#ironically i wrote this instead of studying

[libraryofgage]

Good Vibrations Two

This AU got a lot more attention than I expected actually hfjdks I'm so glad everyone likes it!

Anyway, here's part two! We get some concert, some peeks at how Robin helps Steve navigate social situations, and a little Eddie having an itsy-bitsy crisis over Steve's fashion choices.

Have fun! And, as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't (especially for this one since I wrote most of it on my phone actually lmao)

----

Steve stares at the shirts laid out on his bed, arms crossed over his chest. Choosing jeans had been easy, but choosing a shirt is giving him trouble. What do you wear to a metal show at the local dive bar for a small-town band in which the lead singer is a long-time and way-out-of-your-league crush that you've been holding a candle for since the first time you saw him laugh on top of a cafeteria table?

You definitely don't show up in a plain black shirt, that's for sure.

The lights in the hall outside Steve's room flicker, switching off and on three times. Steve just barely notices, which means he doesn't get his pants scared off when Robin appears in the doorway, grinning at him while pocketing the key to the front door he'd given her months ago into a messenger bag. "Hey, dingus," she says, striding into the room and flopping onto the bed.

Steve rolls his eyes, yanking the shirts out from under her and laying them once more over Robin's stomach and legs. "What shirt should I wear?" he asks.

It takes a few seconds for Steve to look from the shirts to Robin, and she patiently waits until he's staring at her to say, "Just pick one. Nobody's gonna care what you're wearing."

"I care," Steve says, frowning as he looks back at the shirts. For the aforementioned crush reason, Steve cares very much about the shirt he wears. "What says 'Hi, we've never talked before but your music is the only thing I can hear and I think your hair is in desperate need of quality shampoo and also I've been halfway in love with you since, like, sophomore year'?"

Robin considers the question for a long moment before picking up a red sweater. "This one says 'I'm horny'," she offers.

Steve blinks, staring at the sweater for a few beats before laughing. "But I'm not," he says.

Despite looking at Robin, she happens to angle her head toward the sweater, and her response is lost on Steve. He frowns, waits until her jaw has stopped moving, and says, "I didn't get that."

After Robin first learned about Steve's deafness, he'd been overly anxious about asking her to repeat things. Somehow, it was worse to constantly ask when the person knew he couldn't hear well, if at all. But Robin had never shown annoyance; she'd just adjust her posture, make sure Steve could see her lips, and repeat her words. She does all of this now, and Steve gets to read her joking response, "Yeah, but you will be."

And, yeah, she has him there. Steve huffs and collapses onto the bed beside her, sacrificing the shirts. "I'll need a jacket," he says, turning his head to look at Robin so he can read her response.

Instead of words, though, he sees her face light up, and she jumps off the bed. Steve sits up, watching as she digs in her messenger bag before pulling out a t-shirt. "Remember when I stayed over a few weeks ago? And you let me borrow a shirt? You should wear it!"

Thankfully, Robin waits until she's done talking to throw the shirt in Steve's face. Honestly, he only understood a few words ("remember," "borrow," and "wear") but he's gathered enough context clues to get the gist of things.

He spreads the shirt out, humming at the Iron Maiden design. It's not one he wears often; for the most part, it's a shirt he wears on lazy days at home because of how soft it is. But as he's studying the design, Steve is suddenly hit with a stroke of pure genius.

He quickly changes into the shirt and then grabs a varsity jacket (not his letterman, but one he'd seen at the mall and bought on a whim because it used a nice shade of yellow) off his desk, tugging it on over the shirt but leaving it unbuttoned. After a few more seconds of digging around, he finds sneakers under the bed and tugs them on.

"Okay," he says, turning so Robin can see the outfit from every angle. He comes to a stop when he's facing her once more, hands buried in his jacket pockets, and asks, "What do you think? How's it look?"

"I think you'll give Eddie a crisis," Robin replies, wrinkling her nose at the varsity jacket. "Not, like, a bad one. But he'll probably ask where you got the shirt from."

Steve grins, thinking that sounds about perfect, and turns to study himself in the mirror. It's a surprisingly solid blend of metal and jock, and it makes him feel oddly confident, the same way he felt the first time he did his hair just right and everyone complimented it.

"Perfect," he decides. "Let's go."

----

The ride to the Hideout isn't exactly quiet, but it's not like Steve can talk and drive at the same time. So it's filled with music blasted as high as it can go on his car stereo, causing the whole vehicle to vibrate with each beat. When he finally turns the car off after parking, Robin grimaces as she rubs her ears.

She waits for Steve to be in front of her before saying, "We're putting the windows down next time."

"Oh. Sorry," Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly as Robin dismissively waves off his apology.

"No, it's fine, I'm just saying. Now, let's get inside before they start."

With that, she loops her arm through Steve's and drags him into the Hideout. They're hit with a wave of cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and sweat as they walk through the door, the combined smells making Steve dizzy. He frowns, leaning closer to Robin as she squeezes his arm. He feels her thumb tap him twice, their code for asking if the other is okay.

"I'm fine," he mumbles, nodding to a table in the corner. "Let's go sit. I just need to get used to...everything."

The lights are weird, too. Despite the place being dim, the few lights that are on are flickering, and Steve is having trouble processing all the new information his (working) senses are taking in.

Thankfully, Robin pulls him over to the table he pointed to, a small circle near a stage of dubious sturdiness. It looks like it can barely hold the instruments, much less those plus the people who will play them. There's an amp on the side of the stage near the table, which means they'll have the perfect spot to feel the music's vibrations. Steve slides into one of the chairs there and closes his eyes, resting his arms on a table that is surprisingly not sticky.

He feels Robin move the other chair next to him, slide in, and start pulling things out of her bag. When Steve opens his eyes again, there's a notebook between them and a variety of pens in all different colors spread out across the open pages. Robin has already picked up a red pen and is writing with it as Steve chooses a purple one.

When Robin is done writing, she taps the page so Steve can read, "Want something to drink?"

"I'm not sure we can trust the glasses here," he writes back.

"The fact you're calling them "glasses" tells me everything. Just sit tight."

With that, Robin drops her pen, winks at Steve, and heads over to the bar where a woman is wiping the counter. Steve watches her for a few seconds before looking around at the other people in the place. Most of them are sitting in groups, talking amongst themselves. Most of them also have mustaches or beards, making it downright impossible for Steve to read their lips.

Instead, Steve just gets a dull kind of rush in his ears, an ever-present background noise he can't escape. Soon enough, maybe because he's thinking about it too much, a high-pitched ringing starts up in his right ear, growing and growing in pitch until it's all he can focus on. Steve grimaces and looks down at the notebook, trying to keep his shoulders relaxed so he doesn't look as tense as he feels. The ringing persists, and he rubs his ear like that's going to help.

His ear is still ringing, though it has started to diminish, when a water bottle is placed in front of him. Steve jerks, forcing himself to calm down as Robin slides into her seat again with a mug of beer that's more foam than anything else. "They're about to start," she says, waiting until Steve has nodded once to show understanding before taking a sip.

Steve looks up at the stage and wonders how he missed Eddie and his friends arriving. As his friends are setting up behind him, Eddie is resting one hand on the neck of his guitar and using the other to hold the mic close to his mouth. Steve can't read his lips, but Eddie's grin is a little contagious as he says something to a guy by the bar. The guy must say something back, because Eddie bursts out laughing, his head thrown back to show off a neck Steve wants to bite.

A tap on his arm brings his attention away, and he looks at the notebook to see Robin has scrawled out a transcript:

"Eddie: Thanks for coming out tonight, everyone

Guy: Fuck off, Munson

Eddie: Love you, too, Jeremy"

Steve snorts, looking up to see Robin's equally amused smile as she continues to write on another page. When he glances at the stage, Steve sees Eddie still talking into the mic, his eyes roaming over the audience until they reach Steve and Robin. Eddie seems to grip the mic tighter, and he holds Steve's eyes for a few seconds, giving just enough time for Steve to wave awkwardly before Eddie looks away. But his smile seems a little bigger than before, and Steve is happy to let himself think he caused it.

When he looks down again, Robin has finished writing, and she nudges the notebook closer to him. Eddie must talk fast, because her writing is almost indistinguishable from chicken scratch in dirt that a cat got dragged through. Thankfully, Steve is an expert at this point.

"Eddie: Anyway, you know the drill. We'll start with some Metallica, treat you to Iron Maiden, throw in a dash of Black Sabbath, and then grace you with a Corroded Coffin original. If you don't like it, not my problem."

Steve feels the beginning of the set as he finishes reading. He sits a little straighter, planting his feet firmly on the floor and placing his palms on the table with his fingers spread. Robin is still writing next to him, most likely transcribing the bits and pieces of conversation she can hear for Steve to read later and laugh at. She doesn't try to get his attention while she does, already knowing it won't be worth it after Steve has shifted into Music Mode.

In the same way that people can tell what song is playing based simply on the first note, Steve can sometimes tell based on the strength and length of the first vibration. In the same way people know the lyrics of songs after listening to them enough times, Steve knows the vibration patterns like the back of his hand. In the same way people who hear their favorite songs played live can tell when a note is wrong or a lyric is sung too fast, Steve can tell when the drummer or bassist makes tiny mistakes that wouldn't be caught otherwise.

And Steve loves it. He loves how his entire body thrums with each vibration that travels from the amp. He loves how he can close his eyes and picture a story based on the music, one that probably doesn't match the lyrics but tends to replace them in his heart. He loves that this is something he can still share with his friends, even if most of them don't realize how different his experience with music is.

So, for all the little bumps and dips that occur in the vibrations as Corroded Coffin plays, for all the tiny slips that certainly go unnoticed by anyone else, and for all the fact that Steve doesn't get to hear Eddie's voice, he can confidently say he loves the show. He's never heard the songs played like this before, and it helps diminish the gut-deep desperation for new music.

And then Corroded Coffin starts a new song. It's one Steve doesn't recognize, one with vibrations that are completely foreign to him, and he jerks his head up to watch Eddie play his guitar in an opening solo. It thrums across the floor, climbing up his legs and spreading in waves from his palms on the table. Steve feels goosebumps chase after it, a new wave washing over him when the guitar solo ends with a particularly strong vibration that's immediately followed by the drums and bass.

Eddie throws himself into the music, moving and twisting and strutting around the stage like he's playing to Madison Square Garden. Steve can't look away, the lyrics incomprehensible but replaced by the jerk of Eddie's hips and the tilt of his head and the little half-spin he does on his heel.

It ends too quickly with one final, reverberating strum that lingers in Steve's bones, burrowing into his marrows as Eddie pushes his hair back and grins into the mic. He says something breathlessly, his shoulders rising and falling rapidly as he tries to catch his breath, and Steve knows he's gone.

He's hopeless.

He's desperate.

He needs more Corroded Coffin, more Eddie, in whatever form he can get.

----

For the first time, Corroded Coffin gets genuine applause after playing. Usually, the patrons of the Hideout will politely clap (if they even notice the set is over) for about two seconds. Tonight, however, Eddie and his friends are graced with excited clapping, a few shouts, and one very strong whistle from a small table to the left of the stage. And it spreads because even rough biker dudes can fall to peer pressure when it's that enthusiastic.

So, yeah, genuine applause all because of Steve Harrington and Robin Buckley who, Eddie thinks, is surprising company for the former King of Hawkins High. No matter how unexpected, he should still thank them and ask what they thought of the set now that it's over. He carefully sets his guitar on a stand and glances over his shoulder, catching Jeff's gaze and flashing a grin. "I'll be right back," he says before jumping off the stage and heading over to Steve and Robin's table.

As he gets closer, he notices the notebook and pens spread out, colorful writing filling the pages and Steve grinning with amusement as he reads it. Robin is watching him like she's waiting for him to understand an inside joke already so they can laugh about it together. If Eddie didn't already know Robin was like him (band camp, summer after his junior year, during an unfortunate game of Seven Minutes in Heaven where they awkwardly stood in a closet together before Robin commented on his black bandana), he'd wonder if something was going on between them.

"How'd you like the set?" Eddie asks when he reaches the table, suddenly nervous enough to tug on a lock of his hair and pull it in front of his mouth.

Robin looks up, but Steve doesn't. He's still reading the notebook, snorting at whatever is written there like he didn't hear Eddie. It's not until Robin elbows him that he raises his head, eyes widening when he sees Eddie. "Sorry, could you repeat that?" Steve asks, his gaze dropping to Eddie's mouth (Eddie definitely isn't imagining that) and faltering some.

"I asked if you liked the set," Eddie says, frowning slightly as Robin grabs a pen and scribbles something on the notebook. It's too small for him to read, but he doesn't miss how Steve glances down for less than a second before his eyes light up with realization.

"Oh!" he says, looking back at Eddie and flashing a charming grin. "It was great. You guys are so loud, and I've never f-uh, heard anything like your original song before."

Eddie catches the way Steve fumbles, faltering like he wanted to say one word but forced himself to say another. Something is tugging at the back of Eddie's mind, but he can't quite grab onto it just yet. For now, he leans forward, placing both hands on the table so he can be closer to Steve. "You listen to metal often, Harrington?" he asks.

Steve stares at his mouth for a few seconds before nodding, and Eddie feels the thrill of learning something completely unexpected. "I like Black Sabbath best, but Judas Priest and Guns N' Roses are close seconds," Steve says.

"Yeah?" Eddie asks, "What do you like most about it?" He wants to know. Does Steve Harrington (King Steve, Steve "The Hair" Harrington, Steve fucking Harrington) like metal for the same reasons he does? Does he like the stories and the passion and the heavy theatricality of it all?

Steve seems to hesitate, possibly thinking about how to answer, before finally saying, "I like how it's music I can feel. When I listen to metal, it digs into my bones. Other music doesn't."

Somehow, Eddie's grin gets impossibly wider, and his cheeks are hurting from the sheer force of it. He's about to say more when Robin glances at the clock and swears under her breath. "Shit, I promised Mom I'd be home ten minutes ago," she says, grabbing the pens and recklessly throwing them into her bag.

It's the movement that seems to catch Steve's attention, and he looks down at Robin's hands before looking up at the clock. "Oh, fuck, your curfew," he says, looking at Robin like she hadn't just said the same thing two seconds ago.

"Yeah, no shit, dingus," Robin says, pausing long enough to speak while looking straight at Steve before throwing the notebook into her bag, too. She jumps to her feet and hauls Steve out of the chair, making his varsity jacket fall open to reveal an Iron Maiden shirt.

And Eddie thinks his heart just about stops. He doesn't know why, but seeing Steve in a metal band shirt under an undeniably jock jacket makes him feel....something. This is, like, sacrilege, right? How dare Steve Harrington allow Metal and Jock to meet? Doesn't he know the two styles clash? Or, well, they're supposed to clash, but Steve somehow wears them well, and Eddie thinks he's upset and annoyed by the fact.

Before Eddie can analyze that feeling, Steve says, "Sorry to run, Eddie. You played really well. Let me know when the next show is."

There's a lot to unpack there, too. Steve Harrington wants to come to another Corroded Coffin gig. Steve Harrington is sorry he has to cut the conversation short. Steve Harrington thinks his band played really well. Before Eddie can say anything in response, Robin is dragging Steve away, throwing a goodbye over her shoulder.

Eddie doesn't want Steve to go without something, though, some kind of departing word, so he shouts, "See ya later, big boy!"

Steve doesn't look back, but Robin nearly trips over the doorway. She then pauses long enough to say something to Steve, watching with sheer delight as he splutters and glances at Eddie before dragging her through the door. Eddie couldn't stop the grin if he tried, and he didn't try.

Later, when Eddie is sprawled on the floor of his room, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about Steve's stupid combination of Metal and Jock, he'll be struck by a sudden, consuming thought. What if Steve was wearing just the Iron Maiden shirt? What if he wore just the jacket?

Eddie swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, his mouth going dry as he scrambles to his feet and gets ready to take a very, very cold shower.

----

Tag List (the tag list is completely filled up! There definitely wasn't enough room for everyone who requested a tag orz

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[ellecdc]

part II - Pretty Woman

slow burn poly!wolfstar Pretty Woman (1990) au: established wolfstar, escort!reader, side jegulily, eventual dorlene, political heist-type situation, depictions and descriptions of sex-work

I // II

CW: financial insecurity, Sirius money-is-no-object Black, sugar babe vibes, brief mention of Black family [3.1k words]

link to series masterlist

The words on the page before you began to blur and melt as you watched the way the shadows of the leaves danced across them; the canopy of trees above your fire-escape-turned-balcony swaying in the gentle breeze and providing you with broken bits of shade. 

You almost laughed that out of the two documents Sirius had sent you home with, the legal NDA was rather easy to read through and already signed, sitting safely on your bedside table for your next meeting. 

You were having a harder time with the second document; one that you were supposed to replicate for him.

‘About Me’ it read. And it was - about Sirius, that is. Everything that a long-term girlfriend soon-to-be fiance hopefully one day wife should know.

His favourite colour is black, but there was someone else's font beside it that read “this doesn’t count, Sirius”, to which what you could only assume was Sirius’ scrawl wrote “bloody hell, fine, blue then.” His birthday is November 3rd. He’s a dog person, but Remus likes cats so he thinks he’ll likely have to cave one day and get him a cat. That note made you smile. He wanted to study art history (someone wrote the word ‘nerd’ beside that) but his parents didn’t approve, so he studied architectural design instead. He listed the Godfather as his favourite movie, but when someone wrote ‘liar’ he wrote ‘FINE. It's the 1999 made for TV version of Annie with Kathy Bates’. He’s afraid of spiders, he drinks both his coffee and tea sickly sweet - his favourite drink being a salted caramel latte, he played rugby with James growing up but quit when he decided he didn’t actually like being beaten about for sport. He left out the ‘when I was already being beaten about at home’, but you read it for what it was anyway. He can play piano but hates it, he can play the guitar less well but loves it. He’s littered in tattoos, most can be hidden under dress shirts and such, but there’s one that trails just a little too high up on his neck and a few on his hands. His favourite meal is Remus’ mum’s shepherd's pie, but the Ritz room service always made a really good baked mac and cheese.

You snorted as you threw your head back against the railing behind you - your bum growing numb from sitting on the wrought-iron bars of the fire escape - at the thought of Sirius Black sitting in a premium suite in one of the world’s poshest hotels and ordering macaroni and cheese to his room from a michelin star restaurant. 

What the fuck have I gotten myself into? You wondered wryly as you stood and forced the jammed window to your bedroom back open and crawled through. 

Sirius had offered to pick you up, but you had insisted you would meet him at the mall. Well, actually, Sirius had first offered to transfer you some money to buy a cocktail dress for dinner at his Uncle Alphard’s tomorrow night, but when you’d gone so quiet on the phone that Sirius actually pulled it away from his face to ensure the two of you were still connected, he’d offered to take you instead. 

The dinner at Alphard’s would be a good segway into the Black family nonsense; Alphard’s house would be neutral territory, his parents and other aunts and uncles would be there, but it wouldn’t be their domain. And there would also be Andromeda, her husband Ted, and of course Uncle Alphard to act as buffers.

But that’s not what had Sirius feeling so uncharacteristically nervous right now. He felt silly, sitting here at the Starbucks with sweaty hands as he considered buying a second latte. 

Yeah, he thought wryly, that’s exactly what you need - more caffeine, as if you aren’t already shaky enough. 

Sirius hadn’t felt this anxious since he’d asked Remus out on an actual date back in school. He supposed in many ways, this was a first date of sorts. A first date with the woman who was going to help him bring down his family and all the hate they stood for, with the woman who was going to be accompanying him to events with some of the worst people he knew, the woman who he was going to propose to, who he’d have to bloody marry at some point; blimey what did he get himself into? 

Thankfully you chose that moment to show up, saving Sirius from any further spiralling as he stood so quickly that he almost knocked the small bistro table clean over. 

“Hullo! Fuckin’ hell. Hi!” He stuttered awkwardly as he caught the table and righted his nearly finished coffee.

“Hi.” You murmured softly with a matching smile.

“Hi.” Sirius said again, wiping his hands on his trousers and smiling back at you. 

“Hi.” You repeated; smile growing into a cheekier smirk as you watched him botch this. 

“Great, awesome.” Sirius said with a smile. “You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you.” You laughed.

“Oh, and now you’re lying to me.”

You shook your head and looked down at your feet. Sirius wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting when he hired an escort, but he found he was surprised by how plain a lot of your wardrobe seemed to be. Granted he had only met you twice, but from those two times it had become clear to him that when you weren’t working, you preferred to be nondescript. Classic tees, shirts, and blouses, and denim or, in today’s case, corduroys; you looked vintage and casual, put together in a way without looking like you tried too hard. Though, once again, you were only as nondescript as any pretty woman could be, and he was sure that anyone even remotely attracted to women would absolutely spare you a second glance - corduroys or otherwise. 

But he couldn’t help but admit - at least to himself -  that he was a little bit excited at the prospect of getting to dress you up. 

“Are you- do you want a drink?” Sirius asked as he gestured towards the Starbucks behind him, nearly taking out an errant shopper with his hand causing him to have to call out a hasty apology. 

“Oh, uhm, no, no. I’m good, thank you though.” You declined quickly as you hiked your purse further up on your shoulder, though you were eyeing the store with intrigue.

Ah, Sirius thought to himself, allergic to spending money - I know a thing or two about your type. 

“Listen, gorgeous, we’re going to be spending a lot of money today, so you’d be better to start with something small to ease yourself into it.” He quipped.

He’d been going for light and breezy - even shooting you a cheeky wink - but you seemed to blanche at that. 

“I’m… I don’t have much on me, Sirius…” You started, and Sirius fought the urge to wince at his faux pas.

“My money, doll; we’re going to be spending a lot of my money.” 

“I-”

“It’s number six.”

You turned away from the coffee shop to look at him in bemusement. “What?”

“Number six, how you take your tea and coffee; your favourite drink.” He explained. “Mine’s a salted caramel latte. What’s yours?” 

You took a deep breath as you searched his eyes for a few moments before turning back towards the drink menu. “Are you getting something?”

“I was considering getting a second.” Sirius allowed as he nodded towards his forgotten cup.

“I’ll get it, then.” You offered, and made your way into the shop before Sirius could even respond, returning a few moments later with a salted caramel latte for Sirius and some kind of sweet looking cold brew for yourself. 

“Thank you.” He offered as he accepted the drink from your grasp; your name scrawled prettily on the side of the cup. 

“Don’t mention it.” You whispered back as you took a sip of your own.

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

“What about this one?” Sirius asked for what had to have been the thirteenth time in this store alone as he held up a garment for you to consider. 

You barely spared the dress a half a glance before you were reaching to the sleeve - not coincidentally where the price tag was.

“Would you stop checking the price?” He hissed as he gently swatted your hand away. “Do you like this dress?” 

You made a helpless sound in the back of your throat as you looked between him and the dress again. “I don’t know, Sirius, I- it’s not something I’d ever buy for myself.”

Sirius sighed as he returned the dress to the rack and gave you a Look™. “I do not mean any offence, doll, but I think that’s sort of the point.” He offered softly.

