. It's not normal to adopt your lunch. Spectra thinks Vlad's obvious mental illness is very attractive and she likes watching him kill people.

Vlad lived in a proper spooky castle before acquiring Danielle, but after he fled Jack and Maddie he moved extremely far away and settled into a smaller but no less creepy manor outside of a small rural village. Danielle is by no means forbidden from visiting the village and Vlad encourages the townsfolk to allow their children to befriend/suck up to her on a regular basis. Sometimes this involves blatant extortion, such as the time Vlad forcibly invited (kidnapped) a select handful of children and their trembling mothers to attend Danielle's birthday party.

Vlad likes to gaslight the people living in the village outside of his manor. They're all 95% sure he's a vampire, because he certainly couldn't look or act any more like one, but Vlad vehemently denies it. Danielle is accustomed to doing the same, and in reality she is actually the most compelling evidence that Vlad ISN'T a vampire. Because what vampire has a happy, healthy, bite-wound free child in their care?

[joemama-2]

"are you the fairy?"

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: You meet Gojo Satoru in a place untouched by time, where his laughter rings through empty streets and his hands chase yours like a promise he fully intends to keep. He is younger, reckless with his love, blind to the weight of the years that separate you—years that have taught you that love is not always meant to be kept. You let yourself have him anyway, knowing all the while that his future is stretching toward a horizon you cannot follow. When the time comes, you do what must be done—let him free.

wc: 7.3k

tags/warnings: angst, eventual comfort, suggestive content, older! reader, dividers by @/cafekitsune, HOPEFULLY PROOFREAD ENOUGH :(

Aging. A fear most people have. The fear of growing old, growing weaker, needing others to rely on for simple tasks, no longer being in your ‘prime’, and of course—the grey hairs. While it can be argued that aging is a natural, human process; it can also be argued that no one ever really wants to grow old. No one wants to see everything they knew and loved vanish before their own two deteriorating eyes, no one wants to become just a distant memory. But no one wants to be immortal either. It’s a weird push and pull, leaving humans with only one choice: enjoy it while it lasts, and make the most of your life.

And so, that’s what you have been doing.

Graduating, getting a nice paying job, having a good place, traveling the world, making a name for yourself, being…happy. Sure, you’ve made friends and connections, but none of those amount to being in the peaceful solitude of your lonesome. You’ve faced adversaries in your life, and you’ve overcome them—that’s what making the most out of your life means. But you know what doesn’t fall under that category?

Allowing yourself to fall in love with a man almost two decades younger than you. 

But with life comes spontaneous events, debating the pros and cons and wondering the ‘what ifs’. 

And what if—against all logic, against every carefully laid plan—you let yourself have him? What if you ignore the whispers in your mind that warn of fleeting youth, of inevitable goodbyes, of the cruel march of time that will leave you grasping at something you were never meant to keep? Gojo Satoru is reckless in his affection, undeterred by the years between you, pressing himself into your life with an audacity that makes it impossible to push him away. He tells you that love doesn’t care for numbers, that age is nothing more than an arbitrary construct, and when he looks at you with that unwavering gaze, you almost believe him.

Almost.

You’re forty-five when you meet him, he’s nothing but a young and adventurous thirty-year-old. You remember being thirty. 

“Are you from here?” you asked, resting your palm against your cheek. The coldness of the bar’s countertop sits underneath your elbow—you regard him with a curious gaze. The first thing you noticed was the pretty eyes he had. The next was his smile—that handsome smile that was doing weird things to your heart. You remember your late husband smiling at you like that every day, every chance he got. Your lip quirks up. 

“No, I’m from Japan,” he replies smoothly, jutting his chin in your direction. “And you?”

You tell him. 

“Oh, that’s nice. So, what are you doing all the way here?”

“Vacation.”

“And how’s that going?”

“Pretty well. Italy is beautiful.”

“Almost as beautiful as you.”

A cheesy pick-up line you’re more than accustomed to. You save his awkwardness with a small laugh, eyebrow raising. “Thank you,” you glance down at the dark liquid in your cup, swirling its contents. “Though you aren’t the first to tell me that.”

The words hang in the air between you, thick with the weight of history you’ve long since buried. It’s a strange thing, isn’t it? To be flattered but not fooled, to hear compliments that once would have made your heart race but now only bring a faint ache, like a ghost brushing past your skin. You didn’t expect to be here, sitting in this foreign bar, in this foreign city, drinking away the remnants of a life you thought you’d left behind—no more waiting for a man to come home, no more running on borrowed time. And yet, here he is, his smile still holding the weight of something undeniably fresh, something he hasn’t yet had time to tarnish with the passing years.

He chuckles, and it’s sincere. Like he knows how to handle this situation and like he’s done it a hundred times before—charming the older woman, never realizing the danger he’s flirting with. You can’t help but notice how easily he fits into this moment, how the energy between you feels almost too comfortable for something so unexpected. His youth, his vitality—it’s intoxicating, and yet, you know it’s only a matter of time before you have to draw the line, to remind yourself that he’s playing with something far more fragile than he understands.

You meet his eyes again, and for a second, you let yourself indulge. He’s not just handsome; he’s magnetic. And though you’ve seen his type before—young, reckless, full of life—there’s something different about him. It’s that smile, that easy confidence as if the world is nothing but a playground for him to conquer. Your heart stirs involuntarily, the edges of something you thought was long gone starting to flutter back to life.

"So, do you always travel alone?" you ask, your voice a little softer now, more curious than before.

His grin widens, pleased by the shift in your tone. “Not usually, but this time I decided to take some time for myself. I needed a change of scenery.” He leans in a little, dropping his voice to something almost conspiratorial. "It's nice to get away from it all, you know? To meet people who don't know your story."

The irony of his words doesn’t escape you. Here you are, a stranger in a new city, with a lifetime of stories you no longer tell, and yet, his openness makes you feel like you’re both speaking the same unspoken language. You could tell him everything, share the years of love and loss, of heartache and healing, but you don’t. You keep it hidden, tucked away where only time and memory can touch it.

“That sounds familiar,” you say quietly, glancing down at your glass again. Your fingers trace the rim absently. “Sometimes it's the only way to find peace." You don’t know why you’re telling him this. It’s not as though you’ve shared your soul with a stranger in a bar before. But there’s something about the way he looks at you, something open and unafraid, that makes you think—just for a moment—that maybe this conversation, this meeting, isn’t entirely by chance. Something you haven’t felt in…a long time.

“Do you usually travel alone?”

You hum. “I do now.”

“Why now?”

“Because my husband doesn’t come along with me anymore.”

“Oh, yeah? And why’s that?” He sips from his own cup, but when he puts it back down, its fizziness tells you it’s just coke. 

You take a moment to reply, unsure if you should trauma dump on a stranger. But he did ask. “Because he’s dead,” you simply comment, leaning back in your stool and gauging his reaction. 

But he doesn’t show a face of surprise or a face of regret. He doesn’t offer his unwanted apology. He nods, humming softly in thought. But his eyes change—and you think for a second that it looks like a silent sense of understanding—like he’s lost someone too before. “And what was his name?”

Your cheeks pinch up, smile widening in fondness. Looking down at your left hand that once housed a beautiful, golden ring. “Masamichi.” 

There’s a stillness in the air for a second, the kind that doesn’t feel heavy but rather reverent, as if time itself paused to acknowledge the weight of your words. You look at him through the corner of your eye, seeing how his gaze softens—not with pity, but with something deeper, something far more intimate. It’s the kind of understanding that doesn’t come from words, but from shared experiences, and you’re struck by the thought that perhaps, in some quiet corner of his heart, he knows what it’s like to lose the love of your life.

He doesn’t speak for a while, but there’s something in the way he leans forward that tells you he’s listening in a way that feels different than the usual casual conversations you’ve had with strangers. His eyes are fixed on you, almost as though he’s waiting for you to continue, to say something more, but he doesn’t push. He waits—patiently, and respectfully. "Masamichi," he repeats the name softly, as if he’s testing it on his tongue as if it’s a secret he’s now been entrusted with. “That’s a really cool name, sounds like he was a hardass.”

You chuckle lightly and nod, not trusting yourself to speak again for a moment, swallowing the lump in your throat. “He was, but he had his moments.”

“When were those?”

“When he’d call me pretty names.”

“Like?”

You bite your lip, smile wavering a bit as you recount ever beautiful name he used to call you. One always stuck out. “Well, he used to call me a fairy.”

He chuffs. “Why a fairy?” 

"He told me I was delicate, elusive, like something too beautiful to be real. He used to say I’d flown in from some distant place, where the sky was always clear and the air was always fresh." The words feel like they’ve drifted in from a different lifetime, a time when love was a constant companion, not a faint, distant echo. You tilt your head, the corners of your mouth turning up. "I think he liked that idea, that I wasn’t tied down to anything—just... floating through life, free. He said I made him believe in things he never thought possible."

His gaze softens as he watches you, leaning a little closer now as if drawn into the quiet weight of your story. "That’s beautiful," he says, his voice low, almost reverent. "It sounds like he saw you in a way no one else could."

You nod, the memory of his warm words filling the space between you. "He did. And sometimes... sometimes I felt like I was a fairy, too. Like I didn’t really belong to this world. But when he called me that, it made me feel like I was meant to be somewhere, meant to be his." A quiet moment hangs between you, the air heavy with the soft intimacy of shared vulnerability. You meet his eyes, feeling an unexpected connection—the kind of unspoken understanding that can only exist between people who have known the depths of love and loss.

Then, just as you’re about to pull back, he asks, with a gentle curiosity, “Do you still believe in fairies?”

You blink at him, a little taken aback. The question seems simple enough. You shrug, half in amusement, half in disbelief. "I don't know if I believe in them, but... I like to think that maybe they’re real, in some way. In the things we can’t see, in the moments that take our breath away."

His eyes seem to light up, almost as if he’s surprised by your answer. There’s a long beat of silence before his lips curl into a smile that reaches his eyes. "Maybe you’re still a fairy, then," he says, voice warm with something like wonder.

You shake your head. "Yeah, maybe."

The words hang between you, filled with something gentle, something fleeting but real. You feel the stirrings of a connection, fragile and unexpected, like the wingbeats of a fairy. There’s a hollow space in your chest where his memory used to sit, and it takes everything in you not to let it show, not to let the quiet ache spill over. The ring on your finger is long gone, but the phantom of it lingers—an unspoken promise that can never be fulfilled, a history you no longer share with anyone. “What about you?” You shift the conversation, trying to keep the tears at bay, trying to pull yourself back from the edge of vulnerability you’re teetering on. “Do you have someone, someone you’ve loved the way you were loved?”

His smile falters a tad, a flash of something—pain, perhaps, or nostalgia—passing through his eyes. It’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by the easy grin you’ve already grown accustomed to—the one that doesn’t let anyone get too close. But the silence that follows speaks volumes, and you almost feel like you’ve crossed some invisible line. Fearing that you’ve peeked into a part of him he didn’t mean nor want to reveal. "I did," he says quietly, almost to himself, the words hanging between you both like a secret. “But sometimes, we love people in ways they can’t love us back.”

The weight of his words sits heavily in the space between you. It’s raw, vulnerable in a way that contradicts his earlier bravado, and you find yourself wondering how much more of him there is behind that smile, behind the charming facade. In that moment, you see something that mirrors your own grief, your own loneliness, and it’s unsettling. “Is she still around?”

“He’s not,” he shakes his head.

You take a sip from your glass, the sharp bitterness of the alcohol grounding you, and give him a small, knowing smile. “Well, I suppose we all have our stories.”

His eyes lock onto yours for a long, unspoken moment. You wonder if this is one of those rare moments in life where people truly see each other—not just for the faces they wear, but for what’s buried beneath. What they carry in the silence. “I think you’re right,” he finally says, his voice soft, but there’s an edge to it now, a quiet tenderness that wasn’t there before. "But not everyone’s story is meant to be told in one night."

Your heart flutters for a reason you can’t quite place, and for the first time in a long while, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, fate isn’t as cruel as it’s always seemed. Maybe, in this strange twist of events, you weren’t meant to run away from the past after all—but to face it, alongside someone who understands what it’s like to love and lose.

“I’m too old for you,” you laugh off his subtle suggestion, looking over to the opposite corner of the small, dim-lit bar. There are two girls sitting at the booth with obviously wandering eyes toward your new, unexpected companion. “Maybe them.”

He follows your gaze, his eyes flickering briefly to the two girls in the corner, before turning back to you with that signature, easy grin—unchanged, unaffected. The playfulness in his smile doesn’t reach the depths of his eyes, though. You wonder if he’s seeing something entirely different than the charming stranger you’ve made him out to be. You can feel the shift, subtle but undeniable, as if he’s testing the waters of your words, gauging how much of this is just casual banter and how much of it has an undercurrent you aren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Maybe," he replies, leaning back slightly, but there’s a glint of something else in his expression now, something that makes the air between you feel heavier. "But you know, I’m kind of having some fun with you right now." His voice drops, a playful edge softening into something more serious, and it makes you wonder if he’s teasing or if there’s something deeper in his intentions that hasn’t fully revealed itself yet.

“I don’t think we’re having fun.”

“Then what are we having.”

“A simple conversation, nothing more, nothing less.”

He chuckles, leaning closer and tilting his head towards you. “Just how old do you think I am?”

You meet his gaze, noticing a small twinkle. Your eyes move down, analyzing his features. He lets you do so in an untimely manner and when he sees that you’re looking lower at his arms, he playfully flexes. An amused snort that almost sounds like a scoff leaves your lips. “Young enough to be my son.”

“Do you have children?”

“And if I do?”

“Then that’s even better because I love MILFS.”

You scoff for real this time, eyes narrowing at him. “I don’t, but what you just said further proves my point.”

The air between you both shifts, like a quiet storm brewing, though neither of you is quite ready to acknowledge it. His words hang there, an almost careless suggestion laced with mischief, but they are impossible to ignore. You try to brush it off, laugh it off, but something about the way he leans in—his proximity, the way his gaze never wavers from yours—makes it harder than it should be. There’s something in his demeanor that says he’s not just playing, not just following the familiar rhythm of flirty banter. It feels like he’s pushing against the boundaries you’ve set, testing them in a way that catches you off guard.

He watches your every reaction carefully, his smile just a little too knowing, a little too calculated for someone so young. You can feel the heat of his gaze as it lingers, catching you off guard in a way that leaves your words hanging in your throat. His comment about MILFs—joking or not—makes your skin prickle uncomfortably, and for a second, you wonder if he’s being more sincere than you care to admit. But you can’t show it, not when you’ve already drawn the line, already told yourself this was just a fleeting moment in an unfamiliar place.

You clear your throat, trying to bring the conversation back to familiar ground, but the awkwardness lingers. “I’m sure you have better things to do than sit here with a woman who could be your mother.”

“Maybe I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he says, the playful edge in his voice softened by something deeper. There’s a sudden, subtle weight to his words, as though he’s no longer speaking just to entertain or to flirt, but to convey something more. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it catches you off guard. His eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. The playful front cracks, revealing a hint of something you can’t quite name.

You shift uncomfortably, your thoughts creeping in again. "Well, you’ll find plenty of people who can keep you entertained around here." You gesture vaguely to the bar, the people milling about, the noise, the chatter. "I’m not the one you’re looking for."

His expression dampens. “Maybe you’re right. But maybe I’m just looking for someone who sees me, you know?”

The words hit you harder than they should, a soft pressure in your chest that you quickly try to dismiss. What is he saying? He doesn’t know you, yet he’s almost acting like he does. "I see you," you respond, your voice quieter than before, the weight of the statement hanging between you both like a truth neither of you is willing to face.

He doesn’t say anything right away, but his eyes darken, the smile fading into something more thoughtful, more introspective. You begin to think he might say something that cuts through all the barriers you’ve put up, something that challenges the notion that this is just a casual encounter between strangers. But instead, he shifts in his seat, taking another long sip of his drink. “I don’t know if you do,” he finally says, his voice lower now, the playful lilt gone. 

When he puts his drink down, you blame it on the alcohol from the way your skin flushes in a girlish way as he leans in—his breath fanning your ear. You also blame it on the alcohol when you’re reciprocating his advances, meeting his stare with an equally heated one of your own. And finally, you blame it on the alcohol when you tilt your head to whisper something in his ear. 

