#masquerade the nocturne

[firebirds-roost]

'Paper faces on parade!'

Finally dressed up my FR sona Masquerade and made some doodles to test out the design!

[amusedphan]

the benefits of being mexican and adhd means you're always late to a party (@phanniemasquerade ) 🤪

i'm mando, and i'm half a month from being exactly a decade younger than dan. first mask is a nod to my area of study, second is based off alebrijes. i'm gay as fuck and in an inchresting Situation that is extremely similar to phan except we're somehow not technically together. i started watching dnp (+listening to muse) a decade ago and even did a few phandom meetups back in the day, thought they were cringe for a while, and now i'm back to being cringe <3

i might want to do some music stuff if i ever get off my ass, but mostly i want to get back to writing rpf now that i have dnp's blessing... and to not let whatever i wrote in grade 8 be the only phan stuff i have out there :/

[meltingangels]

[mynonsenseistingling]

Santa Monica Hotel Room

[ikkaku-of-heart]

Masquerade Starter for @goshiikkuburcdo

Most women wouldn't be bold enough to walk up to the World's Greatest Swordsman, drink in hand and an exasperated look on her face. But then again, Ikkaku wasn't a normal woman. Or at least, her relationship with Mihawk wasn't that of most women. An odd companionship that had started during Law's shichibukai days had grown familiar and almost familial, with the engineer earning far more tolerance and even some affection than most others could even dream.

"I know you're not the party type, but are you really planning on standing in the corner all night, glaring at everyone? Isn't this supposed to be your party?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at Mihawk. Though, it was mostly in jest. If she had to guess, this whole shindig wasn't Mihawk's idea, even if it was being hosted in his castle by the organization he was surely leading, because there was no way the likes of Buggy the Clown was actually calling the shots, right?

Shaking her head, she knocked back the rest of her drink. The clown was actually part of why she came over in the first place. "And let me guess; you're going to glare at everyone who asks you to dance, right?" Ikkaku continued, rolling her eyes. "I hate to tell you this, but your clever plan isn't working the way you're hoping. Mostly because your 'boss' is making claims that you can't dance. And for reasons I'm still not convinced aren't eldritch powers, people seem to believe the words that come out of his mouth."

An idea popped into the engineer's head, and a smirk pulled at her lips as she held out her hand. "I think you should prove him wrong, and wouldn't you know it? My dance card has an opening." Ikkaku's voice dropped low to ensure only Mihawk would hear. "You'd be doing me a solid, too; Hawkins is here, and you're one of maybe five men he won't try to kill for being near me. And the only one of those five that I actually like. So, may I have this dance? Please?"

[nocturnepsychology]

welcome to Nocturne Psychology.

to book an appointment and see about our psychologists, click here.

[anthonyspage]

🌌🌉🎇🌊🛣🤴👺🛞

[glow-worms-are-believers]

Dream Lover (dp x dc)

The alarm on his cellphone rang and Danny groaned as a fumbled blindly to close it again.

“Wha’ izzit?” Came a sleepy voice at his back.

Danny rubbed his eyes as he sat up. Then, he turned towards the other man entangled in the sheets.

“Nothing, go back to sleep,” Danny said before dropping a kiss on the man’s forehead, displacing his white streak. The man muttered some unintelligible words as he wriggled around a bit before settling back down.

Danny gave him a fond look before a yawn forced his eyes closed. He slipped off the bed and padded down to the kitchen. With bleary eyes he put the coffee machine on and got the milk out of the fridge as he waited for the beans be ground.

The machine was way fancier than anything Danny had ever owned but his boyfriend liked good coffee and Danny liked making him happy. The breaker-hammer noise stopped indicating the coffee was done and the halfa sipped at it as he tried to figure out what that niggling feeling in the back of his mind was.

Before he could delve into it very far, he heard his boyfriend coming into their little kitchen.

“Did the noise wake you up?” Danny asked as the man wrapped his arms around the smaller man’s waist and buried his head in his back.

“Was already ‘wake,” the octopus masquerading as a human mumbled.

“Want some coffee?”

“Please.” His boyfriend pressed a kiss to his nape before staggering towards the kitchen chair and sagging into it.

”Good night?” Danny asked as he started the machine again.

“The usual,” the man said as he rubbed the sleep out of his face.

“Why are you up early?”

“Gotta fix up the bike.” The man yawned which made Danny yawn too. “It kept backfiring last night.”

Danny hummed as that niggling feeling came back at the mention of the motorcycle. There was something there…

“What about you?” The man said as he held his face in his palm.

“Nothing much,” Danny said as he refocused on the conversation. “I don’t have to go in today, so I’ll probably just study.”

“I made butternut pasta when I came back. There’s some left for lunch,” his boyfriend said as he grabbed a banana from their fruit bowl.

“You’ll be here for lunch?” Danny asked as the flow of coffee stopped and he took the cup away from the little shelf.

“Thanks,” the man said as he accepted the cup. “Probably.”

Danny nodded and he leaned on the counter as he looked into the distance. His eyes caught on a clock and again, that annoying sensation he was forgetting something tickled him.

Clock meant hours which meant seconds which meant sand trickling in an hourglass which meant time passing and Time meant-

“Everything ok?” Came the low tenor of his boyfriend.

Danny shook away the thought and smiled at him. “Just zoning out.”

Then the smaller man finished his cup before he put it in the sink. “Gonna go brush my teeth,” he said as he walked out of the kitchen

“You didn’t even eat!” Came the voice Corning from the other room.

“Not hungry,” sing-songed Danny as he grabbed his toothbrush.

As he put the paste on the brush his mind wandered a bit. He started brushing, in the back and made his way forward. He was up to his canine and he started on his fangs which had him frown. Fangs? Wait a minute.

And then it all came rushing back. Phantom. Ghosts. This was a dream which meant-

“Nocturn,” Danny said. Sure it had been a while since he dated anyone but this was a whole new level of single if Nocturn had resorted to creating the ideal boyfriend to trap him in a dream.

Danny walked back to the kitchen and stood in the door entrance and stared at his imaginary dream boyfriend. Said boyfriend turned his head around and lifted an inquiring eyebrow.

“You really are perfect,” Danny said.

“You say the sweetest things,” the dream-construct said and the corner of his eyes creased beautifully as he smiled.

Danny sighed wistfully before bending to kiss his cheek. “Until then, dream lover.”

With a snap the dream collapsed and the halfa opened his eyes to the green of the Infinite Realms with the ghost sensation on his lips.

Simultaneously, in one of his safe houses in Gotham, Jason’s eyes snapped open as his hand flew to his cheek.

[crystallizedtwilight]

Nightmare Before Christmas AU Overview:

🎃🦇🍂

OVERVIEW: This AU follows the events of the movie The Nightmare Before Christmas. Taking place a few years in the future, it focuses on the adventures of Lock, Shock, and Barrel as young adults. The trio has since been welcomed into the town by Pumpkin King and Queen Jack and Sally, though they still live happily in their treehouse on the outskirts. They enjoy life under their own command, free from the now-deceased Oogie Boogie, causing mischief and pulling pranks on the good folk of Halloween Town. Throughout their continued adventures together they discover that growing means learning about themselves, each other, and dealing with change. But one thing remains constant—they'll always be birds of a feather, now and forever.

BACKSTORIES: The trio came to Halloween Town under unfortunate circumstances. Each of their families had lived in the human world, as many monsters do, either nomadically, elusively in the wilderness, or by masquerading. The trio were all born in different parts of the the world during the height of monster hunting. They were three fortunate cases who were found by other monsters and taken to Halloween Town as orphans.

Once in Halloween Town, the trio often ditched school, feeling they weren’t as accepted as the local kids, and deliberately caused trouble which earned them a bad reputation. The three bonded over a love of mischief and the feeling of being outcasts, so when Oogie offered them a life free of rules, they were easily convinced to leave the town entirely to become his henchmen.

Unbeknownst to them, the reason monster hunting took place during that time was because Oogie was rampantly devouring human children. Essentially, they were orphaned because their boss had given humans in several towns desperate cause to hunt the supernatural.

They would not come to learn this until after Boogie’s death. They grew up resenting humans for orphaning them and were horrified to learn that they'd worked for the monster who forced humans to defend themselves as well as let their parents take the fall. Nowadays, they choose to give the human world a chance by regularly traveling all over the world.

LOCK:

Lock is an imp, which is a type of devil. He has nocturnal vision, speed, and a natural desire to climb to very high places. He can often be found on the roof of the treehouse or up a tree when he needs to think. In the human world, imps are stealth hunters in deep forests, preying on deer and other local fauna. However, Lock has a diet of junk food and candy since he was raised without these hunting skills in Halloween Town.

Imps are naturally solitary creatures and dislike group settings, so no imp has ever come through Halloween Town. This, unfortunately, gave Lock a subconscious sense of loneliness and doubt. This is why he tries the hardest to keep the trio together by rejecting any change, which at one point resulted in a huge argument with Shock when she wanted to start attending coven studies a few days a week.

Of the three, Oogie’s abuse rooted itself mostly deeply within him, as Oogie played into the “who else would want you” angle Lock already felt as the only imp in town. He often overcompensates for his insecurities with arrogance and acts childishly, selfishly, and even meanly at times. However, under it all, he has a good heart and just wants to know that his friends aren’t going to leave him.

Lock and Shock are rivals who motivate each other, constantly bickering over which one of them is actually the leader of the trio. At the end of the day, they respect each other's skills and would do anything to keep their friend safe, but you'll never hear them say that.

Eventually, Lock begins a casual fwb relationship with Barrel, under the terms "as long as it doesn’t change anything”—worried that if they labeled themselves and it went sour, he could lose his friend. Barrel, who had always been in love with him, happily agreed to these terms. However, despite insisting that they were only friends, Lock finds himself extremely jealous when another ghoul, Belladonna, takes an interest in Barrel.