You groaned miserably and cradled your face in your hands. “I’m sorry - I’m being terribly difficult.” 

“You’re not being terribly difficult.” Sirius appeased, waiting for you to peek at him through your fingers. “Only mildly.”

You groaned again but allowed your hands to fall away from your face to land on your hips as you considered the rack in front of you. Your bottom lip dimpled as if you were chewing on the inside of your lip as you turned to a rack behind you that the two of you (read: Sirius) had been looking through moments ago and sifted through it again.  

“That would be a nice colour on you.” He offered as you paused on a dress. You kept your face pointed towards the dress but looked up at him through your eyelashes before pulling the dress out and holding it up against him.

“Now, I don’t know what you think you know about my family, but generally, I save my dress wearing for when I’m in the privacy of my own home or at a very specific bar.”

Sirius watched as your nose crinkled before you were dropping the garment and lowering your chin to your chest in an attempt to hide your snickering; Sirius momentarily wished you wouldn’t. 

“I didn’t mean for you,” you chided through a giggle as you held the dress back up against him; he didn’t argue this time, “I was checking to see if the colour looks good on you as well.”

Sirius found his cheeks flaming hot as the question ‘and does it?’ settled on the tip of his tongue. But, like the fucking prat he is, all he managed to spit out was “of course it does, I look good in everything.” 

You rolled your eyes good naturedly and muttered something that sounded an awful lot like ‘git’  under your breath before nodding once. “I think I’ll get this one, then.”

“Great job.” He said as he swiped the dress from you and folded it over his arm. “Now pick three more and then we can head to the next store.”

“Thre- next store? Sirius, I-”

“I told you we were spending a lot of money today, Y/N, I meant it.” He said simply as he encouraged you forward by the small of your back. You sounded as though you were going to say something but acquiesced when he patted your hip twice before pulling his hand away from you. 

“You don’t wear a lot of colour, I’ve noticed.” Sirius offered, swinging the bags he was carrying casually in his hands as the two of you slowly made your way through the mall after purchasing shoes ‘to go with the dresses, doll’ and even some sodding bags ‘think of it as an investment, gorgeous; you’re an employee, and working for me comes with a uniform. I’m providing you with a uniform’. 

You looked at him sideways as you continued walking, trying to ignore the feeling of everyone doing double takes to see a girl looking so plain with designer bags in her hands and a certified adonis by her side. If he hadn’t told you his favourite colour was black, you would have guessed as much just from the sheer amount of it he wore. But whereas you wore a fair amount of black in an attempt to disappear - to blend in - he seemed to do it to make his own statement; it stood out in stark contrast against his fair skin, and depending on what he was wearing, complimented his many (visible) tattoos nicely. It also left his eyes - a grey blue - appearing that much more brilliantly bright and striking.

All this to say, he wasn’t one to talk.

“No…” You allowed. “Neither do you, though.”

“Touche.” He offered you with a wink - or, what you were sure was a wink - behind his sunglasses as the window-pane roof let in an unusual amount of sunlight for this time of year in the UK. “Why don’t you, though?”

You sighed as you stepped onto the escalator going down and redistributed your bags in your hands instead of answering right away. “I get looked at more than I’d like to already.” You admitted quietly. “I… I get enough attention, I don’t need to garner any more.”

You weren’t looking at Sirius but you could feel his gaze on you before he nodded his head in your periphery. “I get that, I think. Growing up in a political family came with a lot of attention. Then being the runaway, then playing the poster child again.”

You hummed an acknowledgement. “You seem to lean into it, though?” You hadn’t meant it to be offensive, but when Sirius’ mouth opened in a disbelieving laugh, your stomach dropped. “Not- no, I’m- that’s not what I-”

“Relax, babe. I get it.” He waved you off as the two of you stepped off the escalator. “It’s true; I always sort of figured, they’re looking at me anyways, you know? Might as well give them something to talk about.”

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence after that, only breaking it to apologise when one of you brushed against the other with one of the many bags adorning your hands.

“Where’d you park?” Sirius asked as the two of you stepped out into the daylight. Fuck, you hadn’t thought this through.

You were expecting to shop for maybe one dress for tomorrow’s dinner, and you were planning to shove the garment into your purse for the train ride back home. There was simply no way you could manage public transport with this many bags, and the chances of you being mugged on your way increased significantly for every designer bag you had. 

You wondered if the clothes would even be safe in your flat at all, knowing the only locks that you trusted were the chain bolted to the front door that you installed yourself, and the piece of wood you jammed in your window at the fire escape so no one could open it from the outside. 

“Y/N?”

“No. Uhm, sorry.” You started, looking towards Sirius but not necessarily at him. “Actually, I’m- well, do you think I could keep them at your place? I…I don’t- I don’t necessarily want my neighbours knowing I have this kind of stuff in my flat.”

Sirius’ eyes softened and you felt a little guilty at the half truth, but soldiered on. “I’d just hate to come home from work one day to find it all missing, you know?” You tried to joke. 

You swore Sirius’ mouth pinched slightly before he schooled his expression and redistributed the bags he was currently holding into one hand and held out his free one to take yours. 

“Oh! I could help-”

“That’s alright, doll, I’ve got it.” He said as he relinquished your bags from you. “Tomorrow, then? I assume you’ll be getting ready at my place? Do you want a ride?”

“No! No, that’s alright, I’ll meet you there if you just want to send me your address.” 

The two of you said goodbye and you watched Sirius walk through the car park until he disappeared behind a row of vehicles, and you stepped back into the mall to wait for the next train that didn’t come for another 45 minutes. 

Sirius let out a breath as he closed the door to his and Remus’ townhouse behind him; the sounds of the London streets melting away to the odd honk or occasional car door closing as he began searching their home.

He needn’t search long, however, finding Remus exactly where he knew he would be.

”Did’ya have a good day?” Remus asked without looking up from the potatoes he was peeling, though he did turn his face slightly to reciprocate the kiss Sirius pressed to his cheek. 

“Yeah, not bad.” Sirius agreed in an exhale as he disposed of the many shopping bags onto the kitchen island.

Remus opened his mouth as he turned - no doubt about to scold Sirius for messing up his clean kitchen - when his face pinched in confusion.

”I thought you were going shopping for Y/N?” 

“We did.”

”Sirius!”

”Remus.” Sirius shot back as he made himself comfortable on one of the high stools.

”You’re going to scare her away.” Remus muttered as he washed and dried his hands before coming over to peek inside of the bags, pulling the documents you had returned to Sirius out of one of them. 

“She was much more tolerable than you were when I first took you shopping.” 

Remus shot him an unimpressed glare though he didn’t bother gracing him with a response as he leaned back against the counter and flipped through the pages in his hands. “Why didn’t she take any of this with her?” He asked as he motioned to the bags now littering his kitchen island.

Sirius felt his own mouth pinch in displeasure as he recounted your reasoning. “She said she was worried her neighbours would see - didn’t want anyone to know she had anything of value in her flat.”

Remus made a sympathetic hum as Sirius pondered what it was exactly about that sentiment that left such a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Sounds like my flat back on 31st.” 

Sirius groaned at the memory of Remus’ flat he had back in university. Sirius had spent the first eight months of his and Remus’ relationship begging him to move in with him and James; he’d already spent most nights there in Sirius’ bed anyways! But Remus was proud and argued with Sirius when he said as much.

”I hated when you lived there.” He grumbled, and Sirius pretended not to notice Remus’ eyebrow lift as he considered him. 

“Yeah?” He asked as he turned back towards his potatoes with a muted grin. “So did I.” 

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Yvonne De Carlo (Frontier Gal, The Ten Commandments, Casbah)— Although most famous for playing Lily Munster in The Munsters, Yvonne De Carlo had a successful movie career throughout the 1940s and 1950s, appearing in such films as “The Ten Commandments”, “Sea Devils” and two Munster movies later in life.

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]

Yvonne de Carlo:

The woman who brought Burt Lancaster to his knees.

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

Linked gifset 2

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

[mononijikayu]

cantarella — gojo satoru.

“Satoru.” you called softly, holding up the flower crown you had made. It was a simple creation, woven from a mix of daisies, buttercups, and clover. The flowers were arranged in a delicate, colorful circle, their petals still fresh and dewy from the morning sun. He looked up from his sketchpad, his expression as indifferent as ever, but a hint of curiosity sparkled in his eyes. “What’s that?” he asked, his tone more inquisitive than dismissive. You knelt beside him, holding the flower crown out. “It’s a gift for you.” you said cheerfully. “I made it just for you. I thought you might like to wear it.”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Nobility;

WARNING/s: Angst, Not Safe For Work (NSFW), Dark Fic, Yandere! Gojo, Toxic One-Sided Romance, One-Sided Incest, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Incest, Hurt/ No Comfort, Character Death, Grief, Mention of Depression, Mention of Mourning, Depiction of Physical Touch, Depiction of Mental Anguish, Depiction of Violence, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Harm, Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining, Please Save Reader;

WORDS: 11k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was inspired by this version of cantarella by kaito and miku i watched a long long time ago. i remembered about this notes i had about it while sitting and studying for uni. and i wrote it sitting down instead of reading more because inspiration came to me. i hope you enjoy it, even though its a dark fic!!! i love you all <3

main masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 1000;

if you want to, tip! <3

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YOU WERE FREE, YOU THINK. As the heavy iron gates of the convent swung open, the world outside flooded your senses, a stark contrast to the cloistered life you’d led for years.

The scent of damp earth and blooming flowers replaced the cold, sterile air of the convent, while the distant hum of life—a world you had been shielded from—pressed in on you. Your eyes blinked against the sudden brightness, the light almost painful after so many years of darkness.

The distant memories of your parents’ tragic deaths haunted you, lingering like a dark cloud over your soul. Their faces were blurred now, softened by time but not forgotten.

The whispers of their absence were loudest in your heart, a constant reminder of the life that had been ripped away from you. Grief had been your only companion, even more than the nuns who had raised you, and now it threatened to drown you as you took your first steps into the world beyond those gates.

Now, as the newly orphaned Duchess, the title weighed heavily on your shoulders, burdened with expectations you weren’t sure you could fulfill. The responsibilities that came with it loomed over you, a shadow of the future that awaited. You had been a child when the world had last known you, but now, the world demanded more—a woman, a Duchess, a leader.

You stepped out into the open, the gravel crunching beneath your feet as the cold wind whispered through the barren trees. The carriage waited in silence, an imposing reminder of the life you were about to inherit—a life you had never asked for. The estate loomed in the distance, its shadowy silhouette framed against a darkening sky.

It was supposed to be home, a sanctuary, yet it felt nothing like it. The sprawling lands, the echoing halls, and the faceless people who would serve you—they were yours now, or so everyone insisted. But as you stood there, shivering in the twilight, you couldn't help but wonder what "yours" truly meant.

Was it the title bestowed upon you, heavy and hollow, that now defined your existence? Or was it the legacy that clung to your name, a legacy built on the sacrifices and sorrows of those who came before?

Perhaps it was the past, a mosaic of memories and losses that had shaped you, leaving cracks in your heart that would never fully heal. And now, as you faced the uncertain road ahead, you realized that your future, too, was bound by these invisible chains. A future where each step would be weighed down by duty, expectation, and the inescapable fear of the unknown.

But despite the fear gnawing at your resolve, despite the weight of the unknown pressing down on your shoulders, you knew there was no turning back. The world outside the convent walls, a world you had once seen only in fleeting dreams, had now become your reality.

A reality where your choices—or lack thereof—would define not just your life, but the lives of those who depended on you. And so, with a heart heavy with dread and determination, you took a deep breath and stepped forward. Ready or not, you had to face it.

The carriage stood before you like a silent sentinel, its dark velvet interior offering little in the way of comfort. The family crest, meticulously embossed on its side, glinted ominously in the fading light, a stark reminder of the bloodline that bound you to this life.

As you approached, the driver, a man of few words and fewer expressions, gave a brief nod, his face as unreadable as the future that awaited you. There was no comfort to be found in his gaze, only the cold efficiency of someone accustomed to serving the powerful.

Climbing into the carriage, you felt the chill of the autumn air seep into your bones, mingling with the dread that clung to your skin. The unfamiliar path ahead stretched out before you, winding through forests and fields that you barely remembered.

Every jolt of the carriage wheels against the rough terrain seemed to echo the uncertainty within you, the sense of being unmoored from everything you once knew. Yet, despite the fear that tightened your chest, a quiet resolve began to build within you. The path was dark, and the journey would be long, but it was yours to take.

As the carriage began to move, you allowed yourself one last glance at the world you were leaving behind. The convent, with its high walls and serene silence, had been a place of refuge, but it was also a cage—one that you had outgrown. The life ahead, with all its unknowns, was daunting, but it was also a chance to carve out a new destiny, one that was truly your own.

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YOU WERE FINALLY HERE. Days had passed before the carriage finally came to a halt. The endless journey had given you time to think, to imagine what awaited you, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality.

The estate loomed large and imposing before you, a testament to the power and wealth that now rested on your shoulders. But it was not the grandeur of the estate that caught your attention as you stepped down from the carriage—it was the man who stood waiting.

Gojo Satoru. Your cousin. The only family you had left.

You had heard of him in whispers and letters, the distant cousin who had managed your affairs while you grew up behind convent walls. The cousin who had wanted to raise you himself but had been overruled by those who deemed it more proper for a young duchess to be sheltered and shaped by the church. A cousin who had become a stranger over the years.

But now, standing before him, you saw just how much he had changed. He had grown handsome, undeniably so. Tall and broad-shouldered, his presence was commanding, his silver hair catching the last rays of the setting sun, giving him an almost ethereal glow.

The dark glasses he wore only added to the air of mystery, concealing his eyes and leaving you to wonder what lay behind them. His lips curled into a smile that was anything but comforting. It was a smile that promised more than a simple welcome; it promised possession.

You were drawn to him, as you had been as a child. The way he moved, the way he spoke—it was as if the world bent to his will. But now, as a woman, you saw the darkness in his gaze, the twisted hunger that had taken root in his heart over the years.

"Cousin." he murmured, his voice smooth and sickly sweet, as if every word was coated in honey, "it’s been too long."

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself in his overwhelming presence. "It has, Satoru. I... hardly recognized you."

His smile widened, a flash of white teeth that made your heart skip a beat. "And I, you. But then, how could I recognize someone I’ve only known through letters and rumors? Yet here you are, in the flesh, finally free from those cold walls."

There was something in his tone that made you uneasy, a sharp edge beneath the politeness. "Yes, finally," you replied, your voice quieter than you intended. "Thank you for... taking care of everything while I was away. It must have been a burden."

"Burden?" He chuckled softly, the sound rich and unsettling. "Not at all, my dear. It was a pleasure, truly. I did what any family would do—protect what is ours, and ensure it would be ready for your return.”

“Then…Then, I thank you, cousin.”

Though…." he paused, his gaze lingering on you, "I must admit, I didn’t expect you to have grown into such a… lovely woman."

The way he said it made your skin prickle. There was no mistaking the intent in his words, the way his eyes, hidden though they were, seemed to strip you bare. You took a small step back, trying to reclaim some sense of control.

"I suppose we’ve both changed," you said, keeping your voice as steady as possible. "But we’re still family, Satoru. I hope we can... get to know each other again."

"Indeed," he replied, his voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone. "Family is everything, after all. And now that you’re here, we can finally be together, as we were always meant to be."

The way he said it sent a chill down your spine. There was something more in his words, something that hinted at a deeper, more dangerous desire. You forced a smile, hoping to mask your unease. "Yes, together. It’s been so long, after all."

He stepped closer, closing the small distance you had created. "Too long, cousin. But now that you’re back, I intend to make up for all the lost time. You and I… we have so much to catch up on."

The finality in his tone left little room for argument, and as he offered his arm to lead you inside, you had no choice but to take it, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his sleeve. His grip was firm, almost possessive, as he guided you through the grand doors of the estate that would now be your home.

But as you crossed the threshold, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into something far more dangerous than you had ever imagined. And that the cousin who walked beside you was not just your protector, but something far darker, something you were not sure you could escape.

The estate he led you to was vast, cold, and eerily silent. Each step echoed through the corridors, the sound bouncing off the stone walls that seemed to close in on you with every passing moment. It was a place meant to impress, to awe with its sheer size and grandeur, but all it inspired in you was a deep sense of unease. The shadows seemed longer here, the light dimmer, as if the house itself had secrets it was unwilling to reveal.

Gojo’s hand hovered just above your lower back, never quite touching, but close enough to make you acutely aware of his presence. It was a silent assertion of control, a reminder that he was guiding you, that you were under his protection—or perhaps his possession. The gesture felt more like a threat than a comfort, his proximity sending a shiver down your spine.

As you walked, you noticed the servants—silent, spectral figures who moved quickly to avoid your gaze. Their eyes darted away whenever they saw the two of you, averted as if they knew something you did not, as if they feared something you were only beginning to sense. They kept their distance, and when they spoke, it was in hushed tones, their whispers carried away by the drafty corridors, lost in the vastness of the estate.

The grand halls, adorned with portraits of ancestors long gone, felt more like a mausoleum than a home. The faces in the paintings seemed to watch you with disapproval, their cold eyes following your every move, judging you, questioning your right to be here.

The air was thick with history, but it was a history that felt oppressive, as though the very stones of the house were weighed down by the sins and secrets of those who had lived here before.

Gojo’s voice broke the silence, low and almost conspiratorial. “It’s been a long time since these halls have seen life,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of something unspoken. “I’m afraid the estate has grown as cold as its master in your absence.”

You forced a smile, trying to shake off the unease that clung to you like a second skin. “It’s... it’s very grand,” you replied, struggling to find the right words. “I suppose it will take some getting used to.”

He chuckled softly, the sound devoid of real warmth. “Grand, yes. But it is a lonely place, cousin. One grows accustomed to the silence, to the emptiness, but I’ve always thought it would be different with you here.”

The way he said it made your skin crawl. There was something too intimate in his words, something that suggested his desire for you went far beyond familial affection. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, but his expression was unreadable behind those dark glasses, his lips curled into that same unsettling smile.

“You’ve taken such good care of everything,” you said, trying to steer the conversation to safer ground. “I’m grateful, truly. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

His smile widened, but there was no joy in it, only something dark and possessive. “There’s no need for repayment,” he murmured, his voice dipping into a more dangerous register. “You’re here now, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. We’re family, after all.”

Family. The word echoed in your mind, but it felt hollow, like a cage closing in around you. The estate, the title, the wealth—it was all yours, but at what cost? And as Gojo led you deeper into the heart of the mansion, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being led into something far darker, something that would be much harder to escape.

At last, you reached what appeared to be a sitting room, the heavy doors creaking as Gojo pushed them open. The room was dimly lit, a fire crackling weakly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The furniture was old but well-kept, the upholstery dark and rich, but it did little to warm the cold atmosphere of the room.

“This will be your sanctuary,” Gojo said, guiding you inside. “A place to rest, to think, to remember that this is your home now.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words. As you looked around, the reality of your situation began to sink in. This was your home, your life now. But the estate that should have been a sanctuary felt more like a prison, and the man who should have been your protector felt more like a captor.

“I’ll leave you to get settled, cousin.” Gojo said, finally stepping back, though his presence lingered in the room long after he had left. “But don’t be a stranger, cousin. We have much to discuss, and I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

As the door closed behind him, the silence of the room enveloped you, cold and suffocating. You were alone now, but the shadow of Gojo’s presence lingered, and you knew that this was only the beginning.

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YOU WERE THE CENTER OF THE WORLD. Or at least that’s what Satoru had said when he told you that society celebrated your return with much joy.  A ball was to take place in your honor, a grand affair meant to celebrate your return to the echelons of noble society.

The thought of it filled you with a mix of excitement and dread. After years of isolation, the idea of stepping into a room filled with the most powerful and influential members of the ton was daunting. You could already hear the whispers, feel the weight of their expectations. 

Your reflection in the mirror stared back at you, a stranger dressed in silks and jewels. The gown you wore was exquisite, a deep sapphire that brought out the color of your eyes, the neckline adorned with pearls that once belonged to your mother. But despite the finery, you couldn’t help but feel exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t since leaving the convent.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts, and before you could respond, Satoru entered the room. He moved with an easy grace, his presence commanding and almost overwhelming. Dressed in a tailored black suit that accentuated his broad shoulders and tall frame, he was every bit the image of a duke, a man who could have anything and anyone he desired.

His eyes, hidden behind those dark glasses, seemed to pierce through you as he approached. “Nervous, cousin?” he asked, his voice smooth and laced with amusement.

You tried to smile, but it felt forced. But you could not help it, to be this nervous. To feel like you were going to vomit and find yourself in fright. This was your social debut, after being far away from your kind for so long.

“A little.” you admitted, your hands twisting together in your lap. “I haven’t been to a ball since I was a child. I don’t even know how to behave anymore.”

Satoru’s smile was gentle, but there was that ever-present edge to it, a darkness that lingered just beneath the surface. He stepped closer, taking one of your hands in his. His touch was warm, firm, and it steadied you, even as your heart raced beneath your chest.

“Don’t be.” he murmured, lifting your hand to his lips. He pressed a kiss to the back of it, the gesture both tender and possessive. “None can rival your beauty, or your existence. You will be the brightest star in the room tonight, and they will all fall at your feet.”

The way he spoke sent a shiver down your spine. His words were meant to reassure you, but there was something almost predatory in them, as if he was not merely presenting you to society, but staking his claim on you before them all.

“I just… I want to make a good impression.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I am a duchess of the realm. I must do well. For our family."

“You will, cousin. Do not worry much.” Satoru replied, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. “But remember, you have nothing to prove to them. You are the Duchess, the true heir to this estate. They should be the ones worrying about impressing you.”

You looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was confidence, a certainty that made you feel both comforted and trapped. There was no escaping the life you had returned to, and Satoru was a constant reminder of that.

“I’m here, by your side,” he continued, his voice a low, soothing murmur. “No one will dare speak ill of you. Not with me watching over you.”

His words wrapped around you like a protective veil, and despite the unease that still lingered, you felt a flicker of hope. Perhaps this night wouldn’t be as terrifying as you feared. Perhaps, with Satoru by your side, you could navigate the treacherous waters of noble society.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your fingers curling slightly around his as you let yourself lean into his presence, if only for a moment. 

“Think nothing of it,” he replied, his smile growing wider, more possessive. “Tonight is just the beginning. And I’ll make sure they all know that you belong to me.”

With that, he offered you his arm, guiding you out of the room and toward the grand hall where the ball was to take place. The music had already started, the sound of violins and piano filling the air with an elegant melody. 

As you stepped into the room, all eyes turned to you, and for a brief moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. You could feel the weight of their gazes, the scrutiny, the admiration. But Satoru’s hand on yours was a constant anchor, a reminder that no matter what, you were not alone.

And as the night unfolded, with dance after dance, with whispered conversations and stolen glances, you realized that Satoru’s words had not been an empty promise. You were indeed the brightest star in the room, and every person who approached you did so with a mix of awe and reverence. But beneath it all, you could feel the shadow of Satoru’s presence, always there, always watching.

And though you smiled and played your part, there was a part of you that wondered just how deep that shadow, and how much of yourself you would lose to the man who claimed to protect you.