“Do you want me to look harder?”

That was the first night you went home with him—the first night you indulged in the warmth and pleasure a man—Satoru—can bring you. And even after sharing your ages, that never stopped. It somehow…never stopped you either. You found yourself giving in—almost craving the way his hands grip your hips, the way his slim and long fingers dance along your ribs in a soft manner. 

You didn’t expect yourself to be falling over the edge, finishing on just the tongue of a man younger than you. You always prided yourself on wanting—needing—an older man. And god, you were really missing out, weren’t you?

But it wasn’t just the way he touched you, the way his mouth knew exactly how to undo you piece by piece—it was the way he looked at you. Like you were something untouchable, yet here he was, holding you, ruining you, worshipping you in ways you hadn’t let anyone do in years.

It was intoxicating.

You told yourself it was just a fling, something fleeting, something fun. A vacation romance, a secret indulgence that you’d tuck away once you boarded your plane back home. But Satoru wasn’t the kind of man you could forget easily. His touch lingered, his voice echoed, and before you even realized it, you were answering his calls. Responding to his texts. Finding yourself in his arms again, even when you swore it would be the last time. You found yourself smiling at him when you believed he wasn’t looking, stifling a peal of laughter at his stupid jokes that he only said so he could see the way your eyes crinkle at the edges—you were finding comfort in him. 

A warm, tentative comfort that only one other man had brought you before. 

There were times you felt guilty, believing you were still bound to your late husband even in death, and at times—you almost compared the two. However, you know Masamichi would’ve wanted you to move on and care for yourself in ways he couldn’t do anymore. He would’ve smiled and encouraged you to find pleasure in your life. 

And you did. 

Because somewhere between those nights tangled in silk sheets and the hushed laughter over shared meals, you forgot to remind yourself of the one thing that mattered most: this was never meant to last.

But at the same time, you almost didn’t want it to end. You enjoyed the way he kissed your knuckles, moved strands of hair out your face, and complimented you when you felt at your lowest. He was seeing every part of you—the good and the bad, the pretty and the ugly. You were letting him. 

One night, after a particularly passionate session, he’s running his fingers along the curve of your spine. Naked bodies huddled next to one another, and the sheets offer a nice little coverup. The moonlight peeks through his blinds, the plush mattress sinking further underneath your weights. He kisses the top of your head softly before moving to your temple. Once again, you’re smiling. Tracing mindless circles on his bare chest, your foot rubbing up and down his calf. No words are spoken, there usually aren’t. But the silence doesn’t feel deafening; it feels comfortable. You found yourself snuggling closer to him.  “Satoru?”

“Mhm?” he hummed back, sighing lightly, his smile never wavering. 

“Where do you…see yourself in ten years?”

He hums again, this time in thought, his fingers never ceasing their lazy tracing along your spine. You feel the way his chest rises and falls beneath your palm, steady and unhurried. You wonder if he’s really thinking about your question, or if he’s simply enjoying the feel of you against him. “In ten years?” he finally repeats, voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might break the fragile moment. “I don’t know…Happy, I guess. Settled down; I’d like to have kids by then.”

Your fingers pause against his chest. You don’t know why, but his answer catches you off guard. Not because it’s shocking—he’s young, full of life, full of potential—but because it’s something you’ve stopped thinking about for yourself. “Kids?” you echo, tilting your head up to look at him. His pale lashes flutter slightly as he meets your gaze, and there’s something soft in his expression, something almost wistful.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, a small chuckle escaping him. “A couple of ‘em, maybe. A little girl who’s just as stubborn as me, a boy who’s just as curious. Someone to pass everything down to, y’know?” His hand moves from your back, up to your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he exhales. “I think I’d be a good dad.”

You don’t doubt that. Satoru is many things—annoying, arrogant, childish at times—but he’s also deeply caring. He loves with his whole heart, even when he pretends he doesn’t. You can see him being the kind of father who carries his child on his shoulders, who spoils them with sweets, who makes bad dad jokes just to hear their laughter.

And yet, you can’t bring yourself to say that out loud. Instead, you settle for a noncommittal hum, lowering your head back onto his chest, letting the weight of his words settle between you. Ten years from now, he’ll have a family. He’ll have everything he wants. And you won’t be part of it.

That’s when reality hit for you. You’re holding him back. You can’t give him what he wants, what he longs for. It’s a bittersweet, brutal reminder that this little world you’ve built was only meant to be temporary. That the laughs, touches, kisses, the sex, it’s fickle. You’ve blinded yourself and let yourself sink too far deep to understand that what Satoru wants…he can’t experience with you. 

And so, it started small. Days spent out with him, your eyes would flicker around, moving from one woman to the next. Pointing them out to him in an encouraging way. 

“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” “Maybe you should go ask for her number.”

“You’re both tall, you would go well together.”

It honestly hurt to push him away—to open his eyes to the other fish in the sea while a small part of you wished he could only be yours. But you’d never ask him to stop following his dreams of becoming a family man for your own selfish desires. 

At the start, he humors you. Rolls his eyes, scoffs, plays along like it’s just another one of your little jokes. “She’s alright, I guess,” he shrugs when you point out a woman at the café, her long legs crossed elegantly as she sips on a cappuccino. “But I prefer my women a little more…experienced.” He flashes you that cocky grin, the one that always makes your stomach flutter.

You laugh, but it’s forced. You ignore the way your chest tightens, the way your fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him. But then you do it again. And again. And again.

It doesn’t take him long to catch on.

One evening, when you offhandedly comment on the cute waitress who just served your drinks, something shifts in his expression. His smile dims, his fingers drum idly against the table. “Y’know,” he says, tone too casual, too light. “You’ve been doing this a lot lately.” 

You feign ignorance, sipping your wine. “Doing what?”

“Trying to set me up like some kind of matchmaking service.” He leans forward, elbows on the table, gaze sharp. “You got tired of me already?”

You force back a sigh. The way he says it—half-joking, half-serious—makes your stomach twist. “Satoru—”

“No, really,” he cuts in smoothly, tilting his head. “Is that what this is? You pushing me away? Guilt-tripping me into realizing you’re too old for me or whatever bullshit you’ve been telling yourself?”

Your fingers clench around the stem of your glass. He sees right through you. You swallow, trying to keep your voice even. “I’m just trying to look out for you.”

His laugh is sharp, humorless. “Looking out for me?” He leans back, stretching his arms along the booth. “Or making decisions for me?”

You hate how much that stings. You hate how right he is.

“I just…” You exhale, setting your glass down. “I just don’t want to hold you back, Satoru.”

His jaw tightens. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue. You think he’s going to tell you you’re being ridiculous, that he wants you, that he doesn’t care about the future you keep running from.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re really that convinced this can’t work, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

His lips press into a thin line. He nods once, slow and deliberate. “Alright,” he mutters, reaching for his drink. “Message received.”

And just like that, the air between you shifts.

Colder.

More distant.

Like the beginning of the end.

Your heart drops, looking back down at your wine. For a second, you felt like you ruined things. But it’s better to nip things in the bud than let them bloom, is it not?

Even after that, he was still adamant about seeing you. You let him, deciding to relish in these last few tender moments you may have with him. The sun was shining and beaming down on you two as you ate your brunch. It was a pleasant day. She was beautiful—the kind of beautiful that made you wonder how someone like her could even exist in this world. The type of beautiful that turned heads and left impressions. The type that had Satoru slowly following her with his eyes. You tell yourself this is a good thing. That this is what you wanted. That you should feel relieved that, finally, he’s looking at someone else the way he shouldn’t be looking at you.

But it doesn’t feel like a relief. It feels like a knife twisting in your gut.

You lift your mimosa to your lips, taking a slow sip, pretending you don’t notice the way his gaze lingers on her. She’s stunning—long legs, flawless skin, a radiant smile that could stop anyone in their tracks, and long black hair. She looks like she belongs in a magazine, not in a small café, laughing at something her friend just said.

You force yourself to smile. “She’s exactly your type.”

Satoru’s attention snaps back to you, and there’s something unreadable in his expression. He blinks, then exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “You really don’t quit, do you?”

You tilt your head, feigning confusion. “I’m just saying, you should talk to her.”

He scoffs, pushing his fork around his plate. “Yeah? And then what?”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Satoru sets his silverware down with a quiet clink, resting his arms on the table. “Let’s say I go up to her. Get her number. Take her on a date.” He shrugs, giving you a half-smile. “Then what? I sleep with her? Take her on more dates? Marry her?”

You stare at him, not sure where this is going.

“And then we have kids,” he continues, his tone light, but his eyes—his eyes are sharp, cutting right through you. “That’s what you want, right? For me to find someone younger, someone who can give me the future I want.”

Your throat tightens.

He leans forward, resting his chin on his palm. “So, tell me something.” His voice drops, softer now, almost vulnerable. “If I wanted all of that with someone else, don’t you think I’d already be doing it?”

Your breath catches.

He waits.

But you don’t have an answer.

All you can do is encourage him to go up to her.

And he did.

He was reluctant, of course. Only doing it to shut you up. 

But you saw the way his expression softened, the way his dimples poked out when he’d talk about her. You were there on the side, watching what he once thought would be a simple meeting, to finding a woman he’d started to fall for. 

It was like watching a slow-moving car crash—one you orchestrated with your own hands. You had done this. You had led him to her, pushed him in her direction, knowing full well what it would mean. And yet, knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

The texts started. Little mentions of her here and there. You caught the way his face lit up in a way you hadn’t seen before, the way he spoke about her with that quiet sort of wonder like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he never expected to solve. You were still a part of his life, still, someone he made time for, but something between you had shifted irreversibly. The stolen moments, the lingering touches, the whispered confessions under moonlit sheets—they grew fewer and further between, replaced by something… distant.

She was such a kind and lovely woman, her voice made of butter when she spoke to you about him. And when you caught him smiling at his phone one evening, thumb idly tapping out a message to her, you knew.

He had found what you wanted for him. What he deserved. What you couldn’t give him.

So why did it feel like you were the one being left behind?

“Are you happy?” you had whispered, holding him tight in a hug, eyes beginning to water.

He held you back, arms secure around your waist. His icy hair tickled your skin, and he planted a soft, reverent kiss on your cheek. Pulling back to look at you, he didn’t have that fiery, teasing sparkle in his eyes like usual. No, this time, all that was there was just…him. Just Satoru. 

“I am,” he had said with a genuine finality. 

The trickle of warm tears slid down your cheeks, his thumbs swiping softly at the skin. “Good, I’m…I’m happy too.”

Truthfully, you were. Because if you had to let Satoru go, if you had to let him be the man he should be, you knew he was doing it beside a woman that was worth it. She was worth it. And you were beginning to be okay with the fact of being a memory to him, as long as it meant his wishes came true.

You left him, never once looking back, answering his texts or his calls. 

You don’t know how you had the strength to do it, how you managed to pull yourself away from the man you’d poured so much of yourself into. There was a time when you thought you’d never be able to let go—when you believed you’d somehow convince him that the life he envisioned with someone else wasn’t worth pursuing. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep holding onto him, not when the weight of your love was slowly suffocating him, not when you knew that he needed to step into a future that wasn’t tied to a past that could never fully be his. You didn’t want to be the one who held him back, no matter how much it hurt.

The hardest part was the silence that came after. You told yourself it was for the best, that you were doing him a favor, letting him breathe, letting him live without your shadow hanging over him. But the quiet was unbearable. Slowly, the hole he left inside you grew wider, the void left by his absence swallowing you whole. It felt like a slow, silent death—a death that had to happen for him to thrive, even if you weren’t ready for it.

Days turned into weeks, weeks into months.

But somehow, that was for the best. He was with her now—his beautiful, young, hopeful future. And you? You were learning to accept the peace that came with being the past. The bittersweet relief of knowing that you had let him go, even when it felt like a piece of you was missing forever. You were learning to find happiness and acceptance with that. But you knew deep down, a part of you would always love him. And that part would remain tucked away, hidden, safe in the quiet recesses of your heart where no one could touch it. Because, no matter how much time passed, no matter how much life moved on, Satoru would always be the one who made you believe in the fleeting beauty of something that could never truly last.

Seven years had passed, and time had etched its marks on both of you. You were different now—wiser, perhaps. Life had moved on, as it always did, carrying you forward in unexpected ways. You found a home in Japan, a little place tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, a perfect reflection of the peace you had slowly cultivated within yourself. It was the kind of home you never thought you'd need after him, but somehow, it filled the emptiness that had lingered for so long.

When you saw him again, it felt like a thousand memories rushed back to you in a single moment. His shock was palpable—eyes wide with disbelief, brows furrowed as if trying to make sense of the woman standing before him. The same Satoru, yet different in small, subtle ways. His features had softened, a few lines around his eyes that spoke of time passing, of laughter shared, of a life fully lived. He was healthy, vibrant, the man you’d once known and the one who had continued his journey without you. "Y/N?" His voice was quiet at first, unsure if this was real or just a figment of his mind. His gaze swept over you as if trying to understand how you could still exist in his life after everything.

And then, he smiled. It wasn’t the same playful grin that had always been there, the one that had once made your heart race. This one was softer, warmer—gentler. It carried the weight of the years apart, but also the familiarity of someone who had once been an integral part of your soul.

And you smiled back again.

Without hesitation, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around you, the embrace as natural as it was unexpected. It wasn’t just a hug; it was a reunion, a silent acknowledgment of everything that had passed between you both. For a moment, you let yourself lean into him, feeling the comforting strength of his hold, the warmth of his body that you once thought you'd never feel again. There was no awkwardness, no hesitation, just the undeniable connection that had never truly disappeared. It was as though time had been kind to you both, erasing the pain and replacing it with something softer, something more peaceful.

“Satoru,” you muttered softly, almost in relief. 

"You look good," he said softly, pulling away just enough to look at you, his hands lingering on your arms as if testing the reality of this moment. 

You feel something cold pressed against your arm, looking down…there’s a golden ring on his left ring finger. Your lips parted with mild surprise before looking up at him with a sense of blitheness. You couldn’t help but chuckle, eyes crinkling in the way he loved—loves. “...is it her?”

He nods, glancing down at your own hand. And look at that; he’s not the only one with a gold ring. “And what about you?’ he asked, a softness in his voice.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, bringing your hand up and admiring the band around your finger, the diamond saying hello once more. Memories of your husband’s gruff voice, his frown that he tried so hard to keep etched on his face, the spiky black hair you loved to comb your fingers through, the scar on the corner of his mouth that you loved to kiss. “His name is Toji.”

He nodded with a wave of approval. “How long?”

“Three years. And you?”

“Four.”

You guys laughed simultaneously.  The sound of your shared laughter fills the quiet space between you two, and for a moment, it feels like no time has passed at all. There’s an ease to it, an old familiarity that you never quite lost, even with the years between you. The weight of everything that had happened—your separation, his journey, your own—seems to melt away, leaving only the lightness of the present moment. It feels almost surreal, standing there with him, both of you changed yet still the same in many ways.

You glance down at your left hand again, the ring catching the sunlight that spills through the window. The cool metal seems to hum with its own kind of quiet significance. Toji. 

But now, standing here with Satoru, there’s a strange sense of nostalgia mixed with contentment. You never imagined this—standing side by side with him, sharing your worlds as they are now. When you look up at Satoru, you see the same softness in his eyes that’s always been there, but now it carries with it the weight of time. He has a family, a future that doesn’t include you, and that’s okay. There’s peace in that. He’s found what he was always meant to have, the thing that once felt like an impossibility between you two.

“Four years,” you repeat, your voice soft, taking in the new ring on his finger. “That’s beautiful, Satoru. I’m…I’m so happy for you.”

He grins, that same playful glint in his eyes, but this time it feels like it’s tempered by something deeper, something more sincere. “Yeah,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “She’s incredible. I’m really lucky.”

The warmth that spreads through you isn’t jealousy, or bitterness, or anything like that. It’s something else entirely—pride, maybe. Or relief. You always knew that Satoru was meant for something bigger than what you two could have together, but seeing him happy now, seeing him settled with someone who makes his eyes light up the way they used to with you, it’s the closure you never thought you needed. 

“You?” he asks again, as though sensing the unspoken question between you two. His gaze shifts to your hand again, then back up to your face. 

The words come out easily now. “He’s my rock,” you say simply, the affection in your voice unguarded. “He makes me better, makes me whole.”