Lock is overwhelmed to realize that he actually does have feelings for Barrel but has likely missed his chance with him by insisting they weren't together, and Belladonna is probably better for him anyway. In an emotional confrontation where Lock accidentally scars Barrel’s arm with a bite, the two finally confess their true feelings.

SHOCK:

Shock is a witch, which is a type of magical entity. Of the three, she is the most confident and intelligent. Most witches will start coven studies at a young age to learn how to harness their magic, however, growing up under Oogie, she was discouraged from doing so. After Oogie’s demise Shock found herself determined to pursue her dreams of magic. Unlike how it had affected Lock, Oogie’s vicious words of “you’re not good enough” were only fuel to her fire, and she took all that anger and turned in into passion for her studies. 

She demanded that Halloween Town’s coven mentor her, even though she was older than the typical witch who was just starting her studies. The coven saw her passion and agreed. The studying has three phases: master flying, master potions, and master hexes, and one cannot be learned until the previous is mastered. The process takes years but Shock is currently deep in her potions phase and can often be found nose-deep in a book or foraging for herbs. Mastering hexes is her dream and she is eagerly chasing it.

One night, while out for a flight, Shock encounters a banshee crying in the moonlight. Shock learns that her name is Calliope and the human family’s line that she watched over had comes to an end. Shock instantly feels drawn to her and they quickly become friends. Shock secretly makes it her mission help Calliope feel happy again. Eventually, the two develop romantic feelings for each other as well.

BARREL:

Barrel is a ghoul, which is a type of demon that feasts on the flesh of cold, buried humans. Like Lock, Barrel was raised on junk food and candy in Halloween Town so that’s the diet he prefers today. Ghouls are naturally nomadic due to their diet, needing to find different graveyards to dig in to avoid being caught. However, many ghoul packs often breeze through Halloween Town for events, and are genuinely regarded fondly by the locals since they’re always polite and up for a fun time.

Of the three, Barrel is the most easygoing. He wants to hang out with his friends more than he wants to prank people, but is always up for fun nonetheless. He also keeps scorpions as pets. Regarding Oogie, Barrel walked away the least scathed because Shock and Lock intentionally took the brunt of his anger to protect him since he was the youngest. This left Barrel with a sense of guilt for not being strong enough to protect his friends back then. However he’s worked through that by deciding he would never let either of them be hurt again now that he could hold his own.

Barrel always had a crush on Lock since the moment he met him. The feeling was not mutual, and it wasn’t until Barrel kissed him much later in life that Lock even entertained the idea. Despite this, Barrel continues to love him timelessly and patiently, despite Lock still having a lot to work through and trouble recognizing his own feelings.

CALLIOPE:

Calliope is a banshee, which is a type of fairy that heralds death. She is sweet-natured and very new to the ways of Halloween Town, having grown up in the human world. She loves dogs since, like her, they also warn humans of danger. She has taken a liking to Zero in particular.

Calliope develops feelings for Shock who not only helped her feel at home in Halloween Town, but also helped her find her happiness when she never thought she'd smile again. Nowadays, Calliope is happier than ever before.

BELLADONNA:

Belladonna is a ghoul who lives in the human world with a pack of other ghouls. They masquerade as a human band/roadies, live nomadically, and actually put on some good concerts. Ghouls don’t kill or cause any harm to humans (they love their audiences!) but they do eat corpses by raiding graves at night. They breeze through Halloween Town once or twice a year for big events.

Belladonna is instantly attracted to Barrel when they meet at one of Halloween Town's formal parties. She is fun, good-natured, and helps Barrel learn about what his kind is up to in the human world.

JACK:

Jack still reigns as Pumpkin King, alongside Sally whom he recently wed. Regarding the trio, Jack feels guilt for overlooking them when they were children. Jack had a no-kill policy when it came to humans and Oogie Boogie did not—due to this conflict, Jack banished Oogie to the outskirts, and he is the reason the town has a guarded gate.

Jack was especially bitter about this rivalry, since he used to be friends with Oogie, and declared that Oogie would never be allowed into town again. Moreover, anyone associated with Oogie needed a by-name invitation from Jack himself before they’d be allowed into town. Even though the trio were just children at that time, Jack declared there would be no exceptions, and ignored the fact that the trio were actually in real danger with Oogie, which he found easy to overlook since they were so ill-behaved and rude to him.

At the end of the movie the trio have a change of heart and warn the townsfolk that Jack, Sally, and Sandy are trapped in Oogie's lair. Even though Jack was able to defeat Oogie before needing the town's assistance, this helped him see that the trio are actually good kids and he was wrong to ignore their circumstances for so long.

Nowadays, Jack tries very hard to make up for his mistake. He has declared that they are welcome inside the town, removed the gate, and regularly defends them when they prank the townsfolk (and Jack himself). Sometimes, Jack tries too hard, requiring their attendance at Town celebrations which the trio roll their eyes at. They regard Jack as a nerd, but know he is well-meaning. The mayor still dislikes them, but trusts Jack’s judgement.

SALLY:

Sally, now Pumpkin Queen, gets along quite well with the trio. Because she is so clever, she’s the only person in town they’ve never managed to prank, and she even managed to prank them once. Though Queen is her title, sewing is her passion and she happily has taken up the job as town seamstress, eagerly designing clothes for all the wonderful shapes that call Halloween Town home, trio included.

Shock actually enjoys Sally’s company and thinks of her like an older sister, even confiding in or asking her for advice at times. Lock is still a bit skeptical and cold with her since he is forever done with authority figures, though Sally finds him funny. Barrel likes Sally just fine, and really enjoys how soft and comfortable she makes all his clothes.

OTHER KIDS:

Growing up, the trio didn’t like the inner-town kids (Corpse Kid, Mummy Boy, and Winged Demon, as they’re referred to in the movie). The trio saw them as “goody-two-shoes” who grew up nice and cushy inside the town gate, happy to follow Jack’s ever order, and going home to loving families every night. However, the inner-town trio prove to not actually be so bad and take earnest steps to make the trio feel welcome in town after Oogie’s demise.

MISC FACTS: ▪️ The trio regularly utilize the towns tomb portals to travel all over the human world. They're particularly interested in celebrations or festivals that are similar to Halloween. They're technically not supposed to interact with human festivities so openly, as fear of the unknown gives monsters more mystery and therefore more fright factors on Halloween, but Sally knows they do so and keeps their secret: [1] [2] [3] [4]

▪️ They upgraded their treehouse to be more spacious: [1] [2] [3]

▪️ They gave each other piercings to signify them being friends forever

▪️ The three of them were brought to Halloween Town just days apart. They were then named as a unit after the merism. However, they did have other names before they arrived, though they no longer want to use them.

▪️ None of them know how old or when their birthdays are. They mark time in a very general sense by how many Halloweens it feels like they've had together.

▪️ This AU began as sketches in 2018 and I posted my first art of them publicly in 2020. I was inspired by the Photo Booth pin. I thought it would be fun if the trio took pictures in the more modern sense, capturing their shenanigans with selfies and documenting their mischief, which is why the first couple drawings are framed that way.

The second thing that inspired me was the screenshot of Oogie saying he’ll decide which of the trio to eat when they displease him, and the general theory that the masks in the treehouse are from previous victims whom he had eaten. I thought since Jack destroys Oogie at the end of the movie, maybe the trio gets the chance to grow up, hence an AU about their happy, older years.

ART TAGS:

🎃 Entire Nightmare Before Christmas Tag

💘 Lock/Barrel Tag

🩵 Calliope Tag

💚 Belladonna Tag

🤩 Fan Art of My AU Tag (THANK YOU!!)

INSTAGRAM:

best_trickortreaters

[yuurei20]

do we know what caters dad does for work? its mentioned that they move around a lot for his job but what exactly /is/ his job

Hello hello! ^^ Thank you for this question!

Cater’s dad works at a bank!

It is not specified what it is that he does for the bank, only that he is transferred to a new office about once every two years.

We have a surprising amount of information about the employment situations of the parents of the various characters!

Riddle’s Parents: Medical mages (also called “magical healers” on EN, but the job title of “魔法医術士" is consistent in the original game. There is a theory that EN is being localized by multiple teams separated by vignettes/main story/events, which would explain inconsistencies like this, certain things in Glorious Masquerade, etc.)

Trey’s Parents: Professional bakers that run their own cake business / patisserie.

Cater’s Father: Works for a bank Cater’s Mother: No information

Ace’s Father: No information (confirmed magicless) Ace’s Mother: No information

Deuce’s Father: No information Deuce’s Mother: Delivery truck driver

Leona’s Father: King of Sunset Savanna Leona’s Mother: No information

*I have seen conflicting interpretations of Leona’s family situation on EN, with some saying that Falena is already king, but he is not: it was confirmed in Tamashina-Mina that Falena is still the crown prince.

It is not said anywhere in the game that Falena is king, though he is performing certain duties due to their father being bedridden.

Ruggie’s Parents: No information

Jack’s Parents: No information

Azul’s Mother: Restaurant owner (confirmed mage*) Azul’s Father: No information (confirmed mage*) Azul’s Step-Father: Lawyer (confirmed mage*)

*Azul says, “everyone in my family is a mage," without distinguishing between the different members.

Jade and Floyd’s Parents: “They simply run an independent business that dabbles in a bit of everything. Nothing out of the ordinary, I assure you.”

Kalim’s Father: “Does business in a lot of different places,” but what kind of business may never be specified.

