#oh and that time when my sister's child died

[ano-po]

Eh, competitive ang nanay ko.

Walang makatatalo sa kanya. S'ya ang grand champion no matter what happens.

[fxckinemo]

nvm i think i just miss having a family that actually cared about me

[sluttysnowangel666]

His Second Wife - cregan stark x reader (request)

summary: two years following the death of cregan’s first wife, he accepts an undesired marriage proposal to rhaenyra targaryen’s daughter. rhaenyra’s daughter, who had loved cregan the moment she first met him as a young girl, immediately loves and accepts cregan’s first child as her own. yet it is still not enough for cregan to find his own love for his new wife.

cw: mean cregan😓, widow!cregan, targ!reader, loss of virginity(reader), rhaenyra’s daughter, angst to fluff, unrequited love, sex, happy ending

do yall notice i always post a long ass story usually around midnight or later ( i’m unwell)also this is long af soz it was a detailed request and I wanted it to be to a T. this is SOO long. i prolly should have done two parts… oh well @lillithsalvatore hope you enjoy it love ❤️

“How do you feel, my love?” Your mother asked, placing a warm and comforting hand on yours.

You sighed. “Nervous.”

She gave you that warm and sweet smile of hers. “I know. I hope you know this choice was not easy for me to make, as I know this was a hard task for me to place upon you.”

“I know, mother.” You say with forgiveness, giving her hand a squeeze.

“Had it been any other lord I would have surely declined but… Starks are the most honorable among men. I know your union will be blessed by the gods.”

You give her a smile, blindly trusting her words. You had met him once, and you knew he was kind. In fact, he had left a paw shaped imprint on your heart. You thought to yourself no union could be more suitable. You knew he had married once before out of a prior marital alliance, but the marriage had been short lived, lasting only a year before his first wife died in her birthing chambers.

It took more than four moons before you arrived at Winterfell, as if every power in the world was set on preventing it. You were not a superstitious person, so you simply thought all the bad things that happened prior to your marriage was coincidence.

Each time you went to leave, something prevented you. Your mother miscarried your baby sister, Lucerys was killed by Aemond, Daemon went silent at Harrenhall, Rhaena ran away and was lost in the eyrie before revealing she claimed Sheep-stealer.

You arrived in the dead of winter, and the journey had not been kind to you. You got a chill on the way up, causing you to stop at an inn for a few nights, you had came across raiders who killed one of the many men escorting you, and your clothes were ill suited for the weather.

You did eventually arrive at Winterfell thankfully, all in one piece.

You stepped out of the carriage cautiously, eyeing the snowy landscape surrounding you. It went as far as the eye could see. You held your hand out, letting the thick snowflakes fall and melt in your hand.

“My princess.” You turn to see Cregan, walking towards you. He bows, forcing a politeness. “Winterfell is yours.”

You bow in return, “No need for such formalities, Lord Stark. This is your home, and I am honored to have you welcome me here.”

He nods, choosing to say nothing else to you.

“Please show the princess to her chambers.” He says to one of the servants, then immediately turning on his heels to leave. Your jaw falls slightly, surprised at his curt demeanor.

You compose yourself, trying to hide the slight hurt in your features before making your way to your private chambers.

You bathed immediately, welcoming the hot water against your skin. No water could be hot enough for your dragon blood, but what they had drawn up for you would do nicely.

Your wedding was a week after your arrival, the lord having given you time to settle in. You had not seen him much during that week so you chose not to bother him, assuming he was busy with duties.

When you walked down that snowy path to the red weirwood, Cregan stole a glance at you. You looked beautiful, and he felt horribly guilty for thinking it. He felt like what he was doing was betraying her.

You said your vows, swearing your love before the old gods. You smiled at Cregan and he gave you a forced one in return. Guilt wracked his whole body. He felt guilty for you, knowing he wouldn’t be able to give you a union where you were loved, he felt guilty for liking your smile, he felt guilty for forgetting hers.

There was a feast following the ceremony, nothing large due to the pains of winter, but it didn’t bother you. The small gathering felt intimate, compared to southern weddings where lords and ladies travelled from all over the realm to witness it.

It was here you met Cregan’s son, Rickon.

“Hi, little one.” You said. He was only two, a fat little babe who looked just like Cregan.

“Rickon, this is my new wife.” Cregan said. The way he worded it made you twitch, it had sounded so strained. He didn’t even use your name. You told the boy the name he could call you, but he said nothing as he hid behind his father’s leg.

“I apologize.” Cregan said, his voice showing no sign that he actually was sorry.

“It is alright, my lord. He is just a babe. He and I will have time to get to know each other.” You said. Cregan tensed up, suddenly remembering again this union was forever.

“Excuse me, princess.” He said, turning and walking away with Rickon. Your heart sunk a bit. You could start to sense it now, Cregan was not in the slightest invested in your union together. You felt lost, out of place suddenly.

You sat back down at the high table, overwhelmed with nervousness. You bit at your nails and the skin around them, biting until they bled. You missed your mother dearly. Being here, in this room among strangers who didn’t care much for southerners to begin with, made you feel small.

You had sat there for an hour or two, not moving or eating once, save for your cuticles.

Cregan came to you, not noticing your nervous state. If he had noticed, he chose to ignore it. “I’ve put Rickon down… Would you please accompany me to my chambers?”

You looked at him, the nail bed of your thumb resting between your teeth. You nodded, standing and staring at the hall one last time. You locked eyes with a man, who noticed you both about to take your leave.

“Is it time for the bedding ceremony, Lord Stark?” The man asked, erupting a few cheers from the men mostly.

“No!” Cregan nearly barked the order. “There will be no bedding ceremony.”

The men in the crowd shuffled awkwardly at his outburst but accepted.

“Princess.” Cregan said, walking away and not waiting to see if you were following.

You did anyway, struggling to keep up with his quick pace. You had the sense he wanted this to be over with quickly.

He held the door as you both entered his chambers. You took in your surroundings. It was a clean and large kept room with a lit hearth and a large bed. A thought passed your mind, even though you tried to push it down.

Did he share these chambers with her?

Cregan began to take off his armor and furs, again not watching to see if you did the same, only assuming you were. If you weren’t, he didn’t care.

“Um, could you help, my lord?” You asked, referring to the laces of your white wedding dress.

He sighed, walking over to you as you turned your back to him. Your eyes welled with tears, but you tried to hide it.

His hands were gentle with the laces, not tugging at them as you expected him to. He obviously had experience doing this before.

He grew emotional as he undid your dress, but he hid it well. It was a weird sense of deja vu. Your hair looked like hers from the back and he felt like he was back at his first wedding.

You pushed the dress off, revealing the sheer linen soft dress underneath. He hadn’t moved from behind you, trying to maintain his composure. You walked away from him, lying on the bed and biting your nails again.

He finished disrobing besides his briefs, and you stole a glance at his back. It was huge, muscular and scarred.

He walked over to the bed, getting between your legs and pushing up your shift.

“Is this alright with you, princess?” He asks. “We need not consummate this if you are not ready.”

For the first time it seemed like he kinda cared about how you felt. His hand still had a hold of your shift, which was resting on your pelvic bone.

You nodded, “Is it alright with you, Lord Stark?”

He nodded, pushing your shift up the rest of the way to reveal your chest. He wanted to fall on his sword for the way he kept stealing glances at your breasts.

He pushed his briefs down, and you choked on your breath at the reveal of his length.

“Oh, gods.” You mumbled under your breath.

He rubbed himself against your slit, and your heart stilled for a minute. The feeling was foreign and intense.

He gently grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from your mouth. You hadn’t even realized you were still doing it, it was starting to become like breathing. A natural, unintentional habit.

Your hands fell to his biceps to steady yourself. You looked at him, but he did not meet your gaze. He instead bowed his head, watching himself enter inside you.

You dug your nails into his arm, gasping in shock. He gently shushed you, telling you it was okay.

“Please, please.” You said, not knowing what you were even pleading for.

“What?” He asked gently, his voice low and almost mimicking of your whining. It sent a shiver up your spine.

He was slow and gentle with you, not in it for any pleasure himself.

You touched his chest and his hair and his arms, and while he didn’t stop you he made no effort to touch you himself. His hands rested beside your head, holding up his weight.

Your hands found his arms again and you moaned softly, feeling your peak building in your stomach. You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead to his head, moaning as you spilled onto him. He closed his eyes as he felt it, and guilt wracked him again.

He gently pulled out of you and stood up, immediately dressing himself into his nightwear. You pushed your shift back down and pulled the linen covers over you, immediately going back to biting your nails at his reaction.

He laid beside you, not facing you and not saying anything.

You said nothing, but it hadn’t gone unnoticed how he intentionally avoided spilling himself into you.

———

It had been 3 months since your arrival to Winterfell, and you had adjusted as well as you could given the circumstances.

You did not often see your lord husband, but you were used to it. He spent a lot of his free time in the crypt where she was. It hurt, but you gave him his peace and he appreciated that you didn’t hover.

“Mummy!”

“Sh, sh, love.” You say as Rickon runs into your chambers.

Cregan did not like when Rickon called you his mother. He’d gotten upset with you a few times over it, and you assured him you would correct Rickon when it happened.

“Mummy.” He repeated. You giggled. pulling him into your lap. You shook your head and tapped his nose, saying, “Nooo. Not mummy.”

“Mummy.” He laughed, and you ran your fingers through his thick brown curls.

“What ever will we do with this mop on your head, my son?”

“He is not your son.” You turned to see Cregan standing in the door way. “And his hair is fine.”

“Apologies, my lord.” You said, curtly. He ignored your attitude.

“Come, Rickon.” He said, beckoning his son.

“No, mummy.” Rickon whined, holding you.

“Go see papa.” You told him, and with your blessing Rickon ran to Cregan.

Cregan gave you a cold stare as he left, and you returned the favor.

You were growing ever so agitated with your husband. He had welcomed you into Winterfell, but not his heart. The only time you both had shared a bed was the night of your wedding, to which Cregan had made sure not to give you an heir.

You had no one. Rickon had you, Cregan had you even if he did not want you, yet you were alone here in Winterfell.

You decided to write to your mother on Dragonstone, requesting for Jacaerys to pick you up on dragon back so you could visit your family and hopefully receive advice. You had left your dragon, Silverwing, at home. You did not want to disrespect the already hesitant northern people, and you did not want Silverwing to be cold or hungry.

That night when you were brushing your hair before bed, there was a knock on your door.

“Come in.” You looked in the mirror and saw Cregan’s half sister, Sara, enter.

“Hi, Sara.” You said. She came up behind you, taking the brush from your hand and slowly combing it through your hair. You two had formed a unique bond, given you were both considered outcasts in Winterfell. You were a southerner, she was a bastard. They were two sides of the same coin here in Winterfell.

“I heard what happened today.” She said, and you hummed mindlessly. “My brother can be a bastard.”

You smiled at her in the mirror. “Is that so?”

She nods. “I wish I knew what to do, Sara.”

“We northerners love hard, princess. We are unwaveringly loyal. The wound of losing Aly is still fresh in my brother’s heart. Give him time. He knows you love Rickon, and that scares him. I don’t know why.”

“Was Aly pretty?” You ask.