Satoru’s expression softens, and you see the flicker of that old tenderness—the way he used to look at you before everything got complicated. But it’s not painful, this time. It’s not heavy. It’s just… understanding. Like he’s happy that you’ve found that kind of peace. The kind of peace he’s found with her. “You both deserve it,” he says with a nod, as though sealing the quiet approval between you two. “You deserve everything good that comes your way.”

It’s a simple statement, but it carries so much weight. The unspoken acknowledgment that the two of you, after all this time, have moved on, and have created lives for yourselves that reflect who you’ve become. And for all that has happened, all the loss and the love that came and went, there’s something beautiful in knowing that this chapter—this shared history—is now something you both cherish without needing to hold on to.

He invited you over that day and you accepted. 

His wife runs up to you, hugging you like you’re an old friend. “Oh my god!” she exclaims in a gasp, her red-tinted lips curved up into a wide smile. You hugged her back, mirroring his reactions. “It’s so great to see you again, Miss. Satoru and I have never forgotten you.”

“Utahime…” he mutters with slight embarrassment. 

You chortled and patted her back. “I haven’t forgotten about you too either.”

She pulls back, removing her arms from you. Satoru places a warm arm around her waist and brings her to his side. The display of affection has you melting on the inside, head tilting in fondness. Satoru looks at you. “So, there’s someone we want you to—”

The sound of little pitter-patter against the hardwood cuts him off, all of your attention being dragged to the little girl with white hair and auburn eyes like her moth bounding up to you in excited familiarity. Her tiny gasp as she looks up at you with wide, innocent, twinkling eyes. She looked up at you as if she had known you her whole life, bubbling with a sense of jitteriness, cheeks glowing with a youthful flush. You couldn’t help but crouch down to her height, head tilting. Your eyes glazed over with tears, holding a hand to your mouth to hold back the broken laugh you almost let out at the question she asked you. 

“Are you the fairy?”

a/n: this story is inspired by "a love not made for me" by aryana rose. please go hear her speak it, she tells it so beautifully :(((. anywho, thank u guys for 2k really. i love u all and I'm incredibly grateful for all the support and love and patience :))

i couldn't do it without yall. <3

[hayatheauthor]

Assassination Methods Through the Decades: A Writer’s Handbook

When it comes to writing about assassination, historical accuracy and understanding the evolution of methods can significantly enhance the authenticity and impact of your narrative. This guide is designed to help writers explore the diverse and often brutal methods of assassination that have been used throughout the centuries. From the poisonings of ancient times to the covert killings of medieval assassins, here’s a comprehensive guide bound to give you the perfect inspiration for your assassination scenes. 

Ancient and Medieval Assassination Methods

Poisoning

Poisoning is one of the oldest methods of assassination, dating back to ancient civilizations such as Greece, Rome, and Egypt. The allure of poison lies in its ability to kill without physical confrontation, often leaving little trace of the perpetrator.

Common Poisons:

Hemlock: Famously used in the execution of Socrates, hemlock was a slow-acting poison that caused paralysis, leading to death by respiratory failure.

Arsenic: Known as the "inheritance powder," arsenic was a favorite among those seeking to kill discreetly. Its symptoms could be mistaken for natural illness, making it a popular choice in political and familial power struggles.

Belladonna: Also known as deadly nightshade, belladonna was used in both small and large doses to incapacitate or kill. The poison caused hallucinations, dilated pupils, and eventually death.

Historical Examples:

Socrates (399 BC): The Greek philosopher was sentenced to death by drinking a concoction containing hemlock, a method chosen for its relative humanity compared to other executions.

Emperor Claudius (54 AD): It is widely believed that the Roman Emperor Claudius was poisoned by his wife, Agrippina, using a dish of poisoned mushrooms to secure her son Nero's place on the throne.

Administration Methods:

Poisons were often mixed into food or drink, applied to the skin via ointments, or even introduced into the body through small, concealed needles. Assassins needed to be knowledgeable in the art of dosage to ensure a successful kill without immediate detection.

Symptoms:

Victims of poisoning would often suffer a range of symptoms depending on the poison used. These could include severe abdominal pain, vomiting, diarrhea, convulsions, and eventually, death. The slow progression of symptoms allowed the assassin time to escape, and in many cases, the cause of death was not immediately apparent, lending an air of mystery to the assassination.

Bladed Weapons

Before the advent of firearms, blades were the primary tools of assassins. Daggers, swords, and other sharp instruments were favored for their portability and effectiveness in close combat situations.

Types of Blades:

Daggers: Small, easily concealed, and lethal at close range, daggers were the weapon of choice for many assassins. The Roman pugio and the medieval stiletto were particularly popular.

Swords: Larger and more visible, swords were often used in assassinations where the element of surprise was not necessary, such as in the heat of battle or a public execution.

Kris: A wavy-edged dagger used in Southeast Asia, the kris was known for its spiritual significance as well as its lethality.

Famous Assassinations:

Julius Caesar (44 BC): Perhaps the most famous assassination in history, Caesar was stabbed 23 times by a group of Roman senators led by Brutus and Cassius. The attack was swift and brutal, demonstrating the effectiveness of a well-coordinated knife attack.

King Duncan (11th century): The assassination of King Duncan by Macbeth (as famously dramatized by Shakespeare) is an example of a stealthy, intimate kill using a blade, where the act was both personal and symbolic.

Techniques:

Assassins using bladed weapons often relied on stealth, speed, and precision. A well-placed stab to the heart, throat, or kidneys could kill instantly or within moments, leaving the assassin time to escape. In some cultures, assassins were trained in martial arts that emphasized quick, lethal strikes.

Weapon Concealment:

Blades were often concealed in clothing, boots, or even within the folds of long hair or turbans. The art of hiding a weapon until the crucial moment was key to the success of many assassinations.

Strangulation and Garroting

Strangulation was another favored method of assassination in ancient and medieval times, especially for those who sought to avoid bloodshed or noise. The garrote, a weapon used to strangle a victim, was particularly effective in this regard.

Tools Used:

Garrote: A length of wire, cord, or fabric used to strangle a victim from behind. The garrote was silent, deadly, and could be easily concealed, making it a popular choice for assassins throughout history.

Hands: In cases where no weapon was available, assassins might rely on their own hands to strangle a victim. This method required physical strength and proximity but could be effective in the right circumstances.

Historical Examples:

Sicarii (1st century AD): A group of Jewish zealots who used short daggers to stab Roman collaborators in crowded places. The Sicarii were also known for strangling their enemies with garrotes.

Medieval Europe: Strangulation was sometimes used as a method of execution for nobles, where a public beheading or hanging might be considered dishonorable.

Execution:

The assassin would typically approach the victim from behind, loop the garrote around their neck, and tighten it quickly and forcefully, cutting off the victim's air supply. Death would occur within minutes due to asphyxiation or a broken neck.

Advantages and Risks:

The main advantage of strangulation was its silence. Unlike a stabbing or poisoning, strangulation could be done without alerting others nearby. However, it required physical strength and a certain level of risk, as the victim might struggle or fight back.

Renaissance and Early Modern Era

Firearms

The Renaissance and early modern era marked a significant turning point in the history of assassination methods with the introduction of firearms. Gunpowder, first developed in China, made its way to Europe and fundamentally changed the dynamics of warfare and personal combat, including assassination.

Introduction of Gunpowder and Early Firearms in Assassinations:

The development of gunpowder-based weapons provided assassins with a new tool that could kill from a distance, reducing the risk of capture. Early firearms such as matchlock and flintlock pistols were bulky and required significant skill to use effectively, but their lethality made them a preferred choice for assassins by the 16th century.

Firearms allowed for quick, deadly strikes that were difficult to defend against, making them ideal for assassinations where the element of surprise was crucial. The loud noise and smoke, however, meant that escape required careful planning.

How Accuracy and Concealability Impacted Methods:

Early firearms were not known for their accuracy, which necessitated close-range attacks. Assassins often had to be within a few feet of their target to ensure a successful hit. As a result, these weapons were usually concealed under cloaks or in specially designed holsters that allowed for a quick draw.

Over time, improvements in gun design, such as rifling and better gunpowder, increased accuracy and allowed for slightly longer-range assassinations. Despite these advancements, concealability remained a critical factor, as firearms were often large and unwieldy compared to daggers or poison.

Key Assassinations Involving Firearms:

Assassination of King Henry IV of France (1610): King Henry IV was assassinated by François Ravaillac, a Catholic fanatic who stabbed the king while his carriage was stopped in traffic. While this was a stabbing, the period saw a rise in the use of firearms for such purposes. Henry IV's era was marked by religious turmoil, where firearms began to play a role in political assassinations.

Assassination of William the Silent (1584): William I of Orange, also known as William the Silent, was assassinated by Balthasar Gérard using a handgun. This marked one of the first successful assassinations of a prominent figure using a firearm, demonstrating the growing popularity of this method during the Renaissance.

Poison Rings and Needles

The Renaissance period also saw the refinement of more discreet methods of assassination, particularly the use of poison rings and needles. These tools allowed for covert poisoning, often in social settings where other weapons might not be feasible.

Discreet Poisoning Techniques:

Poison Rings: These rings contained a small hidden compartment that could hold a lethal dose of poison. The wearer could discreetly slip poison into a drink or onto food with a simple flick of the ring’s lid. Poison rings were popular among nobility and were often used in court intrigues where open violence would have been impossible.

Poison Needles: These were small, sharp needles often coated with a fast-acting poison. They could be hidden in clothing or other objects and used to deliver a quick, often unnoticed prick that would introduce the poison into the victim’s bloodstream. Needles were ideal for use in crowded settings, such as royal courts or banquets, where the assassin could blend into the crowd after delivering the fatal dose.

Notable Instances of Usage:

Lucrezia Borgia (1480-1519): While the extent of her involvement in poisoning is debated, Lucrezia Borgia, a member of the infamous Borgia family, is often associated with the use of poison rings to eliminate her political enemies. The Borgia family’s reputation for cunning and ruthlessness made poison one of their favored tools for securing power.

Catherine de' Medici (1519-1589): The French queen consort and mother to several kings of France, Catherine de' Medici, was rumored to have employed poison rings and needles to remove rivals and control court politics during the Wars of Religion in France.

Explosives

The early use of explosives in assassination attempts represented a shift towards more destructive and indiscriminate methods of killing, often targeting not just the primary victim but also anyone nearby. Explosives became a favored tool in situations where a dramatic statement was intended, or where traditional methods of assassination were not feasible.

The Early Use of Explosives in Assassination Attempts:

Explosives were first used in assassination attempts during the Renaissance and early modern periods, although their use was limited by the difficulty of creating and handling reliable explosive devices. Gunpowder was the primary explosive material, and it required careful handling to avoid premature detonation.

The use of explosives was often tied to larger political or religious motivations, as the collateral damage caused by an explosion could have a significant psychological impact on the population or ruling class.

The Effectiveness and Risks Involved:

Explosives were highly effective in causing mass casualties and instilling fear, but they also carried significant risks for the assassin. Improper handling could result in accidental detonation, and the use of explosives often made it difficult for the assassin to escape unnoticed.

The unpredictability of early explosives also meant that they could fail to detonate or cause less damage than intended, leaving the assassin vulnerable to capture and execution.

Historical Example:

The Gunpowder Plot (1605): One of the most famous early uses of explosives in an assassination attempt was the Gunpowder Plot, in which a group of Catholic conspirators, including Guy Fawkes, attempted to blow up the House of Lords during the State Opening of Parliament, with the aim of killing King James I and much of the Protestant aristocracy. The plot was foiled, but it demonstrated the potential of explosives as a tool for political assassination.

The Industrial Revolution and Early 20th Century

Sniper Rifles

The Industrial Revolution brought about significant advancements in weaponry, including the development of sniper rifles. These long-range firearms allowed assassins to strike from a distance, often without being seen or heard.

The Rise of Long-Range Assassinations:

Sniper rifles were designed for accuracy over long distances, enabling assassins to kill targets from hundreds of meters away. This development allowed for greater safety and discretion, as the assassin could remain hidden while observing the target through a scope.

The advent of rifling, which gave bullets a stable, spinning motion, greatly improved accuracy and range. Coupled with telescopic sights, these rifles became the preferred tool for military and political assassinations during the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Famous Cases:

Assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand (1914): Although Archduke Franz Ferdinand was ultimately killed by a handgun, the era in which he was assassinated saw the rise of snipers as a significant threat. The tensions and technologies of the time set the stage for future political assassinations using sniper rifles.

Assassination of President John F. Kennedy (1963): Although beyond the early 20th century, the assassination of JFK by a sniper is a prominent example of how sniper rifles became synonymous with political killings. This event marked a turning point in the history of assassination, highlighting the lethal effectiveness of long-range firearms.

Car Bombs

The introduction and evolution of vehicular explosives, particularly car bombs, added a new dimension to assassination tactics in the 20th century. Car bombs became a favored method due to their potential for mass destruction and the ability to target individuals in transit.

Introduction and Evolution of Vehicular Explosives:

The use of car bombs began in earnest during the early 20th century, particularly in conflicts where traditional methods of assassination were either too risky or ineffective. These bombs could be planted in vehicles and detonated remotely, offering a high degree of control over the timing and impact of the explosion.

Over time, car bombs became more sophisticated, with the addition of remote triggers, time delays, and increased explosive power. They were used not only in targeted assassinations but also in acts of terrorism aimed at destabilizing governments or instilling fear in the populace.

Techniques for Planting and Detonating:

Planting a car bomb required detailed planning, as the vehicle needed to be accessed and rigged with explosives without arousing suspicion. Detonation methods varied from simple timed fuses to complex remote-controlled devices, allowing the assassin to maintain distance from the blast.

The challenge for assassins was ensuring the target was inside or near the vehicle at the moment of detonation. This often involved careful observation of the target’s routines and the use of decoys or distractions to ensure the bomb’s effectiveness.

Chemical and Biological Agents

The 20th century saw the development and use of more advanced chemical and biological agents in assassinations. These methods, often invisible and insidious, allowed for killings that were difficult to trace and could be disguised as natural causes.

Use of More Advanced Poisons and Toxins:

With advancements in chemistry and biology, assassins gained access to a range of deadly substances that could kill quickly or slowly, depending on the agent used. Toxins like ricin, cyanide, and various nerve agents became tools of state-sponsored assassinations, particularly during the Cold War.

Chemical agents could be introduced through food, drink, or even via contact with the skin or inhalation, making them versatile and deadly. Biological agents, on the other hand, could cause diseases that mimicked natural illnesses, allowing assassins to kill without immediate suspicion.

Historical Examples:

Ricin: Ricin, a highly potent toxin derived from castor beans, was famously used in the assassination of Bulgarian dissident Georgi Markov in 1978. Markov was attacked with a modified umbrella that injected a tiny pellet containing ricin into his leg, leading to his death a few days later.

Cyanide: Cyanide has been used in various assassinations due to its rapid action and high lethality. One of the most notorious uses of cyanide was in the mass suicide-murder in Jonestown in 1978, where members of the Peoples Temple ingested cyanide-laced punch, although this was not an assassination in the traditional sense, it demonstrated the deadly effectiveness of the poison.

These innovations in assassination methods during the Industrial Revolution and early 20th century reflected the growing complexity of warfare and espionage, as well as the increasing role of technology in shaping the tactics of assassins.

Modern and Contemporary Assassination Methods

Silenced Firearms

In the modern era, the evolution of silenced firearms, or firearms equipped with suppressors, has played a significant role in covert assassinations. The suppressor, commonly known as a silencer, reduces the noise and muzzle flash of a firearm, allowing assassins to operate with a higher degree of stealth.

The Evolution of Suppressors and Their Use in Covert Assassinations:

Suppressors were first developed in the early 20th century and have since become a staple in the arsenal of assassins. Initially, suppressors were bulky and limited to specific firearms, but advancements in technology have made them more compact, effective, and adaptable to a wide range of weapons.

Silenced firearms are ideal for close-quarters assassinations where discretion is paramount. The reduced noise levels prevent immediate detection, giving the assassin time to escape or even carry out multiple hits without alerting nearby individuals.

High-Profile Cases:

Cold War Assassinations: During the Cold War, silenced firearms were frequently used by intelligence agencies on both sides of the Iron Curtain. The KGB, CIA, and MI6, among others, employed suppressors in various covert operations to eliminate targets without drawing attention.