Kalim says they come from a long line of merchants and he wants to emulate his grandpa and great-grandpa, but I have not been able to find a specific line that says Kalim’s father himself is also a merchant. Jamil describes Kalim’s father as “a key player in our government and economy.” (confirmed magicless)

Kalim’s Mother: No Information (confirmed mage)

Jamil’s Parents: Servants to Kalim’s family

Vil’s Father: Actor (confirmed magicless) Vil’s Mother: No Information

Rook’s Parents: No Information

Epel’s Parents: Apple farmers (confirmed magicless)

Idia and Ortho's Father: Director of STYX Idia and Ortho's Mother: (redacted for Book 7 spoilers)

Malleus’ Parents: (redacted for Book 7 spoilers)

Lilia’s Parents: No Information

Silver's Father: Retired General and Royal Guard (confirmed mage) Silver's Birth Parents: No Information

Sebek’s Father: Dentist (confirmed magicless) Sebek’s Mother: Assistant to her husband's dental practice (nocturnal fae, confirmed mage)

[thedamselzelda]

Break Into Chains

Featuring: Fyodor Dostoevsky & Beast! Dazai Osamu

Summary: Waiting... watching... done. Perhaps, playing this role was meant to take lesser time? Who could know now? Nevertheless, it's a role you must play out to its finale. Who knows what the end might be now? If only your part had been planned out better...

word count: 9.2k+, fem!reader, HOTD!reader → pm!reader (perhaps?), nsfw (domestic abuse [possessive Fyodor, very unhealthy relationship]), reader referred to with other names (no use of y/n), reader's eyes described as violet, Russian words used (general meanings at the end), slightly proofread

Author Note: Dear lord have mercy. This took wayyyyy too much time and for that I am sooooo sorry. I wanted to have this out last week, but the first scene DRAINED ME. I want to remind, or warn readers, this is a Dazai x reader fic, so Fyodor is not painted in good light.

ᡣ𐭩 There's also an additional part at the end since this part has been so delayed. The time is slightly ambiguous since I can't quite say when Dazai becomes PM Boss

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

Weeks had passed without a word from Fyodor, lulling you into a false sense of security. Yet, you knew better. His rats - Nikolai chief among them - lurked in the shadows, their watchful eyes ever-present. The unsettling thought that some of your own staff might be secretly under his command gnawed at the edges of your mind. But with the immense pressure of your new responsibilities, you couldn't afford to dwell on such paranoia.

Crisp crinkles echoed through your office as you shuffled through the papers littering your desk. Your eyes darted from document to document, meticulously ensuring everything was in order for the weeks to come. Invoices for food and excess liquor orders were neatly stacked, the staff schedule awaited your final approval, and ornate invitations for a masquerade party - Kōyō's insistence for after the Star Festival - had been prepared. The merger with the Port Mafia had transformed The Midnight's Caress into a whirlwind of activity, far beyond your initial expectations.

A weary sigh escaped your lips as you massaged your temples, the beginnings of a headache pulsing along your brow. A lit cigarette dangled precariously between your fingers, and you took a long, desperate drag, hoping the nicotine would quell the growing tension. The smoke curled lazily in the air, a stark contrast to the frenetic energy that now permeated the club.

When you agreed to sell to Osamu - to the Port Mafia - you hadn't anticipated this surge in business. Moreover, you'd agreed to the club becoming a front for trade, strictly in jewels. It was an additional burden, one you tried to distance yourself from, clinging to the illusion of separation from Mafia affairs.

Thankfully, Osamu had been true to his word, respecting your wish for distance from Mafia affairs. Yet, he kept you informed of pertinent matters, treating you with the consideration typically reserved for a high-ranking executive within the Port Mafia. This delicate balance he struck only served to underscore the undeniable shift in your relationship.

What had begun as harmless weekly chess games had gradually evolved into something more intimate. Weekend dinners became a regular occurrence, followed by conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning, ending only when dawn threatened to break the night's spell. His presence, once a distant memory, now constantly permeated your thoughts, even in sleep. In your dreams, Osamu appeared to you, gentle and caring, showering you with the kind of love he insisted you “deserved.” These nocturnal visions left you feeling both comforted and conflicted, a stark reminder of the complex emotions that still lingered between you.

The lines between past and present, professional and personal, had begun to blur, causing you to find yourself navigating through an increasingly complicated emotional landscape. Osamu's actions spoke of a desire to rebuild what was lost, while your own feelings remained a tumultuous mix of longing, caution, and the ever-present awareness of your true mission.

Your weary eyes drifted to your phone, its white light a stark contrast to the warm yellow glow of your desk lamp. A message from Osamu illuminated the screen:

Osamu:Hey, I'm sorry. I ran into some issues here. I'll be there soon. Did you decide on a place yet?

A small smile tugged at your lips, the domesticity of the message both comforting and unsettling. You extinguished your cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, ash and butts a testament to your increased stress. With a deep breath, you reached for your phone, fingers hovering over the keys as you contemplated your response. The soft glow of the screen illuminated your face in the dimly lit office.

Still settling everything for Kōyō's party in the upcoming weeks. I picked dinner last week, so I'd say it's your turn. Surprise me.

The smile lingered on your lips, a small content sigh escaping through. For a moment, the weight of your responsibilities seemed to lift, replaced by a warm anticipation.

"Who's got you smilin' like that?"

You whipped your head around, heart leaping into your throat at the unexpected voice. Nikolai stood in the shadows, his lanky form materializing as if from thin air.

"Fuckin' shit, Nikolai!" You breathed, slamming your phone screen down upon your desk. Your smile instantly vanished, happiness evaporating. "I have a fucking door!"

You shot your hand up and gestured at the door, only to freeze as it swung open. The atmosphere in the room shifted palpably, the air growing thick with tension as Fyodor entered, Dimitri closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"Fyodor!" You plastered on a smile, rising to your feet. You felt Nikolai watching you, stepping back slightly to allow you to approach the front of your desk.

Fyodor's hand rose slowly, a silent command for silence. His eyes, cold and unreadable, refused to meet yours. "Have you been having a good time, moya zhena? I see you are quite busy."

He gestured to your desk in disarray behind you. You cocked your head, clinging to your facade of innocence. The words fell from your lips quickly, showing your anxiety from the sudden, unexpected intrusion. "Admittedly, business has increased dramatically, which is why I haven’t been regular in our correspondences—"

Nikolai's sharp laughter cut through the air. He held up a champagne bottle, a mocking toast.  "No need to be so anxious, Marena. We simply came to... ‘surprise you’, seeing as you sold The Midnight’s Caress and still have ownership. That’s quite interesting."

You shot an irritated glance at Nikolai, who fell back onto chaise with infuriating casualness. Closing your eyes, you shook your head, trying to regain composure. Your eyes fluttered open to look back at Fyodor. "I only sold it to get closer to him. He thinks you're abusing me. I'm using that to our advantage."

"But why would I harm you, moya dorogaya zhena?" Fyodor's gloomy expression finally rose to meet yours, his eyes boring into you with unsettling intensity. His eyes shimmered slightly, as if trying to coax you into a sense of security. "I love you."

Irritated by his selection of reply, your eyebrow twitched involuntarily. His cold tone a stark contrast against his words. "Of course, moya lyubov'. I know that. Just as I love you."

Fyodor moved towards you, his gaze never wavering. Your body reacted instinctively, inching backward till you brushed against your desk, betraying your mind's attempt at control. "Yet, you cower from me."

Your eyes darted between his, desperately searching for the motive behind this unexpected visit. Panic rose in your throat; Osamu would be arriving soon, and Fyodor couldn't be here when he did. "I just… feel your impatience, moy dorogoy; your unrest. I assure you; I’m working my way back in. The Book will be ours."

Fyodor’s lips curled down; you could see he was no longer interested in your promises, your efforts. "Still, I see no progress from you. You have yet to even pass through the threshold of the Port Mafia’s doors."

"I—"

Before you could explain yourself, Nikolai's voice cut through, uncharacteristically low and ominous. "The rats have watched you, Marena. And unfortunately for you, they've whispered of your betrayal in the dark halls."

Your jaw clenched involuntarily as he continued, "Fyodor doesn’t exactly see your late-night rendezvous with Dazai as productive.” Nikolai's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Who knows what the two of you have been up to?"

The implication hung heavy in the air, a deliberate attempt to unsettle you and sow further doubt in Fyodor's mind. You fought to keep your expression neutral, acutely aware of the growing tension in the room and the dangerous ground you now tread.

Your chest heaved with each breath, anger and fear coursing through your veins. But you refused to continue to cower before them. "Of course you've been watching me. Whispering lies into my husband's ear." You raised your chin, forcing steel into your gaze. "You have been envious of me since the moment he brought me in."

Your ears began to ring loudly from Nikolai’s boisterous laughter. You gritted your teeth, becoming increasingly irritated by his presence. Nikolai’s laughter faded into a malevolent grin. "Envious? Oh, Marena, don’t be absurd! Who could envy a woman who clings to men who see her as nothing but a tool?"

You remained silent, taken aback by his venomous words. A flicker of hope prompted you to glance at Fyodor, expecting him to intervene, to silence Nikolai's disrespect. But as your eyes met his impassive gaze, the harsh truth crystallized - Fyodor was no longer your ally.

The realization hit you like a physical blow. Months of delayed progress, your prolonged failure to retrieve The Book, had worn Fyodor's patience. Nikolai, ever the opportunist, had seized upon this, whispering doubts and suspicions into your husband's ear. Now, standing before you, Fyodor was a stranger; his former affection now completely erased, replaced by cold calculation.

You felt Nikolai's gaze bore into you, his words continued cold and calculated. "Dazai’s affection doesn’t make you special. To him, you're just another expendable pawn in his grand game. And Fyodor," he gestured towards your husband, "anyone could see he doesn't favor you out of love; he pities you! You're nothing more than a tragic puppet, dancing on strings held by men who will never see you as their equal!"

Your eyes fluttered, a tempest of emotions raging behind them. Frustration and anger simmered in your veins, not just at Nikolai's cutting words about Osamu - words you knew to be far from the truth - but at your own naivety. The realization crashed over you like a tidal wave, leaving you clear minded for the first time in ages.