“You have a southern beauty we do not see often in the North. Aly was not a beautiful woman, but she was a fierce fighter. That is how history will remember her. She was born fighting, and she died fighting. I know you are a fierce fighter as well, princess. You are the blood of the dragon. Do not let the grief my brother holds make you feel small.” She kisses the back of your head. “Throw a fucking book at his head if he acts like that again.”

You laugh, her joke comforting you. She turns and leaves you alone, your head clouded with thoughts of Aly.

You heard back from Jacaerys within a few days that he would arrive shortly to bring you home. You had not yet told Cregan, as you knew he wouldn’t care anyway.

A few days following the letter from the raven, it was Sara’s name day. Cregan had decided to celebrate with a feast, one bigger than your wedding.

You all sat at the high table, your husband and sister in law drinking heavily. Although Cregan was a big man, the amount of ale he consumed that night seemed enough to kill a horse.

“My princess.” A servant rested her hand on your shoulder. You and Cregan both turned to look at her, and she grew nervous, not expecting Cregan to pay any attention or perhaps she would not have asked the princess the request. “Rickon has had a nightmare and wants no comfort of the maids. He is requesting you by name specifically, princess.”

You turn to look at Cregan for his approval. He gives a quick nod, which you hadn’t expected. Perhaps he only obliged since Rickon had requested you by your name, rather than requesting his “mother.”

You walked with the maid to his chambers, opening the door.

“Mummy.” He said through sniffles. You turned to face the maid.

“I thought he requested me by my name.” You said.

“That is your name, princess… to him.” The maid closed the door.

You turn to face Rickon with a gentle sigh. “You know papa doesn’t like that word.”

“Mummy.” He just says again. You walk to his bed, fitting yourself in to lay with him. He cuddles into your chest, and you play with his hair to help him sleep.

“Say it okay.” He says.

“Hm? What do you mean, child?” You ask.

“She say it okay to call you mummy.”

“Who?”

“Mummy did.”

“No, you have to call me my name, sweet boy.”

“Not you, mummy. My other mummy said it okay.”

“You confuse me, Rickon.”

“Mummy says ignore papa.” You chuckle softly.

“Sleep now, my love.” You say, and he slowly falls asleep while you hum him a soft song.

You rise, tucking him in and giving his head a kiss.

You open his door to return to the feast, and Cregan is there waiting.

You gasp, covering your mouth quickly to not wake Rickon.

“Gods, you scared me!” You whisper/yell at him. He says nothing, his eyes in a glossy and drunken haze.

You close the door, nearly standing chest to chest with him.

“I heard you sing to him.” He says softly. “Where did you learn that song?”

“He taught me it.” You say, as you go to step past him when he stops you.

“Cregan?” You say confused, turning to look up at him.

He takes your cheeks in your hands and slams his lips on yours. You freeze for a second in shock, before immediately returning the kiss. He presses you against the door, and you moan into him as you quickly grow wet with Cregan’s sudden change of behavior.

He moves to press gentle kisses on your neck, biting softly here and there. His fingers dig into your hips, grinding himself into you. You moan softly, trying not to cause too much noise against the door.

“Not here.” You moan. He avoids your eyes, taking your hand and pulling you further down the hall to his chambers. It was only your second time in his room. He lifted you into his strong arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and pressing you against the wall.

You both hadn’t even undressed, but you loved the thrill. Your husband finally wanted you after three long grueling months. He pushed your dress up to your waist as you unlaced his breeches.

He took you there against the wall of his chambers, fucking you so sweetly, fucking you in a way that would surely produce an heir.

Your moans filled the halls, and the servants began to spread word that the lord had finally moved on from his first wife.

He carried you to the bed, placing you along the edge as he stood, fucking you with sloppy and drunken thrusts.

You moaned his name, both of you drawing so close to your peak as your hands rested against his stomach. He leaned closed to you as hand moved beside your head to hold his weight, and the other moved under your lower back to lift you slightly off the bed and pull you more into him. The angle sent you over the edge, crying and moaning his name.

Your moans pushed him over, but his next words made you sick.

“Fuck, Alysanne.” He groaned, burying his head in your neck and spilling his seed into you.

You gasped, not even sure you heard him right.

He kissed your neck a few times and then rolled off you, not noticing the look on your face.

You laid there unmoving, still in your dress which was now damp with sweat, and your thighs now sticky with Cregan.

He fell asleep the second his head hit his pillow, still in his clothes.

You choked back a sob, moving your hand to your mouth so he wouldn’t waken. In reality, you could’ve started screaming and he wouldn’t have woke, or even shuffled.

You exited his chambers, trying not to be sick on the way to yours.

“My sister!” Sara drunkenly yelled as she seen you in the hallway. She took notice of your disheveled dress and hair. “Oh my gods, did you and Cregan just…?”

You ignored her, but she noticed the tears on your face. “Wait, sister what is wrong? What happened?”

You slammed the door in her face, throwing yourself into your pillow and screaming.

—

“Mother would be furious if she knew you were sleeping this well past sunrise.”

You groaned, lifting your head from the pillow to find the voice in the room.

“Jacaerys?” You said, when your eyes landed on him.

“I take it the feast for Sara Snow was a success.” He says, making fun of you. Your hair was sticking to your face, wet with a mixture of tears and drool.

“I guess you could say that.” You said, wiping your hair to the side.

“You’re disgusting.” He says.

“Gods, five minutes you’ve been here and you already frustrate me! Get out!” You say, both of you immediately teasing and arguing like you had never left home.

You push him out of your room.

“Don’t touch me, wench!” He whines, smacking your arms.

“Piss off! Go harass the bloody Lord of Winterfell.”

“I’d rather harass the Lady.” You push him out of your doors, turning and pressing your back to slide down the wall.

You hear him knock again and you rise to your feet, angry. “Jace, I said-“

You don’t finish your sentence, since as you open the door it’s Sara.

“I wanna talk about last night.”

“I don’t.” You say, going to close the door on her before she pushes it back open.

“What happened?” She asks, angry. She closes the door behind her and follows you to the bed. You sit on the edge and rest your elbows on your thighs, burying your face in your hands.

“Did my brother hurt you?” She asks, worried.

“No, no.”

She rests on her knees in front of you, placing her hands on your knees. “Tell me what happened.”

You sigh, trying to hold back your tears, but you cannot. “We had sex.”

“Isn’t that good? What went wrong?”

“He called me Alysanne.” You sob out.

“Oh, no.” She says, moving to sit beside you and wrap her arms around you.

“I cannot stay here no longer, Sara. I am being haunted by Alysanne. I find letters she wrote to Cregan, her clothes, her weapons. Rickon thinks I am her and Cregan wishes I was.”

“I am sorry, princess.” She says, sadly. “I thought I knew my brother better than that… Perhaps, if you talk to him about these past few months things can be different. Just give it a try, yes? You have your brother here now. You can leave if things do not work and the marriage can be annulled.”

You did not even wish to think of that possibility. It would be so shameful for both of your houses. You would do everything in your power to make it work.

You cleaned yourself up and went to Cregan’s chambers, knowing he would be hungover.

And you were right.

You entered his room without knocking, finding him in a bath with a warm rag over his eyes. Three times now you’ve been in his chambers.

“You can set it on the table.” He says, not moving the rag.

“What?”

“Oh.” He says, his voice changing in tone. “I thought you were the maid.”

You say nothing, unsure of where to even begin.

“Can whatever you’ve barged into my chambers for wait until I am done.” He asks, only the question is more of a statement.

“No.” You say, angry. You walk over to him and pull the rag off his eyes. He squints at the brightness, then gagging on the air as if he might be sick. “We’re going to talk, Cregan. We’ve been married for months and I don’t think we’ve ever truly had a conversation once. It is all I am asking. You could at least give me that. You’ve given me the cold shoulder for three months, and I’m tired of it. I’ve helped raise your son, I’ve loved you and I’ve cared for you even when you didn’t want it. You owe this to me.”

He sighs, defeated. “You are right in that, my princess. I apologize. We can talk later, alright?”

“No, Cregan. We will talk now.”

“You wouldn’t rather talk when I am of a clear headspace?”

“No. Now.” You say. He sighs again.

“Say your piece.”

The words left your mind the second he said that. You had this conversation in your head many times before, but now it was here and you could not handle the heat of the moment.

He raised his eyebrow at you, as if you were dumb.

“Oh, do not do that. I thought you Starks were supposed to be the most honorable among men. This whole marriage I have been treated with everything but. You are a disrespectful man, Stark. I am truly sorry about Alysanne-“

“Do not speak to me about my wife, ever!” He yells, pointing at you.

“I am your wife!” You cry out. “You chose me, whether you were ready for another marriage or not! I left my home, my family, my dragon to be with you! If I cannot have your love, is it too much to ask for your fucking respect?!”

He goes quiet for a few moments, “You have always had my respect, princess… and I know I have erred in the way I’ve treated you these past moons. But this marriage is just a duty. Nothing more, nothing less. This marriage is not out of love… so do not expect me to love you back.”

You laugh, dryly. “You called me Alysanne last night… Do you remember that? No… I suppose you were too drunk. You never would have touched or cared for me like that sober.”

He says nothing, but his hands grip the side of the tub and his face is contorted with anger. You rise, hiding any sort of emotion on your face.

“The dead don’t need lovers. Only the living.” You said. He threw his rag at the door as you walked out, not even granting him a second glance.

The memories of last night flooded back to him, and he rested his face in his hands, crying at his behavior. He had let down Aly, his son, and you.

He did care about you, he did love you in his own way. He just didn’t know how to show it. He didn’t want to show it. If he had shown it, he only would have betrayed Aly even more.

You went down to the crypt, somewhere you had never gone before. You had no reason originally, no people to mourn.

You stood in front of her plot, staring at the statue of her. She had been a skinny girl, with long dark hair and ‘plain’ features. You thought she was a beauty in her own way. You saw why Cregan loved her.

You cried. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help him.”

Your hand touched her statue, then you stood and left the crypt.

You said goodbye to Rickon, Sara, and then you left with your brother on dragon back, ready to be home with your true family.

———

“You’re a fucking fool, brother.”

“You think I don’t know that? Gods.” Cregan rested his head in his hands. He had sent every raven in Winterfell to Dragonstone, yet not one had responded in the weeks since you’d left.

“We’ll be lucky if the bloody queen doesn’t declare war on us for you scorning her daughter.”

“I am trying here, Sara! I’ve sent my ravens, I’ve sent men to retrieve her. There is nothing more I can do!”

Sara slammed her hands on the table. “Go and get her your bloody self, Cregan. The trip to Dragonstone will give you plenty of time for reflection.”

Sara turned to leave, and Cregan knew it was his only option of getting you back here. He would go and get you and make things right. He had to.

You had your own time for reflection, riding home with Jacaerys made you realize how much you missed being on dragon back.

Your mother of course welcomed you with open arms, but was wracked with guilt that you and Cregan’s union was not working. You paid it no mind however, spending your days patrolling Dragonstone on Silverwing.

Cregan had taken his horse and a few men to retrieve you from Dragonstone. The trip by horse was long, more than several weeks.

The entire time he rode in silence he thought of you. He thought of your last conversation and the final words you had said to him. The dead don’t need lovers. And you were right. Alysanne would not have wished to see him treat you how he had, she would not have wanted Cregan to spend his time sulking or being angry. He only wished he had realized it before he left.