As the evening progressed and the ballroom filled with the sounds of laughter and music, the time for dancing arrived. You had been introduced to countless faces, each more eager than the last to make a connection with the newly returned Duchess. But all the introductions and small talk had left you feeling exhausted, your nerves frayed by the constant attention.

Then, as if sensing your unease, a man approached you. He was tall, with a calm demeanor that immediately set him apart from the others. His hair was blond, neatly combed, and his sharp features were softened by the warm, sincere expression on his face. He bowed gracefully before you, his eyes meeting yours with a quiet intensity that made your breath catch.

"Your Grace," he said, his voice steady and kind, "may I have the honor of this dance?"

You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand in his, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. There was something about him—something genuine, something safe—that made you feel at ease in a way you hadn’t all night.

"Of course," you replied, allowing him to lead you to the center of the dance floor.

The music swelled as the two of you began to dance, moving in perfect harmony with the waltz. Unlike the others who had tried to impress you with their skills or status, this man—Count Nanami Kento, as you had been told—was different.

He was careful with you, his touch gentle as he guided you through the steps. His eyes never left yours, and in them, you saw not the hunger or ambition you had grown accustomed to, but something else entirely—kindness, understanding, and a quiet admiration that made your heart flutter.

With each turn, each graceful movement across the polished floor, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders. The laughter and chatter of the ballroom, once so overwhelming, now faded into a distant hum, a backdrop to the moment unfolding between you and Nanami.

The lights softened, the grand chandeliers casting a warm glow over the sea of dancers, yet all you could focus on was the man guiding you effortlessly through the crowd. His touch was gentle yet firm, his presence steady, grounding you in the here and now.

As you glided together, Nanami spoke in a voice so soft it felt like a secret shared between the two of you. He asked about your life, your thoughts, your dreams—questions that were simple, yet carried a depth that surprised you.

His gaze never wavered, and the way he listened made you feel as if every word you spoke was of utmost importance. There was no rush, no need to impress; just a quiet, sincere interest that drew you in.

Nanami was a world apart from the overwhelming force of Satoru, who often swept into your life like a whirlwind, leaving you breathless and off-kilter. Satoru’s presence was impossible to ignore, a vibrant, chaotic energy that demanded attention.

But here, with Nanami, everything was different. His calmness soothed the edges of your anxiety, his steady demeanor a balm to the storm that often raged within you. There was a reliability to him, a sense of safety that you hadn’t realized you craved until this very moment.

You found yourself drawn to him in ways you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t just the contrast to Satoru’s intensity, though that was part of it. There was something about Nanami’s quiet strength, his thoughtful nature, that spoke to a deeper part of you.

As you danced, the rest of the world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared understanding and unspoken connection. It was unexpected, this pull you felt toward him, yet it was undeniable.

Your graceful dance continued and little by little, you allowed yourself to get lost in the rhythm, in the soft cadence of his voice, in the comforting warmth of his presence. The worries that had plagued you moments before melted away, replaced by a sense of peace that was rare and precious.

In that fleeting moment, it felt as though time had slowed, and all that mattered was the steady beat of your hearts moving in sync, the unspoken promise of something more that lingered in the air between you.

As the dance came to an end, he held you a moment longer than necessary, his hand lingering on yours. His eyes, warm and sincere, held yours, and you felt a rush of something you hadn’t felt in years—something like hope, like the promise of something good. When he finally released you, he bowed again, his voice low and sincere.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he said softly. "It was truly a pleasure."

The words were simple, but the sincerity in them made your heart swell. You offered him a genuine smile, the first you had felt all night. "The pleasure was mine, Count Nanami."

As he stepped back into the crowd, you found yourself watching him go, your heart still racing from the unexpected connection. There was a warmth in your chest, a sense of peace that you hadn’t felt since you’d arrived at the estate. By the end of the night, you couldn’t deny it—you had fallen for him, the quiet, steady count who had treated you with such care.

But then, as you turned your gaze away from where Nanami had disappeared into the crowd, your eyes were drawn to a figure standing in the shadows at the edge of the ballroom. Satoru. His dark glasses glinted in the low light, but you could feel the intensity of his gaze, piercing through the distance between you. His expression was unreadable, his lips curved into a faint smile that sent a chill down your spine. 

You knew that he had seen everything—the way you had smiled at Nanami, the way your guard had dropped in his presence. Satoru’s eyes bore into you, and the warmth that had filled you moments before was replaced by a cold dread. 

No matter how much comfort you found in Nanami’s gaze, you couldn’t escape the shadow that Satoru cast over your life. And as the night drew to a close, you realized with a sinking heart that the feelings you had developed tonight would not go unnoticed or unchallenged.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

IT WAS OBVIOUS, THAT YOU WERE SMITTEN. In the weeks following the ball, the once overwhelming silence of the estate became bearable, softened by the anticipation of receiving each new letter from Count Nanami Kento.

The grand halls, with their cold marble floors and towering ceilings, no longer felt as lonely when you held his carefully penned words in your hands. His letters arrived with a sense of regularity, as if he knew precisely when you needed them most, each one a lifeline connecting you to something warmer, more genuine.

As you unfolded the delicate parchment, the world outside your window seemed to fade away. His handwriting, neat and precise, reflected the man himself—thoughtful, deliberate, with each word chosen with care.

His letters were not just a form of polite correspondence; they were conversations, deep and meaningful, where his interest in your life and well-being shone through. He asked about the small details, the little things that most overlooked, making you feel seen in a way you had not experienced before.

Nanami’s words were a balm to your troubled heart, each sentence carrying a sense of calm and reassurance that eased the tension that often gripped you in the estate’s oppressive atmosphere.

His kindness wasn’t ostentatious or overwhelming, but quiet and steady, like a gentle stream that slowly erodes the hardest stone. Through his letters, he offered you a refuge, a place where you could express your thoughts and feelings without fear of judgment or dismissal.

As the weeks passed, you found yourself eagerly awaiting each new letter, cherishing the moments when you could escape into the world he created with his words. His thoughts and feelings were laid bare, revealing a depth of emotion and understanding that resonated with you on a level you hadn’t expected. In a place where everything felt rigid and predetermined, his letters brought warmth and a sense of possibility, reminding you that there was more to life than the cold formality that surrounded you.

In his words, you felt understood and valued in a way that was rare and precious. The letters became a bridge between your two worlds, drawing you closer to him with each exchange. What had started as a simple correspondence had grown into something more, something that brought light into the darkest corners of your life.

And as you carefully folded each letter and tucked it away, you couldn’t help but feel that this connection with Nanami was something special, something that had the power to change everything.

However, not everyone was pleased with this growing connection. One evening, as you sat in the dimly lit parlor, absorbed in the latest letter from Nanami, the quiet solitude was suddenly disrupted by the sound of footsteps.

You looked up to see Satoru standing in the doorway, his presence filling the room with a tension that hadn’t been there moments before. His usual carefree demeanor was nowhere to be found; instead, his expression was stern, his blue eyes darkened with something you couldn’t quite place.

Satoru had been quieter than usual lately, his playful banter and easy smiles replaced by an uncharacteristic stillness. The change in his demeanor was subtle at first, but now, as he stood before you, the weight of it was undeniable.

His normally relaxed posture was rigid, his shoulders squared as if he were bracing himself for a confrontation. The way his eyes narrowed as they flicked to the letter in your hands sent a chill down your spine, making your stomach tighten with unease.

He didn’t say anything at first, but the silence between you was heavy, charged with unspoken words. You could feel his gaze, intense and searching, as if he were trying to unravel the connection you had been so carefully building with Nanami through your letters. The air in the room seemed to thicken, the warmth of Nanami’s words in your mind now clashing with the coldness radiating from Satoru.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and controlled, but there was an edge to it that made your heart skip a beat. “You’ve been spending a lot of time writing letters.” he remarked, his tone betraying the undercurrent of disapproval he was trying to mask. The implication was clear, though he didn’t directly mention Nanami’s name. 

You felt a surge of defensiveness rise within you, but it was tempered by the confusion and hurt that came with seeing Satoru like this. The man who had always been a whirlwind of energy and confidence now stood before you, guarded and almost vulnerable in his own way. The tension between the two of you crackled in the air, a silent battle of wills as you both struggled with what was left unsaid.

Satoru’s gaze bore into yours, and for a moment, it felt as if the world had shrunk to just the two of you in that room, locked in a standoff where neither wanted to be the first to back down. The letter in your hands, once a source of comfort, now felt like a weight, a reminder of the widening chasm between you and the man who had always been a constant in your life.

“And I have heard from whispers, dearest cousin. You’ve been spending a lot of time with count Nanami.” Satoru remarked, his voice edged with an irritation that was difficult to ignore. “I see he’s become quite the confidant.”

You looked up from the letter, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. “He’s been kind to me, Satoru. He’s welcomed me back into the ton with kindness.” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “We’ve exchanged letters, but it’s just a way to stay connected, to find some comfort in this unfamiliar world.”

Satoru’s smile was thin and cold. “You’re aware, I’m sure, that count Nanami’s intentions aren’t as noble as they seem. He’s a man of ambition, just as any man is and you’re merely a means for him to elevate his own status. He’s using you, and yet you seem to take his words to heart.”

The accusation stung, and you felt a surge of defensiveness rise within you. “That’s not fair, Satoru. Count Nanami has always been genuine with me. He’s been nothing but respectful and kind. I don’t believe he’s using me for his own gain.”

Satoru’s expression hardened, his gaze growing colder. “You’re naïve if you think he has no ulterior motives. He may seem kind now, but he’s a count—an ambitious one at that. He sees an opportunity in you, and it’s only a matter of time before he tries to exploit it.”

“I don’t think you understand him at all.” you said, your voice rising with frustration. “Nanami is not like that. He cares about me, and I care about him. Why can’t you accept that?”

Satoru’s eyes flashed with anger, the dark glasses doing little to mask his irritation. “Careful, cousin. It’s one thing to indulge in a fleeting fancy, but it’s another to be so blinded by it that you risk your own position and safety. I’m only trying to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” you demanded, rising from your seat. “From finding someone who treats me with respect and kindness? Nanami is not a threat—he’s a friend, someone who has shown me a different side of life.”

Satoru stepped closer, his demeanor imposing. “A friend who will inevitably use you to further his own ambitions. I’ve seen this game before, and it’s not one you want to be a part of. If you can’t see that, then I’ll have to make you understand.”

The tension in the room was palpable, and you could feel the walls closing in as Satoru’s anger boiled over. His words were like daggers, each one aimed at driving a wedge between you and Nanami. But despite the fear and the rising sense of dread, you stood firm.

“I won’t let you dictate who I can and cannot befriend,” you said, your voice trembling but resolute. “Nanami is more than his title, and if you can’t see that, then perhaps it’s you who doesn’t understand what’s truly important.”

Satoru’s face darkened, and for a moment, the room was filled with a tense silence. The air was heavy with unspoken words, with the weight of conflicting loyalties and emotions. Finally, he turned on his heel, his frustration evident in his stride.

“Do as you wish,  cousin.” he said coldly. “But remember, I warned you. And if you find yourself disappointed, don’t come seeking my sympathy.”

With that, he left the room, the door slamming shut behind him. You stood there, heart racing, the echoes of his harsh words still ringing in your ears. The letter from Nanami lay on the table, a reminder of the solace and understanding you had found in him. Despite Satoru’s anger and warnings, you knew that you couldn’t turn away from the connection you had begun to cherish.

The world outside the estate might be filled with ambition and deceit, but in Nanami’s letters, you had found a glimpse of something real—something worth holding onto, no matter the cost.

A few weeks later, as the seasons shifted and the public gardens came alive with the colors of spring, you found yourself meeting Nanami Kento in a secluded corner of the park. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the gentle hum of bees. The vibrant landscape provided a stark contrast to the somber confines of the estate, and as you walked along the winding paths, your heart felt lighter, freed from the constraints of your daily life.

Nanami awaited you beneath a canopy of flowering trees, their petals drifting down like confetti around him. His eyes lit up with warmth as he saw you approach, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. He offered you a soft smile, his gaze filled with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

“Your grace,” he said, taking your hand in his as you reached him. His touch was gentle, and he guided you to a nearby bench, where you both sat, the blooming flowers forming a natural backdrop to your intimate conversation.

“It’s so beautiful here,” you remarked, looking around at the garden’s vibrant colors.

“It is, my lady.” Nanami agreed, but his attention was solely on you. He reached for your other hand, holding both of them on his own. “But not as beautiful as you.”

The sincerity in his voice made your cheeks flush, and you glanced down, unable to hide the smile that curved your lips. “You always know how to make me feel special.”

Nanami took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto yours with a seriousness that made your heart race. “There’s something I need to tell you, my lady. I hope I may be so prude as to ask you for your kindness.” 

You smiled at him tenderly. “I give you leave, my lord. You need not ask my permission.”

“I….I must be honest with you, my lady.” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “From the moment we first danced together, I knew that you were someone extraordinary. Over the weeks, as we’ve exchanged letters and shared our thoughts, my feelings have only deepened.”

He paused, his fingers tightening around yours. “I am in love with you, more than I’ve ever thought possible. And I intend to marry you, if you’ll have me.”

The words hung in the air, their weight both exhilarating and overwhelming. You stared at him, the truth of his confession sinking in. The garden, the flowers, the world seemed to fall away as you looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his affection reflected back at you.

“Yes, my lord.” you said breathlessly, your voice filled with emotion. “Yes, I will marry you. I’ve been waiting for someone who sees me for who I am, and who makes me feel truly alive. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Nanami’s eyes softened, and a relieved, joyful smile spread across his face. He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as he whispered, “You’ve made me the happiest man in the world.”

You nestled against him, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the promise of a future together. The garden around you seemed to celebrate with you, the flowers blooming even more brightly, the air filled with a sweet, intoxicating scent. For the first time since your return to the estate, you felt a sense of genuine happiness and hope.

As you looked up at Nanami, the man who had shown you a different side of the world, you knew that this was the beginning of a new chapter—one filled with love, joy, and the promise of a future where you could finally be yourself.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

YOU HAD NEVER BEEN HAPPIER. The news of your engagement to Nanami Kento spread like wildfire, and by the time of the next grand ball, it was the talk of every guest in the room. The ballroom, usually filled with the hum of polite conversation and the clinking of glasses, was now charged with an air of curiosity and excitement.

Everywhere you looked, people were whispering behind gloved hands, their eyes alight with speculation about the upcoming union between the Duchess and the influential Count. The event, ostensibly a celebration of the merging of two prominent families, felt more like a stage for the spectacle of your new life—a life that had changed so swiftly, it sometimes felt as if you were watching it unfold from a distance.

As you moved through the room, graciously accepting congratulations and well-wishes, you couldn’t help but notice the eyes that followed your every move. Some gazes were filled with admiration, others with envy or curiosity, but all of them were fixated on you, the woman at the center of this momentous occasion.

The weight of their expectations settled on your shoulders, making the air feel heavier, the music louder, the lights brighter. Despite the celebratory atmosphere, a part of you felt detached, as if this wasn’t your life at all, but a role you were playing in a story written by someone else.

Amidst the sea of unfamiliar faces and forced smiles, your eyes were drawn to one figure that stood out from the rest. Satoru. He was present at the ball, his imposing figure a stark contrast to the lively crowd around him.

He cut an imposing figure in his formal attire, his white hair catching the light as he moved with the grace of someone who had long been accustomed to being the center of attention.

Yet, tonight, there was a distance about him, a coldness that had not been there before. He was surrounded by admirers and well-wishers, as always, but even in the midst of the crowd, he remained aloof, his eyes scanning the room as if searching for something—or someone—he could not find.

Your heart ached as you watched him, the memory of your last confrontation still fresh in your mind. The distance between you had grown wider in the weeks since then, an unspoken tension hanging between you like a storm cloud that refused to break.

You longed to mend things, to reach out and bridge the chasm that had formed between you and your cousin, but every time you caught his eye, he looked away, his expression unreadable.

The ball continued around you, the music swelling, the dancers twirling, but your thoughts were with Satoru. The joy that should have accompanied your engagement was tainted by the unresolved tension between you, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something precious was slipping through your fingers. Nanami’s presence beside you was steady, his hand warm on yours, but it was Satoru’s absence—his emotional distance—that gnawed at your heart.

As the night wore on, you found yourself searching for moments when you could catch Satoru’s gaze, hoping to see some sign that he was still the cousin you had grown up with, the one who had always been by your side.

But each time, he remained distant, his walls firmly in place. The chasm between you seemed insurmountable, and as the ball continued, the realization that you might never bridge that gap settled heavily within you.

Yet, despite the ache in your chest, you knew that this night was a turning point, a moment that would define the course of your future. The ball was not just a celebration of your engagement; it was the beginning of a new chapter in your life.

But as you danced with Nanami, his presence comforting and reassuring, your thoughts kept drifting back to Satoru, the one person who should have been standing by your side, sharing in your happiness. Instead, he stood apart, a distant figure on the fringes of your new life, and the pain of that realization was almost more than you could bear.

With a deep breath and a determination to confront the situation, you made your way across the ballroom toward Satoru. The crowd parted slightly, and his gaze met yours as you approached, his dark glasses hiding his true emotions but his posture unmistakably stiff.

“Satoru, dearest cousin.” you began, your voice steady despite the fluttering in your chest. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. I’m sorry for how things went the last time we spoke. I didn’t mean to defy you or hurt you.”

He regarded you for a moment, and then his expression softened slightly, though he remained guarded. “I’m sorry too, my lovely cousin.” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I let my frustrations get the better of me. It wasn’t fair to you. I only wanted what I thought was best.”

Before you could respond, Nanami approached, his presence a calming contrast to the tension between you and Satoru. He offered a warm smile to both of you and extended a hand in greeting. Nanami then shifts his face, looking towards your own cousin.

“Is everything alright?” Nanami asked, his tone gentle and concerned.

Satoru glanced at Nanami, then back at you, and after a brief pause, he nodded. “Yes, everything is fine, my lord. I was just about to make a toast in honor of the engagement.”

He signaled to the servants, who quickly moved to bring in bottles of wine and glasses. The murmur of the crowd grew as they sensed something significant was about to happen.

With a gracious nod, Satoru raised his glass, and the room fell into expectant silence. His gaze shifted between you and Nanami, and though he spoke with his usual composure, there was a sincerity in his tone that was hard to ignore.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my gracious lords and ladies.” Satoru began, his voice carrying through the ballroom. “Tonight, we celebrate not only the union of two distinguished families but also the beginning of a new chapter in the lives of these two wonderful people. To my cousin, the duchess, and to my lord count Nanami Kento, I offer my heartfelt congratulations.”

He turned to you and Nanami, his smile warm but tinged with an underlying complexity. “May your life together be filled with happiness and prosperity. May you find joy and support in one another through all the challenges and triumphs that lie ahead.”

The room erupted in applause, a cascade of sound that seemed to envelop you from all sides. The clinking of glasses followed, a symphony of celebration that filled the grand hall, yet in the midst of it all, your heart was racing with a blend of emotions you could barely contain.

Relief washed over you like a cool breeze, cutting through the tension that had been knotted in your chest for what felt like an eternity. The applause wasn’t just for the announcement of your engagement—it was for the moment of reconciliation that had just played out before everyone’s eyes.

Satoru’s gesture, though unexpected, had sent a ripple through the gathered guests. His choice to stand and raise his glass in a toast, his expression carefully composed but unmistakably sincere, was more than just a public acknowledgment of your engagement.

It was a sign—a signal that he was willing to accept your choice, even if it pained him to do so. For so long, the distance between you had been a source of quiet anguish, an unspoken rift that neither of you had known how to bridge. But in that moment, with everyone watching, Satoru had taken the first step toward closing that gap, and the weight of that gesture settled over you with a mix of gratitude and sadness.

You felt Nanami’s hand tighten around yours, the warmth of his touch grounding you amidst the swirl of emotions. When you looked up at him, his expression was calm, yet there was a depth in his eyes that spoke of an unspoken understanding.

He didn’t need to ask what you were feeling; he knew. He had always known. Nanami’s quiet strength, the steadiness that had drawn you to him in the first place, was your anchor in this moment. His support was unwavering, his presence a silent promise that he would stand by you through whatever came next.

The applause continued, but the world around you seemed to blur, the faces and voices fading into the background as you focused on the two men who meant the most to you—one by your side, offering you a future, and the other across the room, finally offering you his acceptance. There was a bittersweet quality to the moment, a recognition that while you were stepping into a new life with Nanami, something else was being left behind.

As you smiled and nodded in response to the well-wishes of the guests, the gratitude you felt wasn’t just for the applause or the approval of those around you. It was for the unexpected turn of events that had allowed a measure of peace to be restored between you and Satoru, even if things would never be quite the same as they once were.

The mix of relief and gratitude in your heart was tinged with a quiet resolve—to honor the connections that had brought you to this point and to move forward with grace, knowing that you were not alone in this journey.

In that moment, with Nanami’s hand in yours and Satoru’s gaze finally softened by acceptance, you allowed yourself to breathe, to feel the weight of the past lift just enough to let you take the next step forward. The path ahead was still uncertain, but with Nanami by your side and the lingering warmth of Satoru’s gesture in your heart, you felt ready to face whatever lay ahead.

“Thank you, Satoru." you said softly, raising your own glass in acknowledgment. “Your words mean a great deal to us.”

Satoru inclined his head slightly, acknowledging your gratitude, and then turned to mingle with other guests, leaving you and Nanami to share a moment of quiet reflection.

The evening continued with renewed energy, and as you danced with Nanami, you felt a sense of peace, knowing that despite the challenges, you were surrounded by people who cared for you and were willing to bridge the gaps that had formed.

As the night continued, the ball's festivities seemed to intensify, with guests dancing and chatting in high spirits. But amidst the celebration, you noticed that Nanami appeared increasingly pale and uncomfortable. His hand, which had been warm and reassuring in yours, grew cold, and he occasionally grimaced, as if battling an unseen pain.

Concerned, you guided him to a quieter corner of the ballroom, away from the crowd. “Kento, my love.....are you alright?” you asked, your voice filled with worry.

He tried to smile, but the effort was clearly painful. “It’s nothing, my darling.” he said, though his voice was strained. “I’ve just been feeling a bit unwell lately. It’s probably nothing.”

You helped him to a nearby chair, your hands trembling as you guided him down. But as soon as he sat, you noticed something terribly wrong. His face contorted with discomfort, his brows knitting together as a pained gasp escaped his lips.

His breathing grew shallow and labored, each breath a struggle that sent a jolt of fear through you. His hand moved to clutch his stomach, his fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as if trying to ward off an invisible agony. His skin glistened with sweat, and his once calm and steady demeanor was replaced by something raw and unsettling.

Before you could even react, his body suddenly slumped, going limp in the chair. The color drained from his face, his eyes fluttering shut as if the strength had been completely sapped from him. Panic surged through you like a bolt of lightning, your heart racing as you dropped to your knees beside him. “Kento!” you cried, your voice thick with fear, hands shaking as you desperately tried to rouse him. But he didn���t respond—his eyes remained closed, his body frighteningly still.