Fury ignited in your gaze as you locked eyes with Fyodor. "Is that so?" The words escaped as a low, dangerous murmur. You searched his face one last time, hoping against hope to find a glimmer of the man you thought you had married. But there was nothing - only a cold, calculating stranger stared back.

"It makes so much more sense now," you continued, your voice gaining strength with each word. Fyodor's head tilted slightly, a flicker of intrigue crossing his otherwise impassive features. He seemed curious about the conclusions you were drawing from Nikolai's taunts.

"I was a girl wanting freedom and you saw that dream in me, and so you seized the opportunity. You wanted to dangle me in front of Dazai this whole time," you spat, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place with sickening clarity. "That's why you insisted I return home! So you could give him a taste of something he couldn’t have. You lulled me into a false sense of security, fed me morsels of affection to temper my cravings, all to push me towards retrieving The Book! Not for us! But for you!"

Throughout your revelation, Fyodor's expression remained stoic, unmoved by your piecing together of his elaborate scheme. His lack of reaction only confirmed your suspicions, twisting the knife deeper. You were intelligent - Fyodor had always known this. It was inevitable that the facade would eventually crumble, that the truth would come to light.

You took an intentional step forward, and it was now Fyodor who took a slight step back.

"Now, you cower from me." You laughed, a sound tinged with both bitterness and newfound resolve. The sound cut through the tense silence, causing Nikolai to stiffen slightly in the background. Your eyes never left Fyodor's as you closed the distance between you, each step deliberate and measured.

You stopped mere inches from him, so close you could feel the warmth of his breath. The familiar scent of his scent, once comforting, now seemed nauseating and oppressive. Still, you didn't flinch or back away. Instead, you tilted your chin upward, meeting his gaze with unwavering defiance. Your proximity forced Fyodor to look down at you, a subtle shift in the power dynamic. Despite the slight height difference, it was clear you were not intimidated. Your body language radiated confidence, a stark contrast to the meek subordinate he had expected you to remain.

Your lips curved into a smirk, a dangerous glint in your eyes. Fyodor mirrored your expression, his own smile cold and calculating. The air between you crackled with tension, two predators sizing each other up. Your voice dropped to a menacing whisper; each word laced with deadly intent.

"You gravely misjudged me, Fyodor. You saw a vulnerable girl to be manipulated, a pawn in your grand design." Your eyes narrowed, boring into his with unwavering intensity. "But soon, you'll witness the true nature of the Port Mafia's Izanami. And you'll realize just how badly you've miscalculated. With every new life you assume, ty chertov ublyudok, I will find you and kill you, again and again, until the day comes when you can’t tell where you end and the life you stole begins."

Fyodor's lips curled into a cold smile. "Eto tak?" he replied, his voice dripping with mockery as he echoed your words. His eyebrow arched, a gesture of casual dismissal that belied the tension in the room. "Well, Izanami, I think that you'll find that your role here is not quite yet finished."

As Fyodor spoke, his lifeless gaze slid past you, settling on Nikolai. The abrupt shift in his attention left you reeling, a sudden vertigo gripping you. An icy tendril of dread snaked down your spine as Fyodor turned away, his lack of retaliation more unnerving than any threat.

In that disorienting moment, the gravity of your mistake crashed over you. You had fixated on Fyodor, forgetting the other dangerous player in the room. The air grew thick, almost suffocating, as time seemed to stretch and warp. Your instincts screamed a warning, every nerve on high alert.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

A whisper of movement behind you sent alarm bells ringing through your body. Pure instinct took over, your mind barely catching up as you spun around. Your eyes widened in horror as they locked onto Nikolai's form. His face wore a sadistic smile, eyes glinting with cold purpose as his arm arced through the air.

Desperately, you threw up your arm in a futile attempt at protection. However, it did no good as the champagne bottle connected with brutal force, shattering against your skull with a sickening crack. A shower of glass shards rained down, mixing with the sticky liquid that now saturated your hair and trickled down your face. A sharp, burning pain lanced through your forearm where the bottle's jagged edge had sliced into your skin.

The world lurched violently, your vision swimming in and out of focus. Agony exploded through your head, each pulse sending waves of nausea and pain radiating outward. You staggered, your legs threatening to give way as your senses overloaded, struggling to process the sudden assault.

Across your back, you felt the sharp, stinging pain of multiple lacerations. The acrid smell of champagne mixed with the metallic tang of blood, confirming your suspicions about the source of these new wounds - the shattered remains of the bottle that had started this brutal assault.

Nikolai then seemingly darted around you with intentional speed, exploiting his ability to materialize in your blind spots. Your eyes desperately tried to track his movements, but he always seemed one step ahead, vanishing and reappearing like a malevolent specter. The sharp sting of alcohol assaulted your vision, and as you struggled to blink away the burning sensation, a sickening crack echoed through the air.

A crushing force collided with your right arm, the impact reverberating through your body. Your mind reeled as you imagined the bone splintering beneath your skin, fragmenting into a thousand jagged pieces. A guttural cry escaped your lips as your arm went limp, hanging uselessly at your side. Before you could process the agony, another vicious blow struck the same shoulder, intensifying the waves of pain coursing through your body.

Despite the overwhelming pain, survival instinct kicked in. You fought back with desperate, uncoordinated movements. Your uninjured arm flailed wildly, fingers grasping at the air where Nikolai had been just moments before. If you could just make contact, just brush his skin with your fingertips, you knew it would all be over. Your ability would cease this nightmare. However, Nikolai was too quick, too practiced. He danced just out of reach, leaving nothing but empty air in your grasp. Your frustration mounted with each failed attempt, the realization of your powerlessness adding a new layer of anguish to your physical torment. The bitter taste of failure mingled with the blood in your mouth. As your body screamed in agony as the assault continued, hit after hit, a different kind of pain blossomed within your chest. Resentment bubbled up, hot and caustic, directed not just at your attackers but at yourself.

You wrestled with the dawning realization, desperately trying to silence the insidious voice in your mind. It whispered at first, then grew to a deafening roar with each passing moment of agony. "You fool," it seemed to taunt, the words reverberating through your battered psyche. "Look at the mess you've made of things."

Your thoughts drifted to that sun-drenched day at the quaint café in Italy, the scent of espresso and freshly baked cornetti, and the charming smile across from you still vivid in your memory. But no, you sowed the seeds of your downfall were planted even earlier. You recalled the day Osamu approached you, his eyes a frenzy of emotions, seeking reassurance as he grappled with the weight of his sudden succession. Instead of offering support and feeling relief at the resolution, you had chosen indifference, allowing bitterness to take root in your heart. Was it not you who had longed for it more?

It seemed trivial now to dwell on the chain of decisions that had led you to this moment of reckoning. Yet, as your body gave way and you crumpled to your knees on the cold, unforgiving floor, these memories were all you could cling to, a lifeline in the sea of pain and regret threatening to drown you.

"Please..." The word escaped your lips as a barely audible whisper, a final, desperate plea. Despite its softness, it was enough to give Nikolai pause, his imposing figure freezing mid-motion.

Fyodor's voice sliced through the tense silence, calm yet commanding. "I do believe that gets the point across. Thank you, Nikolai."

As the tears cleared your vision and burning, you saw Nikolai step back, lowering his improvised weapon—an ornate, silver candelabra from your office, now stained with crimson. A bitter chuckle escaped your lips, bordering on hysteria. Your hand had gone numb, and a vice-like pressure tightened around your chest. It took every ounce of strength to keep your head lifted as Fyodor approached, replacing Nikolai's looming presence.

He crouched before you, raising his hand to thread his fingers through your matted, sticky locks. "Moy malen'kaya mysh'," he murmured.

A solitary tear escaped as you attempted to turn away in disgust, but Fyodor cupped your cheek with unsettling tenderness, like a lover trying to soothe your pain. His thumb gently wiped away the tear threatening to streak your bruising skin. He shushed you softly as your lip quivered, unable to contain your anguish.

"I will give you one more chance, moya samaya bol'shaya lyubov'. Perhaps this will help get you through the guarded gates of the Port Mafia." Fyodor said, his voice a velvet caress as he stroked your head. Despite his gentle demeanor, the weight of his power over you was palpable. Your breath caught in your throat at his next words. "But if you fail me, I will have that detective you are so fond of gutted."

Your eyes fluttered as fresh tears welled up and spilled over. You shook your head weakly, your pleas barely above a whisper. "No... no, please."

Fyodor's smile was soft, almost benevolent, as he leaned in to press his lips against yours. You squeezed your eyes shut in revulsion, forcing yourself to return the twisted show of affection. As he pulled away, he hovered mere inches from your face, his breath warm against your skin. "I hope you're creative with my death this time," he murmured, his words laced with dark anticipation. "Just one page, moy dorogoy. That's all I need. Bring me one page from The Book within a month’s time, and perhaps, I'll reconsider the detective's fate. Fail me again, and... well, let's hope it doesn't come to that."

You remained motionless as Fyodor rose, your eyes tracking his every movement as his attention shifted back to Nikolai. Each breath became increasingly laborious, pain radiating through your body in waves, discovering new territories of agony with each passing moment. The metallic taste of blood lingered on your tongue.

As Nikolai moved to open the door for their departure, Fyodor's gaze returned to you, his eyes glinting with a mixture of possessiveness and cruel amusement. His voice, smooth as silk yet sharp as a blade, cut through the heavy air between you.

"Despite Nikolai's charged words, Dazai evidently still harbors feelings for you. But, moya dorogoy zhena," he paused, "he will do what he must to achieve his goals. You are nothing more than an obstacle for him, a fleeting distraction."

Fyodor's lips curled into a smile that never reached his eyes as he delivered his final, chilling statement. "To me, you are everything, moy angel smerti. You would do well to remember that."

The words hung in the air, as stale as the empty promise of helping you. As the door closed behind them, leaving you alone with your pain and the weight of Fyodor's threat, you couldn't help but feel the noose of circumstances tightening around you.