He loved you. If only it hadn’t taken you leaving for him to realize. You were kind, gentle, beautiful. Traits Alysanne didn’t have but it was what seperated you from her. It had been how he was able to find his own kind of love for you, even when he didn’t consciously realize it yet. His own bitterness from losing Aly had made forget his honor.

Cregan arrived about two moons after you had left. He was aching, frustrated, and desperate by the time he reached Dragonstone.

It was dark, pouring rain, and you were playing with your brothers Viserys and Aegon when he arrived.

“Your Grace!” A knight came into the room shouting. Your mother looked up from her book. “Cregan Stark of Winterfell has arrived and requests an immediate audience with you and the princess.”

Your mother looked at you, and you looked like you’d seen a ghost. Your heart sank and your face went pale, but you nodded.

You met him inside the council chambers with your mother and his men. He was soaked, shivering. You could hear your heart beating in your ears, that was how nervous you were.

“Cregan.” You said, walking towards him and pushing him by his arms to the hearth to warm him up. It was another thing he loved about you, your protective nature, so he said it.

“I love you.”

“Cregan…”

“Love her?” You both looked at your mother, whose face was angry. “You love my daughter?”

“Your Grace.” Cregan said, removing his sword and bending his knee. “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness.”

She walked towards you both. “It is not mine you need to beg for… I sent my only daughter to you, and you spurn her for your dead wife?!”

“Mother!”

“You will not interrupt the Queen when she is speaking.” She commands you. “What do you have to say for yourself, Lord Stark?”

He stands. “I have nothing to say, Your Grace. You are right. My behavior was unacceptable. The princess deserved none of it.”

“Why are you here?” Your mother asks him.

“I’ve come to ask the princess to return home.” Your mother scoffs at him.

She looks at you, then back to him. “You are lucky it is not my decision to make.”

She turns and exits, leaving and commanding his men to wait outside the doors so you both could be alone.

You were even more nervous with just the two of you in there. It is silent for a few moments before you speak.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” You ask Cregan.

“It took you leaving for me to realize I love you.” He says, taking your hands in his. You roll your eyes, taking your hands back and stepping away.

“I can’t believe you.” You say, starting to sob.

“I know, I know.” He steps closer to you again, taking you in his arms as you cry into his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“I loved you, Cregan.” You say, crying. “Since I was a girl I loved you. I thought you were different from other men. But, you’re just like the rest.”

Cregan cries into your hair. “I’m so sorry, my princess. I’m so, so sorry.”

You both stand there, holding each other and crying.

“Please come home.” He says. “Let me take you home.”

“Rickon misses his mother, Sara misses her sister… I miss you, you my wife.”

You pull away to look at him, trying to read his normally stoic features. You can see he means it.

“Okay.”

———

You returned to Winterfell on Silverwing, no longer having the strength to remain apart from your dragon.

Cregan had to endure another long and grueling trip back to Winterfell, which you enjoyed knowing he was suffering while you road through the skies.

Rickon had cried tears of joy when you returned, and a week later when Cregan arrived Rickon cried again.

You and Cregan had remained in seperated chambers while you still navigated your marriage, but Cregan made a point to spend every moment of his free time with you.

But you had been keeping a secret from him.

After you returned home to Dragonstone originally, your blood never arrived. The maester determined you were with a babe, which would arrive several moons away in the dead of winter.

Your thick furs and dresses made it easier to hide from Cregan, as you were not ready to tell him.

The babe had complicated things. If you had not been pregnant, you might not have returned to Winterfell when Cregan came for you. But you knew you had a duty, and you believed if Cregan could love you then you could fix your union.

Cregan had indeed put the work in the second he arrived home. He attended to you, conversed with you, ate with you, laughed with you, but gave you the space you needed and gave you the option to be intimate with him when you were ready.

It was strangely like falling in love all over again. You blushed around each other, got nervous and flushed, made each other’s hearts race, shared a first kiss when you were both ready.

Cregan had undoubtedly fallen madly in love with you, and he regretted not taking the time to do it sooner. He couldn’t make up the time he lost being afraid. All he could do now was love you without guilt, love you without fear, love you without shame.

Normally Cregan always knocked on your chamber doors before entering, but for some reason this time he hadn’t. He didn’t know why he didn’t knock, he didn’t know if it happened unconsciously or if he was too busy wrapped up with his thoughts.

Either way, he entered without knocking and by that point the cat was out of the bag.

He said your name, greeting you with a smile, only for it to fall off his face as if it had never been there.

You were in the bath, relaxing in the burning water, but that wasn’t the problem. He’d seen you naked, although it hadn’t been for a few months by this point, but him accidentally invading your privacy wasn’t the problem either.

It was the bump in your belly that was a problem.

Your head turned sharply, covering your chest quickly. “Cregan!”

“Sorry.” He said quickly, turning around to avoid disrespecting you.

“It’s fine.” You said, dropping your arm from your chest. “You just gave me a fright.”

He said nothing for a moment, only continuing to face the wall.

“What is that?” He finally asked. You sighed, stepping out of the tub and into your robe.

You walked up behind him, resting a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to face you now, and his eyes fell down to your other hand resting on the small bump in your stomach.

“Perhaps it’s time we talk.”

“You think?” He spits at you, immediately apologizing after. “I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to be cross with you.”

You said nothing, walking over to the seats by the hearth hoping he would follow.

He did, and he sat next to you, his eyes never leaving your belly.

“Can I?” He asked, gesturing to your stomach. You nodded, untying your robe so that you were bare. You grabbed his hand, bringing it to the small bump.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have accommodated for you, made sure you were comfortable.”

“Truth be told it’s been hard for me to accept I’m truly with a child.” You say, “The reality had not set in until… well until you just now found out... I am sorry, Cregan. I should not have kept it from you.”

He chokes back a sob. “Feels like just yesterday Alysanne had Rickon.”

“He will be overjoyed to know he will have a little brother or sister.” You tell him. He looks at you, his face full of emotion.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks and before you can even finish nodding your head, you’re already leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you. I love you so much, my wife.” He says in between kisses.

His hand did not move once from your stomach the whole night.

[astonmartinii]

the father who stepped up | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem gasly!reader

mr leclerc has been spotted with an all too familiar dog recently.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR | BROTHER'S BFF MASTERLIST

- part of the brother's best friend series -

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 1,094,523 others

yourusername: ceo of milf industries

view all comments

user1: i am NO better than a man

user2: i think enough time has passed... when do we get enzo's paddock debut

user3: i'm hearing monaco at least

pierregasly: this is false advertising

yourusername: enzo is my child, i am his mother

pierregasly: you're not cute enough to be a milf, sorry!

yourusername: just cause you've got the hairline of a grandpa is not mine or enzo's fault

pierregasly: MY HAIRLINE IS FINE

yourusername: PUSH BACK THE FRINGE

pierregasly: how dare you! this is a big insecurity of mine - you are NOT a girl's girl

yourusername: pierre why is mum calling me? PIERRE WHY IS MUM CALLING ME?

user4: i bet they have a get along shirt

yourusername: all i can say is that someone rocks it, and someone doesn't

pierregasly: are you still being mean while on the phone to mum????

yourusername: the hater grind never stops

estebanocon: enzo is getting so big 😭😭😭

yourusername: time flies, oh gosh i'm crying

estebanocon: motherhood does that to you

user5: i love how pierre and este are mortal enemies but y/n is besties with him regardless

yourusername: an opp of pierre is a friend of mine

charles_leclerc: cutest boy in the world

yourusername: i didn't know you had given up that title?

charles_leclerc: oh i-

pierregasly: STOP FLIRTING WITH HIM AND STOP BLUSHING IT'S JUST Y/N

user6: say it's just y/n as if it's NOT Y/N??

liked by charles_leclerc

pierregasly: I SAW THAT

pierregasly

liked by francisca.cgomes, charles_leclerc and 897,556 others

tagged: yourusername

pierregasly: what's the point of having a sister if you can't steal her dog

view all comments

user7: this pooch has to be one of the most spoilt and pampered dogs in the world

user8: i wish i died and was reincarnated as enzo

yourusername: oh sure, i'm sure i'm great for plucking your eyebrows and helping you text back girls (@francisca.cgomes you're welcome)

pierregasly: do you mind?

yourusername: did you really ever think you'd pull kika with your charm alone?

pierregasly: yes?

yourusername: the delusion of men should be studied

pierregasly: do i have to call mum again?

yourusername: you call yourself tripod, if anything i should be calling the POLICE

user9: i know kika must have the patience of a saint to deal with their bickering

user10: i fear for any man who wants to get with y/n cause lord knows at his big age pierre will be wheeling out the overprotective brother act

pierregasly: that's my god given right

yukitsunoda0511: not in the photo dump... i see how it is

yourusername: every girl for themselves sorry yuki san

yukitsunoda0511: i think pierre is just jealous of our looks

yourusername: i think that is exactly it yuki

charles_leclerc: yuki not in the post but i wasn't even invited 🤨

pierregasly: you're literally in italy?

charles_leclerc: and?

pierregasly: god forbid a man doesn't want to be bullied by you and y/n

yourusername: (pussy)

user11: not to be a freak but charles and y/n would be so cute together

pierregasly: say anything like that again and you're getting blocked

yourusername: they hate to see a girlboss winning

pierregasly: excuse me?

charles_leclerc

liked by danielricciardo, joris_trouche and 2.784,566 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: no paternity test needed

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user15: okay.... like... they're slay

user16: i'm personally going to celebrate now before the pierre tantrum

yourusername: oh i've already blocked his number lol

pierregasly: knock knock

yourusername: HELP HE DROVE ALL THE WAY FROM PARIS

user17: is charles dead? can we have a sign of life?

charles_leclerc: they can't get rid of me bitch

pierregasly: you're hiding in the bathroom I CAN HEAR YOU GUYS GIGGLING

yourusername: you're BREAKING AND ENTERING

pierregasly: i have a key?

charles_leclerc: for emergencies?

pierregasly: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY I NEED TO BEAT YOUR ASS

yourusername: not his ass!!!! it's so cute :(

pierregasly: not the time

user18: i can't - why are they having a conversation in the comment section when they're separated by a single door

pierregasly: WHY IS ESTEBAN HERE????????????

estebanocon: 1. i love drama and i love annoying you 2. y/n called me as back up

yourusername: you're being insane and i needed the lanky man to escort you out!

pierregasly: i just want to talk

yourusername: I CAN HEAR THE SOCK

charles_leclerc: THE SOCK?

estebanocon: i can confirm he has the sock

yukitsunoda0511: why don't i know what the sock is :(

yourusername: it's a sock full of loose change that you swing as a weapon @ MEN OF ITALY PLEASE MOBILISE YOUR GOD IS IN DANGER

charles_leclerc: tell enzo i love him :((((((

pierregasly: WHY IS MAX HERE AS WELL?

maxverstappen1: i am nosey

maxverstappen1: and esteban left the door open

danielricciardo: i am also here

alexalbon: me too, @yourusername can i have some of the dessert in the fridge?

yourusername: is the entire population of monaco in our house?

charles_leclerc: with that many witnesses he can't do anything

pierregasly: WHY DID YOU GUYS GIVE THEM ENOUGH TIME TO GET OUT AND LET Y/N GET HER SOCK

pierregasly: HELPPPPPPPPPPPPPP

user19: what the fuck have i just read?

user20: are alpine down a driver?

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, estebanocon and 1,789,467 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: did you guys know i recently became an only child?