Georgi Markov (1978): Although Markov’s assassination in London involved a poison-tipped umbrella, the use of suppressors was prevalent in the same period for similar covert operations. This era exemplified the silent, precise methods preferred by state-sponsored assassins.

Remote-Controlled Devices

The rise of remote-controlled devices, including drones and other modern technologies, has introduced a new dimension to assassination methods. These devices allow assassins to strike from a distance, often from thousands of miles away, with precision and minimal risk.

Drones and Other Modern Technologies in Assassination:

Drones, equipped with cameras and weapons, have revolutionized modern warfare and assassination. These unmanned aerial vehicles can be operated remotely, providing real-time surveillance and the ability to deliver lethal force with pinpoint accuracy. Drones are particularly effective in targeting individuals in difficult-to-reach or heavily guarded locations.

Other remote-controlled devices, such as bombs or cars rigged to detonate via remote, offer similar advantages. These methods allow the assassin to maintain a safe distance from the target, reducing the likelihood of capture or identification.

Notable Instances in Recent History:

Qasem Soleimani (2020): One of the most high-profile drone assassinations in recent history was the killing of Iranian General Qasem Soleimani by a U.S. drone strike in Baghdad. This event highlighted the capabilities of drone technology in executing precise, targeted killings with global political implications.

The Killing of Anwar al-Awlaki (2011): The American-born cleric and al-Qaeda leader was targeted and killed by a drone strike in Yemen, marking a significant moment in the use of remote-controlled devices in the War on Terror.

Cyber-Assassination

As technology continues to advance, the concept of cyber-assassination has emerged as a new frontier in covert operations. This method involves using cyber means to assassinate individuals, such as hacking into medical devices or other critical systems.

The Concept of Assassination Through Cyber Means:

Cyber-assassination leverages the vulnerabilities in modern technology, particularly medical devices like pacemakers or insulin pumps, which can be hacked to deliver a fatal outcome. This method represents a shift from physical to digital assassination, where the target can be killed without the assassin ever being in the same country, let alone the same room.

Cyber-attacks can also target critical infrastructure, leading to deaths through indirect means such as causing traffic accidents by hacking self-driving cars or disrupting life support systems in hospitals.

Ethical and Legal Implications:

The rise of cyber-assassination raises significant ethical and legal questions. Unlike traditional assassination methods, which can be physically traced, cyber-attacks are often difficult to attribute, making accountability a major issue. This anonymity can lead to increased use of such methods by state and non-state actors alike.

Legal frameworks have yet to fully catch up with the technological realities of cyber-assassination. As a result, there is a grey area regarding the legality of such actions, particularly in the context of international law and the rules of engagement in warfare.

Assassination Methods by Region

Europe

Throughout history, Europe has seen a variety of assassination methods, each influenced by the region’s diverse cultures, political climates, and technological advancements.

Specific Methods Popular in Different European Countries Across Various Eras:

In medieval Europe, poison was a favored method, particularly among the Italian nobility. The use of poisoned food, drink, and even clothing was common in the courts of Italy, where political intrigue and betrayal were rife.

During the French Revolution, the guillotine became the symbol of state-sanctioned assassination, used to eliminate political enemies swiftly and publicly. The Reign of Terror saw the use of this method to instill fear and maintain control.

In more recent history, Eastern Europe, under Soviet influence, saw the use of more covert methods, such as radioactive poisoning, exemplified by the assassination of Alexander Litvinenko in 2006 in London.

Asia

Asia's vast and diverse history has given rise to a wide range of assassination techniques, each influenced by the unique cultural, political, and historical contexts of its various regions.

South Asia (India, Pakistan, and Surrounding Areas):

In ancient and medieval India, assassination was often a tool used in dynastic struggles. One notable method was the use of Vishkanya—young women supposedly trained from childhood to tolerate and deliver poison. These women were allegedly used to assassinate powerful enemies by poisoning them through intimate contact.

During the Mughal Empire, political intrigue often involved the use of poisoning and covert killings to eliminate rivals. The struggle for succession in royal courts frequently led to the use of assassination as a means to secure power.

East Asia (China, Korea, Japan):

Ninja Tactics (Japan): In feudal Japan, ninjas were often employed as assassins due to their skills in stealth, espionage, and the use of a variety of weapons. Techniques such as silent killing with swords, blow darts, and the use of shuriken (throwing stars) were common. Ninjas were masters of disguise and could infiltrate enemy strongholds to eliminate targets without detection.

While ninja tactics are widely known, East Asia’s history of assassination is much broader. In ancient China, assassins were sometimes employed by rival states or within the imperial court to eliminate threats. Famous historical accounts like the attempted assassination of Qin Shi Huang, the first Emperor of China, highlight the role of assassins in shaping the region’s history.

Korea’s history also includes instances of political assassinations, particularly during the Joseon Dynasty, where court intrigue and power struggles often resulted in the discreet elimination of rivals.

East Asia (China, Korea, Japan):

Poison Darts: In regions like Borneo and the Philippines, blowguns with poison-tipped darts were used by indigenous tribes to silently kill enemies. These weapons were effective for their stealth and the ability to deliver deadly toxins without the need for close combat.

Central Asia:

In Central Asia, particularly during the time of the Silk Road, assassins were sometimes employed by powerful khans and warlords to secure trade routes and eliminate threats. Assassination was a strategic tool in maintaining control over vast and often unruly territories.

Middle East

The Middle East has a rich and complex history where assassination has played a role in political and dynastic power struggles, often tied to the region’s diverse empires and cultural traditions.

Historical Assassinations Involving Political Power Struggles:

The Middle East, home to some of the world’s oldest civilizations, has seen assassinations employed as a tool of political maneuvering for millennia. In ancient Mesopotamia, assassinations were sometimes used to secure thrones and eliminate rivals within royal families.

During the time of the Ottoman Empire, the practice of fratricide—where newly crowned sultans would eliminate their brothers to prevent future challenges to their rule—was a brutal form of state-sanctioned assassination.

The Byzantine Empire, centered in what is now modern-day Turkey, also witnessed political assassinations as a common method for securing power, with emperors and high-ranking officials often falling victim to their rivals.

The Americas

The Americas, particularly the United States and Latin America, have experienced a range of political assassinations, often with far-reaching consequences.

Political Assassinations in the U.S. and Latin America:

In the United States, the assassinations of presidents like Abraham Lincoln, John F. Kennedy, and civil rights leaders such as Martin Luther King Jr. have left indelible marks on the nation’s history. These high-profile killings were often carried out by lone gunmen or small conspiracies and had profound impacts on the country’s political landscape.

Latin America has seen numerous political assassinations, often linked to dictatorial regimes, revolutionary movements, and drug cartels. Figures like Che Guevara and Salvador Allende were assassinated or killed under controversial circumstances, reflecting the volatile political environments in many Latin American countries during the 20th century.

This overview of assassination methods by region highlights the diverse and evolving tactics used across different parts of the world, shaped by the cultural, political, and technological contexts of each region.

Common Misconceptions About Assassination

The Myth of the Clean Kill

In fiction, assassinations are often depicted as clean and precise, with the target silently slumping over after a single blow or shot. However, in reality, even well-planned assassinations can go awry. Bodies don’t always react predictably to trauma, and factors like adrenaline, the environment, and unexpected movements can complicate even the most meticulously planned kill. A supposedly lethal blow may not immediately incapacitate the target, leading to prolonged struggles, noise, and potential witnesses.

Silencers and Stealth

In movies and TV shows, silencers (or suppressors) are often shown completely muffling the sound of a gunshot, reducing it to a mere whisper. In reality, while suppressors do reduce the noise, they don’t make it silent. The sound of a suppressed gunshot can still be quite loud, akin to a clap or the popping of a balloon, and depending on the environment, it may still attract attention. Additionally, the sound of the bullet impact and mechanical noise from the firearm are not silenced, further dispelling the myth of a completely stealthy kill.

Poison Timing

Popular media often portrays poisons as acting instantaneously, with victims collapsing mere seconds after ingestion or injection. In truth, the effects of poisons vary widely depending on the substance, dose, and the victim’s physiology. Some poisons, like cyanide, can act within minutes, but others might take hours or even days to fully incapacitate or kill. Symptoms might develop gradually, and in some cases, the victim might not even realize they’ve been poisoned until it’s too late. This misconception can lead to unrealistic portrayals of poisoning in fiction.

Resources

Books

Recommended Reading for Research on Assassination Techniques:

"Assassination Generation" by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman – This book explores the psychology of killing and its portrayal in the media, providing insight into both real-life and fictional assassinations.

"Hitmen: The True Stories of Assassins, Contract Killers, and Political Hired Guns" by Nigel Cawthorne – A collection of real-life accounts detailing the methods and motives of professional assassins throughout history.

"The Art of Political Murder: Who Killed the Bishop?" by Francisco Goldman – A detailed investigation into the assassination of Bishop Juan Gerardi in Guatemala, offering a deep dive into the intersection of politics and murder.

Documentaries

Visual Resources That Depict Historical Assassinations:

"Killing Oswald" – A documentary that explores the conspiracy theories surrounding the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, delving into the methods and motives behind one of the most famous assassinations in history.

"The Men Who Killed Kennedy" – A controversial documentary series that investigates various theories about the assassination of JFK, offering insights into different assassination methods and their implications.

"Assassins: The Story of Medieval Hitmen" – This documentary provides an in-depth look at the history of assassins in the medieval period, focusing on their training, methods, and the political impact of their actions.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[collecting-dustbunnies]

The longer I play Obey Me, the more I feel like Obey Me is a story about how the MC, in their quest to seek acceptance by the people they care about, ends up destroying themselves in the process and losing the very thing that made them so special and loved in the first place.

In the beginning of OG, they started off as just a normal human who got whisked away to a weird ass world where literally nobody respects them. Despite this, they recognised from the beginning that these demons and angels were not so different from humans. MC's ability to see the demons as actual people and not just beings controlled by their sins was what allowed them to form close bonds with them. They had good intentions to reunite the demon brothers who had undergone centuries of misunderstanding, resentment, and pent up grief. Even though they were excessively nosy, MC's unique position as a complete outsider allowed them to see just how much love the demon brothers had for each other, and how they can become closer if everybody would just better communicate with each other. Serving as the bridge to better improve the brothers' relationships was what convinced the demon brothers to also see MC as a member of their family.

But as the MC became more involved in the Devildom's problems, they started to adopt the same toxic traits that had created wedges between the brothers in the first place. From relying heavily on their pacts to subdue the brothers, to allowing a curse to control Barbatos (even though they had the ability to break it), to going along with the brothers' manipulative scheme to trick Satan into reconciling with Lucifer when Satan ran away to the human world -- it's almost like MC has unconsciously picked up on some of their loved ones' behaviour. Gone are the days where MC brings in a new perspective to problems. Now, they just embrace the chaos and their more darker traits, for that is what is expected of them to survive in the Devildom. And since everyone within their circle puts them on a pedestal, this further affirms to the MC that this is how they should be.

Dealing with the affairs of the Devildom had also caused the MC to grow more apathetic. In the beginning, they had been actively taking steps to form pacts with the brothers and were generally very invested in freeing Belphie from the attic. They remained true to themselves and insisted that they form a pact with Satan based on mutual trust and understanding, and not just as a means to smite Lucifer. Despite being in a helpless situation, MC never refused to give up their agency. But the longer MC gets involved with these shenanigans, the more they grew... numb to everything.

Solomon bringing me back to the Devildom unannounced? Oh, sure. Diavolo and Solomon hiding the reasons for my sudden return? Not my problem.

Simeon facing a problem to the point of having a quarter of the cast acting as his bodyguards? Eh, I'll just ignore it until I can't anymore.

Watching and waiting. That's what they have resorted to doing.

And that mindset of kicking problems down the line until it lands on MC's doorstep and they have no choice but to act -- that's exactly how they have been acting when they were stuck in NB, hasn't it? MC didn't bother forming pacts with the past version of the brothers until they were given an ultimatum, and even then, they simply relied on the convenient timing of each brother struggling with an inner crisis to swoop in, resolve the situation and tick them off their checklist.

MC in NB seems like an unfortunate culmination of everything they faced so far. They're too apathetic to care about getting sent to an unfamiliar place once again, too desensitised to life in the Devildom to reclaim their agency, and too desperate to earn the love of their former family to even think about anything else. They became so co-dependent to the demon brothers that they seem to think they cannot live without them or their affection, even if the ones they are living with in the past are different people from the ones they grew to love in the present.

The phrase "You either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain" fits way too perfectly for the Obey Me MC. After all, MC keeps getting rewarded every time they try to get themselves killed (or even when they actually got killed). Maybe that's the only way they know how to resolve problems.

So if they can't die as the hero, they'll just learn to live as the villain.

[princessbrunette]

imagine rafe not being able to spend the night and your house bc he has like early business to do and you’re just so whiny begging him not to leave like clinging to his leg and he’s like “jesus christ i’ll be back tmr 😒” but at the same time he’s like 😊 bc it’s nice to feel needed

─── ⋆⋅🛼⋅⋆ ──

you were clingy and you knew it. instead of pretending like you weren’t, you learnt to fully embrace it. no matter how much rafe tried to act like he didn’t, you knew he loved it deep down. it made him feel wanted, something not many other people in his life offered him.

he pats his keys in his back pocket as he slowly makes his way to your front door, lips parted as he thinks over everything he had on his person when he arrived, making sure to leave none of it behind. it was bad today, you really needed him. after the day you had, you wanted nothing more than to fall asleep on his chest, feeling safe and just… better. you cry, pathetic and hiccupy as you keep a clasp on his hand and he lets you hold it all the way to the door before pulling himself out of your grasp.

“okay, hey— can’t keep cryin’ like this baby you knew i wasn’t stayin’ over tonight because i told you. gave you time to… emotionally prepare n’shit. i got business to do early tomorrow, remember?” he raises his eyebrows, trying to reason with you. his voice is stern but he’s mopping up your tears with his thumb anyway.

“i know but i had a bad day, i just want you to sleep here!” you sob, clutching over his wrists as his hands clean you up and he shakes his head, gently removing them.

“look i’m — i’m sorry, alright? you know i wanna stay here, more than anything. but i’m a man now, yeah? i’m in charge of handlin’ business n’i got people relying on me. sometimes you— you have to make the hard choice, and this is one of those times.” he lectures you, so you do what any reasonable human being would do, and lower yourself to the ground, wrapping yourself around his leg.

“you’re not going.” you swipe your tear on his pants and he sighs in exasperation, trying to wiggle you off to no avail.

“jesus fuckin’ christ, are you kidding? get up, hey—” he tries to walk, but you cling him tighter, coming with him and he stops again. “let go and listen to me. m’gonna count to three, don’t let me get there.” he lifts up a finger and you unlatch yourself, staying on the ground in a ball. rate lowers himself into a squat, expression stern and yet yielding. “alright. you’re gonna calm down, yeah? i will sit with you until you fall asleep, and it better be within the hour or i’m just gonna leave. get up, c’mon. go brush your teeth.” he stands, giving you a little nudge with his foot and you hop up, happy enough with the outcome of him staying a little longer and run upstairs, not waiting for him to follow.

he huffs out an exasperated sigh, shaking his head. “little shit.” he whispers, following you. once you’re all in bed, ready — he comes and sits beside you, mopping up the last remaining tears that stain your face with the backs of his knuckles. “okay. i’m here. now go to sleep.”

“kiss, rafe.” you pucker your lips and he indulges you, bringing you a nice long one to satisfy you before pulling back.

“close your eyes.” he sighs tiredly and you do so, but not before switching off your lamp. he places a hand on your back over your pyjama shirt, rubbing slow circles as if tries to silently coax you to sleep faster so he can get going, smiling secretly to himself at your shenanigans.

he won’t admit it, but he did feel really sad to go, and even considered staying— but he knew he had to make the responsible choice, so with one final look, he left you in your bedroom fast asleep.

─── ⋆⋅🛼⋅⋆ ──

[ambrosiagourmet]

Did Laios have a plan

... when he made his deal with the Lion? How much of it was intentional and how much of it was out of his control?

Well. If I'm being honest I don't really want to try and provide a definitive answer to that question, because I think the ambiguity is, itself, part of the story. I've gone back and forth a few times myself, and I don't think either category - "fully intentional" or "fully coincidence" - is entirely true.