Frantically, you called out for help, your voice breaking as terror gripped you. The noise of the ballroom, once lively with chatter and laughter, fell into a stunned silence. The sudden shift in the atmosphere was palpable, as if the entire room had collectively held its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Satoru was among the first to arrive, his tall figure cutting through the crowd with an urgency that matched your own. His usual easygoing demeanor was nowhere to be seen; instead, his expression shifted from confusion to alarm as he took in the scene before him. His gaze darted between you and Nanami, the gravity of the situation sinking in as he knelt beside you, his own hands hovering over Nanami’s still form, unsure of what to do.

A doctor, who had been attending the event, quickly rushed over, pushing through the gathering crowd with a determined expression. You watched in desperate anticipation as the doctor knelt on Nanami’s other side, his fingers moving quickly to check for a pulse, to feel for any sign of life. His face grew increasingly grave as the seconds ticked by, his lips pressing into a thin line.

The minutes dragged on, each one feeling like an eternity as the doctor worked, his movements precise yet tinged with a growing sense of urgency. The room’s tension mirrored the heartache building within you, a crushing weight that threatened to overwhelm you. Every second that passed without a sign of improvement, every quiet murmur from the doctor that you couldn’t quite hear, only deepened the pit of dread in your stomach.

The once festive atmosphere of the ball had been completely shattered, replaced by a chilling silence that seemed to echo your worst fears. The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving only the cold, terrifying reality that the man you loved was slipping away, and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

Finally, the doctor straightened, his expression sorrowful. “I’m afraid there’s nothing more I can do, your grace.” he said quietly. “Count Nanami is dead.”

The words struck you like a physical blow, leaving you momentarily paralyzed as their meaning sank in. It was as if the ground beneath your feet had been pulled out from under you, and you were left to freefall into a void of disbelief and despair.

You stared at Nanami’s lifeless form, his face pale and still, the strong and steady man you had known reduced to this fragile, unresponsive shell. It didn’t seem real—couldn’t be real. The vibrant world around you blurred, the colors bleeding into one another as your vision wavered. The music that had once filled the ballroom, the laughter that had echoed off the walls, now seemed like a distant, haunting memory from another life.

The sounds around you dulled, as if you were underwater, the cacophony of voices and gasps of disbelief fading into a muffled, indistinct hum. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if it were pressing down on your chest, making it difficult to breathe.

The reality of the situation was too much to comprehend, too overwhelming to process. Nanami, who had been so full of life just moments ago, was now gone. The finality of it was like a weight crushing your heart, and you felt as if you were being dragged into a darkness from which there was no escape.

Satoru placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, a gesture meant to offer solace, but it only deepened the emptiness that had settled in your chest. His touch, usually so warm and reassuring, felt hollow and distant, as if even he couldn’t bridge the chasm that had opened up between the life you had known and the unbearable reality you now faced.

You didn’t look up at him, couldn’t bear to see the reflection of your own grief in his eyes. Instead, you remained fixated on Nanami, your mind desperately trying to reject the truth, to find some way to undo what had just happened.

The guests, who had been caught up in the joy and excitement of the evening, were now stunned into silence. Their expressions of shock and somber concern mirrored the confusion and heartache you felt. The whispers began to spread through the room, a low murmur that grew in intensity as people tried to make sense of the tragedy that had unfolded before them.

The once celebratory atmosphere had been shattered, replaced by a palpable sense of unease and sorrow. The collective joy that had filled the ballroom had evaporated, leaving behind only the cold, stark reality of loss.

As you stood there, your mind spinning and your heart breaking, the world around you continued to move forward, indifferent to the pain you were experiencing. The echoes of the music and laughter that had once filled the room now seemed like cruel reminders of a happiness that had been irrevocably taken from you.

The life you had imagined with Nanami Kento, the future you had so carefully envisioned, was gone in an instant, leaving you adrift in a sea of grief and uncertainty. Nothing was left behind.

You clutched Nanami’s hand, tears streaming down your face. “No, cousin....I....I cannot....” you whispered to him. “This can’t be happening. He was just here. We were about to start our life together.”

Satoru’s voice was gentle but firm. “We need to get you out of here, you cannot stay here.” he said, guiding you away from the scene with a sense of urgency. “Come with me.”

As you were led out of the ballroom, your mind was a whirlwind of grief and disbelief. The promise of a future with Nanami had been abruptly stolen from you, leaving you with nothing but the crushing weight of loss. The vibrant night that had once held so much promise now felt like a cruel mockery, its joy eclipsed by the shadow of tragedy.

✧❁❁❁✧✿✿✿✧❁❁❁✧

YOU COULD NOT COPE WELL. Months had passed since Nanami’s tragic death, and despite the time that had elapsed, the ache in your heart remained as fresh as ever. The estate, once filled with the excitement of the engagement and the promise of a future, now seemed like a silent, mournful shell. Each day felt like an endless repetition of grief, with memories of Nanami lingering painfully in every corner.

Satoru, your cousin and now your closest family, had tried to coax you back to some semblance of normalcy. He encouraged you to attend social events, to engage with the world beyond the estate’s walls. But each time, you found yourself unable to muster the strength or the will. The world outside felt alien and unforgiving, a stark contrast to the warmth and hope you had once known with Nanami.

One evening, after yet another failed attempt to persuade you to join him for a dinner gathering, Satoru’s patience finally wore thin. His frustration, masked for so long, burst forth in an outburst that left you reeling.

“Why can’t you just move on?” he demanded, his voice sharp. “It’s been months. You can’t spend the rest of your life hiding away in this grief-stricken state.”

The words stung, and you felt a surge of anger and sadness collide within you. “You don’t understand,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “You didn’t lose him. You don’t know what it’s like to have everything ripped away like that.”

Satoru’s expression softened, a flicker of regret in his eyes as he saw the depth of your pain. The harshness in his voice faded as he approached you, his demeanor shifting to one of concern and gentleness.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice now filled with an earnestness that cut through the earlier anger. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I’ve been trying to help, but I know I can’t truly understand your pain.”

He reached out, gently taking your hand and guiding you to a nearby armchair. His touch was soothing, a stark contrast to the emotional turmoil you were feeling. “Let me help you,” he said softly, kneeling beside you. “I know this is hard, but you don’t have to go through it alone.”

Satoru’s presence was a grounding force, his usual aloofness replaced by a sincere attempt to offer comfort. He poured a drink from a decanter on a nearby table, holding it out to you with a reassuring smile. “Here,” he said, “a little something to help calm your nerves.”

You accepted the drink, your hands trembling slightly. As you took a sip, the warmth of the liquor began to ease the tight knot of grief in your chest. Satoru settled beside you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, the gesture tender and supportive. “I know it’s not the same as having Nanami here,” he said quietly, “but I’m here for you. We can get through this together, even if it takes time.”

You leaned into him, finding solace in his steady presence. The tears continued to flow, but amidst the sorrow, there was a small flicker of hope—hope that perhaps, with time and the support of those who cared for you, the heavy burden of grief might one day become a little lighter.

Satoru stayed with you, his hand resting gently on your back as you cried. In that moment, his support and understanding offered a sliver of comfort, a reminder that even in the depths of loss, there could be moments of compassion and connection.

The truth began to unravel slowly, almost imperceptibly. You had been grieving, struggling to find any semblance of normalcy, and trying to rebuild a life that seemed forever altered by Nanami’s death. Satoru, in his way, had been both a source of comfort and a persistent presence, urging you toward recovery. His support, once reassuring, began to feel increasingly intrusive, as though his concern masked something darker.

One evening, as you were going through some old letters and personal effects, a hidden compartment in one of Nanami’s personal belongings caught your attention. Inside, you found a stack of letters and documents that seemed out of place. As you sifted through them, a particular letter stood out—a letter from Nanami to you, written shortly before his death. Its contents were cryptic and filled with a sense of unease that made your heart race.

The letter spoke of suspicions of being watched, of a growing sense of danger, and a mention of a mysterious figure who had been lingering in the shadows. That evil forces were coming, investigated by the Crown. That he was a blue shadow, a dark shadow. You put the letter down, your chest tightening.

The pieces of the puzzle began to click together in your mind, and a chilling realization dawned on you. Satoru, he...he was called the Queen's Blue Ghost. That was what he does for the Crown. You bit the lower edges of your lip. You could feel your legs losing strength as you grabbed the table to balance yourself.

You shake your head, almost as though you were in denial. It can't be. Your cousin....He would not. He promised, that he would always be good to you. To everyone. He, he can't be.

Desperate for answers, you confronted Satoru, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and anger. You cornered him in his private study, your voice trembling as you demanded the truth. He raised his head and smiled at you. But quickly, that retreated the moment he saw that look on your face.

"Cousin, is something wrong? Dearest one, you are agitated. You must—"

“Satoru, please.” you said, trying to keep your composure. “I require your honesty. Please. I need to know the truth."

"Whatever about? I have always been honest with you."

"Not on everything. And you know this. I know this."

"Dearest cousin, calm down—"

"What really happened to Nanami Kento? About the others. How many? How many others did you hurt?"

Satoru’s face, usually so controlled, betrayed a flicker of something dark and unsettling. He stepped closer to you, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The moment you said his name, the moment it all snapped. You could feel your heart pound as he corners you, traps you, in his vicinity. You swallow the bile down your throat.

“The truth, you say?” he replied, his voice smooth but laced with a dangerous edge. “I’m afraid you might not like it, cousin. I fear I might upset you. And....that is out of the question."

You took a step back, the fear overwhelming you. “What did you do? I know you had something to do with it. Did you poison him?”

A cold smile spread across Satoru’s lips. “You’ve been more perceptive than I gave you credit for,” he said softly. “Yes, I was responsible. But it was all for you, my dear cousin.”

The words struck you like a blow. “For me? What are you talking about?”

Satoru’s gaze softened, but the malice beneath it was unmistakable. “I’ve always been in love with you. Even when we were children, I was captivated by you. Everything I did, every action I took, was driven by my desire to have you for myself. And I do not care, how many suffers for it. That lowly count, those pesky tattletales. I do not care, cousin. As long as I have you. ”

The enormity of his confession hit you with a force that left you reeling. “You killed my Kento… just to have me? Do you....do you know how derange that is? How could you? How could you do this to me?”

He stepped closer, his voice a whisper that was both chilling and intimate. “No one else could ever be right for you but me. I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else taking you away from me. Nanami was an obstacle, and I removed him to clear the path for us.”

Horrified and desperate, you tried to flee, but Satoru’s reflexes were swift. He grabbed your arm with a strength that was both frightening and unyielding. You struggled against him, but his grip only tightened as he pulled you close. Your heart pounded, and tears streamed down your face as you realized the extent of his obsession.

“Let me go!” you cried, your voice breaking with desperation. “I can’t be with you. Not after this.”

Satoru held you tightly, his arms encircling you in a possessive embrace. “No,” he said firmly, his voice unyielding. “You belong with me. I’ve waited too long for this moment, and I won’t let anyone—least of all you—deny what’s meant to be.”

His words, though tender in their own twisted way, were laced with a darkness that left you feeling trapped and helpless. You could see the unshakable resolve in his eyes, the certainty that he was the only one who could provide the life he believed you deserved.

“I did it all for you, dearest one.” Satoru continued, his tone a mix of reverence and obsession. “Everything I did, every sacrifice, was to ensure that we could be together. You’ll see, in time, that no one else can care for you the way I do.”

It was as though for a moment, your memories echoed. That boy Satoru was, the distant and aloof boy you had looked up to, chased after — he was not there anymore. All that’s left is a monster. A monster who believed that loving you meant hurting you. Tears fell as you remember the boy he was. 

The large, sunlit gardens were a backdrop to a series of memories, each one highlighting the contrast between your vibrant, spirited nature and Satoru’s reserved, emotionless disposition. 

You were only six years old when you first encountered Satoru’s indifference. He was sitting alone in a secluded corner of the garden, surrounded by books and sketches, seemingly lost in a world of his own. His silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, but his eyes, hidden behind dark glasses even then, were as cold and distant as the surrounding shadows.

Despite his aloofness, you were determined to reach out to him. You approached him with a bright smile, holding a daisy you had picked from the garden. “Satoru,” you called out, “would you like to play with me?”

He glanced up briefly, his expression unreadable. “I’m busy,” he replied curtly, his voice lacking warmth.

Undeterred, you sat down next to him, placing the daisy on his sketchpad. “But it’s such a nice day! Don’t you want to come outside and enjoy it?”

He stared at the daisy, then at you, a flicker of something—perhaps curiosity or irritation—crossing his face. “I don’t see the point in playing,” he said, turning his attention back to his sketches.

You persisted, your enthusiasm unwavering. “It’s not just about playing. It’s about having fun and being together. We can make up a story about the garden and pretend we’re explorers!”

“I don’t want to.” He whispered.

You pout. “But that’s no fun!”

As a young girl, you were determined to break through Satoru’s emotional barriers. One sunny afternoon in the grand estate’s garden, you devised a simple, yet heartfelt plan. You had spent the morning picking a variety of wildflowers, their vibrant colors brightening your small wicker basket. You were excited to surprise Satoru, who was once again immersed in his books and sketches in his usual secluded spot.

The garden was alive with the hum of bees and the soft rustling of leaves, and the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting playful shadows on the ground. You spotted Satoru sitting against a large oak tree, his focus intensely fixed on his work. With a smile, you approached him quietly, careful not to disturb his concentration.

“Satoru,” you called softly, holding up the flower crown you had made. It was a simple creation, woven from a mix of daisies, buttercups, and clover. The flowers were arranged in a delicate, colorful circle, their petals still fresh and dewy from the morning sun.

He looked up from his sketchpad, his expression as indifferent as ever, but a hint of curiosity sparkled in his eyes. “What’s that?” he asked, his tone more inquisitive than dismissive.

You knelt beside him, holding the flower crown out. “It’s a gift for you.” you said cheerfully. “I made it just for you. I thought you might like to wear it.”

Satoru’s usual aloofness seemed to falter as he took in the sight of the flower crown. There was a brief flicker of surprise in his eyes, a momentary break in his emotional armor. He looked at the crown, then back at you, clearly unsure of how to react.

Without waiting for his response, you gently placed the flower crown on his head, adjusting it carefully so that it sat comfortably. Your fingers brushed against his hair, and you beamed at him with an innocent, genuine smile.

“There!” you said, stepping back to admire your handiwork. “Now you have a crown fit for a king.”

Satoru’s initial reaction was one of shock, his mouth slightly agape as he touched the delicate flowers with hesitant fingers. The corners of his mouth twitched, and for a brief moment, you saw a rare, genuine smile break through his usually stoic expression. It was a fleeting, but unmistakable, expression of delight.

He looked up at you, his eyes softer than they had ever been. “You made this for me?” he asked, his voice betraying a hint of warmth that was seldom present.

“Yes, cousin!” you replied, your eyes sparkling with happiness. “I wanted to do something nice for you. I thought it might brighten your day.”

Satoru’s gaze lingered on you, and you could see the conflicted emotions playing across his face. The flower crown, so simple and yet so heartfelt, seemed to have touched him in a way you hadn’t anticipated. He looked away, his expression growing contemplative.

“It’s… nice.” he said quietly, a hint of genuine appreciation in his tone. “Thank you.”

You smiled, pleased with his reaction. “I’m glad you like it, cousin!” you said, reaching out to gently touch the crown. “I hope it makes you smile.”

As you walked away, you felt a sense of accomplishment. You had managed to break through Satoru’s emotional wall, if only for a moment, and the sight of him wearing the flower crown was a memory you would cherish. Little did you know that this simple act of kindness would become a significant, albeit bittersweet, part of your lives.

The contrast between the boy who had once been so distant and the man who now held you captive was stark and painful. The memories of your childhood—the times you had tried so hard to reach out to him, to bridge the gap that had always seemed to exist between you—now echoed in your mind like a cruel mockery.

Those moments, once filled with innocent hope and longing, now served as a haunting reminder of how drastically things had deteriorated. The boy who had seemed unreachable, who you had thought might one day come around, had instead grown into someone who was both terrifyingly close and dangerously unrecognizable.

As you struggled in his arms, the harsh reality of your situation became all too clear. Satoru’s love, which had once been a source of warmth and comfort, had twisted into something dark and all-consuming. The affection that had once made you feel safe was now a prison, its walls closing in around you with every passing second.

The realization that his love had warped into an obsession sent chills down your spine, and the fear that gripped your heart was unlike anything you had ever known. You had always known Satoru was different, that there was something in him that set him apart, but never had you imagined that his feelings for you could turn into something so possessive, so terrifying.

His grip on you was unrelenting, his arms a cage that you knew you could not break free from. No matter how hard you struggled, how desperately you tried to push him away, his hold only tightened. There was no trace of the gentle boy you had known in his eyes now—only the cold, determined gaze of a man who would not be denied.

As he held you close, you could feel the weight of his obsession pressing down on you, suffocating you with its intensity. The warmth that had once drawn you to him had been replaced by a chilling darkness, and the love that had once been your sanctuary had become the source of your greatest fear.

A profound sense of betrayal and loss settled over you, heavy and unyielding. The man who had once been your closest confidant, your protector, had now become the architect of your greatest sorrow.

The trust you had placed in him, the bond you had thought unbreakable, had been shattered beyond repair. The future you had dreamed of, filled with hope and happiness, was now overshadowed by the bleak reality of his possessive love.

In that moment, as you were held captive in his arms, you understood with a heartbreaking clarity that the Satoru you had known was gone, replaced by someone you could no longer recognize.

The boy who had once been distant, yet filled with potential, had become a man whose love had turned into a dark obsession, and the life you had once envisioned was now lost to the shadows of his twisted affection.

“I waited so long for this day, to have you free from the nuns, from the watchful eyes of the church, from anyone who would keep you from me." He whispered. “And I had to deal with that pest, that lowly pathetic count. All of those who wanted to steal you from me!”

The air in the room thickened as he stepped closer, his breath brushing against your skin. You knew what he wanted, what he had always wanted. It was written in the way he looked at you, the way his fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to reach out and claim you right then and there.

But you were no longer a child, no longer the naive girl who would blindly follow where he led. You were a Duchess now, with power of your own, and you would not be so easily consumed by the flames of his obsession.

Yet, as his hand finally found its way to your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze, you couldn’t help but feel the pull. The twisted, sick desire that mirrored his own, the yearning to give in to the darkness that had always lurked beneath the surface of your soul.

"You will be mine, cousin." Gojo whispered, his lips hovering above yours. "Whether you like it or not."

You were drawn to him, as you had been as a child. The way he moved, the way he spoke—it He reached for you, his hands rough yet strangely tender as they cupped your face, his grip firm and unyielding.

Before you could react, his lips crashed against yours with a force that stole your breath. You struggled, tried to push him away, but he was stronger—much stronger. Your fists pounded weakly against his chest, a futile attempt to break free from the iron hold he had on you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you felt the helplessness of the situation, the weight of his obsession bearing down on you. But even as your mind screamed in protest, there was a part of you that responded to his touch, a dark, twisted part that had long been buried beneath years of repression.

His hands roamed over your body with a fervor that mirrored the storm brewing inside you, fingers tracing the curves of your form as if memorizing every inch. He pulled you closer, his embrace tightening until there was no space left between your bodies, the heat of his desire searing through your clothes, igniting a fire deep within you.

You hated yourself for the way your body betrayed you, for the way your heart raced not only with fear but with a sick anticipation. You could feel the hunger in his touch, the same hunger that had lurked within you, hidden and denied for so long. 

Gojo’s lips trailed down your neck, leaving a burning path in their wake, his breath hot against your skin. His words were a whispered promise, laced with a dark possessiveness that sent shivers down your spine.

"You can’t escape me, cousin." he murmured against your throat, his voice thick with desire. "I’ve waited too long, dreamed of this moment for too many nights. You’re mine now, and I’ll never let you go."

His hands slipped beneath the fabric of your dress, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin beneath as he explored with an urgency that left no room for doubt. You gasped, the sound caught between a sob and something else, something far more dangerous.

As his touch grew bolder, you realized with a sickening clarity that no matter how hard you fought, no matter how many tears you shed, you were losing yourself to him. The line between love and hate, between desire and fear, blurred until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

Gojo pulled back just enough to look into your tear-streaked face, his eyes darkened with a twisted satisfaction. His thumb brushed away the tears that still fell, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Don’t cry, my dearest." he whispered, his voice laced with mockery and something softer, something almost tender. "You’ll learn to love this, to love me, just as I’ve always loved you."

And as his lips claimed yours once more, the last vestiges of your resistance crumbled, swallowed whole by the darkness that he had nurtured within you, until all that was left was the Duchess who belonged to the Duke—no matter the cost.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"NIGHT TIME RELIGION"

EXTRA CONTENT- "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 2.3k+ → a/n: just a simple, sweet glimpse into what our favorite idiots' nighttime routine is like. probably got a little too poetic with it, as always <3

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

“You fell asleep again.” 

It’s not a question, just a mere observation. Eddie doesn’t even put any emphasis on the key word there, that it had happened again, as he glances up on you sprawled out on his couch. 

“Nuh uh,” you childishly rebuke, ironically squeezing your eyes shut tighter as you let your cheek nuzzle deeper into the page of the textbook you’d been taking notes on, “I’m… I’m wide awake.” 

Every word painfully slurs with your next, voice mostly muffled. If he hadn’t been so close to you from where he was sitting on the floor, he probably wouldn’t have been able to make out what you’d just murmured. 

It only makes him laugh softly as he focuses back on whatever piece of equipment he’d brought into the apartment that belongs to his bike, “Sure you are, sweetheart.” 

The coffee table is spread with hand towels and paper towels alike as Eddie fiddles with the hunk of metal. You hadn’t even prodded him about what it was he was fiddling with; you were too busy, knee deep in your studies as you’d made yourself comfortable in his living room. 

It was a normal routine now – something cozy, something domestic. Instead of being holed up in your dorm these days, you found yourself occupying apartment 2C far more frequently than you’d ever admit to anyone else. Half the time, the two of you didn’t even have plans. It wasn’t about elaborate date nights or purposeful hangouts anymore; these days, the two of you simply enjoyed one another’s presence. It was enough to just know he was there with you, in the same room, as the two of you were occupied with your own individual tasks. Sometimes, he would be reading a book as you wrote your essays. Sometimes, he’d steal your laptop to shop for new bike parts and accessories online as you caught up on your favorite TV shows. There had been plenty of phone calls with Nancy in which Eddie had let you simply rest your head in his lap, hands mindlessly carding through the scalp of your hair as he tried to offer assistance to his best friend’s daily troubles and rambles. 

It was nice, and it was normal, and it was something the rest of the world would have to pry from your cold, dead hands. 

The apartment could have easily become something akin to a prison after the bet, but it hadn’t. Instead, somehow and someway, you and Eddie had turned it into a proper sanctuary.

You no longer spent lectures daydreaming about returning to your dorm; your mind much preferred longing to return to Eddie’s room, to picture falling face down in his bed, where the pillow on the right side had begun to smell of your shampoo rather than his cologne. 