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user23: now this could either mean that she has disowned pierre or that we did actually witness murder by sock

user24: enzo down an uncle

maxverstappen1: i am more than ready to take his spot

danielricciardo: me too

alexalbon: me three

pierregasly: i'm still alive?

yourusername: GHOST 🫵🏻

charles_leclerc: someone get the sage STAT

pierregasly; do not try and cleanse me away

yourusername: then stop STINKING UP THE GAFF WITH YOUR ATTITUDE

pierregasly: THEN STOP FUCKING MY BEST FRIEND

charles_leclerc: 🤓👆 she's actually in love with me

yourusername: that's true i am actually in love with him

pierregasly: there's a difference?

yourusername: your fuckboy is showing... kika i'm so sorry

user25: we got a 'LOVE' guys it's real

yourusername: we have a child, this is so real

charles_leclerc: locked in for life 🫰🏻

estebanocon: he just passed out in the sim

yourusername: good 👍🏻

charles_leclerc: he'll come around at some point, but for right now i love you too much to care

yourusername: i love you too charlie x

charles_leclerc: i love you more

yourusername: NOT POSSIBLE

charles_leclerc

liked by danielricciardo, arthurleclerc and 2,309,877 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: two years strong, no pierre tantrum can stop that :P

view all comments

user26: this is my official countdown to another pierre meltdown.

pierregasly: TWO YEARS? TWO YEARS? 730 DAYS? I CAN'T BE BOTHERED/CAN'T DO ANY MORE MATHS THAN THAT?

charles_leclerc: bro is proving why we didn't tell him in real time

pierregasly: i will choke you

charles_leclerc: you can't kill enzo's dad and be an absent uncle?

pierregasly: I AM NOT AN ABSENT UNCLE WHERE ARE YOU?

yourusername: newsflash bozo we thought ahead and are at a super secret second location

pierregasly: are you at max's?

yourusername: yes.

pierregasly: i knew you were too lazy to leave the building

yourusername: but you don't have a key to his place 😤

user27: y/n is real for that

maxverstappen1: EVERYONE BEHOLD I AM ABOUT TO COMPLIMENT CHARLES: enzo is very well trained and good with the cats

charles_leclerc: why thank you max

maxverstappen1: he must get it from his mother

charles_leclerc: rude! i thought this was a compliment to me?

yourusername: if it is my trait, it's singularly mine god lord it hasn't been passed down to all the gasly kids

pierregasly: i can read that you know

yourusername: you can read? next you're going to tell me you're potty trained as well

pierregasly: that's it i'm calling mum again

charles_leclerc: btw she already knows about us - i got permission from your parents

pierregasly: SO EVERYONE KNEW

yukitsunoda0511: i didn't :(

pierregasly: you're not in the family yuki that's not a big surprise

yukitsunoda0511: that's not what you said the other day... :((((((

pierregasly: i can't win these days

user28: first the alpine tractor and now this, pierre can't catch a break

pierregasly

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername and 1,784,560 others

tagged: yourusername & charles_leclerc

pierregasly: i guess we're bffs for life now

view all comments

user32: balance has been restored to the force

user33: the way it only took some puppy dog eyes from both charles and enzo and the past three week civil war was forgiven

yourusername: thank god, you really aren't made to be a drama queen, keep it for the radio

pierregasly: you're just lucky you chose a guy i like

yourusername: you forced me to hang out with him my whole life, so really this is all your fault.

pierregasly: ????

yourusername: it's always a man's fault

pierregasly: i give up. you win. sure it was my fault

user34: y/n ain't never losing an argument i feel sorry for pierre and charles

charles_leclerc: she's never wrong 🫡

yourusername: this is how it should be ladies

charles_leclerc: how does it feel to be the third favourite to your parents now?

pierregasly: really? i can get the sock back out?

charles_leclerc: i'm sorry!!!

pierregasly: but you are right, y/n is the favourite

yourusername: baby is always the favourite

arthurleclerc: true

charles_leclerc: 🙄

pierregasly: 🙄

yourusername: are we done being dramatic now? can i come to races and can we go to dinner?

pierregasly: don't you dare wear red

yourusername: too late :P

pierregasly: excuse me

yourusername: i've always been wearing red in some way every race

charles_leclerc: i can confirm

pierregasly: EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

fin.

note: finally back with my fave ever trope and the pics of little leo just gave me that burst of inspiration. leo is so cute and so is the ice cream, charles really coming for babygirl of the year

[puppetmaster13u]

I love the idea of the Batfam accidentally becoming a pantheon via acknowledging their death godling as kin and appearing throughout time and dimensions.

And I see your God of Vengeance Batman, and I raise you a Hearth God Batman. A God of family and home.

Love the idea of Tim getting seen as a God of Knowledge, perhaps even part of his association being forbidden knowledge. A teacher one moment refusing to speak of something the next.

Dick is something akin to Dionysus. A god of Revelry, of both Madness and Celebration. He was the first of them all to pull off these stunts.

Jason, now Jason would be the God of Vengeance. A God of Rebirth. A being who his brother Death cannot keep a hold of, not permanently, but who will gift souls to them every day.

Cass I want to say is a Goddess of Mercy. Of War. A being who can kill, but who chooses not to. A woman who can defeat entire armies with nary a whisper and moving unseen, yet still choose to show compassion.

Steph, make her a Goddess of Chaos. She is petty, she became a vigilante specifically to fuck over her dad, she refuses to answer to anyone, straight up ignores orders.

Duke would be a God of both Night and Day. All it would take is him using his light/shadow manipulation powers once for word to spread. Not to mention his slight clairvoyance, which people would also definitely run with.

Damian, while some could argue for him being a god of war or something similar, I think he'd be a God of Handicraft or a God of Animals.

Danny is a minor, so when someone tries to summon him, it auto-redirects to a parent. In unrelated news, batman hasnt taken off his suit in like three weeks because he started getting randomly summoned by people trying to reach the ghost king and he needs to protect his identity.

In the Middle of reading this I was gonna direct you to a post where Jack and Maddie get teleported instead because Danny is a minor but nah this is fucking hilarious.

Because like imagine the consequences of that.

People now think that Batman is the Ghost King.

How fucking terrified would the magic users of the JL be? How anyone who knows about ghosts would be? How any magic user period would be? People think this man is the literal demon of darkness and despair when he actually just can’t wait till his kid turns 18 so he doesn’t get teleported to bumfuck nowhere America for the nth time.

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #16

"Aren't you curious?" Sam asks. "You gotta check it out!"

Danny is not, in fact, curious. He's watched everything his adoptive parents have done for the past six years wildly oscillating between amused and apprehensive.

The Fentons are eccentric, to put it mildly; obsessive, to put it insultingly. But when he's flipped through their papers, the formulas—while far beyond his comprehension—don't look like those of crackpots.

He wouldn't be here if they were merely that. He's not that lucky.

"We should go," he repeats, hands rubbing at his upper arms as a sudden chill works its way down his spine. And then, just as he recognizes the sensation, the world goes eerily still.

"Hello, Danny."

The creature steps forward from behind him. It passes by Sam's motionless body without a glance in her direction. It makes sense. In this silent, stationary world only the two of them truly exist.

The creature looks different this time. Its visage is that of an elder on the brink of death. So decrepit is it that the fluidity of its movement is the most unnerving aspect of its being. But its eyes are unchanged from the child that once came to Danny when he was at his lowest, piercing and red as blood.

Danny bows deeply at the waist. "Creature," he says, as politely as one can when using such a moniker.

The thing cocks its head.

"To receive such a greeting. I am honored."

Danny winces. "I am grateful," he admits. "You have done me a great—...you helped me. Thank you. And uh," his shoulders droop. "Sorry. For before."

They both pause to recall the eight-year old who once hurled curses and daggers alike.

"I have made grown men fear anew what lies in the dark." The Creature says. "You need not apologize for the actions of a scared child."

His eight year-old self would've bristled. He would've demanded retribution for such an insult. He was no average child. He had been raised to surpass the tolerance of any grown man.

His eight year-old self had been scared shitless, yes, but he would've died before admitting such a thing.

Danny isn't that person anymore.

"Yeah but. It was pretty rude." He rubs at the back of his neck. An easy tell. He's allowed that now, to tell and have it be easy.

The Creature seems to be cataloguing these differences. Whether or not it is displeased by these changes, it is difficult to tell. It would be rather ironic if it were upset, considering its technically the creature's fault in the first place.

Danny considers pointing that out, but the Creature is as unconcerned with small talk now as it was six years ago.

"I did you a favor, Danny."

Danny swallows. "Yes," he acknowledges.

"And now you will do one for me."

Danny closes his eyes. Just for a moment.

He'd known the second the Creature had re-appeared. He'd buried the knowledge of the deal he had made only so far as he could enjoy this new life without mourning its inevitable end.

He was built to be a weapon, and his decision had only been to trade the hands of who wielded him. A desperate choice, made by a desperate child.

I wanted to say goodbye! Danny Fenton wails, pushing his hands into his hair. I wanted to hug my Dad. I wanted to hug my sister. I wanted to hug my Mom. I wanted to hug my Mom. I wanted to hug my Mom. I want to hug my Mom—

Danny's hands are trembling.

Oh, he thinks. I did not bury it far enough.

Still, he opens his mouth and answers what has not been asked:

"Yes."

The Creature raises a hand and points past Sam, past Tucker. He points at the portal to the Ghost Zone. His parents' magnum opus.

"Go."

Danny nods, automatically. "I will go to the tunnel."

"You will enter."

"Yes," Danny agrees, blankly. The Creature provides no further instructions. Instead it watches him.

It doesn't work. Does the Creature not know it doesn't work?

It watches him. It waits.

So Danny approaches.

Confusion and fear keeps his steps slow, but the curiosity he never could quite kill keeps them steady. He's ashamed at how fast his heart beats, not because he is nervous but because some part of him, the part that never quite settled in this quiet midwestern town, is excited.

He spent the first eight years of his life fighting to keep it, and the sick part of him that trilled with delight at every blade ducked in the nick of time, every cliff he scaled bare-handed, every time he held his breath for deeper and longer than before—

goes abruptly silent as he reaches the mouth. He places a hand at its lip and peers into the yawning darkness before him.

There was a system of caves he regularly traversed, in the life before this. It was in those caves that he made the deal with the Creature, who brought him here.

"Wait," it says now. It hovers beside him, its purple cloak just skimming the floor.

"What are you?" Danny asks, staring into the tunnel.

"You know what I am, Danny," it murmurs. "Answer her."

"What?" Danny turns.

"I said," Sam exaggerates, "Aren't you curious?"

Danny's mouth is dry. The jumpsuit crinkles in his hands.

"Go."

"Danny?" Tucker asks. Sam lowers her camera.

"Go."

"...You know what?" He pastes a smile on his face. "You're right. Who knows what kind of awesome super cool—" too much, tone it down "—things exist on the other side of that portal?"

It's his idea. Whatever happens next, it was his idea.

His choices. His fault.

He pulls the suit on, letting Sam yank the sticker off. His friends stand together, and he lets himself look at them, take them in, just for a moment.

He steps inside.

Maybe. Maybe this isn't the end. Maybe he still gets to have this. Maybe maybe maybe.

In a previous life, he thought the caves would be his tomb.

But he made a deal. He escaped. He became Danny Fenton.