That being said, I would like to point out a few things that I've seen taken for granted as true. Things that, imo, are much more about the character's perspective, or about what the character WANTS people to think (well, that's really just the Winged Lion).

Consider this not exactly an argument for "Laios masterminded everything from the start and saved the world with his cunning," but more... "Laios considered what he was doing more than people give him credit for." Make sense?

Alright then, let's go:

So to start with, I want to show every time (that I could find, at least) that the question of 'does Laios have a plan' gets brought up. This is specifically after his Ultimate Monster Form is revealed, to be clear - the question isn't about if he has a plan in general, it is if he has/had a plan when he made this specific deal with the Lion.

Here they are:

-

-

You'll notice, in all of these instances, there never really is an answer given to the question. Either because there is no way to get one, or, with Kabru at the end there, because he explicitly doesn't let Laios answer. There's even a bit of an arc here: we start with a sort of desperate 'I've mostly given up but maybe this isn't as bad as it looks,' then get a more optimistic 'maybe we really are saved,' and finally end on 'it all worked out in the end, so we maybe don't need to know.'

But, as much as there is some genuine growth in Kabru's 'accept the outcome, rather than dissecting the truth,' I also think it says a lot more about him than about Laios. Kabru is the one trying to handle his questions and his uncertainty - as he said, he wants to confirm his judgement of character. He wants to feel like he had control over things.

And he lets that go! But he also doesn't actually get the truth, either, and his implied assumption here (that Laios, the wide-eyed monster-lover, probably just followed his desires), still relies on his judgements and assumptions about Laios.

But okay, these bits are all focused on the characters theorizing about Laios. How about we look at the character who actually tells us the facts ("facts"): the Winged Lion.

The Winged Lion has quite a bit to say about Laios and his monster form.

He says that Laios hates humanity, and would rather be a monster

I've talked about this a bit already, but the Lion makes a lot of claims and assumptions about Laios that aren't necessarily true.

First of all, let's just make sure we clearly establish that the Lion is being manipulative here. That may seem obvious, but it's important to understand that there is a difference between 'the truth' and 'a version of the truth specifically framed to prey upon your deepest shame and insecurities about what you really want.'

To point out a few quick-and-dirty contradictions here:

If Laios really hated all other humans, then the Lion wouldn't hinge so many of his other arguments on Laios' love for Falin and his friends.

the Lion claims that Laios "[doesn't] even care enough about the future of [the] world to express an opinion about it," even though Laios has literally expressed opinions on what he wants for the world, to the Lion's face.

In general, the Lion does not make a distinction between urges and choices (see, for instance: him using Marcille's subconscious fear of the canaries as a way to keep her from stopping the monsters from attacking in chapter 86).

I'm not saying there is not a piece of truth here, but also... we are not our darkest thoughts, and we especially are not those thoughts as defined by someone who wants to hurt and control us.

But let’s move on to the stuff the Lion claims about Laios once he has been turned into his monster form.

2. He says that (or rather, acts like) Laios is under his control

The Lion really enjoys grandstanding about how Monster Laios is an ultimate tool he has control over. He gloats about making Laios fight the others, and has him smash through the magical barrier.

But smashing the barrier is kinda the only thing that Monster Laios actually does for the Lion. He doesn't attack anyone. He doesn't hurt his friends, despite Chilchuck thinking that Laios has "turned completely into a monster." And he certainly doesn't simply let the Lion go through with his plan to eat everyone.

This barrier smashing is actually an interesting and odd thing for Laios to have done specifically, so remember that one. I'll come back to it later.

But, yeah, to the original point... despite the Lion's dramatics, all that Monster Laios does is pose, smash up a magic barrier, and then eat him. Not exactly under his control.

AND SPEAKING OF EATING THE DEMON...

3. He frames Laios attacking and eating him as thoughtlessly violent

This one is pretty funny to me, and the Lion keeps it up for the whole scene. I'm not sure how much of this is his genuine understanding of the situation, and how much is him intentionally framing things in the most insulting manner, but like... truly. The ego involved in this. To see someone who has, multiple times, tried to stand against you - someone who has literally wished for your non-existence, to your face - to see this person attack you, specifically, and have your first reaction be 'huh, I guess he's a reckless weirdo to the core???'

Incredible stuff.

And this part, too:

He claims that Laios can't recognize anyone, that he's out of control. And yet, the Lion is the only person that gets eaten here. He is Laios' singular target.

Hell, Laios even specifically attacks one of the bodies that is actively hurting Chilchuck. I don't know if that was entirely intentional on Laios' part, but I do think it's notable.

The Lion torments Laios' friend, and when Laios does something that interrupts that action, the Lion reframes it as unhinged violence. I don't know, there's something here about the way that cruel people only talk about the things people do to resist them as violent, and ignore the violence that causes such resistance in the first place.

In any case, the main point is that the Lion insists on treating Laios like an unthinking animal during this fight, despite the fact that Laios is clearly trying to accomplish something here.

And what exactly is Laios trying to accomplish? Well, the Lion isn't entirely wrong. Laios is trying to eat something. He tells us as much.

And truly, everything Laios does as a monster points to this. He had a goal. And he accomplished it.

Let me back up a moment. I need to explain smashing the barrier.

So, Laios first starts considering how to kill the Lion when he is confronted with the fact that his only other choice would be to kill Marcille. Immediately and entirely discarding that solution, because of course he does, he tries to wrap his head around what defeating the Lion would even look like.

He clearly continues thinking about this, as a nearly identical conversation happens a few chapters later, when Laios is once again told that killing Marcille is the only way forward.

Only, this time, he's started to come up with an idea for how to do this impossible thing.

Harkening all the way back to the Living Armor chapter, Laios draws on the same lesson - if the Lion has made itself part of the world, if it has made itself into something alive, that means he can kill it. And eat it.

But there's an important extra detail to this. If he's going to try and kill (and eat) the Lion, he needs to strike when it’s vulnerable. He needs to strike when it's eating.

This is why he smashes through the barrier. Again, nothing else he does as a monster really benefits the Lion. He doesn't attack anyone else. The only command he obeys is to smash the barrier. Because the Lion has to think he has won for Laios to be able to eat him.

Beat him. For Laios to be able to beat him.

The question of why Monster Laios wanted to eat the Lion is, I think, the most ambiguous part. Was he curious? Hungry? Did he fight for his own life, for his friends, or for all of humanity? Did he know how to win because he had planned everything from the start, or because he was driven by an unquenchable instinct to do whatever it took to survive?

I don't know that it is possible to say for sure. But I do know that the Lion underestimates Laios, through it all. He underestimates Laios as a human, and he underestimates Laios as a monster.

And in the end, after he is bested, even then I don't think the Lion ever gets Laios. I don't think he understands how much Laios means his words about the Lion being burdened by hunger...

or what Laios cares about most...

or what meaning there is in life, for him.

So I don't buy what the Lion is selling about Laios, generally speaking. I don't buy that Laios didn't ever know what he was doing, and I don't buy that he was nothing more than a hungry beast.

Well. I mean. He was a hungry beast. But he was a more than that too. He was the Devourer of All Things Horrible. And he didn't just happen into that title by chance.

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - three

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; smut!; rafe is a red flag; guns; mentions of human trafficking; 80% of it is smut you've been warned;

word count: 7.9k...

part i; part ii; part iv

Growing up, you had to develop a thick skin.

With two deadbeat parents, it wasn't a choice—it was a necessity. Unlike JJ, you never blamed your mother for leaving. She was a victim too, and despite your nightly wishes and prayers that she had taken you with her, you found solace in knowing that at least one of you had escaped the torment of the Maybank household.

You learned early on to rely only on yourself.

While you had your younger brother, you never placed that burden on his shoulders. As the older sister, it was your responsibility to take the blame for everything and to shield him from Luke's drunken or drug-fueled rages.

You never resented JJ for it, you couldn’t—neither of you asked to be born into that situation.

You tried to take each day slowly, avoiding the house and staying at John B's as much as possible.

It was easier said than done; it was hard not to feel like a burden to your friends, especially since you were the one who had to be the adult in the group.

Kie, Pope, John B…weren’t supposed to take care of you. And yet, they did. They took you in, shared their homes, and gave you the semblance of family you craved but never had. It was a weird balance, living with a foot in both worlds: the chaotic storm of the Maybank household and the calm haven of your friends' places.

At John B's, despite its share of brokenness, it provided a refuge where you could breathe without the constant fear of violence.

You often found yourself on the porch, watching the sunset over the marsh, your mind wandering to dreams of freedom. Those moments were precious, tiny pockets of peace in your life. But no matter how much you tried to distance yourself from the fucking chaos, it was always there, lurking in the background.

Luke Maybank’s shadow was long and dark, and it followed you everywhere. Each time your phone buzzed with a message from JJ, your heart would race, fearing the worst.

It was a burden you bore proudly, protecting your brother from a world that seemed determined to break you both.

You eased into being the provider, to think, to act, to protect. It became second nature, an ingrained part of your identity forged from necessity.

While others your age worried about stupid matters, you were strategizing the best ways to keep your brother safe, figuring out how to stretch what little money you had, and ensuring that there was always something for JJ to eat, even if it meant you went without. 

You learned how to calm Luke down when he was on the brink of a violent outburst, and how to read the signs of an impending beating in his eyes.

You figured out which neighbors might turn a blind eye to your requests for help, and which ones might call social services if they saw too much. There were moments, rare and fleeting when you allowed yourself to dream.

You imagined a future where you and JJ were free from the chains of your upbringing. But dreams were a luxury you could rarely afford.

So, when Rafe told you—no, demanded—that you stayed in the deadbeat motel room while he met up with his contacts, you lost it. 

He'd gotten the text earlier in the morning and decided he was smart enough to lure you out of this. Except he wasn't.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re not going.”

You didn’t take it lightly to people making choices for you. Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening in indignant shock, "You think you can just order me around like I'm some puppet? I'm not staying here while you go off and do God knows what.”

Rafe's eyes narrowed. He wasn’t used to people standing up to him, you knew that. His expression hardened, the arrogance, and entitlement you’d grown to familiarize yourself with flaring up again.

"It's for your own good," his tone was condescending, like you were a child, “You don't understand the kind of people I'm dealing with. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" you laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "You think I don’t know what danger is? Look around, Cameron.”

Rafe opened his mouth to retort, but you cut him off, stepping closer and jabbing a finger into his chest. You’d done a lot of that recently.

"It’s my life on the line too. And I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to come back like some obedient little bitch.”

His face practically matched the color of the deep red curtains in your room, “You’re making this a lot harder than it needs to be, Maybank.”

"No, you are," you fired back. "I’m going with you.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He took a step away from you, fingers pointed at his temples, “What part of fucking dangerous do you not get?”

“If it’s dangerous for me, it’s dangerous for you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing visibly. His gaze bore into yours, and you’d be damned if you were the first one to look away.

“This isn’t a game,” he said, clearly growing frustrated with your stubbornness, “You have no idea what these people are capable of.”

“Maybe not,” you conceded, “But I’m not staying behind and you’re not going alone.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand along his grown-out hair. 

“They chew up people like you.”

 “I’ve been chewed up by worse.”

He knew that.

And then, he saw the determination in you, that unyielding resolve that drove him up the fucking walls and he understood that he wasn’t going to win the fight. Unless he played dirty. 

“You’re too stubborn, y’know that, right?”

You chose to ignore him, grabbing the simple sweater he’d gotten for you the day before at a local market, “So, when do we leave?”

He almost sprinted to the door, “Now.”

You moved to follow him as he stepped outside into the hallway, but before you could follow, he grabbed your arm.

"Wait."

You almost pulled away, frustration boiling over.

"What now?"

His grip tightened, "This might hurt.”

"What?" You tried to twist free, glaring at him.

"Change of plans."

Before you could react, he pushed you back inside the room, slamming the door shut. He didn’t push you hard enough to fall, but the treason came so suddenly that you nearly lost your balance as you heard the lock click, the sound echoing in the small space. 

"Rafe! You piece of shit!” You pounded on the door, “Let me out! You can't do this!"

His voice was muffled but firm from the other side. "Stay here.”

"You motherfucker!" You screamed, kicking the door. But there's no clipped answer from the other side. The only sound was the echo of your own frantic breathing.

He was gone, the stupid bastard.

You collapsed against the door, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Rafe just left you there, locked like some helpless child. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

You were a Maybank, damn it, and Maybanks didn’t back down from a fight, even when their choices were taken from them.

In any other situation, you would’ve jumped out the window. You’d done it enough times back home, but this was different.

Your room’s floor was too high and even though you could get away with just a few scrapes or a broken finger, you couldn’t risk putting yourself in such a vulnerable state. You needed your body intact in case danger was nearby. If you had to run for your life, you needed both legs functioning. 

You glanced around the room, eyes landing on the bed, the frame sturdy.

That’s it! 

You thought to yourself as you rushed over and began to strip the sheets from the mattress, working quickly as you tied them together, creating a makeshift rope.

And they said pogues weren’t fucking smart.

It wasn’t your best work, but it was the best you could have under the circumstances.

Once you had fashioned the rope, you secured one end to the bed frame, testing it to ensure it could hold your weight. Satisfied that it was strong enough, you tossed the other end out the window, watching as it unfurled down the side of the building. 

You gripped the makeshift rope tightly and began to lower yourself out the window. It wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew better than to rush. Your heart pounded in your chest as you slowly inched your way down the side of the building.

Finally, your feet touched solid ground, and you released a breath you didn't realize you were holding. You tried to remember bits and pieces of information Rafe had laid out the night before, about the meeting, something about a dingy marine bar, a bartender named Miguel. 

You rushed back inside the motel, ignoring the puzzled look from the front desk guy as you practically demanded information about the bar. He hesitated clearly taken aback by your urgency, the way you blurted out the words, but you didn’t have time for explanations or politeness.

"Just tell me where it is," you pleaded, “It’s important.”

He scribbled down an address on a piece of paper and thrusted it into your hand.

"It's not far from here," his tone was wary, "But be careful. That place is no good for a lady on her own.”

So, nothing new, you wanted to tell him.

Any place infested with men or drunk men was a trap of its own. But instead, you only offered him a curt nod of thanks before running out the door again. You needed to find Rafe, you couldn’t afford to waste any time. 

You nearly raced through the streets, the address clutched tightly in your hand. And then, before you could process what the hell was going on, a hand enveloped your upper arm, fingers digging dip in your flesh before you could make a turn, dragging you to the dark alley you’d avoided.

The situation felt all too familiar. Your heart leaped into your throat, adrenaline pumping in and out of your veins. Instinctively, you struggled against the unknown grip, kicking and clawing in a desperate attempt to break free. Were you getting mugged?

"Let go of me!" you shouted, your voice echoing off the narrow walls of the alley, “I got nothing on me, let me go you stupid fuck!”

With a surge of adrenaline, you mustered all your strength and delivered a sharp elbow to your captor's stomach, causing them to grunt in pain and loosen their hold for a moment.

You wrenched yourself free, stumbling backward as you scrambled to put some distance between you and your attacker. You were about to land the best punch of your life as you spun around to face them, but as you finally got a good look at him, fear turned into anger. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“Me?” Rafe barked, all up in your personal space, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You jumped out a fucking window?!”

He knew you wouldn’t back down so easily. So he waited around the corner, hoping you were smart enough to keep still even though he knew you would never.

You blinked, the shock of seeing him in front of you momentarily overriding your anger. "You... You locked me in there!"

"Yeah, because you wouldn't listen!" he shot back, his frustration evident in his tone, “Fuck—Jesus fucking Christ.” He was shaking his head wildly, his hands balled into fists as he cursed away like a mantra. 

"I told you; I'm not staying behind while you go off risking your life!" You nearly spit but managed to tone down just enough.

"And I told you, it's too dangerous for you!" Rafe's voice rose with each word, his hands balling into fists at his sides. His pacing intensified, “What the hell were you thinking? What were you gonna do? Walk in and what, huh? You don't even have a gun on you!"

“So? Give me yours!”

Rafe’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Give you, my gun?! Did you hit your fucking head against the concrete?

“I’ll hit your head against the concrete if I have to.”

His left eye twitched in irritation, the look he gave you filled with enough ire to leave a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, “Maybank, I have half a mind to spank you right now, don’t fucking push it.”