You winced, a sharp hiss escaping through clenched teeth as you gingerly cradled your broken arm, drawing it close to your body. The initial surge of adrenaline began to ebb away, leaving in its wake a tide of overwhelming pain and exhaustion. Your eyelids grew heavier with each passing moment, the world around you starting to blur at the edges.

From somewhere far away, as if through a thick fog, you heard the faint buzzing of your phone vibrating on the desk. Osamu calling, no doubt. A part of you yearned to answer, to hear his voice, but your limbs felt leaden, unresponsive. In that moment of weakness, you found yourself hoping—praying even to whatever cruel deity might exist— that Osamu would somehow sense your distress and come to find you.

As your eyes fluttered closed, fresh tears carved warm trails down your cheeks. Fyodor's words echoed in your mind, a haunting refrain. Even in this dire situation, with your relationship to Fyodor taking this twisted new turn, you couldn't bear the thought of Oda becoming a target. You tried to steady your breathing, pursing your lips with each labored exhale as you tilted your head back, fighting against the encroaching darkness.

The phone continued to buzz, the sound becoming from further and further away. With immense effort, you attempted to rise, to crawl towards that lifeline. But your body betrayed you, and you pitched forward, your cheek connecting with the plush fibers of your new rug. Another one to be replaced… Your vision narrowed to a pinpoint, then faded to black. The last vibration of your phone became nothing more than an auditory ghost, dissipating as consciousness slipped away.

Osamu, what did I do…

Osamu's leg bounced incessantly as he sat in the back of the sleek black car, the soft leather seat doing little to calm his fraying nerves. He cursed under his breath, pressing his hand firmly against his thigh in a futile attempt to still the movement. The usually composed Mafia executive was irritated with himself, his calm facade cracking under the weight of his tumultuous thoughts.

Neon lights from the bustling Yokohama nightlife flashed across his face in a dizzying array of colors, muddling the conflict swirling within his mind. Tonight. It had to be tonight. The mantra repeated in his mind, a mix of determination and barely contained anxiety. He was going to ask you to return to the Port Mafia, to come back to his side where you belonged. The very thought sent a tremor through his body, a potent cocktail of exhilaration and terror coursing through his veins.

God, how he hoped you had sensed his intentions during the past weeks—surely you must have. All those carefully orchestrated conversations, the gradual sharing of executive-level information... He'd watched you absorb it all, your eyes lighting up with that familiar spark of intrigue and excitement. If anything, that light seemed even brighter than in the other universes he glimpsed in his dreams and visions.

Osamu's mind reeled, memories from alternate realities blurring together in a kaleidoscope of possibilities. In every version, you were there, a constant by his side across the multiverse. Here, now, in this world - why should it be any different? It shouldn't. It couldn't be any longer. The separation had gone on far too long already.

But what if...? No. He violently shoved the doubt aside, refusing to let it take root. You'd been so receptive, so eager to engage with Mafia matters again, even if there had been initial hesitation. Surely that meant something. It had to.

He needed you back. The Mafia needed you. But if he was honest with himself - a rarity for the guarded man - he longed for your return on a level that transcended mere organizational goals. You made him feel... whole. Grounded. Like the best version of himself, a feeling he'd been desperately missing since your departure.

What if he pushed too hard? What if this was the mistake that finally drove you away for good? The thought made his chest constrict painfully, his breath catching for a moment.

No. He couldn't think like that. In every universe, in every reality, you belonged at his side. This one couldn't be the exception. He wouldn't allow it to be.

His hand moved instinctively, reaching into his breast pocket to retrieve his phone. With slightly trembling fingers, he punched in your number, holding the device to his ear. The monotonous rings gave way to your familiar voicemail greeting: "Thanks for giving me a call! Sorry I can't get to my phone right now!"

Osamu frowned, a new thread of worry weaving its way through his already tangled thoughts. Why weren't you answering? Surely, you were just attending to matters within the club, your phone left behind in your office. Yes, that had to be it.

"You 'ight, boss?"

Osamu's gaze snapped up to the rearview mirror, meeting Albatross' concerned look. He cleared his throat, forcing himself back to the present moment.

"Yes, Albatross," he replied, his voice steadier than he felt as he closed his phone with a swift motion. "Our ETA?"

"Just under two, sir."

He hummed in acknowledgment, his fingers seeking out the familiar texture of his silk scarf, fidgeting with it to channel his nervous energy. As his eye darted about the passing streetscape, he fought against the nagging thoughts threatening to overwhelm him.

For what if you refused, purely out of fear of Fyodor retaliating? Or what if...? No. Here he was once more fighting himself. He couldn't let himself go down that path. You would see reason. You had to. Because the alternative – a world where you weren't by his side – was simply unthinkable. Especially now, with the clock ticking relentlessly on his grand plan. Osamu was acutely aware of the limited time he had left in this world, and he was determined to spend as much of it as possible with you. Every moment was precious, every shared experience a treasure to be cherished before the inevitable end. He needed you back, not just for the Mafia, not just for his plans, but for himself – to make these final chapters of his story truly meaningful.       

Osamu exhaled sharply through pursed lips as Albatross brought the sleek black car to an abrupt stop outside The Midnight's Caress. The club's neon sign bathed the street in a garish blue glow, highlighting the queue of patrons eager to enter your establishment.

"I'll only be a moment," Osamu said, his voice taut as he slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket. His fingers curled around the door handle. "We'll be going to Azamino Ukai-tei once I return."

Albatross let out a derisive snort, his eyes meeting Osamu's in the rearview mirror. "Azamino Ukai-tei? Seriously, boss? Taking her to such a fancy place?" He shook his head, not bothering to hide his disdain. "What's next, gonna get down on one knee? Oh wait—" He paused for effect, his lips curling into a smirk. "Forgot she's already got that rat bastard."

Osamu froze, his knuckles whitening on the door handle as he shot a sharp glare at his subordinate. The caustic comment struck a nerve, but he couldn't entirely fault Albatross for his opinion. The other Flags shared similar sentiments about you.

"That's enough, Albatross," Osamu warned, his voice low and dangerous despite the turmoil roiling within him.

Albatross raised his hands in mock surrender, but the sarcasm in his voice was palpable. "Sure thing, boss. Just remember, some stray cats ain't worth bringing home, no matter how pretty they are."

Osamu gave a heavy sigh, too preoccupied with his own emotional storm to properly address Albatross's insolence. "We'll be down soon," he muttered, yanking the car door open and slamming it shut behind him, the sound echoing in the night air as he tried to push Albatross's words from his mind. Damn that man and his sharp tongue. It was an unwelcome reminder of how The Flags disapproved of you, a fact that had been a constant thorn in his side even before your departure.

He couldn't help but recall that day - the five remaining Flags and you, standing in his office with heads bowed in shame. The memory was etched into his mind, a permanent reminder of the crime committed within Port Mafia walls. What had been done was done. All six of you bore the consequences of your actions from that day forward, and he knew he couldn't fix what had been permanently damaged, no matter how much he wished otherwise.

Shaking his head to escape his thoughts, Osamu strode towards the club's entrance and was recognized immediately. The doorman stepped aside with a respectful nod. Osamu returned it with a curt nod and faint smile of his own, passing the threshold of curious onlookers. His eye took in the full crowd before him, an impressive amount on the Thursday night. He searched among the throngs for any sign of you, desperate to catch a glimpse of those amethyst eyes he knew so well. But among the bustle of staff and club-goers, he found no trace of you. Strange, he thought. He'd expected you to be downstairs, if not waiting for his arrival.

Without your guiding presence, he found it oddly difficult to navigate the crowd. To the drunkards and oblivious patrons, he was no one important - a foreign feeling in a city where nearly everyone feared the Port Mafia's presence. As he moved through, his gaze caught a few staff members whispering and glancing his way. Their eyes held judgment and cruelty, something he hadn't seen in them before tonight. It was as if he was unwelcome in the building he'd visited so many times before.

The longer he watched, the more they seemed to scurry away, like rats exposed to sudden light. Shadows darted across his peripheral vision, always just out of sight when he turned to look. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he approached the first flight of stairs. Something was wrong here; he could feel it in the oppressive silence and the stale air that clung to his skin. But what exactly? And where were you? The questions echoed in his mind, amplifying his growing anxiety.

His feet carried him upward as quickly as his thoughts raced, skipping up the flights with increasing urgency. The banister felt sticky beneath his palm, and he could have sworn he heard whispers emanating from behind the peeling wallpaper. His breath came in short, sharp bursts as he climbed higher, the pit within his stomach churning with each step.

The stairwell seemed to stretch endlessly before him, twisting and turning like a maze, though he knew it wasn’t so. Dim, flickering lights cast grotesque shapes on the walls, transforming innocent shadows into menacing silhouettes. He pressed on shaking the visions from his mind, driven by a mixture of fear and determination, his senses hyperaware of every sneer and whisper within the building. If he hadn’t been able to negate other’s abilities, he would assume these visions to be the works of another ability user. Unfortunately for Osamu, they were common works of his own mind, something he hadn’t quite yet become familiar with as negative thoughts poured in to drown him.

Alarms rang within his ears as he yanked himself onto the third landing, his bandages feeling damp and sticky against his skin from the sudden exertion. His unbandaged eye immediately locked onto the empty door frame of your office, conspicuously devoid of Dimitri's imposing presence. The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the gap, but not enough for him to peer inside.

He swallowed hard as he caught his breath, the taste of adrenaline bitter on his tongue. His hair, slightly damp with sweat, fell slightly into his face, obscuring his vision. With trembling fingers, he ran a hand through the tangled strands, pushing them back. His other hand reached out tentatively to tap the door open.

As the door widened with an ominous creak, his worst fears were justified. There you were, motionless in the dim light filtering through the blinds drawn over the office windows. Your name fell from his lips, quietly at first, a desperate whisper in the silence. Then, as his leaden feet carried him forward, your name escaped louder, echoing off the walls in hopes of rousing you from your unnatural stillness.