This is not the cavern of his childhood. He learned the crevices of those walls twice over; once by torchlight, then with the tips of his fingers and a cloth tied over his eyes.

Danny Fenton has a family. Danny Fenton has friends.

He trips on a wire. He feels the chill of unfamiliar metal even through his gloves.

Danny Fenton has hope.

The wall gives way under his palm. Something beeps.

And Danny Fenton dies.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 WERE WE BETTER UNKNOWN?

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: your story with dazai comes to a close... but is it really the end?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: guys. oh my god i have so much to say, i will put it all at the end. but i am so annoyed because the heart in the title looks wonky as hell—for some reason it looks fine on desktop but on mobile it’s fucked ip :’) comments & reblogs appreciated!

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

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. mentions of past suicide attempts (dazai). non-sexual nudity/intimacy. reader has 1 scar that dazai points out.

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

Dazai dreams of a vast frozen lake.

Is he dreaming? He’s not sure. It’s cold, he shouldn’t be cold in dreams, right? 

He lets out a shaky breath, and he can see the cool air fan around him. He shivers, hands running up and down his arms to try to warm himself up, but it’s futile—the snow that flutters from the sky is sharp against his skin and the air is bitterly cold, but the wind is oddly still. Eerily still. His shoes crunch against the snowy bank as he draws a bit closer to the edge of the lake, trying to figure out where he is.

“... are we going to…”

Dazai startles at the vaguely familiar whispery voice, eyes wide and searching as he looks around trying to pinpoint who had spoken, but there’s no one in sight. He can hardly see

Hell, he thinks dizzily, is he in hell?

Dazai’s fascination with literature began with his fascination with death. It started as a child—morbid and odd as it might’ve been, he was bored with life. He supposes that it’s part of the reason why his siblings didn’t like him, besides his ability, of course. He always had questions that people couldn’t answer—what happens after someone dies? They go to heaven, honey, his mother would reply. How do you know that? We just do. But how? What if we don’t? What if we just die? Stop asking so many creepy questions, Osamu, his sister would snap at him, curling into his mother’s side. But what-

He would keep asking until his sister got visibly upset and his mother had to take her out of the room. He never really understood why—they were legitimate questions—but his mother’s evasion of the topic and his siblings’ aversion did not deter his curiosity. In fact, when the first of his cousins died at the hands of one of his others, it spiked his curiosity. He almost found himself jealous that they would have the answers to the questions that have been plaguing him for years.

His questions of self-worth and his place here on earth didn’t come until he was a bit older, but he supposes at some point they probably merged together. His own doubts about himself and his lack of normalcy compared to other people led to his general fascination with death slowly turning into fascination about his own death. He found it quite ironic, and maybe a bit disheartening—he can’t even die correctly—that of all of the many members of his family, the one obsessed with death was the one that survived the longest, in spite of actively striving for eternal rest.

His fascination with death was put to an abrupt halt by Odasaku’s arrival in his life. Or well, that’s not exactly right. His fascination with his own death was put to a halt—Odasaku humored all of his questions, even if some of his answers were absurd and nonsensical, but when Dazai tried to spin the conversation back to himself, Odasaku would put his foot down. 

Dazai only tried to kill himself once while he was living with him—it was around when Odasaku first took him in, and Dazai didn’t think the man would care all too much if he was gone. Ango was the one who found him in the bathroom, funny enough it was his first time meeting the other man, but when he woke up in the hospital, Dazai decided he never wanted to see that haunted expression on Odasaku’s face ever again. 

It was around then when Odasaku started telling him about his book, and he helped redirect Dazai’s unhealthy fascination with death to a different outlet: literature. The Divine Comedy, the Aeneid, the tale of Orpheus and Eurydice—it was Odasaku who introduced him to them all. He enjoyed reading other peoples’ interpretation of the afterlife; he and Odasaku would have full blown debates over which interpretation was nearest to truth. 

Dazai isn’t particularly convinced there is an afterlife at all, but he always thought that if there was one, it might look most like Dante Alighieri’s vision. 

Like this. 

“... can’t just stop, he’ll never let it be…”

This voice isn’t unfamiliar. Dazai’s head snaps up, eyes wide and searching as he tries to seek you out. Your voice sounds like it’s coming from all around him—the wind carries it, he can’t tell where you are and the icy air makes it hard for him to keep his eyes open to try to track you down. The wind is strange though; it stops blowing all around him, and instead begins billowing inward toward the center of the lake.

A foreboding feeling suddenly settles over Dazai.

Lake Cocytus—if this is what Dazai thinks it is, then it’s meant to represent the Ninth Circle. Treachery. A little ironic, maybe, considering loyalty is what got Dazai killed—your loyalty to the Port Mafia. 

Is he dead? He realizes suddenly that he very well might be, not quite as pleased with the idea as he might’ve been in the months before he met you. He feels… unfulfilled almost. He never finished Odasaku’s book. He didn’t even manage to get his degree. He felt what it was like to be loved for a few months, but it wasn’t enough. He’d wanted more. He wanted a life with you. 

He still wants a life with you, he thinks miserably. Even after everything that happened, he still wants it.

He must not be dead, he thinks absently, kicking at the snow on the banks of the lake before slowly treading out toward the center of it. If he was dead and really in the Ninth Circle of Hell, then he’d be stuck in the lake with the rest of the betrayers. Although, Dazai thinks if he really was going to hell, it wouldn’t be this circle—he doesn’t think he’s ever really betrayed anyone to this degree.

Or maybe he did, his thoughts take another dejected turn. Would his ‘betrayal’ to you count? It’s not like he actively tried to deceive you, so he thinks he should be given some leeway. But maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, if he’s here because he deceived you, then you would certainly be here for betraying him—he wouldn’t mind being stuck in hell if you were there with him. You both could be buried in the ice together, eternally frozen and suffering for betraying each other. 

It’s kind of romantic, if you really think about it.

Something bubbles in his chest—maybe a laugh, or maybe a sob, he can’t tell, he thinks maybe he’s a bit hysterical. 

It must just be a dream, he thinks again for some minimal solace. Or maybe a warning, maybe he’s somewhere caught in-between and God is striking down his hammer, warning him this is where he’s going to end up if he doesn’t change his ways like the message of the Divine Comedy itself.

The thought makes him laugh.

He sobers up quickly though as he starts his trek across the lake, thinking that maybe if he got to the other side, or the center, he’d wake up. He thinks you would find this funny—one of your first conversations with him had been about The Divine Comedy, and he spent many nights at dinner roping you into conversation about it, and convincing you to read some of the other books and poems that Odasaku had introduced him to. You-

“... one life or hundreds, that’s what he said…”

Dazai nearly slips on the ice when he hears your voice again, looking around as if you would just magically appear around him. You don’t, but it does leave Dazai a little disheartened hearing you repeat the words that Mori had said to convince you to kill him. He sighs as he keeps his gaze trained ahead, careful to not look down at the ice lest he find himself looking at something he would rather not.

The outskirts of the water were the traitors to kin—Dazai remembers that well. The first time he read the poem, he realized that this is where the majority of his cousins and older brothers would be. They spent almost two years killing each other for their grandfather’s inheritance; Dazai went from having seven siblings and almost two dozen cousins to three siblings and a handful of cousins by the time of the coup.

Traitors to country in the next section—Dazai thinks a bit gleefully that Mori would end up there. The Port Mafia isn’t exactly a city or country, but it’s still an entity, and Mori certainly betrayed it when he killed Dazai’s grandfather in his own bed, no matter what the reason for it might be.

Traitors to guests in the next section—this gives Dazai a bit of pause, he doesn’t know if he knows anyone that would fit in that section. Ui, maybe? Inviting him to work with his journalism house only to give him up to the Guild. Maybe Mori again, Dazai thinks, highly amused, because Dazai was a guest to you, and therefore, the Port Mafia, when everything happened. 

And the last section—traitors to benefactors. He can’t avoid looking at them; they’re the only ones above the surface of the lake, grotesque sculptures of ice that decorate the surface of the center of the lake. His steps slow as he walks through them all, a heavy feeling settling over him as his gaze focuses on the oddly familiar sculpture in the very center of the lake.

Is that-

“There’s only one way this ends.”

Dazai’s breath catches sharply. He slips on the ice as he rushes forward, eyes widening and hands flying forward to catch himself, but his stomach lurches painfully and before his hands can hit the ground-

Dazai sits up with a ragged gasp, eyes wild and nails digging into the fabric of the soft couch he’s laying on. His head is aching and he feels sluggish; he’s still reeling from what he’d just woken up from, but his heart rate is starting to calm down.

Just a dream, he confirms, but now he’s more preoccupied with trying to figure out where the hell he is and why he isn’t dead, because the last thing he remembers is you lifting a gun to his head and pulling the trigger. The room he’s in is small—there’s no windows, there’s a tiny kitchen on the left side of the room, and on the other side-

“Everyone out.”

Dazai’s gaze settles on you. You’re standing near the far wall—you haven’t changed from what you were wearing at the conference room with the other Port Mafia executives, and Dazai can see Ace’s blood still crusted around your finger nails and splattered on your shirt. Your gaze is focused on him, an unreadable expression on your face, and Dazai is so tunnel visioned on you that he hardly notices that there are a handful of other people in the room: your three subordinates, Nakahara Chuuya, Albatross and one other who had been at the fight against the Guild.

They don’t argue with you, most of them file out of the room without a word, only Albatross and Chuuya linger. The ginger gives you a long look before saying, “We’ll buy some more time. Just… figure out if this is really what you want to do, okay?”

You finally look away from him at Chuuya’s words, cringing and averting your gaze to the ground. You say quietly, “It doesn’t matter what I want. It has to be done.”

Chuuya sighs but nods, motioning for Albatross to leave with him—and then the two of you are left alone. You don’t approach him. Ironically, you look like the one akin to a cornered animal as if you hadn’t been the one to shoot him. If anyone should feel like a cornered animal right now, it should be him.

Instinctively, he lifts his hand to his forehead, frowning at the bandages wrapped around the top of his head. He looks back up at you curiously, but you grimaced and looked away as soon as he touched his forehead, so he can’t catch your eye.

He has a million questions he wants to ask. What happened? Why didn’t the bullet kill me? Why didn’t you kill me? Did you believe me? Do you believe me? Are we okay?

Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer to the last question, so he settles with: “Where are we?” 

Though you’d stiffened as soon as his lips parted to speak, you relax when you hear the question he asked.

“A safe house in Sakae,” you say quietly. Dazai starts to sit up but his vision swims so he has to stop and rest back down against the arm of the couch, blinking furiously. “You should take it easy… You’re probably going to feel a bit off for a couple of hours.”

Dazai is about to ask you what exactly happened, but the words die on his lips when you finally draw closer to him. You sit down on the couch next to where he’s laying, your body brushes his and Dazai feels warm. The remnants of the frigid cold of his dream vanishes as soon as the warmth of your body grazes his—he knows that there are many things that need to be addressed, but he would be content to avoid those topics and bask in your comfort for as long as he can. 

His eyes slide shut as you reach up to cup his cheek. He doesn’t even bother reopening them when he feels you lift your other hand to remove the bandages from around the top of his head—he thinks maybe he could almost doze back off. It’s only when you let out a soft sigh and fasten them back on does he finally bother to open his eyes again. 

“I don’t have enough bandages on me already?” he asks, his voice is light and the smile on his lips is teasing as he tries to lighten the mood a little, but it doesn’t work.