“It’s getting late,” he sighs when he hears you go silent again. He’s not annoyed by any means. If he had it his way, he’d probably curl up on the couch with you for the rest of the night, content to fall asleep to the view of your face smoothing out in peaceful rest. But he knows if he leaves you be, you’ll wake up with an aching back and an attitude that makes even Harrington cower. He puts down his project for the night, wiping his hands on a damp paper towel before he reaches blindly behind himself to give you a few taps on your rear, “C’mon, we need to get ready for bed.” 

You swat his hand away, and it only makes him grin, “It’s not that late. Plus, I’m comfy.” 

“It’s half past eleven, baby.” 

And oh, do you shoot straight up at that. 

Your eyes are finally wide open as you look at him wildly, face struck with confusion, “Excuse me?” 

“I said, it’s half past ele-”

“When the Hell did it get so late?” you fumble with yourself as he slowly gets up, making a show out of stretching all his limbs. You don’t even grow distracted when his arms reach well over his head and tug up his shirt, exposing that sliver of stomach that would normally entice you, “I swear to God, it wasn’t even ten like…. Ten minutes ago.” 

“Ten waking minutes ago, maybe,” he teases, holding a hand out for you, “Time flies when you’re napping instead of studying.” 

It’s hard for him to not smile so softly down at you right now, even as he watches the defeat take hold. Your entire outfit is compiled of his clothes, yet another t-shirt you’d snagged from him along with a pair of sweatpants that he can’t even remember the last time he’d worn them. Your hair is messy, falling out of the convenient style you’d fashioned in it hours before when you’d declared you needed to focus. Your shoulders sag, the corners of your mouth inch downward, and all he really cares about right now is getting you in bed so he can wrap himself up around you. 

Your eyes dart between his outstretched hand and your textbook, still open on a page that you’d embarrassingly drooled on, “I know we joked about celebrating when I aced my finals, but can we still get milkshakes when I absolutely flunk them?” 

The way you manage to melt his heart is impeccable. He doesn’t even have it in him to be snarky, or to make another menacing jokes, “Of course we can.”

That seems to make your decision. You finally reach out and take his hand, clearly trying to be dramatic as you pull on him with the entirety of your weight, almost as though your end goal was for him to actually end up beside you on the couch rather than to be standing beside him. 

If your goal is the former, you fail miserably. He doesn’t budge beneath your drag, only leaning forward to grab your other hand and properly haul you off the couch. 

“Oof,” you huff out as you collide with his chest from the force, letting your face smash into him and making no move to pull back, “Can’t you just carry me to bed? Is that an option?” 

He almost says yes. Almost. 

“We won’t even make it down the hall,” he chuckles, taking slow steps back, guiding you right along with him, “I may or may not have also dozed off at some point. Jury’s still out on that one.” 

“Is it?” 

You’re hardly lifting your feet, shuffling your way along, letting him walk you deceiving to the bathroom rather than the bedroom. He has no idea if you’ll be capable of doing your full skincare routine, but at the very least, he has to get you to brush your teeth. If he didn’t, he’d never hear the end of it. 

“It is indeed,” he finally stops walking backwards, deciding it might become more dangerous rather than just dragging you along, “Probably won’t get a ruling until morning, so we might as well brush our teeth now, doll.” 

He’s trying to sweeten the deal. Coaxing you with adoring pet names to keep you in motion. 

“Ugh, effort,” you crunch your nose as you say it, and it’s clearly more for show than anything now. You’re fully conscious, capable of getting yourself to the bathroom sink where both your toothbrushes now sit side-by-side in a glass cup, but you don’t let go of his hand just yet. 

His palm is warm, and right now, all you really wanna do is curl up in that heat. 

Eventually, though, you let go. The two of you stand in the mirror as you go through the motions of wetting your toothbrushes, applying the toothpaste – all the boring, mundane actions that are more habit than conscious choices. But interspersed in the habits you’ve gathered over your years of life are new ones, minimal but vital after the amount of time spent together. Proof of the way this nighttime routine had become something of a religion between the two of you, something to be offered and to be shared rather than simply going through the motions. 

The way Eddie carefully rolls the end of the toothpaste tube before passing it to you, simply so it’s easier for you to get your share of it. The way you leave the water running after you’ve wet your own brush just so Eddie can also do so. All the sneaky glances caught in the mirror as the corners of your mouths foam up. Every ridiculous face, every nimble bump of your hip to his, the way he sticks out his very white tongue at you before he spits out into the basin – new things that have all become the normal, but still settle warmth in your chest.

Things that water a garden of vinery and blooms that no longer only belong within the confine of your bones, but his as well. 

A shared garden of memories and comfort. Growing, flourishing, nurturing one another. 

You lean down to spit right before him, and when you take a second too long, he tugs on a strand of your hair, trying to move you. And even as tired as you are, you find it within yourself to be a little shit as he so lovingly mumbles out around his toothbrush, lingering until he’s bumping you with his hip with purpose. 

Passing the floss back and forth (or more like you shoving the floss into his hands before he can try to argue against it), using the same paper cup to sip mouthwash out of – something so bland that you used to do it alone, now something to enjoy with him. 

You kind of love it. You kind of love him. 

“Should I wash my face?” you question, leaning in closer to the mirror and poking at your cheeks, checking your skin for any blemishes you can find. 

Eddie only moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and making the entire ordeal far more difficult as his chin rests on your shoulder, “Not if you don’t feel like it. Besides, it’s gonna make your nose cold, and then you’re gonna press it all over my damn neck and-” 

You cut him off with a joking glare, reaching up to flick at his nose, but he’s quick to pull his face out of your reach. Smiling widely, showing off those fresh and minty pearly whites. 

“If my cold nose bothers you that much, I could just stay on my side of the bed tonight,” you scowl, even though you were already taking his advice and calling it a night, twisting out of his hold to flick the lightswitch and exit the bathroom. 

He’s still stronger as he keeps his arms in place, only twisting himself around to face the door frame right with you, whining in your ear, “No.” 

He drags out the ‘o’, his voice slowly growing more quiet the longer he draws out the vowel. At some point, it’s less than Eddie has ended the protest, and more that he’s just run out of breath. 

His arms only leave your waist for the two of you to get dressed in proper pajamas. Well, what you both consider proper pajamas. 

You, left in only his shirt and underwear, and Eddie simply in his boxers. 

There’s no more sarcastic comments or lazy banter, although you certainly expect it. You’re almost holding your breath for it, right up until Eddie’s lifting his comforter and eagerly motioning for you to climb into bed first. Not one smartass remark about ladies first that could easily backfire on him as you shoved him into the bed before you. 

No, he waits until the two of you are lying on your sides, facing one another, not quite touching when his face breaks into a radiant smile. 

“What?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him, overly suspicious of his random burst of happiness. 

“You call it your side of the bed.” 

At first, you don’t get it, “What?” 

“You called it your side of the bed,” he repeats with the utmost emphasis, finally throwing his hand out in search of your own, pulling it up to eye-level so he can toy slowly with each of your knuckles. 

“Is it not?” you’re whispering like two children at a sleepover, your feet finally drifting to toe at his calves. If they’re too cold for his liking, you don’t know. He doesn’t flinch or complain, only spreads his legs ever so slightly so there’s a space left for you to fill as you intertwine limbs. 

“It is,” he confirms, nodding a little, finally slotting his fingers between your own, “Just nice to hear you say it out loud.” 

And suddenly, you get it.

It’s your side of the bed. It’s your toothbrush resting beside his. Your textbooks and laptops are still on his couch, you have a sticky note with a reminder for yourself to buy more milk  put up on the fridge, there’s now a space for your shoes at the front door right beside his daily boots – slowly but surely, you’ve whittled out spaces for yourself here, with him. 

Even when you’re not here in this apartment with him, your presence remains. Someone could walk in, and they still see traces of you. You exist here, constantly, right along with Eddie. 

“Yeah,” you whisper back, finally scooching closer. He immediately shifts so that you can cuddle into his side, your head resting against his chest and your ear pressed to listen to his thrumming heartbeat. A perfectly carved out space for you even here, between this sheets, against his skin, “It’s nice to say out loud.” 

Not a routine, but a religion. Something to worship in the quiet hours between the sound of quiet snores and a noisy coffee maker you already have plans to replace as a Christmas gift to Eddie. An apartment turned altar, with offerings from both of you, to all that has and could become. 

You whisper your final prayer, just as you do every night, even when you think Eddie might already be fast asleep, “G’night, Eddie. I love you.” 

He’s not already asleep. 

“I love you, sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

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[revyn-moonfox]

BG3 headcanons, companion characters reaction to Tav having their period

I wrote this for my own comfort, so Tav is afab, nonbinary trans-masc. All sfw

Halsin:

Brews herbal teas he knows will help. Sweetens it with honey.

Gathers berrys that have pain-soothing or anti-inflammatory attributes (like rasberries)

Assures Tav that there is nothing to be embarrassed about, and that they are not allowed to think they are holding the others back by resting. Rest is important! And he won't let you continue travelling in pain.

Dysphoria related: Tells Tav about multiple men he treated for period pain, and women he knew that never had periods. Cis, trans, inter, anyway. A period is natural and says nothing about your identity.

Talks about intersex- and trans-animals he knows or surveyed in nature.

Trys comforting Tav by telling them its one of nature's gifts, and sign of bringing life. If Tav is annoyed by that he stops (but maybe will bring it up later again, when Tav feels better and/or their relationships progresses)

Lots of (Bear-) cuddles

Gale:

You wanna be angry about having your Period? Gale is your Man for that. You can rant at him how unfair the world is, and how stupid it is that the body has to go through such pain each time.

He's gonna research the heck out of it. Reading every book he can find on periods, what makes them so excruciating, and how to help with them.

Cooks comforting soups and stews, makes chamomile tea and brings Tav a heated Waterskin

Learns/studys magic for warmth and inner healing

He reads to you. Anything you wanna hear, for distraction and comfort.

Maybe asks Halsin for help

Astarion:

Astarion probably knows before Tav knows, smeeling the blood and noticing the smallest shifts in their body language.

He's gonna be slightly less taunting and provocative as soon as he notices.

He's not gonna ask for his nibble in that time, going hunting for animalblood instead, not wanting Tav to feel even worse with less blood/iron.

Asks Shadowheart if she can perform soothing or even healing magic for Tav.

Tells Tav how handsome they are, if they confide in him with their dysphoric thoughts.

Karlach:

Walking heat-pad

I'll write more another time, right now I'm in a lot of pain and have to sleep a bit. Bb

[r0wdy-rat]

Face Down

pt i pt ii pt iii pt iv pt v

Masterlist

AN: hey team wouldn’t it be funny if i dropped off the face of the earth for 4 years and then returned and wrote another chapter randomly on a sunday afternoon? i think it would be funny

Summary: You enter a period of growth and knowledge. Unfortunately for Levi, you do not enter a period of temperance.

You found Levi’s apathy towards you had its limits. One such limit was Furlan.

You didn’t know if it was because he brought you on the raid or if it was something else, but, as always, Levi reached the end of his patience abruptly and without warning.

Furlan was standing in front of you, hips between your spread knees. Now that you had punched him in the head and learned of Levi’s overall involvement in the plan, your temper had cooled enough to allow him to be near you without wanting to plunge a knife into his ribs. His hand grasped your chin, bony fingers tilting your face up so he could get a better look at the gash running across your brow. Furlan hummed, the sound high in his throat as he dabbed a damp rag at the dried blood around your cheek. He scrunched his nose, lips parting in concentration as he leaned closer to you to get a better look at your wound. You just blinked at him, studying his swollen and swelling eyes, until the rag pressed against something tender, and you hissed out a breath through your teeth at the sudden sting.

Furlan startled, but before he could say anything he was gone.

Now, Levi was there between your thighs, invading your space as you sat on the counter. Your cheeks pinked at the proximity, at the intensity of his gaze leveled right at you. No, not at you. At the cut. He still wasn’t looking you in your eyes. You twitched, trying to turn away in frustration when his fingers curled into the hair at the nape of your neck, holding it tightly. He used his grip to steer your face back where he had wanted it, his features now shuttered with annoyance.

“It won’t need stitches.” Furlan huffed from where he was shoved across the room. “The risk of infection is honestly higher than anything right now. She needs a bath. Or two, with all the grime on her.”

Grime, you mused

What an odd thing to call Jakobs brain matter.

You were on your third bath. 

 Surely, you think, the water will stop turning red at some point. Surely, it will slow, you pray, as you step into the cold bath, and watch the pink spread. 

You were covered. In Jakobs, in the woman who killed him, in your own blood. Three full tubs of water, and it was still caked beneath your nails and in your hair and you could still taste the iron in your mouth. You scrubbed, and scrubbed, and turned as pink as the water around you from your roughness before Ma came in. 

Sweetly, she pulled your hands away from yourself. She bathed you like you used to bathe Miss Kuchel when she was too sick to move. When she was done, she dressed the fresh wounds you had carved into yourself with your nails in your haste to get the blood off. 

“Oh, child,” she tutted, tears in her eyes, as she tugged a dress over your head, “there was nothing you coulda done for Jakobs, But I’ll see to it that something is done for his family. They’ll be taken care of.” 

Despite her kind words, you still felt the weight of your mistakes pressing into you. You stared off into space. After the thrill of finding 3DMG wore off, you were only left with the aches. Your hand from punching Furlan, your heart from losing Jakobs, your soul from Levi’s estrangement. 

He still couldn’t look at you.

If you weren’t so numb, you might be mad. 

But you were numb, and what lay beneath that buzz was a wave of emotions you felt would overtake you if you let them, so you chose to reside in the static instead. 

Ma, as it turns out, left as soon as she was done caring for you. She took the horse and carriage to deliver her and Jakobs portion of the goods to a salesmen, and then gave his earnings to his family.

It took the government a day to find her. 

News of Ma’s arrest reached your ears in even less time. 

You sank deeper into the numbness. 

Kur tried to comfort you, told you that Jakob’s family got their share before they caught her, and that at least one end was tied up. But the one finished story with Jakobs just made the unfinished ones glaringly obvious. Ma, nurturing, kind, crackshot Ma, was gone, aboveground and lost to you. Ponye was trying to keep spirits light, but even his devil-may-care attitude was brittle. Furlan did his level best to not piss you off anymore, since you’d given him a second shiner. Levi...

Levi was still refusing to look at you. 

You knew he was still around. You could feel his eyes on you, but by the time you’d find his hiding spot he was usually already moving on. Everything felt wrong, disjointed. You felt like you were missing a limb. You had never fought like this. Even over the earthworm. Even over your disappearance before Miss died. Even during your most heated arguments about the benefits and risks of you signing up with her old pimp, he had never seen fit to ignore you.

Nothing felt right. You wanted to go back to the way things were before.

Furlan called a meeting. 

The five of you sat in a huddle in your little warehouse, and you tried not to notice how Levi sat beside Kur, not beside you. Ponye grinned at you and scruffled your hair when he noticed your sad face, and you tried to let it lift your spirits, but you still felt...

Numb. 

“We can’t sell the 3DMG. The government is tracking it. We’re enemies of the state, after what we did.”

Kur protested, his soft voice ringing out in the stale air. “But you told us they were already stolen.” 

Levi scoffed. “No, they won’t want anyone thinking that a person inside their military would steal from the king. They want to pin all of this on us.” 

That’s all well and good, Levi, you thought, but why won’t you look at me.

As if sensing your thoughts, Levi looked at Ponye, next to you. You had never felt such homicidal rage in your life. 

The only thing beneath the numbness is anger. You try to shove it down. It keeps rising back up your throat, though, like bile. Your chest aches, and you fear what you’ve been keeping beneath your anger and your apathy. You know it will sweep you away and crash you against the rocks. It will rip you apart with its tide, and you won’t have a safety raft to cling to. 

“So, you led us into a trap?” Ponye asked, surly and mistrusting, “Is that why you won’t look at her? You feel guilty you didn’t keep her far enough away? How much are they paying you?”

Levi bared his teeth at the blonde, “I look at her enough,” he growled, and as if to prove a point, stared dead at you. 

You felt pinned by his gaze. The yearning you had felt for so long had suddenly vanished as if it had never existed, warmth filling the hole in your chest. Your heart shuddered inside your ribs. Had you always felt like this, when he looked at you? Or had the loss of his gaze driven you to new heights?

But... it was different. His eyes were shuttered, now, when he looked at you. He looked like he was a magnet, being repelled by his twin. 

The warmth in your chest soured. You felt like you’d be sick.

What had you done?

In the end, the solution to your problem was quite clear. You couldn’t sell the 3DMG. So, the only remaining option was to learn to use it. Surely, being able to soar in the air like a bird would make your heists all the easier, and Ponye was more than enthusiastic to be the first one to try it out.

The boy was whooping and laughing, even as he sent himself crashing into every surface possible, even as he bruised himself and dislocated his arm from not being able to keep his balance in the damn thing. You would have laughed, if you weren’t busy chasing after the bastard to make sure his head was still attached.

Meanwhile, you watched as Levi soared overhead like he’d been doing this his whole life. Prick, you thought gleefully, showing everyone else up, as always. Your heart was fluttering in your chest, and your stomach was flipping in your guts. Even when he was acting like a stranger, you still couldn’t help but root for him with everything in you. You didn’t want to help it. Levi, for all of his fussing, was yours. Yours to chase after, yours to keep safe, yours to be with. He would never be alone, regardless of how prickly he decided to act towards you. Even if you hadn’t promised Miss to keep him with you, you feared this inclination would be just as strong.

A hand pulled you from your reverie. Gripping a harness, Furlan grinned roguishly at you, “Let Kur start chasing this moron around the alley and go join Levi up there. We haven’t even seen you try it yet.”

You pressed your lips together, contemplating, and then grabbed the harness. “Alright. Don’t worry, I’m more than happy to show you all how it’s done!”

Furlan laughed, ruffling your hair and shoving you towards the fuel cannisters that lay nearby. “Yeah, yeah, just try not to die from a broken neck. Levi would have my head. Bastard barely even let me give you one a’those.”

You frowned at that, eyes going to trace him as he soared above you. He was so far out of reach with you down here. And by the walls did you want to yell at him right now. “Well, don’t you worry about that Furlan. I’ve got this all under control.”

As soon as you managed to get into the air properly, you nearly let go of all your anger.

Despite the rough tugging on your hips when you latched onto the Underground’s structures, despite the way your shoulders cried out at every shift and turn, despite the way your hands cramped from clinging to your triggers…

Walls, this was the most amazing thing.

You felt so free. Freer than a bird. Freer than you had ever, ever been trapped down here. It was like all your fears were left on the ground. No sneering pimps weighing your worth like a butcher with a piece of meat, no MP’s to leer at you from dark alleyways, no thugs to compete with for jobs. Fuck, with this gear, your group would be the only thieves that mattered down here. You felt the laughter rising in your throat as you raced after Levi, faster and faster. Free. Like a damn bird. You whooped, unable to hold the joy in any longer, and Levi turned to you. His hair was whipping in his face as he took in your chipper cries as you pelted after him, arms extended towards the undergrounds ceiling. You were gorgeous, looking happier and lighter than he’d ever seen you. Even when you were a child and he and his mom had taken you in, fresh-faced and naive, you hadn’t looked this happy. You’d taken to the gear nearly as quickly as he had, and seemed to feel invincible in it, if your raucous cheering was anything to go by.

Finally, he let himself land on a building top, and you came right after him with a screech. While you had figured out flying easily enough, landing was an entirely different story.

You plowed into him, knocking the both of you off of your feet and making you skitter across the rooftop. You wheezed when something heavy landed on you, crushing the wind out of you. You felt him shudder, hot breaths puffing on the sensitive skin of your neck as he tried to catch his breath before he propped himself up on an arm.

And then there he was. Levi. Above you. Eyes still dark, pretty lips parted, hair ruffled and messy as he stared breathlessly down at you. No, not at you. At the cut, healing to an angry shade of pink and bisecting your eyebrow.

You bucked your hips with a growl, and he was tossed from you. He was just so surprised by your sudden attack that he let you straddle him after too. You seated yourself firmly on top of him, thighs clenching around his hips and calves wedging under his knees. He bared his teeth at you, hissing and writhing, and you crammed a hand beneath his head, fingers gripping the hair there and forcing his face where you wanted it. Still, his eyes wouldn’t meet yours, even as his teeth grit from your grip. You shook with rage, all that fury from before rushing back. You wouldn’t let him leave you behind.

“Fucker,” you snarled, “Fucking look at me, Levi.”

He pursed his lips, before his eyes darted to yours and then away. You twisted your fingers until he hissed and writhed, bucking his hips under yours. “I said look at me.” You ordered, getting impossibly closer to him until you could feel the panicked puffs of breath leaving his mouth ghost across your face.

That was when, again, and with no help from Furlan, Levi reached the jagged end of his apathy.

Pt vi

[thecreaturecodex]

Kami, Oxter

Image accessed at the Ultraman Wiki here

[I'm back! It's the start of a new school year, so I've been busy busy busy. I do hope to return to my summer schedule of one new monster a week.

And what a monster we start with! Oxter is one of the weirder designs in Return of Ultraman, but has connections to Ultra kaiju before and after. The plot of the episode, and Oxter's acidic powers, feels a lot like Stegon, who I've already statted up here. And the same author who wrote this episode wrote an episode of Ultraman Ace with another bovine kaiju, Cowra. The Cowra episode is notable not for the powers or appearance of the kaiju, which are fairly sedate by the standards of Ultraman Ace. But the way a character turns slowly into Cowra feels like it started out as transformation fetish porn, and then was repurposed into a kid's show about a giant silver alien/angel who punches monsters. The "writer's barely disguised fetish" trope goes way back.]

Kami, Oxter CR 19 N Outsider (native) This creature’s head resembles that of a cow, but its anatomy otherwise bears little resemblance to ordinary animals. It is bipedal, with a thick slug-like tail and stumpy legs. Its back has a high bony hump, and its head is set low on its shoulders. Instead of arms, it has large red horns, which articulate on jointed stumps. Its ears stick out at a wide angle, and a ribbon-like tongue flickers in its tusked mouth

An oxter is a bizarre kami that guards a site of mass animal death and protects their remains from desecration and disrespect. They can be found in any natural environment, from tar pits and volcanic craters to water holes that had dried up at an inopportune time. Oxters do not care much for the reasons their ward might be disturbed and respond to any disturbances with violence. From wizards seeking out supplies for necromancy or golem construction, to scientists studying the natural processes that occurred at the site, all are likely to find themselves subject to the oxter’s destructive scrutiny.

Oxters are slow and cumbersome on land, but they are surprisingly mobile in the water. As such, they often remain stationary and probe out disturbances using their supernaturally long tongues, which can extend for hundreds of feet. These tongues are coated in corrosive saliva, and anyone who gets close to an oxter will be sprayed by a torrent of acid. An oxter’s melee weapons are its horns, which are capable of surprising mobility and can strike repeatedly at multiple targets as if they were swords. Oxters have few spell-like abilities in comparison to other kami, but can use magic to move through impeding terrain or to smite interlopers in a particularly desperate battle. An oxter will fight to the death to protect their ward.