His eye roved over your still figure, taking in every detail with growing dread. Your head was slumped forward, a curtain of hair cascading down to hide your face from view. Your back was pressed against the front paneling of your desk. In your lap, you cradled one arm, the angle suggesting injury or worse.

"Bella?" Osamu's hands trembled as he gingerly brushed your hair from your face, his nostrils flaring at the pungent scent of alcohol mingled with something metallic. His unbandaged eye roved across your features, his heart clenching at the sight of fresh crimson droplets and forming bruises marring your skin. As his fingers found purchase upon your cheeks, he released a shaky sigh of relief when you grimaced, your eyes slowly fluttering open.

"Osamu?" Your voice, barely above a whisper, sent a jolt through him. He watched, transfixed, as tears escaped from your eyes, leaving glistening trails down your battered face.

He managed a weak smile, feeling his own eyes well up. Internally, he cursed as the bandage over his left eye became damp. The urge to protect you, to shield you from further harm, overwhelmed him. Before he could stop himself, he pulled you toward his chest, wincing as you let out a sharp groan.

"I'm sorry, I..." Osamu's voice trailed off, the words catching in his throat. Seeing you in such a state was excruciating, and the weight of guilt pressed down on him. He should have been there, should have prevented this. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been here sooner.”

Your hand found his cheek, and he leaned into your touch, savoring the warmth. His forehead touched yours, as he inhaled sharply to calm himself. It grounded him, a reminder that you were still here, still fighting.

"Osamu... I just want to go home. Please take me home..." The desperation in your voice tore at him. He gazed into your bloodshot, teary eyes, his chest tightening at how small and vulnerable you looked. It was a far cry from your usual commanding presence, and it shook him to his core. You gasped as more tears fell, "I can’t take this anymore."

"Of course. Of course, cara mia..." Osamu's mind raced, considering the implications. The guests couldn't see you like this - he knew how fiercely you guarded your image. And the staff... a cold realization settled over him. Despite your careful selection, he was now certain they were plants, watching your every move.

With slightly trembling hands, he fished out his phone. "I'll call Chūya... and Doc. You'll need to see Doc." He hated how rushed and unpolished his words sounded, so unlike his usual eloquence.

Your vigorous refusal caught him off guard; you shook your head and weakly pushed away from him. He watched, heart in his throat, as you tried to stand, only to pitch forward dangerously.

“Stop,” he scolded gently, your name a worried hiss on his lips. "You'll surely only hurt yourself further. Chūya will clear the club, but you need to see Doc."

As he cradled you against his shoulder, dialing the phone, Osamu felt the weight of responsibility settle heavily upon him. Your whispered words about them, The Flags, wanting you dead sent a chill down his spine, but he pushed the thought aside. Right now, getting you help was all that mattered.

When Albatross answered, Osamu steeled his voice, pushing down the worry that threatened to break through. "Albatross, I need you to go get Chūya and Doc. Bring them here immediately." As he spoke, he tightened his protective hold on you, silently vowing that no further harm would come to you on his watch.

"Course, Boss. We'll be back in five."

Osamu closed his phone with a soft click, his attention immediately falling back onto you. His hands, usually so steady and sure, trembled slightly as he pulled the maroon silk scarf from around his neck. “They broke your arm...” he muttered, his voice low and seething with barely contained rage.

With an attempted gentle precision, he wrapped the silk around your forearm, fashioning a makeshift sling. Each wince or groan you let out cut through him like a knife, and he found himself whispering "sorry" with every slight tug and pull. Osamu tried his best to be gentle, but his anger made his movements less fluid than usual. His mind raced with violent thoughts of retribution against Fyodor. If he had the time, if it fit into his plans, he would kill the man without hesitation. It was only your voice, weak but present, that pulled him back from the brink of that consuming rage.

"Why would you command them to help me? It just further cultivates that issue. I can't take back what I did to Piano Man, and they will always hold it against me."

His eye found yours as he reached up to tie a knot of silk behind your head. The warmth of your gaze steadied him somewhat. I would like to think... we've all grown since that day," he said softly, hoping his words held more truth than he feared.

You rolled your eyes and sighed heavily; the sound filled with a weariness that made Osamu's heart ache. He carefully maneuvered behind you, leaning back against the front of your desk. His hands, gentle but insistent, urged you to lean back, to rest against him as they awaited Albatross and the others.

He cradled you close, his arms forming a protective cage around you. The fear of losing you, of you slipping away from this world and leaving him behind, gnawed at the edges of his mind. Your head fell back upon his shoulder, and you looked up at him, your eyes capturing his in a moment of shared vulnerability.“I don't think Chūya's grown at all... especially height wise.”

Osamu felt you give a pitiful huff of a laugh, your lips curling into a weak smile. Despite the gravity of the situation, he couldn't help but feel a small spark of relief at your attempt at humor. It was so quintessentially you, finding levity even in the darkest moments. He allowed himself a small chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest against your back.

"Perhaps not vertically, no. Though his ego has grown to compensate. It's a wonder he can still fit through doorways."

Osamu felt a warmth bloom in his chest as he heard you manage a weak laugh. The sound, though faint, stirred memories of happier times, of shared laughter and stolen moments before everything had fallen apart. His lips curved into a bittersweet smile, unseen by you but evident in the way his arms gently caged around you. He finally allowed himself to savor the feeling of you in his arms, finally returned to him, and despite everything, still able to laugh at his quips about Chūya.

🎹 𝒮𝑜𝓃, 𝒞𝒶𝓃 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒫𝓁𝒶𝓎 𝑀𝑒 𝒜 𝑀𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓎

Your head quickly bowed down as the slam of the double doors reverberated behind you, the sound adding to the tense atmosphere of Dazai's office. In your peripheral vision, you saw Lippmann jump slightly, his eyes squeezed shut and slightly puffy from what you assumed was a mix of stress and sorrow.

You closed your eyes, taking in a deep breath that did little to calm your nerves. The scent of polished wood and old leather filled your nostrils, a familiar smell that now seemed tainted by the gravity of the situation. You knew nothing productive would come of this; it wasn't exactly your fault. However, if Dazai didn't take action, it would only solidify the views, the opinions, and the overall stance that The Flags and the Port Mafia held of you.

Dazai swiftly passed all six of you who stood before his desk, his coat billowing slightly with the rapid movement. The sound of his footsteps on the hardwood floor seemed unnaturally loud in the silence. Chūya was the first to break the oppressive quiet, his voice tight with tension, "Da—Boss, you have to know this wasn't our fault."

Your head shot up, eyes darting over to him, a mix of disbelief and anger flaring within you. "Why? Because you'd claim it was all me?" The words came out sharper than you intended, laced with bitterness.

Chūya's bi-colored eyes met yours, a challenge evident in his gaze. "Well, if you wanna admit to it?" His tone was equally caustic, the underlying tension between you palpable.

Your lips parted as you attempted to shoot back at him, but you were cut off by Dazai’s booming voice.

"Shut up! Both of you." Dazai's angry tone cut through the air like a whip, emanating from behind his desk. He was leaning over, hastily flipping through the report, his movements jerky with barely contained fury. The atmosphere in the room grew even heavier, if that was possible. It was clear that Dazai was beyond angry - this kind of infighting was unacceptable, something even Mori wouldn't have tolerated.

"I honestly don't care who started it," Dazai said, looking up from the papers, his single visible eye scanning the group before him. "I just want to understand what happened to cause this. I shouldn't be standing before the six of you with a member of The Flags, a member of the Mafia, dead within my building."

All of you stood in uncomfortable silence. For once, Albatross, usually quick with a quip or comment, was silent, seemingly at a loss for words. Doc kept his gaze fixed on the floor, anxiously pushing and pulling his IV drip beside him, the soft squeaking of its wheels the only sound in the room. Iceman, true to his taciturn nature, remained stoic and silent, having been merely a witness to the events that had unfolded.

"So?" Dazai's eye scanned all of you again, his gaze falling upon you last. You steeled yourself, looking back at him, unflinching. You could feel the pain emanating from him, see it in the way his eye closed momentarily, his head falling into a slight shake of disappointment.

Unsurprisingly to you, it was Lippmann who stepped forward, the movement causing you to roll your eyes. You knew him well enough to anticipate what was coming - some elaborate story crafted to soften the blow, to shift blame or minimize the severity of what had occurred. As he composed himself and opened his mouth to speak, you braced yourself for whatever tale he was about to spin.

"Boss," he began, his voice a perfect blend of concern and disappointment, "I'm afraid what we witnessed today was a grave lapse in judgment and control from our... esteemed colleague."

He gestured towards you with a subtle, dismissive wave. "Piano Man, while admittedly agitated, was merely expressing concerns shared by many within our ranks. His approach may have been… unorthodox, but his intentions were rooted in loyalty to the Port Mafia."

Lippmann's eyes darted to you briefly, and you furrowed your eyebrows causing him to refocus on Dazai. "Unfortunately, instead of de-escalating the situation as one might expect from a sub executive, Izanami here resorted to... extreme measures. Whether this was due to a lack of proper training, an inability to handle pressure, or perhaps," he paused meaningfully, "other motivations, I cannot say."

His voice lowered, taking on a conspiratorial tone. "It pains me to suggest this, Boss, but we must consider the possibility that this incident was not entirely accidental. The speed and finality with which Piano Man was dispatched raises... questions about intent and premeditation."

Lippmann straightened, his expression a mask of regret. "I fear this tragic event may be symptomatic of larger issues within our organization. Issues of favoritism, perhaps, or the granting of positions beyond one's capabilities. It's not my place to question your decisions, Boss, but for the sake of the Port Mafia, we must address these concerns."

Your eyes flashed with anger as you stepped forward, turning to face them all, ignoring Dazai's growing protests. "Is that how you would describe Piano Man's unprovoked attack on me? As 'expressing concerns'?" Your voice trembled with barely contained fury.