You ignored him, “You’d rather I go in there unarmed?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “I can do it.”

“Clearly. Look at you,” Rafe’s voice was sharp,“You think I wanted to leave you behind? You think I liked putting you in that room?”

“You didn't give me a choice! You think I was just gonna sit around waiting for you?”

Rafe sighed, palms pressing into his eyes “I’m trying to protect you, God fucking damn it. I’m trying to keep you safe.”

“Save it,” You hissed out, pressing a hand to your chest as though to keep everything in. “How am I supposed to trust you when you pull this—this shit!”

Rafe reached into the waistband of his trousers, his movements slow and deliberate. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled out his gun, lifting his shirt in the process. He took your hand and dropped it into your palm.

“Show me.”

“Uh?”

He nodded towards the gun in your hand. “Show me you know how to handle it.”

The sudden changes in his attitude always left you speechless. You hesitated, staring at the weapon in your hand. You had never held a gun before, let alone fired one. But the authority in Rafe’s eyes spurred you to action. With trembling fingers, you checked the safety and made sure the gun was loaded, trying to mimic what you had seen in movies.

“Alright,” Rafe said, his voice low. “Now, point it at me.”

“What?!”

“I said point it at me,” he repeated, “C’mon.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the gun. This was crazy. With shaky hands, you raised the gun, aiming it at his chest. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the weapon feeling heavier with each passing second.

“Good,” Rafe nodded in approval. “Now, pull the trigger.”

“What the hell?! Rafe?!”

“Trust me, Maybank, just once.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Pull the trigger? He wasn’t fucking serious, was he? You couldn’t actually shoot him, could you?

But Rafe’s expression remained unwavering. He was being dead serious.

Maybe months ago you would’ve done it without a second guess, but now?

“I’m not pulling the trigger.”

“Just do it. You’re not going to hurt me, okay?”

With a deep breath, you squeezed the trigger, half expecting the gun to recoil in your hand. But nothing happened.

Oh. You had forgotten to chamber a round. He knew that already.

Rafe’s mouth twitched in a half-smile, as if the entire situation was normal, “You forgot to chamber a round.”

You watched him carefully, his bottom lip stuck out and, embarrassingly, you found you wanted to kiss him.

You lowered the gun, your hands shaking with adrenaline. You had just fired a weapon for the first time in your life. He reached out and gently took the gun from your hand, expertly chambering a round before handing it back to you. 

“Try again.”

This time, when you aimed the gun at the wall and pulled the trigger, you felt the recoil jolt along your body as the bullet fired. The sound echoed off the walls of the alley, causing your heart to race even faster.

“Atta girl.”

“I’m still pissed, Cameron.”

“I know,” Rafe conceded as he reached up to brush your hair from your eye, fingers grazing the side of your neck.  “I panicked, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, taking in the tired lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders sagged with exhaustion. He’d done so much for you over the past weeks, it shook you to the core. The countless times he had gone above and beyond, selflessly putting your needs before his own. So maybe, just maybe…you could let it go. 

“Okay.”

"Let's go.”

“Wait, right now?”

“Yeah,” Rafe said, his tone brisk as he holstered the gun. "We’re late.”

Hours later, you collapsed onto the bed, wondering what the hell you’d gotten yourself into, again. The events of the meeting replaying in your mind like a broken record. You’d never met such a group of people before. And you didn’t want to, ever again.

"Human traffickers," you muttered, the words feeling foreign on your tongue. "I can't believe we just met with human traffickers."

Rafe nodded solemnly, "Yeah.”

"I don't trust them. What if... What if they decide to snatch us up and... Oh my god, what if this is all just a ploy..."

“We’re in this together, okay? I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You wanted to believe him.

Your brow furrowed, your mind racing with questions. “How do you even know these people?”

He hesitated, “Barry. It’s... a long story. But right now, what’s important is that we got a way out, yeah?”

You nodded slowly, realizing that asking him for more information wouldn’t get you anywhere.

There were more important things to worry about. 

You didn’t know what was worse, running from Ward Cameron, finding yourself at the mercy of human traffickers, or potentially developing feelings for someone who’d ruined so many lives. 

God, if your brother saw you now…you’d be the greatest disappointment of his life. The mere idea consumed you entirely. The things you’d done.

The way you’d let Rafe into your bloodstream.

You hated yourself for it. Everything felt like it was spiraling out of your grasp, and you hated it.

What would you even tell him? You didn’t even know if had made it, but something told you that he did. He always did. And that meant that sooner or later you’d see him, and you’d have to watch him gradually despise you. 

And then there was Rafe.

The very thought of him made you want to stop breathing altogether. How could you even begin to reconcile the feelings you harbored for someone who had brought so much pain and destruction into your life? It felt like a betrayal to even consider it.

“You good, Maybank?”

You dragged your gaze away from the swirling fan on the ceiling to meet Rafe's concerned stare. He was studying you intently. You shifted on the bed, turning to face him fully. 

"I don’t know,” you muttered, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, “You?”

He reached out to gently tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch always surprised you, how surprisingly light it felt.

“I don’t know.”

He had every reason to abandon you, to wash his hands clean of the entire situation, but he hadn’t.

You nodded, a lump forming in your throat.

It was hard to believe that someone like him could be capable of such tenderness, such vulnerability. But there he was, lying beside you, his attention fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart race.

“They’re about you.”

"Me?" you repeated confused, your voice barely a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile moment between you. 

Rafe nodded, scanning your face for any sign of understanding. "Yeah. You."

Your brows pulled together, “What is?”

He visibly gulped, pressing his lips together, blinking several times before releasing a held breath “The nightmares.”

You almost stopped breathing, "What about them?" 

He shifted uncomfortably, “They used to be just about my mom. Then dad. Now, it’s—uh, it’s just you. Ever since that night, it’s just you. Dying, because of—yeah.”

Oh. 

You hadn’t realized the extent of the impact that night had on him, on both of you

It was a lot to process, and you handy had the time to figure everything out yet.

His fingers brushed over the scar on your arm, and memories flooded your mind. The gunshots, the crippling fear you felt when they got to you, how Rafe reacted, how he touched you. 

“You should’ve told me before.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

You flinched instinctively at his touch, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity through your body. For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, allowing the warmth of his hand to chase away the ghosts that haunted you.

"Does it still hurt?" He asked, leaning in so his nose brushed against yours; it was warm against your skin. 

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Not anymore."

His fingers continued their path up, eventually reaching your cheek as he cupped it tenderly, carefully, as if he’d break you if he rushed it. 

You closed your eyes, savoring the closeness between you. And then, almost hesitantly, you felt him lean in, his mouth brushing against yours in a delicate caress. You hardly had to move to kiss him, only tilting your chin up.

It was tender, different from the ones you had before, just so quiet that it made you want to burst into tears. 

You kissed him back, tentatively at first, then with a growing hunger that mirrored the longing you had been feeling deep within your soul. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as if afraid to let you slip away. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dangers lurking in the shadows, not the weight of your past sins, not the uncertain future that lay ahead.

All that existed was the intoxicating feeling between you and Rafe. But as the kiss deepened, a voice of reason scolded you in the back of your mind, reminding you of the consequences of your actions. You pulled away, breathless and dizzy, your heart pounding in your chest.

“We shouldn’t…”

Rafe only stared, before he nodded, understanding dawning in him. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“I know,” he sighed, “Just get some rest.”

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the distraction. With a heavy grunt, you lifted yourself off the bed, making your way to the bathroom to change into some booty shorts and a simple tee.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Rafe was already settled on the bed, only in his boxers, his attention fixed on some point in the distance. You hesitated for a moment before joining him, the distance and closeness between you feeling suffocating. 

You wanted to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat like a lump of lead.

Instead, you settled for a nod, and a quiet “Goodnight.” 

You slipped under the covers, the warmth of the blankets cocooning you in a false sense of security. 

“Night, pretty Maybank.”

You shut your eyelids, willing your racing mind to quiet down. But no matter how hard you tried, sleep eluded you, slipping through your fingers like grains of sand. Every creak of the floorboards, every distant sound of passing cars sent a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened to the point of paranoia. You shifted restlessly in bed, the new sheets tangling around your legs like shackles, trapping you in a prison of your own making. 

You heard Rafe's voice beside you, breaking the silence of the room, “Can’t sleep if you keep moving.”

“Sorry.”

Rafe reached out, his hand finding yours in the darkness, “What is it?”

“I can’t sleep.”

His hold tightened around yours, "I know, Maybank," he spoke in a ushed tone, "But you're safe here. Try to relax, okay?"

You squeezed your eyes shut, already feeling the upcoming headache, “I don’t know how to.”

It was quiet again for a minute and you feared you’d bored the man to sleep with your insecurities, but then he spoke again.

“Turn around.”

You opened your eyes, even though you could barely see him. Was he telling you to spoon him?

“What?”

Rafe's thumb gently brushed against the back of your hand in a soothing rhythm, “Turn round f’me, kay?”

With a soft sigh, you did as he asked, turning onto your side to face away from him.

He moved closer, his body pulling against yours as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you snugly against his chest. His warmth enveloped you like some kind of shield as he pressed a light kiss to the back of your neck, his lips lingering against your skin. 

“There,” he whispered, his breath tickling your ear. “Better?”

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

These were dangerous waters.

If you couldn’t sleep before, you sure as hell weren’t about to do it now. All you could think about was that night, how he felt, how he touched you, how he fit right. 

An almost overwhelming feeling of arousal took over you, and with whatever courage you had left from the day, you moved again, pressing yourself impossibly closer to him. His warmth seeped into your skin, melting away the tension that had coiled tight in your muscles during the day, you could feel every ridge and turn of his body.

Your touch drew a low, guttural groan from Rafe, his breath hot against your skin as he pressed closer, his arousal unmistakable against your back. His teeth grazed your shoulder, followed by the flick of his tongue, and you released a breathy sigh as he lowered his head to bite the area.

His arm tightened around you as you traced the contours of his fingers, mapping out the familiar territory with ease and want. His heartbeat echoed against your back, a steady rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your own heart.

His lips brushed against your neck, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core, “Relax,” he murmured, his hoarse, “’M right here.”

With a boldness that surprised even yourself, you shifted your hips, grinding back against him, seeking the friction that would ease the ache between your legs and your head.

Rafe's reaction was immediate, his hands roaming over your body with a fervor that left you dizzy. His fingers found their way to the hem of your shorts, teasing the sensitive skin with feather-light touches. You twisted your fingers into his long hair, tugging lightly, delighting in the gasp it pulled from him.

“Tell me to stop, please,” His mouth brushed against your ear again, words coming out a slurred mess.

You ran you finger over his leg, where his boxers had risen, the warm skin driving you insane. If you lifted your fingers just a little higher, you’d be able to feel all of him.

You had to bite back a squeal when his thumb brushed over your covered nipple, “I can’t.”

You felt the tension in his muscles as he paused for a moment, his grip on you tightening. An unrestrained, almost desperate plea escaping his mouth, "Are you sure?"

You swallowed hard. This was so fucking wrong. But underneath it all, you knew what you wanted.

You turned your head slightly, your lips grazing his jawline as you muttered a "Yes."

You gasped when Rafe raised his thigh, placing it between your own, as he used his hands on your hips to guide you back and forth, grinding you down against his skin. You couldn’t remember a time you’d ever felt so out of control, so desperate for someone’s touch. The thin barrier of your shorts and panties felt like an unbearable hindrance, a small but significant obstruction to the shattering desire you needed to reach.

One of his hands slipped under the waistband of your panties, the other splaying across your stomach, holding you firmly in place. His fingers found you slick and ready, a whimper vibrating across his chest at the discovery.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, his fingers starting a slow, torturous rhythm against your clit.

You bucked against his hand, seeking more, needing more. Your head fell back against his shoulder, and you turned slightly to capture his lips in a heated kiss.

You felt his tongue press against yours and you nearly came on the spot. He slowly circled your clit, sending your hips jerking into him, “I can’t stop touching you.”

You struggled to form words as breathy moans escaped your mouth, “Please don’t,” you rasped, your thoughts turning to mush as he dipped the tips of his fingers inside you, gathering your wetness. When you finally found your voice, it was a mere screech, “Rafe...”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured back, finally pushing two fingers inside you, at an agonizing pace, “I’ve got you.”

Your jaw went slack as he curled his thick fingers, a gasp escaping when he found that spot that made you see stars. Your nails involuntarily dug into his skin. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit, pulling another moan from you. With his other hand still on your hip, he pushed you back, guiding you to grind against his fingers.

The rhythm he set was maddening.

His breath was hot against your neck, his voice a growl as he removed his fingers, making you whine in protest.

He glided one between your folds, the wetness easing up the process, “You’re so fucking perfect,” he muttered, his words sending a thrill down your spine. “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Ra—You’re gonna make me come,” you gasped as his arm left your waist, sliding underneath your ribcage and resting on your chest, kneading your breast through the fabric of your shirt, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, baby, that’s the point,” he purred into your ear, two fingers sliding inside you again, so suddenly you threw your head back again, thighs clenching together tightly as he pumped his fingers in and out.

At this point, you were lightheaded, fucking yourself back onto him, grinding down as you chased your orgasm. 

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with desperation. “Please, Rafe...”

His fingers quickened their pace, each thrust sending oceans of pleasure down your body. “Not stopping,” he promised,“Want to feel you dripping around my fingers.”

His words sent you spiraling, the buzz inside you building to an unbearable peak. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body trembling with the intensity of your approaching climax. Rafe's touch was relentless, his fingers curling inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over.

“Rafe—” you cried out, your voice breaking as your orgasm crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from your pussy.

Your body convulsed, and you clung to him, nails digging into his arm as you rode out the ecstasy.

Rafe held you without a break, his fingers never slowing, drawing out every last tremor of your release. When you finally came down, breathless and spent, he withdrew his fingers, not giving you a break to breathe as he shuffled behind you, pulling his boxers down, just enough to release his aching cock, doing the same to you as he slid his length between your folds.

The sensation was…everything, his heaviness pressing against your sensitive, slick entrance, the heat of him making you shiver. You bit your lip, suppressing a scream as Rafe's hand gripped your hip, holding you steady.

“Shit shit”, you breathed out, barely able to form coherent thoughts. The anticipation coiled inside you again, your body already aching for him, “’M sensitive.”

“Shhhh,” he purred, his voice husky against your ear. “Just relax, pretty.”

He rocked his hips slowly, the head of his fat cock teasing your entrance, not pushing in but sliding between your folds, spreading your wetness over his length. 

Holy fuck, you’d gone to heaven.

Rafe's breath hitched, his grip on your hip tightening as he tried to control himself.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, “So perfect.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, biting your lip when his tip bumped against your clit, “I need you to—Shit, just fuck me.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, he angled his hips and began to push inside you, inch by tantalizing inch. The stretch was exquisite, slowly filling you in a way that left you gasping, your body accommodating him with a shuddering breath.

“Jesus,” Rafe hissed, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as his cock twitched inside you. “So tight.”

Your fingers dug into the sheets, the thrill and the sensation of being filled to the hilt almost too much. You could feel every part of him, the way he throbbed inside you, the way his body fit perfectly against yours. You felt his breathing against your skin, coming out in uneven and ragged breaths.

He started a slow, steady rhythm, each thrust measured and deep, pulling out almost completely before pushing back in.

His other hand found your breasts, kneading the sensitive flesh through your shirt, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

You couldn’t hold back the mewls that escaped your lips, each movement driving you higher, the tension building again. Rafe’s breath was ragged against your ear, his lips brushing your skin in sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

He gently bit your earlobe, withdrawing his hips until only the tip of him remained inside you, before slowly pushing back in with deliberate, languid movements. You reached back, tangling your fingers in his hair once again.

“Rafe... harder, please,” you begged, shame thrown out the window, “I need it harder.”

He moaned, the sound vibrating through his chest as he complied, his hips snapping against you with more force, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His hand slid down from your chest to your clit, circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts.

You felt the familiar coil of pleasure tightening, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

“Can’t belie—fuck. Can’t believe I get to have you again.”

You curved your back again, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your body craving the release that was so so close.

“I c-can’t hold on much longer,” you gasped, your voice barely more than a breathless whimper.

“Then let go,” Rafe growled, his fingers pressing harder against your clit. “Come for me, baby. I want to feel you.”