You don’t respond to his comment. You look down, and the small smile on your lips doesn’t meet your eyes, so his falls off his face as he stares up at you carefully and finally asks the much dreaded question that would lead to even more dreaded questions:

“Will you tell me what happened?”

--

“We need to go,” Chuuya says, hand wrapped around your wrist tightly. You don’t budge from where you’re standing, staring at where Dazai had fallen back over the edge. It was a short drop with mud softening the fall, he would be okay—if everything went according to plan, that is. Otherwise, the bullet you just shot at him killed him anyway, so the fall is inconsequential. “Come on. We can’t stay here. We have to go.”

“How do-”

“Not here,” Chuuya hisses. “Come on.”

“Chuuya-” you breathe out, voice wavering over his name. You can’t bring yourself to move even as Chuuya tries to drag you away. “Chuuya, I need to kn-”

Need to know if this worked. Need to know if he was able to stop the bullet. Need to know if you actually just killed the boy you’re in love with.

“Not here,” Chuuya replies, voice harsh, cutting you off before you can say anything more incriminating. 

This time, he doesn’t wait for you to follow him—he yanks you along with him, not even bothering to steady you when you stumble. You know you should snap yourself out of this, you know Mori has people trailing you to ensure you follow through with Dazai’s execution, but you’re haunted by the expression on his face when you pulled the trigger.

He accepted it.

You had the gun to his head. You asked him to forgive you. He said he did, and he accepted that he was about to die at your hands. A part of you is eager to convince yourself that maybe he saw through your plan, that he realized you weren’t going to kill him, but that look in his eyes…

He didn’t know, and he accepted it anyway.

Your stomach churns. The ragged breath you take in cuts off abruptly as you gag over it—you saw the blood, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t know if Dazai’s nullification ability prevented Chuuya from using his own ability to slow the bullet before it killed him. You don’t know if he fell backward because he was shot or because the high dosage sedative that you swiped from Mori’s office set in as quickly as it was supposed to. You don’t even know if Chuuya had been able to inject it in him with his ability. You don’t know anything.

“Don’t you dare throw up on me,” Chuuya mutters as he opens the car door and ushers you inside. 

Instead of sitting in the front with Albatross, he sits in the back with you, sharing a sharp look with Albatross before the other man finally pulls away from the ports. He still doesn’t say anything else—he knows better. This is one of the Port Mafia’s cars, tapped and actively being transmitted to one of Kouyou’s subordinates who will report to her and Mori anything that seems off, and you need to buy as much time as you possibly can before Mori realizes Dazai isn’t dead.

Because Dazai isn’t dead. He can’t be dead.

It worked. It all worked.

It had to have. 

Just as you expect, your phone rings as soon as the car starts moving. Mori has eyes on you—he was waiting for you to finish with the execution before calling. You’re certain that he’s going to send someone to check the body now; he doesn’t trust you to finish the job, not when something as fickle and unpredictable as love is involved. 

Klaus will have to be quick—you don’t even know if he was able to find a lookalike to kill so he could swap out the body. You only were able to give him a twenty, maybe thirty, minute heads up. Dazai is plain looking, yes, and the mud he dropped in should do some work at concealing his identity, but if Mori’s shadow sends him a picture to confirm the kill, the slim amount of time you hope to have bought with your fake out will be halved.

You stare down at the phone and let it ring once, twice, and finally on the third ring, you lift the phone to your ear and accept the call, waiting for Mori to speak.

“Has it been done?”

“Yes,” you reply, voice steady even if your fingers are trembling around the phone. “Do you need me back at headquarters?”

“No, I’m sure that wasn’t easy for you. You should get some rest. I have a meeting with Tolstoy in a bit anyway. I’ll meet with you tomorrow after I have tea with Elise-chan so you can debrief me on the meetings with the Guild,” Mori says easily, his tone is light and airy, and it makes you angry, because how dare he sound so flippant after what he just expected you to do. “... I’m sorry things had to end this way, dear. I’m proud of you. You did well.”

“I know,” you say tightly in response before hanging up and putting the phone back down in your lap. 

Chuuya watches you carefully, but he doesn’t say anything, and you stare ahead at the back of the driver’s seat. It’s a twenty-five minute drive from the ports in Naka to Sakae—for better or for worse, it’s going to be a quiet one. For better because you think you might start crying if you have to speak, and for worse because now all you’re plagued with is your own thoughts and the image of Dazai’s face before you shot him.

You didn’t shoot him. Not really.

But you did, you don’t know if Chuuya was able to stop it. You don’t even know if Chuuya knows if he was able to stop it. There was a splatter of blood. You saw that, and there shouldn’t have been blood if this worked, so the worst case scenario looms over you heavily. But you won’t know until you get to the safe house—until you hear from Klaus. Your breath hitches over a sob you’re forced to swallow; your chest burns and tightens uncomfortable.

You had to do it, this was the only option. Anything else and there was no shot he wouldn’t have been killed. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but he would be killed. You wouldn’t be able to protect him from Mori otherwise—he would’ve put a hit out on him, and Dazai would have all of the most dangerous assassins in the underworld out for him trying to get the bounty. You can’t protect him from that. You needed to buy time. You needed to buy time so you could-

You don’t finish the thought. 

You don’t think you’ve come to terms with what has to be done if you want to protect Dazai. A part of you doesn’t even know if you’ll be able to follow through with it, but you’ve already set yourself down the path of no return and you’ve dragged Chuuya down it along with you. Either you follow through, or the three of you are going to be on the run for the rest of your lives.

Shit.

Your gaze tracks back down to your phone. Still nothing from Klaus—nothing from Akutagawa either. The silence is too loud, each second that passes has you aching with a pain that feels like knives dragging against your bones. You just need to know, you need to know that he’s okay, that you didn’t-

You rest your forehead against the window when nausea builds back up in your stomach. It’s cool, and a welcome reprieve from the heaviness weighing down on you, but the moment your eyes slide shut, you’re faced with Dazai again and no amount of deep breathing and grounding techniques can stop the way your heart rate sky-rockets, breath becoming quick and shallow.

You see him. You see him, and he’s looking up at you, dark eyes wide and adoring as he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him, and his lips part to say something but before he can, you see something thick and red trickling down his face over his lips, and suddenly something is weighing cold and heavy in your hand but you can’t bring yourself to look down at it, but you can’t drag your eyes from his face. Can’t hide yourself from the way his warm eyes are suddenly wide and glassy, void of all of the emotions that you’d just-

Your arm hurts—sharp and painful and so sudden that you’re dragged from the images haunting you. Your gaze cuts over to Chuuya, who’s giving you a concerned look. You realize he must’ve shifted over a bit, brushed his arm against yours to use his ability to jolt you out of your spiraling thoughts. When he realizes that you’re back in the present, he gives you a pointed look and then directs his gaze outside.

You’re almost there. How much time had passed?

Why hasn’t Klaus or Akutagawa reached out to you?

What is going on?

Albatross doesn’t stop in front of the safe house—there are too many cameras in the street and all of the Port Mafia’s cars are tracked. Instead, he takes a left on the next street because it’s one of the few without a red light camera and a blind spot on the corner. His gaze flickers up to the rearview mirror and he pointedly raises the volume of his shitty music a few decibels louder to cover the noise of the car doors opening and closing as you and Chuuya slip out when he stops at the red light.

You leave your phone in the car and you’re careful to avoid the camera near the bakery on the corner as you follow Chuuya around to the alley that leads to the back entrance of the safe house. It’s not a Port Mafia safe house—it was Itou’s. This was where he stayed in the few months during the Dragon’s Head Conflict where he was on his own, after he left Strain but before you recruited him to the Port Mafia. It was well hidden and well protected, you hadn’t been able to track him down here until he brought you here—he made sure that it was a blind spot in the Port Mafia’s ever-watchful eye over Yokohama, and you made sure to keep it that way once he was gone. 

It’s only once the steel door is shut behind you that you can finally speak, gaze focusing on Chuuya desperately as you wait for him to tell you if he was able to do it or if Dazai’s ability…

“Did you hear from Klaus or Akutagawa?” he asks quietly, and that’s enough of an answer.

He doesn’t know. 

You feel sick—your stomach lurches and you don’t know if you start to stumble toward the bathroom or the couch or straight to the floor, but it doesn’t matter because Chuuya is darting forward to grab you and guide you over to the couch.

“Chuuya, if I-” you start to say, your words are raspy and you can’t even bring yourself to finish them. “If I-”

“Don’t,” he says, wrapping an arm around you. “Don’t bother going there yet. Wait for Klaus and Akutagawa.”

“But-”

“Stop,” he insists. “All you’re going to do is torture yourself.”

Isn’t that what you deserve? You want to say to him, nails digging into the palm of your hand so deep that it draws blood. Chuuya catches what you’re doing and immediately moves to unfurl your hands. Everything you’ve done. You killed Dazai’s family. His siblings. His cousins. You ruined his life, and then after everything, it wasn’t enough. You ruined his life and then you took-

“Hey, stop,” Chuuya interrupts your thoughts, clearly realizing what path they’re going down. You don’t realize your breath is ragged again until he grabs your chin and twists your head to force you to look at him. “I know what you’re thinking, but we can’t do this right now, we need to plan. We don’t have time, and when Klaus and Akutagawa get here with him, we need to know what we’re doing. You need to snap out of it.”

You don’t respond to him—your lashes flutter and you see Dazai again, you see blood, you see empty eyes, you see the gun in your hand, and you feel something warm and wet trickling over your cheeks. Chuuya spits out curses to himself and wipes away the tears streaming down your face. He’s gentle now, the rough grip on your chin disappears and is replaced with his hand cradling the back of your head as he pulls you closer to him. He presses your ear to his chest, hoping that the steady thrum of his heart is enough to ground you.

“Where the fuck are they?” he spits out more to himself than to you. His breath hitches and you can hear the stammering of his heart, and you know that he’s nervous, but he’s trying to hide it for your sake. “I need you here. What we just did-fuck-”

You try to snap out of it—you do, but every time you blink you see him. You see what you did. You knew this would happen from the very beginning, you knew it, and everyone warned you, but you’re selfish. You’ve always been so selfish.

You don’t know how much time passes. Ten minutes. Twenty. Thirty. It all blurs, it all feels like eternity, but eventually, the door to the safe house slams open, and only a handful of people know about it.

Your gaze snaps up, and you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Klaus steps into the room with a familiar figure slung over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Both of them are covered in various substances that you think you would rather not know what they are, but you can see the steady rise and fall of Dazai’s back. You rise to your feet abruptly and Chuuya lets out a relieved breath, shoulders slumping.

Klaus immediately points an accusing finger at you. “I had to hunt down a civilian, kill him, crawl through shit and trash with a dead body to swap it out for your boy, I had to carry him across half of the city, and I couldn’t even channel Mephisto because he nullifies him. You better not complain about any messes I make for the next six months,” Klaus demands, and then points wildly back toward a very clean Akutagawa, who casts an unimpressed look his way. “And he didn’t even help me. He stood there and watched.”

“I was ensuring that no one saw what we were doing,” Akutagawa replies primly. “Even more important than your job, considering if someone saw it would all be for naught. You should be thanking me.”

Klaus’s face goes red with anger as he whips around to face him and roars, “More important? Thank you?!”