"As I've said countless times before, though I was born and raised in the Mafia, I still worked and earned my position. My role began long before Dazai stepped into his position as our boss."

You looked among the group, your gaze lingering on each face - men you once respected, now twisted by their silent misjudgment and apparent willingness to see you harmed.

"I will not apologize for defending myself against Piano Man, especially if this is how the five of you choose to twist events - painting me as some sort of liability or threat to be eliminated." Your voice rose, filled with indignation. "I have never once plotted against Dazai or the Port Mafia, nor will I ever. My loyalty to this organization goes far beyond the petty jealousy and baseless accusations you're throwing around."

Your eyes locked onto Lippmann, your words sharp and precise. "Your insinuations about 'favoritism' and questioning my capabilities are nothing but thinly veiled attempts to undermine my position. I've proven my worth time and time again, and I won't stand here and let you rewrite history to suit your narrative."

The room fell into an unbelievable silence, the air thick with tension. Even the usually persistent squeak of the IV pole's wheels had halted, as if the inanimate object itself was holding its breath. The lights dimmed dramatically, casting long shadows across the faces of those present, as your words hung heavy in the air.

As one, you all turned your attention to the screen that had silently lowered before the windows. The footage flickered to life, replaying the incident in the hallway with stark clarity.

There you were, walking purposefully down the corridor, your stride confident until the moment Piano Man and the other Flags called out to you. You watched yourself turn to meet them; your body language open, ready to converse. Yet, even through the silent playback, it was clear how quickly the conversation soured.

Piano Man circled you in the video, his movements predatory. As you watched, you relived the moment in your head, the echo of his insinuated insults ringing in your ears. His lips moved, forming words you could still hear clearly: accusations of your rapid rise through the ranks being due solely to your relationship with Dazai, claims that his love for you was a weakness.

The footage showed you lunging at Piano Man, your face contorted with rage at his comments. Immediately, all the men around you raised their weapons, causing you to freeze in place. You watched Piano Man's lips move again, hearing his taunting words from just hours before: "Let's see how fearsome you are, “great” Izanami."

Your gaze flickered away from the screen to Dazai. He was lounged back in his office chair, a cigarette dangling precariously from his fingers, its ash growing long and threatening to fall. You gritted your teeth, a mix of emotions swirling within you. How did you get here? Looking toward your lover for some form of help, even as you knew it would be considered unwise for him to play favorites. Yet, you could admit he always did. The easier jobs, the safer ones, always fell to you. He had ensured you were fully moved into the penthouse with him, safe from anyone who would attempt to harm you otherwise... well, in hindsight, you hadn't expected this.

Your attention reluctantly returned to the camera feed. You watched as Piano Man swiftly moved to wrap the piano wires around your throat, the thin metal glinting in the hallway light. A part of you wondered if he would have actually killed you, or if this was all some twisted hazing ritual to force you to stand down from your position. It didn't matter now.

The final moments played out on screen - you, standing before Piano Man, blood pouring from his eyes and ears. It seemed surreal, like watching an out-of-body experience.

"From what I can tell... she was provoked into attacking." Dazai's voice cut through the tense silence, startling everyone.

No one said a thing in response. The men only looked back at you, their gazes a mix of fear, disgust, and something akin to awe. To them, you were an unnatural anomaly that shouldn't have existed.

"I expect this to never happen again. Do I make myself clear?" Dazai's voice cut through the tension, stern and final. Yet Chūya, his face flushed with anger, still felt the need to avenge his fallen friend.

"That's it?" Chūya's voice was loud and rough, grating against your ears like sandpaper. "She gets no punishment?"

You scoffed, your patience wearing thin. "Here I was going to let this go, but what about you five getting punished? You all ganged up on me! Watched him and let it happen!" You took several purposeful strides toward Chūya, getting close enough to see the flecks of gold in his blue eye. "You are just as much of a guilty party as I am!"

"You privileged ass bitch; you better get out of my face!" Chūya's words were laced with venom, his body tensing as if ready to strike.

You puffed out your chest, outstretching your arms in a challenge. "Or what, Chūya? Gonna finish the job?!"

Before either of you could make another move, Dazai was between you, his movements so swift you hadn't even seen him leap from his seat. One hand gripped your wrist tightly, the other pressed firmly against Chūya's chest.

"This is done, now!" Dazai's voice was sharp, brooking no argument. You huffed as his grasp on your wrist tightened, a warning. His gaze scanned yours, which was still locked in a fierce staring match with Chūya. A guttural sound of frustration escaped Dazai's lips as he looked up at the remaining Flags. "Leave!"

They scurried out quickly, but you barely noticed. Chūya was all you could see, red clouding your vision like a bloody mist.

"You get off scot-free while my friend is dead! All 'cause you fuck the boss!" Chūya's words dripped with accusation and bitterness.

In a moment of blind rage, you spat in his face, mentally thankful for Dazai's unyielding grip on your wrist.

"I oughta kill you and get your misery over with!" Chūya snarled, his hand twitching towards his hat.

"Chūya!" Dazai's voice cracked like a whip as he pushed hard against his chest, forcing him back several feet.

"Why don't you then? Huh? You'd be doing me a big favor if I never have to deal with you again!" The words tore from your throat, raw and angry.

Dazai hissed your name, pulling you from Chūya's line of sight. You tore your arm away, huffing as you stormed over to the bookshelf, seeking some semblance of calm.

Your eyes darted over the book titles, desperately trying to settle your frayed nerves. Behind you, you could hear hushed murmuring interspersed with Chūya's occasional outbursts. You narrowed your eyes, attempting to stay focused on the shelves before you. Your fingers traced along the spines, the familiar texture of leather and cloth a small comfort.

Suddenly, your finger grazed a book spine that felt off - lighter, newer. Curiosity piqued, you tugged on the random book, one you wouldn't normally notice, and found it wasn't actually a full book, but a façade hiding something behind it. Leaning in, your nose brushed against the edge, inhaling the scent of old parchment. Your eyes widened as you spotted another book tucked behind the others, almost out of sight. Its stark white cover was a stark contrast to the darker tones surrounding it, with golden details catching the light just barely.

You turned back, seeing Chūya storming out of Dazai's office, his departure punctuated by the slam of the heavy doors. Quickly, you returned the shell book to its original position, your mind racing with questions about the hidden tome.

Dazai turned to you, sighing your name heavily as he began to walk over. "What a mess."

A thousand responses flitted through your mind: Wouldn't have happened if you didn't kill Mori. If you had only let me take the position I always told you I wanted. If… if… Maybe I should have left with Oda when I had the chance. But you kept every racing thought to yourself, only offering a noncommittal hum in response.

He stopped before you, his unbandaged eye looking weary and tired. With a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the earlier violence, he cupped your cheek, leaning down to press his forehead against yours.

"You did nothing wrong," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

"I'll let our maker decide that," you sighed, grasping his hand. "You need to stop coddling me. It's inadvertently led to this."

His breath fanned over your lips as he pressed them against yours. The kiss, once a source of comfort and passion, now felt tainted with bitterness. Yet, you returned it, your love for him still present, even if battered by recent events out of his control. This test of your relationship was something you hadn't anticipated, its ability to strain and potentially break your bond a sobering realization.

He frowned as he pulled away, still holding you close. "Only if you stop asking people to kill you."

You forced a smile, the expression not quite reaching your eyes. "The only way I'm going, amore mio, is if you're going with me."

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

Author Chat: I think after this part I might take a little bit off from writing, but trust: the next part, I'm excited for. It's just being a dog mom, nursing student, and person in general has drained me slightly and I want to give my all towards writing because I love it as an outlet.

Also, I want to mention, it hurt to write The Flags in this way, but with reader being ambitious while also having a romantic relationship with Dazai, I saw it as a reason that could anger some of the members, especially if Dazai dotted on the reader (which let's be honest: Beast! Dazai and Main Story Dazai would def do.)

If you liked, feel free to like and reblog! I always appreciate everyone who interacts! ᡣ𐭩 ~DamzelZelda

Song Inspos: Haunted- Chris Grey Dark Bloom- Amber Run Runaway- Aurora Piano Man- Billy Joel (Lyric Only)

Russian Word "Dictionary" (Curtesy of [unreliable] Google translate):

moya zhena: "my wife"

moya dorogaya zhena: "my dear wife"

moya lyubov': "my love"

moy dorogoy: "my dear"

ty chertov ublyudok: "you fucking bastard"

Eto tak: "Is that so?"

Moy malen'kaya mysh': "my little mouse"

moya samaya bol'shaya lyubov': "my greatest love"

moy angel smerti: "my angel of death"

[the-grey-hunt]

last year i talked somewhat about jonathan harker in the role of the gothic heroine, which seemed to go over well! this year i've decided to challenge myself to delve a little deeper and keep my literary analysis skills sharp (trying to keep away from anything revealed later than today's entry, for the new readers)

for context in the literary background i'm examining here, the female gothic (a term coined I believe in the 70s) is a lens of analysis for gothic literature which examines the role of women as expression of contemporary anxieties around women and their roles in society, particularly as mothers and wives. like many kinds of horror, political and social anxieties are deployed as supernatural forces with which to terrify the "ordinary" citizens.

jonathan, our ordinary man, is certainly faced with horrors—but in what way? sent by an older man, Peter Hawkins, jonathan enters a foreign landscape where he enters into the power of another older man, at a particularly vulnerable time where a loved one (Mina) is waiting at home but jonathan does not appear to be married. the horrors that jonathan faces are the same trials set up against gothic heroines: threatening older men with power over you, poised at a huge point of transition in your life, etc, etc.

the main argument against jonathan as a heroine is, I think, his job. His transition point right now isn't an impending marriage or that he needs one, but that he's just established himself as a solicitor and is meeting with Dracula for business purposes. however, I think how these are deployed as tools in the story, such as Hawkins almost transferring guardianship of his young employee/ward to Dracula (temporarily), still very much mirror the ways in which high-class social norms are deployed against gothic women. even the work jonathan does in the castle (talking to dracula about real estate) isn't in service of bolstering his manly prowess, but serves as a tool for dracula to distract him, and keep him from realizing that he is trapped and serving dracula's own will.

rather than being tried in a manly fashion by his strength or his wits being challenged, jonathan's gothic experience is of his environment and even his body being manipulated by the man meant to be a helping hand in a foreign land. when I say body people might think it's a little early for that, but it's happening—dracula keeps jonathan up late so he sleeps in, forcing him to acclimate to dracula's own nocturnal existence. when he gets a glimpse of blood, he attempts to take it from jonathan. even today, a few hundred years after dracula's social anxieties about women's bodies being trespassed upon by men other than the ones entitled to them, women may see echoes of their own anxieties about bodily autonomy.