You groaned, “I want to see you when I do.”

Before he could answer, you pulled away from him, making him groan, but you shut him up as you turned to face him, dragging your shorts and panties out of the way, not looking where you threw them as you quickly lifted your body and settled over his, hands pressed to his naked chest as you rubbed yourself against him. 

Rafe's hands gripped your hips firmly as you positioned yourself above him, “You tryn’ to kill me, pretty Maybank?”

You smirked, leaning down to press a quick peck against his lips, “Yeah.”

Without any warning, you lowered yourself onto him, both gasping at the sensation of being joined once again. He filled you completely, stretching you in the most delicious way, his tip touching your cervix.

Your movements were slow at first, savoring all of him, every sensation that rippled from end to end of your body. But soon, the slow burn grew into a raging inferno, and you found yourself moving faster, chasing that peak of pleasure one more time.

“Get this fucking thing off,” He growled, pulling at your shirt. You would’ve found it funny if you weren’t so desperate to feel him.

You sat up, quickly tugging the shirt over your head and tossing it aside. Rafe's eyes darkened with lust as he took in your bare chest, his hands immediately finding your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples in a way that made you gasp and arch into his touch.

You started to move again, lifting yourself up before sinking back down onto him, each movement sending waves of desire through both of you.

A filthy kiss followed, all spit and tongues tangling messily as if trying to devour each other whole.

The taste of him filled your mouth, cigarettes and toothpaste, his moans mingling with yours.

The kiss was a brutal assault, his teeth nipping at your lips, drawing blood, which only seemed to fuel the frenzied rhythm of your body. Rafe's grip on your hips tightened, guiding your movements, and encouraging you to take him deeper, pounding into you, abs flexing.

You leaned forward, your hands bracing against his sturdy chest, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper inside you. The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breathing, your cries, and the rhythmic, filthy, slap of skin against skin.

“Fuck, this pussy can’t be real,” Rafe groaned, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “Ride me harder, baby. Wanna watch you.”

You increased your pace, the friction and fullness driving you closer to the edge with each thrust. His hands moved from your hips to your waist, holding you steady as you moved, his touch grounding you even as you felt like you were about to come apart at the seams. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing it in tight, precise circles that had you crying out his name.

“Oh god, Rafe, I’m s-so close,” you panted, your body trembling with the effort to hold back your release, wanting to savor every second of this moment.

“Come for me, pretty. Wanna to feel you drippin’ all over my cock.”

That was all it took.

With a loud moan, you came, your body convulsing around him, your nails digging into his chest as the phases of your pleasure crashed over you. Rafe watched you, his expression one of pure awe, jaw slack open as his hands never left your body.

As your climax subsided, your breathing ragged and your limbs trembling, he gently kissed your temple, his lips tender. He murmured soothing words and you swore you were on cloud nine.

You felt his heartbeat, steady and strong against your own. His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, calming you, bringing you back to earth. 

But as the pleasure subsided, you became acutely aware of Rafe's cock still hard and throbbing inside you. His breath was ragged, his eyes void of any color, and you knew he was on the brink. You lifted yourself slightly, feeling him slip almost out of you before you sank back down, taking him deep again, despite the way your thighs burned, the way your hole ached.

"Rafe," you called, “Need to feel you come inside me."

His grip on you tightened, his eyes briefly closing as a guttural moan escaped his lips. He released you for a moment, only to bring his hand down sharply, delivering a stinging smack to your ass,

"Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden impact made you gasp, the pain amplifying your desire.

Rafe's eyes snapped open,"You like that, don't you?" he growled, "Look at you."

You could only nod, breathless and aching for more. His hands returned to your hips, guiding your movements with a renewed urgency. The sting from the slap lingered, a delicious reminder of his dominance, the only place you'd let him take the lead.

You started to move again, your pace slow and deliberate, your movements designed to drive him wild. Each time you sank onto him, you could feel him throbbing, his control slipping with every passing second. His fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he tried to hold on.

"Please, baby," you whined, "I need to feel your cum."

The pet name did it.

With a growl, he shifted, flipping you onto your back and pinning you beneath him.

The sudden change made you gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his ass as he drove into you in a mean mating press. His pace was relentless, like he’d die if he stopped.

The sounds of your “oh’s” mixed with his grunts, only amplified the passion. You could feel the tension coiling inside him, the way his body strained against yours, every muscle taut with anticipation.

"Gonna fill you up,” he grounded out, his voice strained, "So fucking close."

You tightened your legs around him, pulling him deeper, your nails raking down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. "Come for me, baby," you urged, your desire reigniting at the thought of him finding his release, “Need you so bad.”

His eyes snapped open, locking onto yours with a feral intensity. "You want my cum?" he growled, thrusting harder, making you cry out in pleasure. "Beg for it."

"Please, Rafe," you gasped, feeling the pressure building inside you, "Fill me up. I need it. I need you."

With a final, powerful thrust, Rafe's body stiffened, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as he let out a hoarse cry. You felt the hot rush of his release, the pulsing of his cock as he emptied himself inside you. His entire body trembled, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he rode out his orgasm. You could feel him pulsing, the warmth flooding you as he let out a primal growl, his grip on you almost bruising.

And right there, another orgasm ripped through you, your body tightening around him as you cried out his name.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting and trembling. His weight was comforting, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed soft kisses to your skin, his earlier roughness giving way to a tender aftermath.

You held him close, your hands running soothingly over his back, feeling the ridges of the muscles you had just marked with your nails. Your own body still buzzed with the aftermath of your pleasure.

When he finally lifted his head, his eyes met yours, a look of pure adoration in his gaze that left you speechless. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

He cradled your face in his hands. "We’re gonna be okay," his breath felt warm against your lips.

The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten with emotion.

Tears welled up in your eyes as his lips touched yours again, the faint tender kiss so different to the man you used to know. You tried to hold back, to keep the overwhelming tide at bay, but you broke, and a sob escaped your lips.

He pulled back slightly, concern etched across his pretty features. "Hey," he murmured, his thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. "What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

You shook your head, "No, it’s not that," your voice trembled, “I’m scared.”

Rafe's expression softened, thumbs gently caressing your cheeks. "Shh, it's okay," he soothed, "Let it out, baby. I’m right here."

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into his skin. The warmth of his embrace, the rhythm of his heartbeat, and his hold were the only thing keeping you together at this point and if you weren’t feeling so much, you’d feel pathetic for relying so much on someone else.

He held you tightly, his hand stroking your hair as you cried, releasing the pent-up anxiety.

"We—I, I don’t know what I’m doing," you admitted through your tears, your voice muffled against his chest. "I’m really, really scared.”

Rafe kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering, "I know, Maybank," he whispered,"I’m scared too.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through tear-filled eyes. "You are?"

He nodded, his attention never wavering from features.

"Yeah, I am. This...And—don’t know what I’m doing either. But I want it. I want you."

“But it’s wrong.”

“I know, pretty.”

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. Rolling onto his side, he gathered you into his arms, holding you close. You nestled against his chest.

“I’m sorry for jumping out the window,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin, “You just...make me so angry.”

He chuckled softly, his fingers running through your hair in soothing strokes. "I shouldn’t have locked you in.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the last of your tears dry against his skin. You knew things wouldn’t be easy, but his reassurance gave you a little strength.

After a while, Rafe shifted slightly, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. 

"We’ll figure this out, Maybank.”

“Promise?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly.

Promises weren’t something he was used to making, you knew that. But then he nodded.

“Promise.”

[nemesis-writer]

Five Minutes (Chapter 1)

Masterlist No choice TW: Neglect, mentions of blood, mental illness

10 days later...

"So who is she?", Duke asks.

"She's a criminal now." Tim replies, he gets up just to drink a beer.

"No she isn't" Jason retorts.

"Then what is she?" Duke asks.

"She's a child, or should I say was a child", Jason interjects.

"She's just being temperamental and probably just throwing a tantrum." Damian jibes.

"She killed all yakuza leaders with a katana," Jason retorts.

"She's definitely not Bruce's child, because there's no way that Bruce could do that." Duke jokes.

"She is. I took a paternity test." Bruce replies.

"She's getting smarter and better. She was supposed to be in the fortress where we keep the people who are too mentally insane to go to Arkham." Cassandra adds.

"I checked the security cameras of all the places she's been in and she has the ability to manipulate a person in to doing her malicious acts. Must be why she's able to escape every time by using someone else for her bidding. " Tim reveals.

Asylum, 10/11/2017,

"Hello, my name is chief Lawson, FBI. I'm here to ask you where you hid the bodies."

"Rotting apples with wasps feasting. Brown bananas with flies retreating. A fox in the night is ripping black bin bags open. Cats are eating a chicken casket after Sunday dinner. A white owl is gobbling a slaughtered mouse, happy, sitting on the evening fence. The brown rat is running for the bushes after stealing bread. A giant cow jawbone is found in the dirty ground. The tired young man died on the motorway bridge and was found. Zombied humans are eating out of plastic bins. Death is everywhere! Take a look inside – don’t be ignorant about what you find." She sings but keeps her back faced to the FBI.

"You're not really helping here lady." Lawson said.

"It's in the song, but if you don't listen then I can't help you." Eurus said.

She starts to stand up and go towards the glass.

"Step forward and touch the glass officer." Eurus feints.

"No, you give me answers lady."

"Or what? You'll shoot me? This is bullet-proof glass sweetheart." Eurus replies, "I'll touch it if you want."

The officer steps forward and touches the glass on for her to grab his neck and choke him to death.

End of recording...

"Lawson was supposed to be one of the best FBI detectives." Bruce says.

"He was. She's evolving and the longer we let her evolve, the more people will die." Stephanie adds.

"Why would she do this?" Bruce wonders

10 years ago...

Love can come from many forms and languages. It follows the same rules with hate, negligence, toxicity, and jealousy. It may not be shown all in one go, so it will gradually grow until it could eat you alive whole. Let's list what each has demonstrated.

Unintentional negligence: Bruce proves as a simple embodiment of this action. He found you to be insignificant and mediocre. When really your true colours were just about to shine.

Negligence based on superiority: Dick has quite the experience in that area. He always thought that people would look up to him and he would be the role model of the family. He never meant for his negligence to go as far.

Love relying on sufferings: Jason truly knew how broken you were and wanted to fix it. It took him too long to realise that you may be able to fix and broken mirror, but it would never be as it was.

Hate relying on significance: Tim is the obvious answer since he never truly cared for you. Until now. He hated the fact on how you were so 'naive' and 'helpless', that you don't deserve to live like them.

Hate and jealousy based on blood: Since you were the child of a common whore, Damian thinks of you as a whore and never a Wayne. He has a perfect assassin of a mother and a rich vigilante for a father to add up. You on the other hand, have nothing, and are nothing to him.

Toxic and fake interest: All the girls, Cassandra, Barbara, and Stephanie has a bond with you. They pretend to be interested and all ears when they really plan to hurt you and shut you up. They'd do anything just for you to back off. It was never true with them.

Love of a sibling and of keen interest: Duke has always wanted a sister who was normal. So far he assumes that you're the closest thing to normal that wasn't as fake as Cassandra, talkative as Steph, or as busy as Barbara. He understands your pain and wants to be the sibling you never had.

Present...

Each had their own description of their 'bond' with you. But things have changed, they changed. Why wouldn't you wanna go home for them?

Don't you see how much they treasure you now?

Come home little robin.

A/N: I kinda like this chapter because I'm basing it off from the BBC Sherlock Holmes Series and I hope you'd like it!

Taglist

@lunayaps, @not-aya, @iluvcatzz, @vanessa-boo, @ivyrose9194,@thesehandsarerated-e, @eyeless-kun, @errorunfound1, @gwyneveire, @alishii, @cxcillia

[ravenstargames]

✦ Lost in Limbo Masterpost (12/09/2024)

Lost in Limbo is a dark fantasy romance visual novel taking place in the mysterious realm of Limbo. Take the role of River Winchester, a human dealing with common-life problems, as you find yourself trapped in a foreign world.

✦ Lost in Limbo explores themes such as the duality of immortality, family bonds, healing from trauma, forgiveness, acceptance, letting go of guilt, and love. 

✦ The full game will be rated +17 and will include flashing lights, disturbing imagery, mild horror, mild jumpscares, body horror, suggestive sexual scenes and discussions, sensitive topics such as toxic family relationships, anxiety, depression, mentions of suicide, depictions of alcohol / drug use, etc. Each route will have individual content warnings available for the player.

✦ LOST IN LIMBO FAQ + TUMBLR ASKS

Face the nightmares of your childhood and uncover the mysteries behind your summoning to the realm of Limbo. Tie your fate to one of seven deities sworn to be your protectors and survive a world facing its demise.

Will love be the key to your freedom, or the first chapter of your downfall?

Our first demo features over 42k words (around three hours of gameplay), partial voice acting, seven CGs, over 25 different choices...and one bad ending?!

To obtain every CG, we reccommend playing the demo twice and testing different options! 

✦ PLAY OUR DEMO NOW ON:

🔮 STEAM (MAC, LINUX, WINDOWS)

🔮 ITCH.IO (MAC, LINUX, WINDOWS)

🔮 GOOGLE PLAY

When you finally quit your dead-end job and move back to your mother's house in the ever-peaceful town of Faybourne, you think things could only get better. However, the moment you set foot in your childhood home, a harrowing nightmare long forgotten appears to haunt you once more. 

A tower that crumbles in the vastness of a bleeding sky. A voice that mourns and yearns for something.

Torn away from your peaceful life and thrown into a world of danger and deceit, you are at the mercy of the Seven Sovereigns of Limbo. Navigate the Realm Between as it faces an impending cataclysm that threatens to swallow you and those you love whole.

Whether you fall in love or in disgrace... is up to you. 

 Lost in Limbo features seven love interests and a wide cast of secondary characters.

VA: Patrick 'Pat' Langner

God and creator of Limbo, Father Pride has witnessed eons of change in both his world and yours. Aware of the delicate barrier that keeps each world separate and whole, it is his duty to both protect his people and safeguard the endless knowledge his immortality has granted him. 

The Father of All is beloved by his family and worshiped as an invincible leader by the inhabitants of Limbo, but he ultimately remains removed from others; a mysterious, unreachable idol. The life of a deity of unfathomable power is solitary, and you can't help but wonder if there's any trace of humanity in him.

Can you truly trust a being whose power is beyond human comprehension, or are you just another tool for him? 

VA: Brian Vaughn

His father's promises of glory, and legends of a destiny full of wonders awaiting him, drove Amon to build Dagalis, his city, as a mirror image of himself. Flamboyant, free, and absolutely magnificent—Amon lives his immortal life to the very fullest, often ignoring the consequences.

When you fall into his care, you become the Dragon’s newest toy; he is determined to dazzle you, and the temptation to surrender to him is overwhelming. However, Amon can only look away from the ticking bombs within Dagalis for so long, and you will inevitably be dragged down with him if the worst comes to pass. 

Can you rely on each other to save yourselves, or is your love destined to burn you and Dagalis down?

VA: Silvairre Devereaux

Raeya earned her title of Praefectus, leader of Limbo’s military forces and safekeeper of the realm, after centuries of hard work and devotion. Her oath to protect the people of Limbo is an extension of herself, one she wields in the battlefield against the voidbound and against anyone who dares to defile what she believes is just.

However, the truth behind the realm's darkest times will soon put Raeya's loyalty to the test, and with it, her ability to keep you out of harm's way.

When the inevitable cruelty of the Realm Between unfolds before you, what will you be willing to sacrifice to save what you love the most?

VA: Abi Kumar

As ominous as his alias may sound, there has never been a kinder person in all of Limbo than Master Gael. However, rumors tainting the Master's image have begun to spread, and the streets murmur of a plot to overthrow him. Master Gael is facing a crisis in his mandate, and with your unexpected arrival, strategy is more important than ever.

You are met with an offer that's hard to refuse; if you play your part as Gael’s fiancée and help him secure his win in the upcoming Master elections once more, a ritual to return you to your world may be within reach. 

But with powerful individuals keeping an eye on every movement of the Master and his lover, what are the chances of obtaining a victory for you both?

VA: Aaron Moy

Stripped of their name and shunned after commiting treason, the Sovereign now known as Lord Envy resides alone in the Black Citadel, forgotten by those who fled the city and hated by the ones who refused to leave. 