Because of their association with mass mortality events, oxters and stegons can be found in association with each other. Stegons are the only undead creatures oxters will tolerate, and the kami see such assemblages as a natural consequence of particularly serious disturbances. Oxters will permit other creatures to live in their wards, even sapient ones, as long as they respect the peace of the dead who lie there. They rarely associate with other kami unless their wards overlap, but in such cases the oxters tend to defer to their more intelligent kin, even if they are much physically weaker.

Kami, Oxter CR 19 XP 204,800 N Colossal outsider (kami, native) Init +9; Senses blindsense 60 ft., darkvision 60 ft., Perception +26

Defense AC 34, touch 7, flat-footed 29(-8 size, +5 Dex, +27 natural) hp 330 (20d10+220); fast healing 15 Fort +19, Ref +19, Will +17 DR 15/cold iron and magic; Immune acid,bleed, mind-influencing effects, petrifaction, polymorph; Resist electricity 10, fire 10; SR 30

Offense Speed 40 ft., swim 80 ft. Melee gore +26/+21/+16/+11 (4d6+13), bite +24 (4d6+6 plus 2d6 acid) or gore +24/+24/+19/+19/+14/+14/+9 (4d6+13), bite +24 (4d6+6 plus 2d6 acid) or tongue +26 (2d8+13 plus 4d6 acid plus grab) Space 30 ft.; Reach 30 ft. (20 ft. with bite, 60 ft. with tongue) Special Attacks breath weapon (120 ft. cone, 20d6 acid, Ref DC 31, 1d4 rounds), constrict (2d8+19 plus 4d6 acid), extensible tongue (AC 23, 33 hp), trample (2d8+19, Ref DC 33) Spell-like Abilities CL 19th, concentration +23 3/day—commune with nature, freedom of movement, undeath to death (DC 21) 1/day—quickened divine power

Statistics Str 36, Dex 21, Con 32, Int 9, Wis 20, Cha 21Base Atk +20; CMB +41 (+45 grab); CMD 56 Feats Blind Fight, Double Slice, Great Fortitude, Greater Two-Weapon Fighting, Improved Initiative, Improved Two-Weapon Fighting, Multiattack, Quicken SLA (divine power), Two-Weapon Fighting, Weapon Focus (gore) Skills Knowledge (nature) +16, Perception +26, Sense Motive +22, Survival +22, Swim +37; Racial Bonuses +4 Perception, +4 Swim Languages Senzar, telepathy 100 ft. SQ articulated horns, merge with ward, ward (animal graveyard of 4 square km or less)

Ecology Environment any Organization solitary Treasure incidental

Special Abilities Horns (Ex) The horns of an oxter are capable of making iterative attacks as if they were manufactured weapons. An oxter can fight with both horns in the same turn as if using two manufactured weapons (and most oxters take Two Weapon Fighting and other feats for this purpose). In any round in which an oxter makes a melee attack with its articulated horns, it treats its other natural weapons as secondary natural attacks. Extensible Tongue (Ex/Su) An oxter treats its tongue as a primary natural attack that deals bludgeoning damage. It can make attacks with a reach of 60 feet ordinarily, but if the oxter spends a move action, it can extend its tongue 60 feet. It can continue to spend move actions to keep extending its tongue at a rate of 60 feet per round to a maximum of 1200 feet long. The tongue can attack around corners and even enter buildings; if the oxter cannot see what it’s attacking, the tongue can use the oxter’s blindsense. An oxter cannot use its tongue as a weapon in a round where it attacks with other natural weapons. The oxter’s tongue has hit points equal to 1/10 the oxter, and an AC of 10 + ½ the oxter’s natural armor bonus. It uses the oxter’s saving throws, resistances and immunities if attacked separately. The oxter’s tongue can make Stealth checks as a Medium creature, and is five feet in diameter. If an oxter’s tongue is reduced to 0 hp, it is shed, and the oxter grows a new tongue over the course of the next 24 hours.

[synchodai]

Your last post has made me so curious about your opinion on Jace being viewed as a worthy heir to the Iron Throne. I do think that is a very fitting label for Jace but you say you disagree? Please elaborate.

[This is mostly tangential, but I don't really believe anyone is a "worthy" heir in a monarchy. Kingship isn't a prize for the good guys nor is it a right. It's an inherited office of concentrated (and often stolen) power. Nobody takes a test or campaigns to prove their "worth" to the throne, and there are only ever two ways to "earn" it in ASOIAF: conquest and familial relations. Fire and blood.

Disregarding the nebulous concept of a "worthy" king, let's look at Jace as a leader in general. Because that's how most people are really approaching this, right? They don't really want to bother with the oppressive systems of power that maintain a feudal monarchy and just think about who's "worthy" based on who they would personally vote for when having these kinds of discussions. Never mind that the point of monarchy is no one votes, but for the sake of answering the question, let's pretend.]

Some fans do talk about Jace as if he was showing such extraordinary potential and he would have been the heir that was promised were it not for his untimely death... and I have to disagree with that.

We DO have a character in the series whose narrative purpose was to be the dashing, promising, and perfect king-to-be who died before his time — and his name was Baelor Breakspear. So I think it would be a good idea to compare how the books handled and portrayed the two.

Like Jace, Baelor also didn't have the conventional Targaryen look and faced pushback because of it, but unlike Jace, Baelor was an experienced and studied man in his late 30s. He had proven himself as a ruler by administering his lands, fostering political ties, fighting in battles and tourneys, and raising a suitable issue.

In both the book and the show, Jace is an untested teenager. He was the Prince of Dragonstone in name but never in practice. He made key alliances for the blacks but they were never fulfilled, and every other decision he made (sending dragons instead of ravens, sending Aegon and Viserys to Pentos, and the dragonseeds) was in the interest of short-term gain with little thought given to their long-term consequences. I wrote a bit about it here.

Baelor's most famous piece of dialogue shows him being honorable before he tragically dies fighting in defense of righteous Dunk. (Book) Jace's most famous line of dialogue is calling Vhagar a "hoary, old bitch." Still iconic but narratively speaking, they just don't share the same archetype.

That's not to say that I think Jace would be a horrible leader. I imagine he would be as competent as a Jon Snow or Robb Stark, both of whom came to power at 15 during times of conflict. Like them, he'd be well-intentioned and have his share of wins, but he would have a difficult time earning the respect of his men and would be absolutely miserable throughout. All three young men definitely have the potential to grow into effective and good rulers in their own right, but because they are in such unstable positions, they don't get the privilege of learning from their mistakes. Jon and Robb's tenures were very short as they were both ultimately betrayed, and that's how I foresee how Jace's reign would end as well unless he does something drastic and truly unorthodox.

[hexpea]

Ch. 1 - Black Dahlia Black Dahlia flowers often represent betrayal or sadness. AN: I wrote this after getting the character guide. I learned that the Zenin estate is in Kyoto after all, along with the Kamo estate. Oops. We're going with it anyway!

The glittering lights of the world's largest city unfolded in front of you as the sleek, black sedan that carried you sped down the Shuto Expressway. It had been a five and a half hour drive that you spent entirely silent in the backseat as your youngest uncle, Daisuke, drove you toward the outskirts of Tokyo toward the imposing Zenin estate. The skyscrapers sparkled as you drove on the highway, the early setting sun casting a glow on their windows as tiny February snowflakes fell to the city streets below.

You shifted in your seat, the knot of your obi restraining you tighter than your own seat belt. You hooked your thumb under the tight fabric to take a deep breath and ease some of your pain. You hated having to dress so formal -- ironic considering the conservative family you came from who prided themselves on lineage and tradition. You were the Kamo clan's jewel, the youngest daughter of the clan head. But as a woman, youngest aside, you had 'no right' to become the heir apparent; that role instead passed down to your 'bastard' half-brother, Noritoshi, though you'd never personally call him that. He'd inherited the prized cursed technique of your family, and you convinced yourself that your father's reasoning was right. So you ignored it and adored your youngest brother, the mama's boy. Besides, you had a much more important task at hand.

Daisuke looked in the rear-view mirror at you, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as he tried to analyze your facial expression while you busied yourself with studying the sparkling skyline. As your youngest uncle, who often carted you around as your attendant, you were close to him -- and those 'complications' from your 'task,' he knew all about. In fact, you saw Daisuke as more of a father, or brotherly, figure than your own father.

After such a long silence, the Zenin estate only a few minutes away as you drove away from the city, Daisuke finally broke it. "You alright, Y/N? It's been a long journey from Kyoto," his voice held deep concern. The windshield wipers of the car made a loud squeak as they dragged themselves across the too-dry glass, snow and salt still dirtying it as Daisuke sighed irritably and discharged the wiper fluid using the shifter near the steering wheel.

You turned your head slightly, meeting Daisuke's gaze in the mirror with cool composure. Swallow it down. That's what you knew best. "I'm fine, Uncle. Just contemplating the path ahead."

Daisuke nodded, acknowledging the weight of the situation. "Today, you'll be betrothed to another Zenin. You've a crucial role in...ensuring the continued influence of our clan," his tone hinted at your true task at hand, more than a measly arranged marriage. "And you know your father is...eager...to see his direction carried out promptly this time."

Your expression remained unchanged as you turned your attention back to the view outside, your eyes betrayed only a glimmer of detached determination. "I understand, Uncle. I'll play my part, and I won't fuck up...again," your voice was quiet as you tried to end the conversation quickly with your harsh, irritated tone.

"You know your role in this alliance is crucial, Y/N. The clan has invested much into this partnership with the Zenin and your abilities are our greatest asset," Daisuke focused back on the road, his voice laced with double meaning that you could easily decipher. His breathing briefly hitched as he hit a patch of black ice as the expressway you were once on turned into winding country roads.

A subtle smirk played on your lips, you felt your blood pressure starting to rise with irritation. "I'm well aware, Uncle. The Kamo clan's rise to power is at stake and I have no intention on letting us down."

Daisuke sighed, his gaze remaining fixed on the road ahead. "You've done well in the past, especially with...your late husband. But this time, try not to take seven years to finish the job. Our arrangement relies on their vulnerability and we've postponed the progression long enough."

Your eyes glinted with a cold determination as you saw the Zenin estate steadily coming into view, one of the last remaining shinden-zukuri style estates from the Heian era -- besides your own back in Kyoto. "Rest assured, Daisuke. I know what needs to be done. I've done it quite a few times before," you were throwing his first name around as if it were a threat. As close as you were, you were pestered he kept bringing up your circumstances as if you didn't know what you were doing.

Daisuke pulled the car onto the brick driveway that curved toward the front gates to the Zenin estate. You waited in the back as he got out and opened the door for you, offering his hand to assist your movements. You did your best to gracefully exit the vehicle despite the tight skirt of your kimono, the slowly setting afternoon sun providing a warm backdrop to the otherwise solemn occasion for the reason of your arrival. You shivered as you felt the cold air at your wrists and ankles, feeling lucky for wearing a thick kimono for once.

He led you toward the imposing front gates, the two of you being greeted by a few attendants who then led you toward the main building where your father-in-law Zenin Naobito, the twenty-fifth head to the Zenin clan, awaited you.

"Make them believe you're mourning, Y/N," Daisuke whispered in your ear, slightly leaning down as two female attendants quietly led the way toward the center building. "But remember your duties."

With a nod, accompanied by your irritated expression, you entered the estate to find Naobito lounging informally on a zabuton. I don't need to pretend, you thought to yourself, I am in mourning.

Naobito was sucking down sake from an o-choko as if it were nothing before pouring himself another from a gourd. He leaned against the armrest to his zabuton, one leg curled inward with the other propped up, his elbow resting on his knee.

The attendants who had led you there silently closed the shoji doors behind you as you stepped toward Naobito, keeping a step behind your uncle. Considering you'd been dealing with the Zenin clan since you were a child, you knew all about their cold and conniving ways, particularly that of the misogynistic nature. You knew to keep your mouth shut and your head low, at least in front of a man like Naobito.

The main room of the estate was large, built of the sturdiest wood. The ceiling was held up with large wooden pillars throughout the room made of the same wood that planked the floors. You stood with your uncle on the large, raised platform in just your socks against the tatami mats. Naobito was sitting at the front of the room alone with attendants stationed at each of the doors in the room.

Daisuke took the first move, bowing respectfully to adhere to the formalities of clan politics. "Zenin-sama, I bring you Kamo Y/N. She comes to offer her condolences on the passing of your son and her late husband, Zenin Naohiro."

Naobito looked up from his lounging position, taking a prolonged sip from his next cup of sake, staring at the two of you with an air of indifference. His sharp eyes assessed you, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of recognition that made your heart flutter nervously. However, it was quickly replaced by the cold mask that almost always defined him.

"Daisuke," Naobito greeted casually, setting his sake cup aside. "It's been some time. I trust the journey here was uneventful?"

"Indeed, it was. We're grateful for your hospitality over the next few days," he responded professionally, continuing to adhere to formalities despite Naobito's lack of interest.

Naobito nodded dismissively, his attention turning to you. His cold stare was almost enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Y/N, a pleasure to see you as well," he remarked with a slight smirk, not bothering to rise from his seated position.

You kept your eyes low, dipping into a respectful bow of your own. You did your best to maintain a somber expression as Daisuke introduced you more formally. "Zenin-sama, allow me to present once again, Kamo Y/N, youngest daughter of the twenty-fourth head to the Kamo clan."

Naobito studied you for a moment, his gaze piercing through the layers of your kimono and the stoicism you presented. "Pity about the circumstances that bring you here...again," he remarked, a cruel glint in his eyes.

You inclined your head in acknowledgement, maintaining the facade of grief as it came naturally. "Thank you, Zenin-sama. I am honored to be here despite the sorrow that accompanies my arrival."

Naobito waved his hand dismissively, clearly uninterested in niceties. "Let's get on with it then. Daisuke, our arrangement?"

Daisuke cleared his throat, shifting into his formal tone once more. "As agreed, Y/N will be betrothed to one of your sons, or another appropriate clan member should a son not be available, securing the alliance between our clans. The Kamo clan seeks the strength and protection of the Zenin, and in return, we offer our influence and support with regard to matters involving those higher in rank."

Naobito's indifferent demeanor remained unchanged as he listened to your uncle's formalities. After a moment, he sighed audibly, a hint of annoyance tainting his expression.

"Unfortunately, all of my other sons are already married...save for one," Naobito stated coldly. "Naoya is my youngest, and he remains unmarried. I suppose he'll have to suffice for this...pathetic alliance. Though, I expect his resistance. The boy's not one known for his behavior."

Daisuke nodded respectfully, acknowledging the limitations of the situation. "We appreciate the flexibility, Zenin-sama. I'm sure Naoya will be a worthy match for Y/N."

Naobito leaned back after rolling his eyes, taking another sip of sake as he considered the arrangement. He turned to one of the attendants quietly standing against the wall. "Go and fetch Naoya. Inform him of the situation and bring him here promptly."

The attendant nodded, a flicker of fear evident in her eyes, but they quickly composed themselves and exited the room in haste. Naoya, known for his unpredictable and ruthless nature, was a figure to be feared even within the Zenin clan.

The silence was deafening as you, Daisuke, and Naobito stared at one another while waiting for the attendant to return. After a short few moments, the attendant returned with a hesitant bow, her eyes showcasing an obvious mix of fear and trepidation. She spoke in a hushed tone, addressing Naobito with utmost respect. "I apologize, Zenin-sama, but Naoya refuses to come. He is still resting, as he returned late last night from a...festivity."

Naobito's face tightened with irritation, his fingers drumming impatiently on the tatami mat next to him. "Still sleeping? At this late hour? Unacceptable." He turned to the attendant with a stern expression. "Gather more attendants. If he refuses, drag him in if you have to. I won't have my son shirking his responsibilities for his...indulgences."

You gave Daisuke a certain look that blatantly showed you were trying to hold back laughter despite yourself. You found Naobito's lack of control over his children amusing. Naohiro had been the same, disobedient to his father, though he was much more gentle with you. Naoya, you knew, was going to be a problem. Daisuke lightly nudged you to behave as he held his polite expression.

The attendant, visibly more nervous now, nodded and quickly exited the room. Naobito sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his annoyance evident. "That boy has no sense of responsibility. Always chasing after fleeting pleasures."

The fusuma doors slid open again, revealing a group of female attendants. They entered with conflicted expressions of determination as they wrangled a disheveled Naoya who was fighting against their grasp, still half-asleep, as he was forcibly dragged into the room in a white t-shirt, boxers, and an unfastened yukata that hung off of one of his shoulders. His bleached hair accentuated with black tips darted in a few different directions as he ripped his arms out of the attendants' grasp with a furious look on his otherwise sleepy expression.

Naoya adjusted his disheveled clothes as he stood up a bit straighter, not caring to fix his tousled hair. Naobito's eyes narrowed with displeasure as he observed his son's state. "Naoya, this is an important matter. Show some respect."

Naoya glared at his father as he stood with his feet slightly apart for balance, mind still dizzy from a night of his usual revelry. His head snapped in your direction to which his frustrated expression fell into a deep smirk. "Well, well, if it isn't the Kamo princess," Naoya sneered, his arrogant grin widening as he appraised you with a dismissive glance. "Coming to play the grieving widow, are we?"

You kept a straight face as you stared at Naoya, straightening up your shoulders to look at him head-on. You carried no fear for the immature boy standing in front of you. Daisuke, too, gave Naoya a disapproving look but refrained from saying anything, knowing the delicate nature of the situation.

Naobito, giving yet another audible sigh in an attempt to bring attention back to the task at hand, cut to the chase. "Naoya, Y/N is to be your betrothed so that our alliance with the Kamo clan can remain secure."

Naoya's eyes widened in outrage as he processed the information. "You've got to be kidding me, old man! I'm not interested in some arranged marriage nonsense," he spat, his voice dripping with disdain. He clenched his fists at his sides as he glared at his father. It was nearly impossible to take him seriously considering his disheveled appearance.

Naobito's patience wore thin as he shot Naoya a stern look. "Watch your tongue, boy. This alliance, as pathetic as it seems, is crucial to the Zenin clan, and you will do as your duty demands."

Naoya rolled his eyes dramatically, an exaggerated display of defiance. "Duty? I have no duty to anyone but myself. I won't be shackled to some woman and dragged off to Kyoto like a common servant. Like my pathetic brother."

You remained composed, watching the exchange with an impassive expression. Daisuke, though disapproving of Naoya's behavior and not desiring to subject his niece to such torture, kept a respectful distance, knowing better than to intervene in the Zenin family affairs.

Naobito's tone turned even colder as he asserted his authority. "You will do as I say, Naoya. This is not up for negotiation. The alliance with the Kamo clan must be maintained and you will fulfill your responsibilities as the next clan head. Or do I need to revoke that title from you and give it to one of your older brothers?"

Naoya's bratty attitude persisted and he scoffed at his father's words. "Fine, I'll play your little game, but I'm not leaving Tokyo. If she's supposed to be my bride, the bitch can come live in my domain. I won't be caught dead in that dull city of Kyoto, not when I need to manage the Hei!"

Naobito's patience had run out, and he slammed his hand on the armrest of the zabuton, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. "Enough, Naoya! This is not a negotiation! You will follow through with this arrangement, and she will live in Kyoto with her family. The Hei may be significant, but it does not give you the right to defy our clan's decisions."

Naoya scowled, clearly displeased with the outcome. "This is ridiculous. If I have to marry her, she's staying in Tokyo. I won't be confined to that backward city!"

You took a deep breath, feeling fed up with the back and forth between petty father and son. "If I may," you began, breaking the silence with a steady voice despite the tension in the room. Naoya and Naobito's furious gazes darted toward you, equal in baffled disgust at your sudden dare to speak. "I understand his concerns about leaving Tokyo considering his responsibilities with the Hei. If it pleases the Zenin family, I am willing to remain in Tokyo as long as I am able to be provided a part of the garden to tend to my plants and a suitable place to store my...reptiles."

Daisuke's eyes widened in shock at your unexpected proposal. He knew all too well the risks involved in meddling with the affairs of the Zenin clan, especially with someone as unpredictable as Naoya.

Quietly, Daisuke leaned in closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y/N, are you sure about this? Your safety at the Zenin estate cannot be guaranteed."

You met Daisuke's concerned gaze with a silent nod, your eyes reflecting quiet determination. You were well aware of the dangers, but you were confident in your ability to navigate the treacherous waters of the Zenin clan. Turning your attention back to Naoya and Naobito, you awaited their response, your posture unwavering despite the intensity of the situation.

Naoya's arrogant grin faltered for a moment as he considered your proposal, his brow furrowing in thought. "Hmph, you're quite bold for a Kamo," he remarked, a hint of begrudging respect underlying his words. "Very well, if you're willing to tend to your plants and snakes like some common gardener, then so be it."

Naobito, though visibly displeased with the compromise, reluctantly acquiesced. "Fine, if that's what it takes to ensure the success of this alliance then so be it. But make no mistake, Kamo Y/N, any misstep on your part under this roof will not be tolerated."

You gave a small nod of acknowledgement. Inside, you felt a surge of relief and victory knowing you had secured a concession from the formidable Zenin patriarch and his bratty son.

Naobito's stern gaze shifted from you to Naoya, a clear signal that the matter was settled. "Naoya, get dressed. You will show Y/N around the estate while I finalize the details of your betrothal with Daisuke."

Naoya scowled at his father, clearly displeased with the order. "Why am I the one tasked with babysitting the princess around this dull place?"

Naobito looked toward the ceiling and clenched his jaw as if he were praying to some kind of deity. After a moment, he turned back to look at his son. "Consider it a punishment for your insolence. Now, obey your duty and show her the estate. Perhaps you'll learn something about responsibility."

Naoya huffed in annoyance but didn't dare further protest in front of his father. He shot a disdainful glance at you. "Fine, let's get this over with. Follow me, Kamo," he sneered, emphasizing your family name with a mocking tone.

You maintained your composure, but smirked as you walked behind him. "Lead the way, Zenin-sama. I'm sure it won't be as dull as you claim."

As Naoya grumbled and stormed out of the room, you continued following him, Daisuke's watchful gaze lingered on you with concern. The attendants opened the shoji doors and you and Naoya stepped out and began walking toward his room, his bare feet hardly making a sound against the spaced wooden planks of the outdoor pathway. As you followed behind, you saw his angry breath following him in the cold air of late afternoon.

Naoya walked ahead of you with an air of arrogance, fists still clenched as his black yukata flowed in the breeze of his quick pace. "I hope you're not expecting some kind of grand tour, Kamo. This place isn't as exciting as you think."

You chuckled softly, not letting his arrogance faze you. "Then I suppose I'll need to liven things up around here with my presence."

He shot you a skeptical glance as you stopped in front of his room's door, his eyes narrowed at you as he slid the door open. "Don't mistake this for willingness. I'm only doing this because the old man ordered it. I couldn't care less about a whore like you or this alliance nonsense."

As Naoya entered his room, you remained outside, leaning casually against the sliding door. You slid your hands into your sleeves for warmth as you waited. The opened door allowed you to catch glimpses of the interior where Naoya, in his disheveled state, attempted to compose himself.