You laugh. It’s so startling that all of the anger washes away from Klaus’s face and the goading expression on Akutagawa’s disappears. Or you think you laugh—you think you might be crying again too. Both boys look aghast by the sight of it, looking at each other as if waiting for the other to do something to make you stop.

Eventually, Klaus steps forward and unsurely tries to pass Dazai’s unconscious body over to you as if to try to make you feel better by shoving him in your arms. Chuuya slaps him hard over the back of the head causing him to yelp.

“Put him on the couch, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why are you passing him over to her like he’s a fucking stuffed animal?” Chuuya snaps, giving him a plainly judgemental look before resting his hand on your shoulder. 

Klaus looks disgruntled, but he does as Chuuya asks, laying Dazai down on the couch where you and Chuuya had just been sitting. You drop to your knees next to him, and the room is oddly silent as you look down at him. You don’t feel their gazes on you, so you assume they’re giving you privacy as best they can.

He looks… peaceful. You could almost imagine that you were coming home to him napping on your couch after he spent the whole night playing some stupid video game in your living room. You try to imagine that’s what this is, but the bloody indent in his forehead prevents you.

It almost broke through his skull.

He almost died.

You almost killed him.

You feel a bit sick as your fingers trace up to the wound on his forehead. It’s still bleeding, but his forehead is clean compared to the grime that covers the rest of his body. Klaus and Akutagawa must’ve had the brain to stop and clean the wound before it could get infected—that’s probably what took them so long.

You feel someone come to your side, glancing up to see Akutagawa hovering next to you with bandages in hand. He passes them over to you silently before quickly walking away. You let out a soft breath as you unwind the bandages, gently lifting his head so you can wrap them around his forehead. Immediately, they’re staining red—you grimace and look away.

The silence hanging over the room only lasts so long.

“What’s next?” Klaus asks quietly. “This won’t work for long. What’s the plan?”

Your gaze lowers as you rest your hand against Dazai’s cheek, memorizing his face as best as you can. The heaviness in your chest returns, and along with it, the damning reminder of your reality.

“I have to kill Mori.”

--

Dazai suddenly understands his dream.

“It’s the only option,” you say quietly when Dazai’s expression immediately twists at your words. Your eyes look so heavy and your expression is so crestfallen that it makes Dazai ache. His fingers twitch to reach out for you but you shift away, shaking your head. “It’s the only option, Osamu. It has to be done.”

“But-”

“He tried to have me kill you,” you snap, and he almost rolls his eyes because he doesn’t need reminding of that. He’s abundantly aware of the fact that he almost died at your hands because of Mori. He refrains if only barely. “Why do you care about what happens to him?”

“He’s your father,” Dazai says, watching as you go stiff. He knows he might’ve just made a mistake saying that, but he doesn’t even know if you fully understand the gravity of all of this or if you’re just running off heightened emotions right now. “I don’t care about him, he can go fuck off and die for all I care. I care about you-“

“He’s not my father,” you spit out, voice tight, “and maybe you shouldn’t care about me.”

Oh, here it comes, Dazai thinks dreadfully. That was the opening you needed to bring up the subject Dazai desperately wanted to avoid. He has made a fatal mistake. He should’ve just nodded along and agreed to your plan.

“You’re right he’s not your father,” Dazai immediately agrees to appease you and try to avoid the imminent conversation. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Hey, do you have food here? I’m so hungry all of a sudden, wow, do you hear my stomach-” 

You sigh, looking away. Your eyes are suddenly very tired and Dazai’s words falter on his tongue as his gaze settles on you. His fingers twitch to reach out for your hand but you draw them back into your lap. Dazai’s gaze drops at the blatant rejection, but as soon as you notice, you reach back out to intertwine your fingers with his. He feels placated, but only a little, because he still has a tight feeling in his chest that he can’t push away. A looming fear that something is going to go terribly wrong.

“Can we please talk about this?” you finally ask quietly, and even though Dazai does want to say no, he simply cannot bring himself to. 

So, instead, he nods, and braces himself for what he knows is bound to be a terrible conversation. He waits for you to say something—you look like you want to, but he thinks that maybe you’re struggling just as much as him at opening the conversation. 

This isn’t going to go well, he realizes again, swallowing thickly. 

“Come on,” you finally say, rising to your feet. You hold out your hand to him and Dazai stares at it for a moment, confused. “Let’s get you cleaned up, you smell disgusting.”

“I wonder why,” Dazai mutters, and he means for it to come out as a joke, but when the small smile on your lips falters, he realizes it probably came out much too bitter so he quickly grabs your hand instead, letting you help him to his feet. He tries to get you to smile again by giving you a soft one of his own, but now the expression on your face is heavy and conflicted. “Are you gonna take a bath with me?”

“You should probably rinse off before we get into the bath,” you say dryly, thumb running along the back of his hand before you let go of it. “Otherwise we’ll just be sitting in shit water.”

Dazai almost gags. “Don’t remind me what I’m covered in right now,” he pleads. “Where is the shower?”

The light returns to your eyes, a smile flickers to your lips, and Dazai considers it a win even if he is covered in shit and god knows what else. He glances back down to where he’d been laying and winces when he sees the stains. His eyes flicker back up to you and he cringes when he sees the displeased expression on your face.

“I’ll make Atsushi and Akutagawa clean it,” you say more to yourself than to him, shaking your head and motioning for him to follow. “Bonding exercise.”

Dazai raises his eyebrows, unsure if the couch is even salvageable, and almost lets a comment slip about it considering you were so quick to throw out his couch to replace it, but he refrains when a sad expression crosses your face when you think he’s not looking. He frowns, looking around a bit more scrutinizing now.

This place looks nothing like your apartment.

Your apartment is… plain. Minimalistic. The most you have decorating it is a handful of paintings on the wall and a couple of antiques displayed on dressers. Other than that, you have your furniture, your television, and that’s just about it. Dazai had joked once about it feeling like a hotel room, and promptly stole your credit card to buy things to decorate with—gaudy Christmas lights even though it’s not Christmas, a couple of fake pumpkins to line against your wall and a plastic skeleton to pin up near the window. He even bought an inflatable snowman to put in the middle of the room, but it hasn’t come yet. You rolled your eyes every time you came back from work to see some new, seasonally inappropriate decoration in your apartment, but he could tell the more things he added to your apartment, the happier you seemed to be. 

This place was actually decorated. Pictures and trinkets set up on the dressers, all of the furniture matched and the walls were a warm burgundy instead of the off-putting, psych ward white of your apartment. You said this was a safe house, but it seems more like a home than your actual one. 

“What is this place?” he asks again, because it’s something more than a safe-house, he just doesn’t know what.

“I told you,” you frown. “A safe house.”

Dazai’s lips curl down in response but he doesn’t press, gaze flickering over to one of the side tables against the wall, trying to figure out who exactly is in the pictures on it, but as he strains his eyes to focus on it, pain ricochets through his head and he has to abandon the mission. Disappointed, he follows you into the back bedroom and realizes he’ll just have to figure it out later.

He almost stops in his tracks in the doorway when he sees that the bedroom is just as homely as the rest of the safe house. It’s weird—the same burgundy walls, dark mahogany furniture, there’s what looks to be a handmade quilt draped over the foot of the bed. It’s just so unlike you that it almost has Dazai reeling.

You give him an odd look when you see the twisted expression on his face, but motion toward another door. “The bathroom is in there—go rinse off and run the bath, I’ll be in there in a minute, I’m going to grab a change of clothes for you.”

“Mkay,” Dazai agrees, a jump in his step as he rushes over to the bathroom. 

He only pauses for a second to take in his surroundings when he gets in there—he’s not as surprised now by the style. Less modern, more rustic, just like the rest of the house; it’s more like something he’d expect to see in one of those American holiday movies. He leans over the tub to run the hot water before pulling off his clothes. He squints as he starts to unwind his bandages, looking into the shower and realizing that the only soap in there is an unopened bar soap, and a men’s shampoo and conditioner set. 

A bit suspicious now, he glances at the door leading to the bedroom before kneeling down in front of the cabinets beneath the sink. With one hand, he unwinds the bandages around his legs, and with the other, he reaches out to open the cabinet so he can snoop. Just as he expected: men’s deodorant, a spare baking soda and peroxide toothpaste that he knows you hate, and a handful of different colognes. There’s one bag off to the side and Dazai reaches for it, peeking in and finding your typical bath soaps and hair care.

Whose place is this? He wonders, pausing for half a second before taking out your soaps and bringing them into the shower with him. It’s not Chuuya’s—Dazai knows that because he hasn’t seen a single tacky hat yet, but then whose?

He’s quick to clean himself off, eager to be with you and still a bit anxious that you might disappear when he’s not looking. The water runs brown as it rinses over him, but it feels nice—Dazai realizes that this is his first shower since he got kidnapped by the Guild, and a part of him wants to bask in it. He wants to wash off all of the unfamiliar touches and the dirt and the blood, but more than that, he wants to surround himself with you instead. Which means he has to hurry out of here and drag you into the tub with him. 

He thinks maybe he should be biding his time. He has a lot to think about before he actually talks to you—he’s hardly even had a chance to process everything that happened—but still, he finds himself rushing to scrub himself. It couldn’t have been more than ten, fifteen minutes before he’s stumbling out of the shower and grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. He almost expects you to be waiting in the bathroom for him, but you’re not, so he frowns and creaks the door back open to look for you.

Your name is on his lips as he steps back into the bedroom, but he falters when he sees you standing in the same place he left you: right outside a closet, except now the door is open and there’s a sweatshirt in your hands. The expression on your face is destroyed, and Dazai isn’t exactly sure what to say, luckily, he doesn’t need to because you hear the door open and turn toward him.

Whatever you’re about to say dies on your lips as your eyes trail over his body.

Another fatal mistake.

Dazai instantly realizes that he has never taken off his bandages in front of you before—that night at the beach house, he thought you were going to ask him to take them off, but you didn’t. He was glad for it, because he wasn’t sure if he was ready, and after that… Well, everything went downhill after that.

Dazai suddenly wants to flee. He becomes acutely aware of all of the scars on his body plainly in view. The warm, dim lighting becomes spotlights shining down on him, highlighting all of the flaws that he’s feared your reaction to. He waits for your face to twist—or, he knows you, you probably wouldn’t have such a visible reaction, so he focuses on your eyes instead.

But they only curve up along with your lips, a fondness in them that he doesn’t expect. You place the clothes down on the bed and approach him, his breath catches when your hands rest on his hips right above the towel. The skin-on-skin makes his chest ache—he’s missed you so much, he hadn’t even realized how hard it had been to breathe without you until he was back with you again.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he breathes out loud, lashes fluttering when your thumbs circle over his hip bones, right over a jagged scar that cuts across his lower abdomen—the product of an unfortunate encounter in Suribachi. 

“I missed you too,” you say softly. Your eyes trace over his face like you’re trying to memorize each little detail—usually he feels uncomfortable when under a scrutinizing gaze, he never wants someone to look too closely at him in fear of what they might find, but he feels warm beneath yours. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not sure exactly what you’re apologizing for; it could be anything from almost killing him to letting him into your life at all. He’s not yet ready for this conversation to start, he hasn’t even gathered his thoughts yet, so instead he glances pointedly back toward the bathroom. You let out a soft breath—he can’t tell if it’s irritation or you’re just tired, it might be both, but you do motion for him to go in and he can hear you following him.