Dracula also isolates jonathan socially. He makes jonathan mistrust his own ability to percieve reality (gaslighting, anyone, a story about a woman being manipulated by her husband?) by pretending that servants are in charge of the cooking and so on, when really it's just dracula keeping up a masquerade.

this comes to a head in the mirror scene, where jonathan's shaving mirror—an item he uses to attend to his appearance—ends up being a helpful tool which exposes the supernatural reality of what jonathan's up against. however, because dracula is still the one in power, he immediately gets rid of it, calling it "vanity". I recall the quote by John Berger:

You painted a naked woman because you enjoyed looking at her, put a mirror in her hand and you called the painting Vanity, thus morally condemning the woman whose nakedness you had depicted for you own pleasure.

the ways in which jonathan is treated by dracula, and the ways in which he attempts to bolster himself against the threat (spying to see what dracula's really doing, seeing the lack of reflection by chance) mirror the highly gendered dynamics of the Victorian era which this book was written in the tail end of. perhaps purposefully subverting jonathan's gender as a further expression of the horror of dracula, stoker's work takes jonathan as a man secure in his position at home in england to being a manipulated, isolated, and precariously positioned figure subject to the whims of an abusive man while friendless in a foreign country

(and the essay on how race, ethnicity, and foreign versus home plays into this is a whole other post! racism effects gender too! it's not a mistake that jonathan is securely male at home but his gender is subverted abroad!)

[neoninky]

So here's a thought.... (Diasomnia Fae Rambles)

Ok Diasomnia lovers, I has another theory dump lol

So dragon fae - the Draconias being the most prominent examples in game - are born from eggs and are born as literal baby dragons as we have seen from Chapter 7.

And as we have seen there are other nocturnal fae that take after animals such as bat fae like Lilia or crocodile fae like Baul and his daughter.

So...was Lilia born as an actual baby bat? Was Baul and his daughter hatched from eggs?? I have so many questions lol.

Lilia clearly has little bat familiars that visit him during lessons and during his dream sequence, the man literally appears with a whole colony of bats like friggin Batman. Or like the zodiac members in Fruits Basket that attract their animals in real time lol. Which honestly is stupidly charming and I love it.

It makes me wonder about Baul's time before living in Briarland/Briar Valley. I forget where exactly it was mentioned, but I do recall Baul saying that he's native to Sunset Savanna. Did he just randomly come across crocodiles in the wild? Like he had a pool by his house and crocodiles would be drawn to him and just come vibe in his backyard lol. In relation to my fae OC characters like Tai who is a fox fae: would he run into wild foxes while hanging out in the woods? Ok that would be stupidly cute actually oh lawd. Or more importantly...when Lilia's baby girl Hildie is born, is she a lil humanoid fae baby or a tiny baby bat that eventually takes on a human form???? *serotonin explosion* Anyhoo. There y'all go. Feel free to discuss lol.

@nuitthegoddess @hanafubukki @foxwitchaine @masquerade-of-misery @diasomniareads @onegianthotmess

[receptorconsuming]

I know you recomended some video essays a while back, do you have any favorite people who post them?

hi! i definitely do! i'll link them, along with a few of my personal favorites of their videos.

Video essay channels with an educational/academic thread to them:

Jacob Geller (What's the Point of Taking Apart a Body?/Why do Horror Games Sound so Beautiful?/Four Short Games about Pain, Control Anatomy and the Legacy of the Haunted House)

hbomberguy (Pathologic is Genius, And here's Why/ROBLOX_OFF.MP3/Fallout: New Vegas is Genius, And Here's Why)

Leadhead (What Makes a Great Team Fortress 2 Map?/ Portal, Cracks in the System/The Sims and Suburban Hell)

MertKayKay (The Most Disgusting Game I Have Ever Played/How to Miss the Point of Silent Hill)

Video game reviews with essay commentary:

Grimbeard (Michigan: Report From Hell/The Vampire Diaries/Nocturne)

RagnarRox (World of Horror is a Dream Come True/Haunting Ground is a Psycho-Sexual Horror Masterpiece/A Love Letter to Vampire: The Masquerade)

DungeonChill (That Time Robert de Niro Made a Game/The Weirdest Time Travel Game on PS2/Are You Afraid of the Dark?/The Scariest Educational Game Ever Made)

MandaloreGaming (The Mystery of the Druids/Limbo of the Lost/Anonymous Agony: An Extra Edgy Adventure Game/The Penumbra Collection Review)

The Sphere Hunter (Haunting Ground: The Hidden Horror Gem/Parasite Eve, the Cinematic RPG in Video Game History/Why RE7's Opening is So Effective)

Video essay channels that cover specific aspects of games:

TBSkyen (Channel focused on character design, animation, and art -- A character design hot take for every League of Legends character/The Animation of Arcane/The Many Meanings of Bloodborne)

Scruffy (Channel focused on audio design -- How Audio Enhances the Horror of FNAF/Sound Intensity in FNAF/Proximity Chat and Horror)

Tech Rules (Channel focused on coding and game design -- Ruining FNaF by Dissecting the Animatronics/Ruining Baldi's Basics by Dissecting Baldi's AI/Ruining DDLC by Revealing Every Trick)

Hope you enjoy any that you check out!! ^^

[gorbalsvampire]

D'you have any player-facing or secret ST-eyes-only systems that you like to use for tracking SI exposure in your games? Or (shunting you a soapbox here) for seeding and making good on consequences generally?

So in general, my absolute favourite way to generate The Quencies is Succees At A Cost. "I'll offer you a devil's bargain," to quote the Master, Mr. Carl.

Kick enough Successes at a Cost down the trail and you can have them escalate into something quite spectacular, whatever that turns out to be. The same for Messy Critical consequences. "There's been a Masquerade breach, but I need to work out the details, so it'll be with you in a couple of sessions' time." That sort of thing.

I also like to frame story beats as poison chalices and sadistic choices. Yes, you can have the Dunsirns' help in covering up the assassination attempt on that Baron you murdered, but they want her property, her territory, and you to know exactly who took the fall for you and what that's worth.

What else? Every chronicle needs a character who's talked about more than they are seen. Telegraphy is key, but don't go too hard on it - we don't want players going "we've got a BADASS over here" about them. I think the trick is having other SPCs be afraid of them, or answerable to them, or clearly dependent on them.

In my Glasgow game, Miss Drake the scourge didn't appear very often, but she was mentioned in the context of "what keeps this praxis running?" and "why doesn't anyone hunt in the West End?" Sir Thomas Dunsirn - Big Tam to his family - was the unseen hand of the nocturnal economy and, more to the point, the hand holding Alistair's leash.

There's this horrid old man who somehow gets you to do whatever he wants. You first met him when he physically and psychically assaulted his way into your turf and your crime scene. You owe him your continued liberty. And he has a boss. At that point, player imagination is doing the work.

But while we're here, I'm also going to talk about Nemesis Points. I took these a late-series Fighting Fantasy gamebook, Night Dragon, and I love them. As you quest to find the location of the titular Night Dragon and prevent its resurrection by the cult who worship it, you have various avenues of investigation to pursue, some of which are of course dead ends: you also have various bits of side business, in accordance with custom. Every prevarication, every attempt made, even the successful ones, adds some Nemesis Points to your tally. If you haven't found the Night Dragon's lair by the time you reach a given Nemesis score, Your Adventure Is Over in a sense far greater than "you got mugged by three pirates and died again."

When I was running face to face games, I'd sometimes put one of those spindown - or in this case spin up - life counters from Magic on the table. Whenever my players prevaricated, overthought, faffed about or otherwise didn't make the most of our time together, the die would spin up a little.

I think something like that could adapt to Masquerade cockups very nicely. People love a meter.

I find the Response Algorithm and Institutional Conflict systems in the Anarch and Camarilla books are a bit of a headache, but they're there if you need them. Of course, Second Inquisition also has a chapter explicitly for doing this, for running your SI presence as an active and hostile force with its own goals - almost a solo side game for the ST.

This isn't something I've used - yet - as Wild Roses was very much me finding the transitions I needed to make out of Revised era thinking, and one of those was vampire-focus, less interest in what mortals want and are doing. The SI there was a cool threat that warmed up in the third story when I wanted to raise the stakes and do a cool bank heist opening session, and again when a returning player gave me the opportunity to tell a story about collaborators and how they should die in shame. I had ideas for how they served the vampire story and they were only developed in so far as they did that.

I'm not actually very happy with how I characterised and played my SI characters, and I'd like to do them justice with another outing. One where they actually have a project. It'll be more work for me, but if I'm going to do this Spy vs. Spy chronicle concept justice, I'm going to have to do that work, aren't I?

[halfdent]

here's some of my Gotham Nocturne edits as the story is drawing to an end . If it's not obvious I was OBSESSED . Like ??? Whoever sat there && went . Batman but it's dark opera masquerade themed ? Thank you . Also whoever went " It's dark opera masquerade themed && we HAVE to include Two-Face "