The room was dimly lit, and the faint scent of strong alcohol lingered in the air. You watched with mild amusement as Naoya stumbled to dress, his bare feet unsteady on the wooden floors, a clear sign that he was still grappling with the aftermath of the previous night's festivities. His yukata hung loosely from one shoulder, revealing a toned and defined physique beneath the fabric. Despite the obvious signs of his hangover, there was an undeniable attractiveness to Naoya's disarray. His bleached, black-tipped hair, tousled from sleep and night's revelry, framed his face in a way that accentuated the sharpness of his muscular chest and arms. 

Naoya fumbled with the buttons of his collared shirt, a slight grimace on his face as he tilted his chin upward, wincing from the headache that undoubtedly plagued him. With his shirt buttoned, he grabbed his dark blue hakamashita from his bed where he tossed it. As you observed his attempts to dress himself, you couldn't help but be intrigued by the contradictions within Naoya -- the audacious, carefree exterior that masked the complexities beneath. It was evident that, despite his arrogant demeanor, he was not immune to the consequences of his indulgences. He still had some growing room left.

Naoya lastly put on his white hakama pants, tying them at his waist with a bit of frustration. He shot a glance in your direction, a mix of annoyance and curiosity in his eyes. "Are you just going to stand there, Kamo, or do you plan on entering? You're letting all the warm air out," he motioned irritably to the space heater on the floor.

Your lips curled into a sly smile as you pushed off the door, entering his room with a deliberate confidence and closing the shoji door behind you. "I thought I'd give you a moment to compose yourself, Zenin. Wouldn't want to interrupt your morning routine," you chuckled lowly and crossed your arms. "Excuse me...I meant afternoon routine."

He scoffed, the arrogant smirk returning to his face. "Morning routine? More like recovering from a night well spent. But enough about that. What do you truly want? I'm not here to entertain you."

Your eyes scanned the simple yet elegant decor of his room. "Entertainment is subjective, Zenin. I'm simply here to fulfill my duties as your betrothed, as per our esteemed fathers' arrangement."

Naoya rolled his eyes, the remnants of irritation evident in his expression. "Right, the illustrious betrothal. A joyous occasion, I'm sure. Now, let's get this stupid tour over with."

Dates: February 14, 2018 - Naohiro, Naoya's brother and Y/N's ex-husband, is killed. February 18, 2018 - Y/N is sent to the Zenin estate to be married off to an eligible Zenin bachelor. AN: Reminder, this is your father and half-brother. c: (From Vol. 22)

[vagabond-umlaut]

⁙ spick and span, ft. gojo and geto

or, how well they keep themselves and your home clean.

▸gn! reader; 0.65k wc; manga spoilers + fluff, fluff and fluff; gojo and geto in their twenties (mid to late, maybe) (couldn't find another image, sorry); established relationship (married in case of geto) ▸the classic 'wrote this instead of studying/sleeping' (it was one a.m. when i wrote this lmao). anyways, characters, image and divider used aren't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

gojo satoru

at a personal level, the man is unbelievably spruce and tidy.

i mean, you've seen him, right?

designer clothes or clean ironed uniform, neatly trimmed hair with *those* bangs, clean shaved face - there's no way in hell he is not hygienic. i bet you, he also uses those costly af soaps, bath bombs & perfumes with citrus scents and woody undertones.

the literal king of self-care, if you will.

yet when the story comes to his surroundings...

umm, let's say you'll be a lot a little disappointed. and a little mad. maybe. definitely.

if the two of you live at an estate with servants at your beck and call, you'll have a lot less mess to yell about.

but if you both decide to stay in a place by yourselves - y'know, the way ordinary people do - well... friendly advice, keep a strip of aspirin handy. [you'll need it, trust me.]

from empty candy wrappers beneath the couch to dirty clothes in a heap outside the washroom to mission papers strewn across the dining table to bed unmade till the noon, this man just *does not* know how to clean up after himself.

initially, it isn't a problem. you're in love with him, he's in love with you - every extra chore you do for him doesn't appear a chore.

and gojo, being the oblivious busybody he is, continues leaving his messes behind for you to manage.

[not knowingly, of course. satoru loves you way too much to trouble you that way. but he does it all the same.]

years of being the spoilt brat of a loaded clan might do that, you reckon - so you excuse him, again and again and again - until it becomes too fucking much and you decide to talk to him.

cue hours of scolding countered by flirting, followed by a decision to sleep separately, followed by a terribly sad, terribly sleepy, terribly cute face begging for your forgiveness at three in the morning.

the next weekend and every weekend after that, satoru and you clean your house together. like the equal partners you are. [not that you've a lot to clean, though. your darling of a boyfriend turns awfully careful about keeping your home tidy after that night's drama. to your immense relief and glee. ;)]

geto suguru

another man who is perfect in personal hygiene.

being the leader of a cult, he has to meet many people throughout the day, so obviously he has got to keep himself presentable.

and yes, he is a worthy contender for the throne of self-care.

moisturizers, face washes, face packs, shampoos, conditioners, fragrant soaps, colognes - you name it, the man's got it in his self-care cabinet. [which is periodically updated to keep up with the trends, thanks to mimiko and nanako.]

now, with respect to his surroundings...

suguru is a pretty neat and organized person - a polar opposite to his ex-bff. [why do i always drag poor gojo into everything? smh.]

fruit peelings disposed into the right bin, worn clothes thrown in the laundry basket, papers arranged in stacks on the study table, bed made within minutes of rising.

no matter the stress he has to face from dealing with curses and monkeys, suguru never fails to tidy up after himself.

although there are times when he is too tired to do anything - in those instances, you always clean up after him with a soft smile.

your husband works hard day and night to provide for you and your daughters. the least, you think, you can do in return is lighten the weight on his shoulders, in whichever way you can.

though, i must warn you - be prepared to drown in a sea of his apologies and affections for the next day [or days - depends on how much work you've done for him].

one hell of an immaculate mass-murderer, and special-grade simp, if i must say.

▸ masterlist

[fictionalhoedown]

Stanford Pines x Self-Insert

Summary ;; Ford Pines discovers a strange glowing red flower, obviously he brings it back to the shack to bring it underground and study it. But Stanley has other plans, seeing it as a business opportunity, but of course he messes it up

~~~~ (I'm sorry I forgot to use they/them pronouns so this is a Stan x female self insert)~~~~

EdIt;: Im rly sorry if its bad, its been a long while since I wrote fanfic but I love this man to death I need this ;( y'all would tell me if this is shit or not right? pls hlp

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stanley's POV

Ford comes barreling in with something glowing red in his hands "the hell is that?" his brother didn't reply, instead he neatly stacked his books and gently places on the diner table a black pot with a large glowing flower.

Similar to a Lily, three long tubes with large pollen balls on each end gently emited small visible spores. I get irritated that he's ignoring me, again, and turn the tv off to lessen the noise "hey dick face!".

He looks at me with the highest form of disrespect, "Can you please tell me what the hell that thing is doing in my living room?" Ford huffed and straightened his glasses.

"techniqly this is my house Stanley. secondly! I don't know! I found it today. But I do know that I need to drive to my lab and retrieve some nessecary equipment items that I think would be beneficial of concealing this thing until I can learn more~"

The nerdy Pine brother looked 'too' excited about this research, "riiiiight, because playing with a flower is scientific?" my brother groans again "god why are you so childish! Just let me be happy about this discovery" I held my hands up in defense.

As he packed somethings up, he takes a step and looks at me very seriously, "listen Stan, I'm gonna be gone a while. Please, do not sell the damn flower in your freak shop. And more importantly. Do. Not. Touch. It."

I look back at the flower, everything about it calling to me to not sell it but cause general mischief for my brother and his nerdy hobbies. "yeah yeah, I promise! Jeez, you really think so low of your own blood?" he rolls his eyes and exits the living room with a sarcastic "yes.".

_______________

Self-Insert's POV

My cold wet hair dripped down my hot skin, I wrapped the towel around my chest, securing it well, then clipping the bottom, for no unnecessary 'drafts' of wind.

I combed my hair back out of my face and misted some perfume on before leaving the bathroom with the intention of going to my room and getting dressed. Until, !CRASH!

Rushing down the stairs with zero regards for slipping on my ass, I make it to the bottom to find Stanley Pines, my dear close friend, face covered in what looked like red spray paint and a broken flower pot with soil on the ground.

"Stan! What the- " I run to his side, holding his face with my hands to inspect the damage. I sprint to the kitchen and get some wet paper towels, trying to gently remove the mystery color from his face.

"Yeah yeah I know, Ford told me not to touch it already. But I didn't techniqly!" As I am dabbing his nose with the wet towel I give him a 'bruh' look. He protests "I'm serious! That damn flower basically farted this stuff in my face!" I laugh at his explanation.

As I finish cleaning the last of the flower spores from his eyes and nose, I notice an unfamiliar heat radiating from him like he was a mobile fireplace. Looking at his face, I see without the spores he is very flushed and red faces, a gentle sweat beginning at his bushy silver brows.

I put my lips to his forehead to feel his temperture, only to be met with an iron skillet burning my face, "Ow! Good Lord, how are you still alive! Your burning like grits with no butter!" I push the hair from his dripping face, to better see, he seems shy and sheepish? Stanley Pines? Shy?

Stanley's POV

I can't handle it, god this was such a mistake, I should have listened to Ford! Her glowing skin was the only thing I could pay attention to, as she spoke it was like how adults speak in cartoons.

When she was cleaning my eyes with the paper towel, I felt her breath, it sent chills through my whole body, like I was a teenager again! Her neck looked so... exposed... My body was turning up the heat like it was thanksgiving day.

I unconsciously trailed my eyes downward, (Self-Insert) continued her health assessment check with me, all my senses got more and more sensative. The TV volume was on low but it sounded like it was wracking inside my skull.

The living room light looked so bright and yellow for my eyes, I thought they were gonna dry away to dust. (Self-Insert)'s smell, fueling me into my lungs and straight to my member, so sweet, like honey and vanilla.

Her touch, as she nervously holds onto my arm for foundation, I can't think about anything else but the electrical storm going on with her beautiful body being pressed up against my old ass having a stroke on the floor in my fucking boxers. Real charming Stanley.

I unknowingly found myself gripping her wrist to bring her closer, hooking my arm around her waist and cupping each hip perversely. "T-Toots-... I can't... think... I don't think I... can even breath right now... but-" looking up deep into her eyes, the tent on me rises high to the sky.

Self-Insert's POV

The elder man aggressively shoved me, falling to my back but not hitting my head, thanks to his hand engulfing the back of my skull. Stanley's arms were firmly planted next to my head, his girtle not present but his very, very large lower half pushing past my legs, nothing but the thin blue and white striped cloth gently laying against my womanhood like a dog sitting on top of the bun.

"I can't explain how much I want- no..." Stanley falls forward, dipping his head to my throat like he's gonna rip it all out, "Need you~" I watch carefully, scared but, weirdly excited? His giant hands engulfing my wrists, the heart violently beating against his palm, "Stan." I say, to try and get his attention.

Suddenly rocking his hips to an imaginary song, he shifted his hands from my wrists to my biceps, pushing his weight on me as both our pre-cum juices covered and soaked his boxers. I couldn't run, the man was 5x larger than me, and I mean, It's not like it doesn't feel good~

Stanley grunted exhastedly, looking like a horny boy humping his pillow. The stubble on his face scratched all over me as he open mouth licked me like a loli-pop and drunkenly sucked hickies from my throat to my collarbones, he kept saying stuff like "I swear. you taste so good.", "I wish I could eat you like cake~", "say my name again, and I think I'll bust".

Gently removing himself from licking my neck, Stan suddenly rips my towel open, my no longer steaming body, hitting the freezing cold ac air of the mystery shack. Not saying a word, a small dripple of saliva dripping from his lip as sweat poured from his face.

His calloused fingers found their way to my chest with no hesitation, picking each bud with his pointer and thumb and rolling them around, my breath hitched as he pulled and let them fall back watching the buds grow stuffer and pinker "pretty, pink, buds" he murmurs.

While he gawked and played with my titties, I open my legs a bit more, adding to the closeness, his shaft firmly pressed to my soaking entrance. Reaching for the elastic of his boxers, I stick my thumbs in, circling around his waist and intending to push them down, feeling his swelled tip bed for attention.

!!EHEM!!-

Stanley's POV

(Self-Insert) sat in my lap as we watched my favorite romantic drama movie, my brother sat at the table next to us, toying with his glowing flower, that surprisingly lived.

Ford gagged once more, like he did for the 100th time, "I fucking hate you Stanley.".

I groan and drop my arm from the air dramatically, "Jesus fucking Christ Ford I already said I was in the wrong and I was sorry. How was I supposed to know it was gonna spit some sexy love juice in my face!" (Self-Insert) chuckled nervously as her face turned beat read again.

"Lets all of us just forget it okay. Please? Ugh~"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I"M SO SORRY THAT WAS BAD- It was rushed and I'm finishing this at one thirty In the morning- AND I ALSO WORK- the lengths I go for horniness...

pls like...

<3

[jamtlandsarkiv]

I think it's so interesting that you headcanon Linnea to represent science. Myself, I'm really convinced that Björn has always been a natural science guy. He would have definitely had a lab at various points, or at least have owned a lot of scientific instruments, which works well with the apparently canonical thing that glass-blowing is one of his hobbies.

In my 19th-century-verse, he would have been really into inorganic chemistry at first. Once he came to accept the existence of organic chemistry, like how the European scientific community took a bit of time to do so, that's what he would research about instead. It goes hand-in-hand with how much of the Second (?) Industrial Revolution was inspired by advances in Ochem.

I can still see how Linnea can represent The Liberal Arts™! These are just some of my ideas on Björn's interests :) I'd like to hear more about his involvement in industry as well.

I love your vision of them so much! The way I think is that their interests aren't split nicely into "arts" and "sciences", because let's be honest here, Sweden was not known for its artistic or scientific contributions until very recently. The continental European countries ran circles around us.

When I wrote about music and literature, I was actually thinking about Sweden's disproportionately large footprint in the world of modern pop music and crime literature. For the natural sciences, I was thinking of Linnea's namesake, the guy who invented that system of biological classification and is probably the most internationally famous Swede in history. What I meant was "Linnea is a fan of music contests, reads lots of crime novels and has outdoorsy hobbies like hiking, forestry studies and birdwatching".

Same with my Björn: his hobbies are electronics, computers, weightlifting and woodworking which are nice references to Sweden's largest industries today being tech, iron mining and timber. My Björn is a very non-academic kind of person who prefers to do things, not produce research papers and engage in long debates with other academics. I imagine that he ran his own construction and engineering business for most of history, while complaining about those "good for nothing scholars" who "sat in their labs all day pondering things that don't matter". In fact, I think this was one of the disagreements that contributed to his and Mathias' rivalry too, because Mathias is an academic person...

I didn't know about that canon tidbit about glassblowing, but it makes sense with my Björn being a very hands-on person, even if the material he likes to work with most is wood. I think he would be familiar with blacksmithing as well. The thought of academic Björn is something I never considered, but I think it's very interesting to hear about everyone's different interpretations!

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Barbara Stanwyck (Ball of Fire, The Lady Eve, Double Indemnity)—I hope someone else has submitted better propaganda than I because I don't want my girl's prospects to rest on me just yelling PLEASE VOTE FOR MY TERRIBLE HOT GIRLFRIEND. She is a delight in everything! She is often a sexy jerk! (It's most of the plot of Baby Face!) Even when she plays a "good girl" (as an example, Christmas in Connecticut, which more people should see) she's still kind of a jerk and I love her for it! She won't take men's shit and she sure wouldn't take mine!

Setsuko Hara (Tokyo Story, Late Spring, The Idiot)— "'The only time I saw Susan Sontag cry,' a writer once told me, his voice hushed, 'was at a screening of a Setsuko film.' What Setsuko had wasn’t glamour—she was just too sensible for that—it was glow, one that ebbed away and left you concerned, involved. You got the sense that this glow, like that of dawn, couldn’t be bought. But her smiles were human and held minute-long acts, ones with important intermissions. When she looked away, she absented herself; you felt that she’d dimmed a fire and clapped a lid on something about to spill. Over the last decade, whenever anyone brought up her lips—'Setsuko’s eternal smile,' critics said, that day we learned that she’d died—I thought instead of the thing she made us feel when she let it fall." - Moeko Fujii

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Setsuko Hara:

One of the best Japanese actresses of all time; a symbol of the golden era of Japanese cinema of the 1950s After seeing a Setsuko Hara film, the novelist Shūsaku Endō wrote: "We would sigh or let out a great breath from the depths of our hearts, for what we felt was precisely this: Can it be possible that there is such a woman in this world?"

One of the greatest Japanese actresses of all time!! Best known for acting in many of Yasujiro Ozu's films of the 40s and 50s. Also she has a stunning smile and beautiful charm!

Linked gifset

Linked gifset 2

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

She's considered by some to be the greatest Japanese actress of all time! In Kurosawa's The Idiot she haunts the screen, and TOTALLY steals the show from Mifune every time she appears.

"No other actor has ever mastered the art of the smile to the same extent as Setsuko Hara (1920–2015), a celebrated star and highly regarded idol who was one of the outstanding actors of 40s and 50s Japanese cinema. Her radiant smile floods whole scenes and at times cautiously undermines the expectations made of her in coy, ironic fashion. Yet her smile's impressive range also encompasses its darker shades: Hara's delicate, dignified, melancholy smile with which she responds to disappointments, papers over the emotions churning under the surface, and flanks life's sobering realizations. Her smiles don't just function as a condensed version of her ever-precise, expressive, yet understated acting ability, they also allow the very essence of the films they appear in to shine through for a brief moment, often studies of the everyday, post-war dramas which revolve around the break-up of family structures or the failure of marriages. Her performances tread a fine line between social expectation and personal desire in post-war Japan, as Hara attempts to lay claim to the autonomy of the female characters she plays – frequently with a smile." [link]

Leading lady of classic Japanese cinema with a million dollar smile

Maybe the most iconic Japanese actress ever? She rose to fame making films with Yasujiro Ozu, becoming one of the most well-known and beloved actresses in Japan, working from the 30s through the 60s in over 100 hundred. She is still considered one of the greatest Japanese actresses ever, and in my opinion, just one of the greatest actresses of all time. And she was HOT! Satoshi Kon's film Millennium Actress was largely based on her life and her career.

Barbara Stanwyck:

"THE leading lady of the golden age of hollywood. One of the only actresses to work independent of a studio, making short-term contracts that enabled her to make movies wherever she wanted. She had so much range, and could act in basically any genre. She's been rumored to be a lesbian literally since she was active in Hollywood; most notable is the rumor that she had a long time on-and-off relationship with famously bi Joan Crawford, her "best friend" for decades (They lived right next door to one another). She also lived with Helen Ferguson, her "live-in publicist" for many years. She was the quintessential femme fatale in Double Indemnity, and really pushed sexual boundaries in her pre-code films like Baby Face, and the famous screwball The Lady Eve, where she plays basically a downlow domme. Allegedly, when a journalist asked her if she was a lesbian, she straight up threw him out of her house. She even played a lesbian in Walk on the Wild Side"

"THE queen of screwball comedies. I adore her, I'd kill for her, I will cry if she's not gonna win this poll."

"listen ok she had awful politics she was a mccarthyist right wing wacko BUT she's so incredibly hot that i've deluded myself into believing i could fix her. if you see her onscreen she carries herself in a way that's just so effortlessly sexy AND she has just a stunning face. imo she was at her hottest in the 1940s but even as early as the late 1920s she had a rly captivating screen presence and just a beautiful face, and then post-1950 she was just irresistibly milfy so really she was just always incredibly hot. she was also an incredibly talented actress who was equally stellar in melodrama, film noir, and unhinged screwball comedy. the blonde wig they made her wear in double indemnity is notoriously silly looking but she still looks sexy in it so that's gotta count for something. i've watched so many terrible movies just for a chance at seeing her that i think her estate should be paying me damages."

"Not often thought of for her sultriness, Barbara Stanwyck was incredible in that she could actually choose to be hot if the role called for it, and then have a glow-down to look ordinary for another role. She wasn't the most beautiful or effervescent, but damn did she have rizz. Watch her with Gary Cooper in Ball of Fire teaching him about "yum-yum" or with Henry Fonda in The Lady Eve whispering huskily into his ear."

"She is always the smartest woman in the room. Watching her play Henry Fonda like a befuddled fiddle in The Lady Eve was a highlight of my life. Femme fatale in Double Indemnity, comedy queen in Ball of Fire. She can do anything."

"She was part of my gay awakening"

"SHE'S A PRE-CODE QUEEN. She did everything, drama, comedy. The most beautiful woman in the world to watch weep. Beg for to step on you with those legs. Fun Babs story: Ginger Rogers was offered the role in Ball of Fire but said, “Oh, I would never play that part, she’s too common.” So they called Barbara Stanwyck and they said “We offered this to Ginger Rogers but she’s turned it down, would you be interested?” And she read the script and she said; “You bet! I LOVE playing common broads. [link]"

[curioussesame]

The demon Laios/priest Chilchuck art reminded me I started writing a fic like that a little while ago, but I don't think I'm likely to ever finish it, so here, you can have what I wrote:

This had to be a test. Chilchuck could think of no other explanation for the demon being put into his care.

He became a man of the cloth to avoid such deplorable creatures and the sinful activities they promoted. Why would his elders give him a demon to watch over, if not to test his sanctity, his strength of will, his devotion to the scripture? No matter what tricks this foul creature employed, he could not allow himself to slip. 

He would not indulge, no matter how sweet the delicacy.

And Lord Above, was the demon a delicacy. Tall and broad, thick ropes of muscle on display in each barren limb, and an ironically innocent face: curious yellow eyes and short blonde hair. A pair of curved, black horns and a sleek tail to match. Clawed hands and hooved feet. Golden hair dusting his chest, thicker down his stomach, thickest where he let his most unsavory parts hang freely in the open air.

(Chilchuck did not look at it. Did not, momentarily, try to calculate the geometry of trying to fit a member of that girth inside himself. Did not feel a flutter of warmth, deep in his traitorous gut, when he thought of it stretching him wide, burning like the fires of hell as it forced its way inside.)

“You will wear clothes while you live in my house, you understand me, demon?” Chilchuck said as he searched his closet for something large enough for him to wear.

“Aww, but I don’t like wearing clothes,” the demon said, pouting at Chilchuck as he took a perch next to him, legs bent and hands on the ground. Chilchuck was ever-so-slightly taller than him like this, and he frowned down at the creature like it was a petulant child.

“You are my charge and I am your keeper. You will follow my rules or I shall have to punish you,” he told him.

The demon smiled condescendingly.

“You forget that demons love to be punished,” he said.

Chilchuck narrowed his eyes.

“What, did you think I would spank you? I shall have you recite verses and scrub floors. Perhaps even be chained to a stool and made to watch paint dry.”

The demon didn’t look quite so confident anymore.

“I suppose I can… wear some clothes. If I have to.”

Chilchuck grinned, triumphant, and finally procured an old robe that was much too large for him. It was meant to be oversized, a dark outer layer that could cover the rest of his garments, but even then it was two sizes larger than it needed to be.

“Here, you can wear this,” he said, tossing it to the demon, who obediently pulled the robe over his shoulders and crossed it over his middle, buttoning it up the side as far as he could get it to go. It was extraordinarily short on him, though at least it did conceal the offensive bits, and the shoulders were not wide enough to accommodate him, so he had to leave the last two buttons open, his chest hair broadly on display.

“I’ll have to get something made in your size, I suppose, if you’re to stay here…” Chilchuck rubbed his chin. “But this works for now.”

Chilchuck tucked the closet shut and walked out of the room, the demon following with an all-too-eager look in his eyes.

“I’ve got work to get done, you know,” Chilchuck told him. “You can’t just follow me around all day.”

“Yes I can,” the demon said. Chilchuck glared at him, but couldn’t think of a comeback.

“Fine, but don’t disturb me, or I’ll find some chores to keep you occupied instead,” he eventually told him. The demon nodded, lumbering after Chilchuck as he walked down the hall to his study. The ceiling of his house was almost too short for the demon, who was over a foot taller than even the tallest men Chilchuck knew, so he walked with his head bowed. Chilchuck, meanwhile, was ruefully short. He liked to say he was 5’ 5’’, but he was really more in the realm of 5’2’’. 

(When he went into seminary, his college friends liked to joke that he was only doing it because the vow of celibacy would be easy, considering no woman wanted to date him, regardless. He didn’t talk to those friends much anymore.)

[mama-qwerty]

WIP Wednesday

Yes, I forgot, AGAIN.

Today's wip isn't necessarily a wip as in I'm actively working on it now, but something I wrote a while back that I'll likely never finish. It was my first time playing with Scarlett and Dread and I hadn't ironed out all the details on them yet. (Scarlett's species in this one is left to the reader's imagination, as I'd not quite hammered it down yet, and they'd shared a *ahem* romantic relationship. Referenced but not shown.)

Mostly I wanted to make Dread a jerk.

Rated T, I guess? I dunno.