It doesn't take you too long to realize you two have nothing in common besides the fact that you hate each other to death. Envy is harsh, impertinent and unmoved by your plight. However, behind that mask of hatred lies a being that has been hurt almost beyond repair, and their call for help is too painful to ignore.

Can you break the walls they have built around themselves for centuries, or will you remain a prisoner in his castle for all eternity?

VA: Zaria Weems

Ara seems ready to be your ally from the very beginning. Her desire to help you get back to your family seems genuine, and her fervent will to act as your protector impresses you. She believes you are the key to summoning her childhood hero, The Wanderer of Worlds, a mythical figure that is able to walk in every world to bring forth peace.

Ara's passionate personality is incredibly charming, but it hides an ambition that seems almost insatiable...and that may come with problems that are too big for you two. 

What will you do when you find out how far she's willing to go?

VA: Francfil Pontañeles

Seen as an ‘afterthought’ by the people of Limbo, no one has ever expected anything from Xal, not even himself. When you end up in his care, you fear you're going to spend the rest of your life watching him tinker with gadgets, but Xal swiftly proves you wrong when he discovers a ritual that could send you back home in no time.

However, a crucial mistake turns the tables, and you're not the only one to reappear in Faybourne. With no fearless gods with incredible powers around to aid you, you'll have to face the consequences your disappearance left behind...and somehow help Xal go back to his siblings.

But what if Xal doesn't want to leave—and you don't want him to go?

Lázaro and Cécile's routes are Side Routes that will be produced after the Main Love Interests'. As they were not unlocked via Kickstarter, they'll take time to become available!

VA: Callum Sanders

After your encounter in Master Lysander's occult shop, you hoped you would never see those golden eyes again. Destiny, as always, is a capricious thing.

Your rocky return to Faybourne not only brings more questions to the table; it also gives you the opportunity to cross paths with the person who started it all. However, as you confront Lázaro—as they graciously introduce themself— they pretend they don't know anything about what happened in that suffocating room that summer morning.

You refuse to let them go that easily after what they did to you, and soon enough you're dragged into Lázaro's personal hell.

When your world quickly proves to be as dangerous as the realm of Limbo, will you trust the person who started it all?

VA: TBA

When you first meet Cécile, Gael's bodyguard, you can't stop from shivering under the gaze of his bloodthirsty eyes. The Master's Dog, as everyone whispers behind his back, smells of death and despair; it is all he has known since he was born. Revenge on those who snatched his soul away from him is the only thing in his mind—only after serving his Master, who he so greatly worships.

He has no interest in you. In fact, he openly dislikes you. You can tell by the way he looks at you; if it were his choice, his hands would already be around your neck. And yet, you can't deny the attraction pulling you towards him, oblivious of how dangerous it would be if he were to worship you instead of his Master.

Can you survive the love of an obsessed killer, or will you meet your end at the raw passion of his hands?

✦ The MC is written as a young adult who is at least 21 years old. The player can headcanon their character as any age they desire, but every route is written so the MC is of an age similar to that of their chosen love interest, except for Father Pride who is older than the MC.

✦ The MC is a strong-willed individual who isn't afraid to jump into action. In the game, you'll be able to channel these characteristics in different ways. River is funny, kind and a bit too stubborn—but you choose how to manage those traits and whether to let them shine or not. The game will remember, so if you are not too athletic, maybe hitting that monster with a chair isn't a very good idea.

✦ The MC also has some default tastes, hobbies and memories. During the game, you'll be able to personalize how the Main Character feels about their interests, add new ones, or reflect about how the past affected them. The characters will remember this.

✦ The MC doesn't have an established appearance, therefore, you won't see them in game.

The beautifully deadly world of Limbo, The Realm Between. Woven in the eternal canvas that is the Great Void, it is a breathing world that lives in constant symbiosis with those who dwell therein. It rests in the custody of the Seven Sovereigns of Limbo, immortal guardians of unbelievable strength.

Few are those who venture past the Beyond; none have ever returned However, Limbo’s land is deteriorating fast. The balance that holds the threads of life are at the cusp of being consumed by the Midnight Tower, an entity beyond sense and reason that has grown dangerously close to the barrier between worlds. The voidbound, creatures made from the essence of nightmares, are stalking the cities closer to the Tower’s domain, leaving behind nothing but chaos and decay.

Explore the Seven Circles of Limbo and its seven capital cities, and get to know its people, their customs and their culture, inspired by Spanish provinces and cities such as the Valencian Community, Andalucía, Galicia and Aragón. Enjoy the unique animated backgrounds, whether you're lost in a harrowing swamp or just wandering through a boisterous main street.

✦ Seven love interests with independent routes and different kinds of romance. Live a passionate, mature and erotic experience with Amon, or a first love romance with Xal.

✦ Around 80+ hours of gameplay total. Each route will be around 15+ hours. 

✦ Customizable Main Character (full name and pronouns changeable between he/him, she/her or they/them).

✦ Approximately 6 endings per character. Escape from the claws of despair with your loved one or succumb to the pressure of a world breaking to pieces...or perhaps something in the middle.

✦ A mature, sex-positive narrative point of view. Lost in Limbo treats consensual sex as a natural, integral and fun part of the game. The game therefore includes textually and slightly explicit love scenes, and the player has the option not to engage, stop or skip these scenes anytime.*

✦ Player choices can shape the Main Character's personality, traits, likes & dislikes, etc.

✦ A wide cast of side characters to make the world feel alive, each one of them with their opinion and relationship with the Main Character.

✦ A compendium to keep track of events, important information, etc. 

*An exception of this is Amon's route, centered in the sexual tension between him and the MC. His sexual scenes with the Main Character are core to the story and therefore, happen no matter what. The player can still skip these scenes.

In Lost in Limbo, not everything is as it seems. Every route offers pieces of a much bigger puzzle ready to be solved, but small details mattter. Characters will remember how you treat them, what you tell them, and what you don't. Keeping your cards close to your chest may be wise, but in a world where you don't have the upper hand, choosing who to trust is key to survive.

✦ There will be four different choice systems that will give shape to your playthrough:

Trust Points centered around your love interest and the side characters; a low level of trust can translate into bad endings*.

Plot-driving choices that will shape the story and its possible endings, as well as the final fate of the characters.

Personality choices that will determine the nature of the Main Character's relationship with their love interest, as well as how the MC reacts to certain events, their abilities, hobbies, etc.

Flavor choices! These don't impact the game directly, but are there for the main objective of the game: having fun! Do you want ice cream, or perhaps a caramelized apple?

*In Lost in Limbo, there's not only one correct answer and one wrong answer. There's different ways of earning trust points without having to stick for the "one and only right answer", and mistakes can be redeemed...sometimes.

Please note that this may be subjected to changes in the future, but always keeping in mind player's opinions and always in favor of improving the game experience.

We'll first start working on an extended demo / prologue that will be offered for free. This will include an overhaul of sprites, several secondary characters mentioned in our first demo, etc. After that, we'll move to the character routes, and the first episode of each one of them will be offered for free to the public.

Two routes will always be worked on at the same time to make sure they complement each other well. The order in which we'll work on the routes is as follows.

✦ Amon / Gael > Ara / Xal > Envy / Raeya > Father Pride

We estimate that with our current team, development for the seven routes will take  three years. Therefore, our first release plan aims for a full release in 2027.

Please remember there's only four of us; our writer is also our programmer, our artists are in charge of all the art departments, etc.

As stated above, outsourcing would speed up this process, but we want to be cautious with our release plan. If everything goes faster than expected, all the better!

✦ OUR SOCIALS ✦

For more info about our team etc., feel free to visit our official webpage, ravenstar.games!

🔮 TWITTER / X

🔮 OFFICIAL DISCORD SERVER

🔮 TIKTOK

YOU CAN CONTACT US AT INFO@RAVENSTAR.GAMES FOR ANY INQUIRIES!

[skyahri]

Soul |Ryomen Sukuna X Reader| HC

Summary: Sukuna meets the reincarnation of the only person he's ever loved.

Warnings: Implications of sex? Female pronouns. Reincarnation. Fear and anxiety.

- - - - -

"Rin..."

It came out like word vomit before Yuuji could even process what he was saying.

You looked at him, confused. Your name wasn't Rin and you'd never met this man before. Who did he think you were?

He slapped a hand over his mouth. Sukuna had forced his way to the surface just to ramble out a name? In all these years as his vessel, he'd never done something so trivial.

Sensing the flicker of cursed energy, Gojo, Megumi, and Nobara prepared themselves. It'd been a while since Sukuna had tried anything. Some sort of pact he'd formed with Yuuji kept him mostly content, although they weren't sure what it entailed.

It happened in the blink of an eye; Sukuna had taken over and stood directly in front of you, one hand flat on your chest and the other on your face.

"Rin... I could never forget the feel of your soul."

Your heartbeat fastened. An overwhelming feeling of fear fell onto you, rendering you unable to move.

What would you be able to do anyway? He's a God, and you had no abilities outside of actually seeing the damn things.

You had no idea what he was talking about. Your name isn't Rin and you'd never had any kind of encounter with either men until just now.

Megumi tried to move forward, but Gojo stuck an arm out in front of him. Something was off about the way Sukuna was acting, and he didn't think it was threatening.

It would be best to see how this played out instead of possibly starting a war that was never meant to begin in the first place.

"What are you doing? We can't let her-"

"Hold on."

They watched as Sukuna looked you up and down, inspecting your robes, hair, and face with a certain softness. His face was still hard and his movements still confident, but there was just that feeling.

"You look so different, but thats to be expected. Are you fairing well?"

You swallowed hard. His delicate touch did nothing to soothe your nerves. If anything, it only confused you more. He was tucking your hair behind your ear, giving you some sort of smile, and yet you feared he was going to rip your heart right out of your body.

"Um..."

Really, how were you supposed to respond? What sort of answer was he expecting? What were the consequences if you were to answer incorrectly?

Were you meant to comment on how you supposedly looked different? Was it your features? Your clothes? Your haircut?

"I'm scared."

Sukuna paused. You were horrified to have answered wrong, and now you could only hope he wouldn't kill you.

But he did something unexpected; he laughed. A thick, hardy chuckle that made your blood run cold.

Was this the end? How pitiful. Slain on a random Tuesday afternoon all because you wanted to meet up with an old friend. That's not a proper death.

"A thousand years and countless reincarnations, yet you still know how to make me laugh."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. You only had a moment to panic before a lifetime of memories filled your mind.

You remember the time before modern civilization when you relied on hunting in the woods and crops from the neighbor's farm.

You remembered your parents, siblings, friends, and other villagers. You remember your home on the outskirts of town just against the forest line.

But most importantly, you remember Sukuna.

You remember meeting him as a human, and then several years later as a curse. You faced off against him, and although you couldn't beat him in the end, you'd come close enough to earn his respect.

He stood above you, two arms crossed, one on his hip, and the other outstretched to offer you a hand up.

Who were you to refuse such a gesture from the king of curses?

He allowed you to join his temple alongside other followers of his with the condition you devoted yourself to him entirely. The offer was presented as a choice, but the alternative was death, so any reservations you had were null.

You wanted to go with him anyway, but that's beside the point.

From the very beginning of your journey with him, it was made clear to everyone that you were 'special' and not to be bothered.

This fact didn't hold up too well with some of the others, but what were they to do about it? Argue with Sukuna? Tell him they were more deserving of his attention? How pathetic.

He allowed you privileges that would only ever be known to you, like dining with him or joining him on trips. These small pleasantries became grand ones, like sharing his bed and allowing him to claim you.

Your relationship was equal from then on. You were not just a follower of his anymore. He was just as devoted to you as you are to him, and he ensured you knew it.

He'd always make sure to tell you how special you were, that he was taking his time with you and granting you pleasure. How you were his favorite, and no one else could even compare. How others had not been so lucky in the past.

He'd escort you to and from the hot springs, have humans bring you flowers and jewelry, and allow you to see the most vulnerable aspects of him.

He promised his love for you would never die, and here he is a millennia later proving true to his words.

Once the unrelenting onslaught of memories subsided, your hands met his- one still on your chest feeling your heartbeat, and the other slid partway into your hair- and all you could do was appreciate his presence.

You stared up at him. His face was different, but that intense look in his eyes was all the proof you needed that he was still the same man from all those years ago.

Tears beaded up in your eyes and quickly dripped down your cheeks. Crying had never been your thing in the past, but you didn't care to stuff the feelings down. Such a reunion was an occasion enough.

"My love," you whispered.

He leaned his forehead down to meet yours.

"My Queen."

[yeet-me-lol]

Oc Homicipher

🎩MR. GRIN 🎩

Mr. Grin is a tall ((370 cm)), shadowy entity with an unsettling permanent smile and pupil-less white eyes. Dressed in an old-fashioned suit and hat, his very presence terrifies humans and ghosts alike. He doesn’t need to speak or threaten, his eerie silence and looming figure are enough to make anyone freeze in fear.

He can phase through walls, ceilings, and floors, often appearing suddenly and without warning. When needed, black arms with unnaturally long fingers emerge from his form, reaching for anything,or anyone, he sets his focus on.

Despite his terrifying appearance, Mr. Grin is neutral by nature. He neither seeks to harm nor help others directly. However, if anyone dares threaten his hidden life source, a flickering flame hidden somewhere only he knows, they will meet a swift and merciless end.

Whether friend or foe, Mr. Grin exists as a being of shadows and silence, trapped between light and darkness, forever smiling.

🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻

Mr. Grin’s Personality:-

1. Eloquent and Intelligent

Mr. Grin is highly intelligent, speaking with a calm and refined tone in flawless English. His speech carries an air of sophistication, making him stand out from the other ghosts.When interacting with less articulate entities, he adapts, deliberately simplifying his language or speaking in “broken” English to ensure they understand.

2. Neutral and Observant

He doesn’t show strong emotions, instead observing situations with quiet curiosity. His permanent smile and unreadable demeanor make it hard to tell what he’s thinking.Mr. Grin rarely takes sides unless his own safety or hidden life source is involved.

3. Darkly Witty

Despite his unnerving presence, Mr. Grin has a dry, dark sense of humor. He often makes unsettling but clever remarks, leaving others unsure if he’s joking or serious.

4. Mysterious and Reserved

Mr. Grin doesn’t reveal much about himself. He answers questions vaguely, often changing the subject or replying with riddles.His reserved nature keeps everyone guessing, adding to his enigmatic aura.

5. Unpredictable Yet Polite

He’s polite, even when terrifying someone. For example, he might say “Pardon my intrusion” as he phases through a wall or ceiling.While he usually remains neutral, his actions can shift unexpectedly, leaving others uncertain of his true intentions.

6. Protective When Necessary

Though he doesn’t form attachments easily, Mr. Grin can be fiercely protective of those he chooses to care for, showing glimpses of loyalty beneath his eerie exterior. However, his methods of protection can be chilling—he won’t hesitate to use his black arms or towering presence to eliminate threats.

7. Pragmatic and Strategic

He approaches problems with logic and strategy, often outsmarting others rather than relying on brute force. His intelligence makes him a valuable ally—or a formidable enemy.

🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻🔻

His dialogue:-

He can actually speak fluent English but chooses to use bad English to blend in with the other ghosts. However, when he notices the Protagonist struggling to speak bad English to communicate with him, he finds it amusing and eventually switches to proper English. He even laughs at the Protagonist’s silly attempts at broken speech.

~Examples of his dialogue~

🎩-Talking About Himself:

“No. I. Am. Not. Here.”

“Me. Grin. You. Scared.”

“Walk. Walls. I. Do.”

“Quiet. Always. Quiet.”

🎩-Talking About Others:

“He. Fool. Always. Loud.”

“Ghosts. Dumb. Talk. Too. Much.”

“They. Fear. Me. Why? Look.”

“You. Weak. Run. Now.”

🎩-Reacting to the Protagonist:

“You. Not. Scared? Odd.”

“Stay. Here. You. Safe. Maybe.”

“Why. You. Talk. Me?”

“Run. Now. He. Comes.”

🎩-Warning or Threatening Others:

“Leave. Room. Now.”

“No. Fight. Me. Bad. Choice.”

“You. Gone. If. Try.”

“Light. I. Keep. Always.”

Okk. I think that's all. Have some this does i made, spoiler btw-