~~~~~

Dread smiled at her, but the smile was sharp and mean, like the look in his eyes. It wasn’t a look she was used to seeing directed at her.

“I’m afraid I’ve grown bored with you, Scarlett,” he said with a shrug, turning away to stand with his arms crossed. “It was fun, but it’s over.”

Scarlett stood, her brows furrowed. “Bored with me? What are you talking about?”

He chuckled. “I just can’t keep up with the charade any longer.” He turned back, that insufferable smirk on his lips. “Pretending to care about you is so exhausting. It no longer interests me to keep it up.”

Icy shards stabbed into her heart, and Scarlett worked very, very hard to keep the tears that threatened from appearing. Dread loved seeing weakness in others, and she did not want to give him that satisfaction. “Pretending to care.”

“Oh, you were a good lay, one of the better whores I’ve had, but the upkeep is so tedious.”

That word was like a knife to her heart. Scarlett had never laid with a man for money, and she prided herself on being better than that. Dread knew that, which was probably why he used that word to begin with. “I am NO whore.”

He laughed a little harder, shaking his head. “Of course you are. Only instead of coin, your pay is pretty little words whispered in your ear.” Dread stepped closer, a look of pure malevolence on his face. “You’re beautiful, Scarlett. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, Scarlett. I would be nothing without you, Scarlett.” He stopped close to her and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I love you, Scarlett.” He pulled back and laughed again. “Had I known how easy it was to bed you I would have done it a long time ago!”

Hurt and anger were sparring it out within Scarlett, and she let anger win. A deep, fiery rage built within her. How dare he. How dare this echidna stand here and laugh at her, betray her trust, and call her a whore. She wanted to scream at him, attack him, hurt him like he had hurt her.

But she stayed calm. Her face stayed stony neutral, betraying none of these feelings. She stared at him, her ocean blue eyes boring into his violet. The ones she used to love so much, but now wanted to gouge out of his sockets with her own hands.

She and Dread had been lovers for the better part of a year. It had taken time to build to that, as she had trouble trusting and lowering the defensive walls around her heart. But he had been persistent, and finally won her over.

And now it would seem it had all been a game to him.

The walls went back up. And Scarlett shut down.

“It’s a pity, really,” Dread said as he reached forward and caressed her head. “I always loved running my fingers through your hair.”

Without thinking, Scarlett pulled her little dagger from her belt. Dread drew back, his hand going for his cutlass, but before he could draw it, she grabbed her long braid and sliced off the last four inches. Her eyes never left his.

“Knock yourself out,” she said, her voice flat as she slapped the cut braid into Dread’s palm. “I have duties to attend to.”

And with that, Scarlett turned on her heel and stalked out of the captain’s study, back straight and head held high.

Dread watched her go, an honest look of pure shock on his face.

~X~X~X~

A week later, and Dread sat at the helm of the Angel’s Voyage, looking out over the sea. A soft breeze blew over the water, and the sun touched the horizon, turning the sky and ocean lovely shades of pinks and oranges and purples.

The crew lounged on the main deck below him, a rare night when all chores were done, and there were no pressing matters to attend to. The lot sat near the bow, chatting and sharing a bottle of rum between them.

His eyes kept wandering back to Scarlett. His first mate.

And the ache that had appeared in his chest a week ago gave a squeeze.

He was the great, legendary Captain Dread. Most feared pirate on the seven seas. Ruthless and cutthroat. He would kill without a second thought.

But the idea of being in love scared the piss out of him.

Which is why he had said those things to Scarlett. Those awful, terrible things. Things he knew had to have hurt her. She may not have shown it, but he knew. Every word was calculated, chosen to deliver the maximum amount of pain.

Because he was afraid of his feelings for her. Afraid they made him weak.

So he had to cut them out. Cut her out.

He thought it would be easy. Push her away from him and these weak feelings would go away. He’d feel like himself again. Be the fierce captain everyone feared and respected again.

But that’s not the way it worked.

When she’d walked out of his study that night, a pit had appeared in his chest. It was hollow, and empty, and felt like a wound that refused to heal.

And every time he looked at her, it got worse.

He contemplated kicking her off the ship entirely. Letting her go the next time they made port somewhere. But the thought, the mere idea that she would be completely out of his life made that pit in his chest feel like a gaping hole. His heart had hammered like a war drum, his chest tightening, and he felt for all the world as though he were dying.

Just at the thought of Scarlett leaving.

He didn’t like this. Didn’t like feeling like this. He had ended things with her to keep himself from feeling like this. But everything had gone wrong and now he felt as though part of him were missing.

Dread watched from his vantage point as the crew chatted. As they laughed. As she laughed. Her shorter hair barely brushed her shoulders now, and she pulled it back in a simple ponytail to keep it out of her way as she worked. It bobbed and swung with every movement of her head, and that ache in his chest flared.

He missed the long braid. It had hung down to the middle of her back, and she would sometimes pull it over her shoulder to squeeze if she was feeling particularly stressed. But it was gone, sliced off that night a week ago. He still couldn’t believe she’d done that. Just chopped it without a second thought, and slapped it into his hand. A parting gift, he supposed. A physical representation of how she cut him out of her life.

He’d kept it. After the shock wore off, he’d sat and stared at that length of hair for a long time. Then he carefully brushed and re-braided it, tying the loose end with a little strip of leather from his own quills. It now sat in the drawer of his night stand, carefully wrapped in a silk scarf.

Truth be told, it was soothing. The soft texture, the lingering scent of her skin and soap. He sometimes found himself just sitting and holding it, stroking it with a thumb. Thinking of her.

She was beautiful. She was fierce. She was stubborn and kind and infuriating and smart and insecure and clever and funny and brave and . . .

And now, she sat on the deck, patches of color burning high on her cheeks as she drank and laughed, and a soft smile spread on Dread’s lips as he watched her.

Memories surfaced. The two of them sitting on the deck, late at night, talking about nothing in particular and watching the stars move overhead. The look in her eyes as she gave him all of her attention and made him feel like the center of her world. The sound of her laugh as she let loose one that was loud and free and completely unhindered by any feelings of self-consciousness.

The feel of her hands on his muzzle, caressing him as she spoke softly into his ear. Her softness when she hugged him, her scent filling his nostrils. And when they made love, and the rest of the world melted away the moment he was in her arms.

He loved her.

He shouldn’t.

But he did.

And it scared him.

Her laugh broke him from his thoughts, and he flicked his eyes down to her. She leaned against their navigator, Liam Parker, as her laughter filled the air. Her eyes were closed tightly, and the patches of color on her cheeks turned darker as she blushed.

A flash of jealousy flared through Dread, and he swallowed. She used to laugh like that with him. Used to lean on him like that.

Now she shook her head, pointing at Batten Rouge. The bat snickered and waved a hand toward Scarlett, and Dread listened hard to pick out their conversation.

“. . . not how that happened, and you know it, Batten!” Scarlett said, her voice like the sweetest bell in Dread’s ear. “I did not start a war between ships!”

“I said ALMOST, sweetie!” Batten responded, a little laugh in her voice. “That was before Sails joined the crew, and I’m sure he’d love to hear it.”

Sails was the little two-tailed fox who’d come aboard a few months ago. Ironically, that was Scarlett’s doing. She had a ‘good feeling’ about the boy, even though he couldn’t have been more than 12 years old.

Now the fox turned with a smile to Scarlett, seemingly interested in the tale.

“Ugh, fine!” Scarlett groaned, before turning to the boy. “This was about four or five years ago, when we were at the port at West Island. Some big guy offered me a drink and, you know, free booze, so I accepted. We chatted a bit, before he started to get, shall we say, handsy, and I, being the polite lady I am, asked him to remove said hand from my leg. He refused, so I decked him.”

Laughter erupted at this revelation, and Dread smiled. He remembered that. Scarlett was usually good with people—she could read them like no other he’s ever known—and her wit usually kept her out of trouble. But when her ire was up, when she let her temper out, she was a force to be reckoned with.

Batten leaned forward. “Only it turns out Mr. Handsy was the first mate of the Black Pearl! Their whole crew surrounded us and wanted Scar’s head on a pike for ‘disrespecting’ him. Cap’n Dread had to get involved to keep them from tying her to their anchor and dragging her along the bottom!”

He remembered that, too. It wasn’t unusual for crews of rival ships to get into skirmishes, and in most cases he liked to let them handle it amongst themselves. But that night, he’d raced down to the pub and positioned himself between the rival crew and Scarlett. That was before they entered a romantic relationship, but even then, he felt unusually protective of her.

Dread watched as Scarlett’s laugh died at Batten’s retelling. The color was still high on her cheeks, and she flicked her eyes up toward him. His heart nearly stopped as their gaze locked.

The smile dropped from his lips, and he forgot how to breathe for a moment.

Scarlett blinked first, tearing her eyes away as she turned her head. She said something he couldn’t quite catch to the rest of them, and pushed herself up to hurry down to the crew cabins.

Dread’s heart clenched.

He turned to look out over the water again.

~X~X~X~

Scarlett stood in the captain’s study, her hands clasped behind her back. She was struck with a feeling of deja vu of that night a month ago, when he had ended their relationship.

Shattered her heart.

She’d done a good job of keeping herself under control while on the job. Staying professional when she had to deal with him, and never allowing her personal feelings to interfere. It was as if nothing had changed, as far as the crew knew.

But at night, it was a different story.

She cried herself to sleep most nights. His words—those hurtful, painful words—echoed in her head in the dark, and they still stung. They still cut through her and tore at her heart, ripping it to shreds as she lay there. And then she would fall asleep to carry through the next day, pretending she was okay.

The walls were back up now, and she regarded him as her captain. Nothing more.

“The crew would like to know when we plan to make port next,” she said, her voice even and polite. “Supplies are running low.”

Dread stood in a similar pose, his hands clasped behind him with his back to her, looking out the large window that faced out the back of the ship. He didn’t respond for a long moment, and Scarlett was going to repeat her question when he finally spoke.

“I hear you’re thinking of leaving.”

She wasn’t expecting the sudden lurch her heart gave.

“I have been considering it, yes.”

Another moment of silence.

“You’d abandon your ship? Your crew?”

“Neither are mine, Captain,” she said, and she almost slipped and let some snark into her voice. She pulled it back, and returned to the neutral tone. “I’m just the first mate. A ship can function without one.”

The echidna nodded, his back still to her. “That’s true, I suppose.”

Silence feel upon them again, and Scarlett’s heart began to race. She wasn’t sure what she felt so anxious about. They were done. He’d made that very clear. The things he’d said had very effectively killed any feelings she had for him.

But every time she looked at him, her heart twisted. She couldn’t stop thinking of the times they’d shared together. The long talks at night. The laughs. The love. He had made her feel like there was nothing else in this world he wanted but her.

And then he had crushed her heart beneath his boot.

She couldn’t stay here.

“Captain?” she called. “The supplies?”

Dread lowered his head, as if thinking. He still would not turn to her.

“I will take that under consideration.”

Scarlett’s brow furrowed. What was there to consider? Their supplies were running low. They needed to restock so they wouldn’t starve. He would have immediately charted the closest port at this news in the past.

There was only one reason he was stalling now.

“You’re not going to let me go.”

It wasn’t a question. Captain Dread was a man who kept what he wanted close. Almost obsessively so. And now, he still seemed to be possessive of her. Even though he didn’t want her anymore.

“Dismissed.”

For some reason, that single word answer squeezed her heart even tighter.

“Understood.”

Scarlett turned and walked out the door.

~X~X~X~

A month later.

Dread eventually did make port, but refused to allow Scarlett off the ship. He made up ‘important matters’ to discuss with her, and keep her occupied while the rest of the crew went to restock their supplies.

He was terrified if she left while in port, she’d never come back.

Their working relationship had devolved into nothing more than flat, toneless discussions, with none of the fire and energy they’d had before. There was no banter, no snarky back-and-forths. No joking. No life.

He was miserable. And despite her attempts to hide the fact, Scarlett was miserable, too.

Dread was barely sleeping. Every time he closed his eyes he saw her. Heard her. Felt her. His dreams were filled with her. In some they were still together, and the warmth of her against him made him cry in his sleep. In other dreams they were like now, strangers, avoiding each other and hurting all the while.

He often sat in his quarters, holding her cut braid for hours. Her scent was fading from it, and it hurt his heart to know that soon he would forget what she smelled like.

Agony. He was in agony.

But he couldn’t do anything to fix it. He’d hurt her too badly, too effectively. She hated him now, he could read her well enough to know that. And even if he decided that loving her was worth the risk, worth the pain and fear, there was no way she would agree to take him back. Not after what he had said. She wouldn’t trust him, and honestly, he wouldn’t blame her.

So Dread moved through life, feeling like a hollow shell. His heart was broken, and he had no one to blame but himself.

Now the echidna stood at the helm, watching as a storm rolled toward them. Thunder echoed over the increasingly rougher water, and lightning flashed in the distance. He could alter course, but it was a big storm, dominating the entire sky, and there wasn’t much he could do to avoid it. They’d just have to weather what they could.

Scarlett was on deck, readying the ship for the oncoming storm. Securing barrels and other supplies, checking the anchor, and keeping an eye on the dark clouds before them. But there was something about the look on her face Dread didn’t like.

She had an intuition about her, sometimes getting a bad feeling before trouble started. She had that look now.

“What do you feel, Scarlett?”

It was the first time he’d used her name since that night. It felt both foreign and like home on his tongue. She moved to the bow of the ship, looking out over the water, toward the storm. She shook her head, looking back at him.

“Something’s coming,” she said, her brow furrowed. “And it’s not the storm.”

Dread’s brow furrowed in response, and he stood taller, his senses on high alert. If Scarlett said something was coming, then they’d be ready.

“All hands on deck! Stay alert, crew. We won’t be surprised.”

Another five minutes passed, and nothing happened. Scarlett paced the deck like a caged lion, clenching and unclenching her hands in her agitation. Whatever was setting off her intuition, it must have been bad.

Dread wanted to go to her, to take her hands into his and calm her. But he resisted. She would not accept his comfort now.

Suddenly, she stopped in mid-pace, and hurried to the bow once again. She leaned over the rail, and for a split second Dread thought she was going to go tumbling over. Then she pulled herself back and turned to yell,

“KRAKEN!”

~X~X~X~

The ship rocked under the weight of the kraken’s tentacles. It reached from below, curling its long appendages over the railing of the Angel’s Voyage, searching for anything to drag down to its snapping beak.

The crew fought tirelessly. Krakens were unpredictable, but could sometimes be scared off if they received too much injury to their tentacles. So every available crew member hacked and slashed and bludgeoned the leathery hide of any they could get close to.

The storm hit as they continued to attack the monster currently trying to drag their ship to the bottom of the ocean. Thunder boomed overhead, and lightning flickered almost constantly. The Angel’s Voyage was under attack from both sky and sea.

Dread swung his cutlass in wide arcs, slicing at the closest tentacle of the undersea foe. A loud, low rumble of a growl reverberated all around the ship as the kraken gave voice to its displeasure at this reception. The massive tentacles smashed and splintered wood as they fell upon the ship.

Scarlett moved like a whirlwind, fighting the monster that threatened her ship, and working hard to keep the rest of the crew out of danger, especially Sails. She’d taken the boy under her care, watching over him as she taught him life on the open sea.

The beast thrashed, the crew fought, and the storm raged.

Finally, after an eternity of fifteen minutes, the kraken began to withdraw. One by one its giant tentacles slipped back over the side, into the churning water below. Only two remained on the deck, and the crew stood back to watch them vanish over the side.

That’s when a bolt of lightning struck the water nearby, and the kraken panicked.

One tentacle jerked at the sudden jolt, slamming across the deck and catching Scarlett in its path. It smashed her against the wall of the wheelhouse, knocking the air from her lungs and bringing stars to her vision as her head smacked against the wood.

“Scarlett!” Dread cried, and started working his way toward her when the tentacle curled around her legs, dragging her toward the rail as the beast descended into the ocean depths. “NO!”

She was hauled over the rail in a heartbeat.

Dread tossed his hat aside, clamped his cutlass between his teeth, and dove into the water a split second later.

~X~X~X~

Scarlett tried hard not to panic.

She hadn’t had a chance to get a good lungful of air before being hauled underwater. The kraken retreated deeper, away from the storm and pain it suffered on the water’s surface.

The light quickly faded the further down it dragged her, and she was soon plunged into complete darkness.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, fast and terrified. Her lungs burned. The cold water was making her numb. The tentacle wrapped around her legs squeezed tight.

She was going to die. Soon. There was no way she could get herself out of this. She had no weapon on her, and her muscles were not listening to her commands.

With one last prayer for her soul, sent up to whatever deity was listening, Scarlett closed her eyes, and exhaled what little air was left within her. Seawater rushed in to replace it.

Her body protested. It jerked and convulsed. And then was still.

~X~X~X~

Dread swam like a man possessed. His eyes reflected what low light there was underwater, and he watched as the kraken continued to dive deeper. Scarlett hung from its tentacle, her arms raised above her head as she trailed the beast.

Closer. He had to get closer. He swam faster.

He was going to save her. He had to. Had to. He would snatch her from this beast’s clutches and haul her back to the ship. She’ll be okay, and he’ll apologize, he’ll get down on his goddamn knees if he had to and beg her forgiveness. He can’t lose her, he just can’t, he couldn’t survive without her.

As he watched, Scarlett’s body jerked and convulsed.

No.

She went still. Limp.

NO.

With a burst of strength, Dread closed the distance in a heartbeat. He grabbed onto the tentacle holding the redhead, and pulled his cutlass from his teeth. With one mighty swing, he sliced the tip of the tentacle clean through, releasing black ichor into the water around them. The severed tentacle clenched for a brief second, before relaxing completely.

Dread yanked her free from the dead flesh, and turned to swim for the surface. She hung in his arms like dead weight, and he fought back the panic that threatened to overtake him.

It was too late. He was too late. She was gone, he’d failed her, he’d lost her, she was dea—

The echidna pushed those thoughts away. He refused to believe it. He just needed to get her to the ship. That was what he focused on.

Dread pushed himself harder than he’d ever done before, and after a few more agonizing seconds, he breached the surface and gasped in a breath.

“She’s not breathing!” he called up to the rest of the crew. “Pull us up, NOW!”

Sails and Batten flew down immediately to haul their captain and first mate back on board. Dread tossed his sword to the side as he gently lay Scarlett flat on the deck. He leaned in to listen to her chest, and his brow furrowed when he didn’t hear anything.

“Catfish,” he called as he rolled her over and grabbed her from behind. “Bring blankets. Lots of them. Move!”

The large cat hurried off, as Dread clasped his hands together beneath her ribs. He gave a few sharp squeezes, in a desperate attempt to bring up the water she’d inhaled.

He fought his panic back. If he wasn’t focused, if he wasn’t careful, he could snap her ribs like toothpicks with his strength as he tried to save her.

The rest of the crew stood back, watching with wide, fearful eyes as Dread tried to revive Scarlett.

Precious seconds ticked by. Dread kept his jerky, sharp movements. Scarlett didn’t respond.

“C’mon, luv,” he hissed, and the icy tendrils of panic began to wrap their way into his mind. The longer this went on, the less likely she was to come back. His squeezes became more hurried. “C’mon. Bring it up. C’mon, luv. Please. Scar, please.”

Still nothing. She hung in his arms like a rag doll, her hair plastered to her face, her skin cold.

Dread’s lip pulled up in a pained grimace. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t lose her. Not like this. Not like—

Her body jerked suddenly, a gurgling sound coming from her throat. She opened her mouth and vomited seawater out, splashing the deck with a horrible retching sound. Dread lowered her to her hands and knees, resting a hand on her back as she continued to hack and cough and spit out the water from her lungs and stomach.

“There ya go,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Get it all up. C’mon, luv. Breathe.”

She did. She pushed herself up, sitting back on her ankles and drew in a long, gasping breath as she opened her eyes. Another few coughs and she pulled in another breath, her chest heaving hard as her body shivered from the cold and shock.

Catfish had returned, his arms full of warm, wool blankets. Batten grabbed the first and draped it around Scarlett in a hurry.

“Let’s get you warmed up, sweetie,” she said, and grabbed another blanket to wrap around the shivering redhead. “We need to get her out of this storm.”

Dread moved in before anyone could say a word. “I’ll take her.” He scooped Scarlett into his arms in a bridal carry, looking over at Catfish. “Bring those to my cabin. The rest of you start getting the ship secured so we can weather the storm. I’ll be back quick as I can.”

The echidna carried the woman into his cabin, quickly laying her on his bed. Catfish dropped the pile of blankets on the edge of the bed before hurrying back to the deck to help the others. Dread pulled every blanket up and covered Scarlett with each one.

“Just rest, luv,” he said, his voice soft. He gently brushed her wet hair off her face, and resisted kissing her by sheer willpower. “You’re safe now.”

He didn’t want to leave her. He had barely avoided losing her just a few moments ago, and the thought of leaving her alone now made his heart clench.

But he was the captain, and he still needed to make sure the ship made it through this storm.

Without another word, Dread rushed back out to the deck.

~~~

And that's where I petered out. Mostly I just had these few scenes in my head and didn't know where to take it after that.