The water is still steaming as he lets the towel drop to the ground and sinks into it. His muscles instantly relax, eyes sliding shut as he rests against the back of the tub, letting out a soft sigh. For a moment, he can almost forget everything that’s happened, his head falls to the side to focus on you as you undress, folding your clothes and placing them on the side table. He blinks when you pull off your dress shirt, gaze zeroing in on a scar marring your upper back. It’s small, circular—a bullet wound, maybe? It doesn’t go through to your chest though, he would’ve noticed that. 

“How did you get that?” he asks curiously, belatedly realizing he probably has no right to ask about scars considering his body is riddled with them and he’d probably evade most attempts at your prying if you asked. 

“Hm?” you ask quietly, looking over your shoulder at him as you finish undressing.

The words falter on Dazai’s lips as his gaze roves over your body. You’re beautiful, he thinks again, a bit more dreamily this time. You’re beautiful, and he’s missed you so much, and he just wants all of this to be over so he can go back to lounging in your apartment and spending your money all day. It’s only when you raise your eyebrows that he clears his throat and nods his chin to your back.

“The scar on your back,” he explains. “How did you get it?”

“Oh,” you realize, making your way over to the tub and tapping his shoulder, motioning for him to shift forward. You slip into the water behind him, circling your arms around his waist and Dazai’s chest feels warm and full as he rests back against you, eyes sliding shut. “An assassination attempt when I was eighteen. I was… reckless, saw it coming and… Well, luckily, the Flags had been in the area. Iceman figured out what was happening and they got there quick enough to stabilize me and get me to Mori.”

Dazai’s throat swells at the implication of what you’d said, trying to distract himself with the feeling of your fingers tracing across his abdomen. He notes softly, “You’re never reckless.”

Your fingers pause in the absent patterns you’re tracing on him, and Dazai wonders if it’s a sore topic, about to retract his words. Before he can, you let out a soft breath and drop your forehead down on his shoulder, arms tightening around him.

“This was Itou’s house. All of the stuff in here, it’s his family’s—stuff he was able to salvage after they were killed. He tried to keep the house like how his mother used to keep it as a way to memorialize her,” you say quietly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he recognizes the name of your old partner. “We were enemies when we first met, y’know? It was during the big conflict six years ago. He was part of one of the foreign organizations. I ended up recruiting him, but he spent a few months on his own here. He was careful to keep it a blind spot to the Port Mafia even after he joined up, I always thought he was paranoid about it, but he was quite insistent that there was no need for people to know about it.”

“Makes sense,” Dazai says dryly. “I wouldn’t want Mori knowing where I’m living either.”

It’s an off-handed quip, but you still stiffen and again, Dazai fumbles to say something else because he clearly upset you. He starts to add, “I-”

“I killed him,” you finally say, voice weak and airy. Your arms loosen around him, but his hands drop to cover yours, holding them in place. “I killed him, Osamu.”

“I thought you said he died on a mission,” Dazai murmurs, hand tightening around yours when he feels the way your fingers are trembling. 

“I… Itou was born into this life. Was born into a Yakuza-family based in Tokyo, trained since he was old enough to walk how to use his ability… how to kill. The Yakuza syndicate his family was the head of was wiped out by the Sun and Steel when he was eight… nine, maybe. His mother was able to get him and bring him back to Australia—that’s where she was from. It’s how he ended up with Strain,” you explain, and the water suddenly feels a bit cold—what happened to Itou’s family sounds a lot like what happened to Dazai’s. From the way you pause, you wonder if you realize the same thing. You quickly change the subject, “He tried getting me out of the Mafia.”

“What?” Dazai asks, surprised. He shifts to physically look at you, catching the wistful expression on your face. “You wanted to leave the Mafia.”

The wistful expression shifts into something much more conflicted. 

“I didn’t-” you start to say before cutting yourself off. “I don’t know. I think maybe a part of me might’ve wanted to. I was… curious. He was sneaky—he was always such a sneaky bastard. He tried to ease me into it, show me what a different life was like. Called them training exercises, wanted me to blend in with kids my age.”

He remembers you telling him this at the beach house, but he listens anyway because now you do sound wistful. His eyes slide shut as you hold him tightly, pressing your lips to his shoulder blade before resting your chin on top of it. 

“His gift to me for my eighteenth birthday was an acceptance letter to university. He pulled some strings. It was for YNU, actually, funny enough,” you say softly. Dazai’s eyes widen as he turns to look at you again; there’s a small, sad smile on your lips and when he turns, you take the chance to steal a kiss from him. “Imagine, we could’ve been first years together.”

Dazai doesn’t dare to respond. His hand tightens around yours—if it’s painful, you don’t let it show. Odasaku dragged him to orientation, and he imagines meeting you there. You’re good at socializing—charming—Dazai can be too when he wants, but he definitely did not want to during orientation. He mostly sulked away and waited for it to be over so he could go back home. He imagines that you’d be in the same group with him, and although he’d probably ignore you the first few times you tried to talk to him, he’d eventually give in. Dazai is weak to pretty women, especially when that pretty woman is you.

Or maybe, you’d meet during a shared class. You would probably be a poli-sci major, but he’s taken classes in the field for requirements. He hated them, thought they were boring, but he probably would’ve enjoyed it much more if he had you to admire all two hours of the class. And maybe-

“I was curious,” you repeat, voice tighter. There’s more of an edge to it now, and Dazai realizes that this story is about to take a turn. “I… I wanted to try it. I told Mori.”

Dazai’s eyes widen and he sits up straight. The water sloshes around him as he physically turns around to face you. He asks, but can’t finish, “Did he…”

“He said it was a great idea,” you say tightly. “He encouraged it. I accepted the spot, and a week before orientation, Itou died on a mission that we got bad intel for. My whole team, they died to make sure I got out alive. Mori denied having any involvement, said he wouldn’t risk an ability user as powerful as Itou, but I know. I know he had a hand in it. I’ve always known it. The government had been after Itou for years—they said he was a national security threat. A couple of weeks later, we suddenly have the skilled business permit that Mori’s been trying to get for months. It was a trade-off. I know it. Two birds, one stone. The skilled business permit and my full focus back on the Mafia for Itou’s life.”

Dazai’s lips part to say something—anything—but he can’t. Your eyes are misty, and the foreboding feeling that’s been haunting him since he woke up intensifies. You shake your head, blinking back tears. 

“I never should’ve brought you into this world, Osamu.”

Dazai needs to think now. He needs to figure out how exactly he’s going to go about this, whether he should be soft and demure, appealing to your heart, or if he should be more forceful, triggering your guilt. 

He goes with the latter.

“Well it’s too late for that,” Dazai says, keeping his voice steady until he knows how you’re going to react to it. When you instantly shake your head again, his voice hardens. “It’s too late, I’m already in it. You can’t just get rid of me. Take accountability.”

“You don’t think I have?” you question dryly, looking away from him. But he needs you to look at him for this to be effective, so he reaches out to grab your hand, dragging your attention back toward him. “I killed your family, Osamu.”

“She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arms and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Her name was Akane. Bunji and Touma were her brothers. 

They were Dazai’s brothers. Dazai’s sister. The stuffed bear was called Coco, and Akane would clutch it and cry whenever Dazai started talking about things like death. She was scared of dying; more than that, scared of the people she loved dying. She cried for weeks when their grandmother passed, and got angry at Dazai when he didn’t even cry at the funeral. Dazai used to share a bedroom with her and Touma, but he hated her nightlight—it was purple and it was always right in Dazai’s eyes when he laid down. He convinced his mother to force Bunji to swap rooms with him, so Dazai had his own room on the second floor of his grandfather’s estate.

“You were a kid too,” Dazai rasps out the same thing he said at the beach house, but it comes out a bit weaker this time knowing exactly who the people you killed were. “You were fourteen. You-”

“I played a role in tracking your mother down,” you continue. Dazai’s breath catches as his fingers loosen around yours. “It was my punishment for not making sure all of the grandchildren were… eliminated. I was the one that was tracking her down, and I was the one that was going to interrogate her for your whereabouts when I found her.”

“Stop,” Dazai says quietly, voice wavering.

“No,” you reply firmly. “No. You need to understand this-”

“I do,” Dazai insists, voice cracking. “I do understand-”

“You don’t, Dazai,” you raise your voice and Dazai cringes back. You sigh and soften your voice, but the damage has been done, Dazai’s fight or flight instincts have been triggered. This conversation is not going to end in his favor, so he needs to run before he gets hurt, but he can’t because you have him stuck in the bath with you. You reach out again to take his hands in yours, fingers absently running along the scars on his wrists. “You don’t, otherwise you wouldn’t have been so quick to join me in here. You haven’t even had time to process it.”

“Yes, I have,” Dazai whispers weakly. “I have.”

“I ruined your life, Osamu,” you say quietly. “Everything bad that’s ever happened to you started with me.”

“That’s not true,” Dazai argues, nails biting into your skin as he clings to you. “My life sucked before everything really went to shit. The first time I tried to kill myself, I was eleven. You saved my life. I was going to kill myself that night we met at the bar. You saved me.”

“Osamu-”

“You’re not listening to me,” Dazai interrupts, voice taking a more manic edge as he shakes his head. He can talk himself out of any situation—why is he failing now when it matters most? “You’re not listening. You saved me. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you breathe out, but the words don’t settle his nerves because they’re heavy and full of sorrow, and the tears that had been pooling in your eyes finally start to spill over.

“Then why does this still feel like a goodbye?” he begs, breath shallow as he searches your face for an answer.

You don’t respond, but you don’t need to. He finds his answer in your eyes. He always does. You look at him again with that desperate, longing expression, like you’re trying to memorize the details of his face even though you know it’s futile. 

This is a goodbye.

--

Dazai hasn’t spoken to you once since your conversation in the bath.

Chuuya, your subordinates, and the Flags are back now, and Dazai is sulking in the bedroom watching one of his dumb reality shows. You can hardly focus on the conversation at hand because of it, and you know the others are starting to get irritated by your distraction considering the stakes at play right now. If one thing goes wrong, all of your lives would be forfeit. They’re risking everything by helping you right now, and you can't even bother to give them your full attention.

“Out,” Piano Man suddenly says. Your gaze snaps toward him, as does all of the others’ in the room. When nobody immediately moves, he raises his eyebrows and continues dryly, “Are you all hard of hearing? I said get out.”

“Where are we supposed to go?” Albatross demands. “Her boy’s in the bedroom. This place is small-”

“Go crowd in the closet for all I care. Get out,” Piano Man says dismissively. Still, no one moves until his gaze sharpens and they realize he’s being entirely serious. You shift to leave with them until his eyes land on you. “Not you.”

You feel like a child about to be scolded, which is ridiculous because you’re a mafioso, and though Piano Man is technically the same rank as you, he’s not really. He can’t scold you, but you shift awkwardly on your feet and share a concerned look with Chuuya anyway as they all wander out of the safe house and into the small hallway outside.

Once the two of you are alone, you finally glance back at Piano Man, who’s watching you carefully. After a few moments he says, “I take it you told him the plan?”

“I did,” you reply quietly.

“He didn’t take it well?” Piano Man questions.

“You know the answer to that,” you say a bit more dryly before shaking your head. “Would you have taken it well?”

“Of course not, I’d be livid,” Piano Man says immediately, making you cringe. “Does this mean we’re changing the plan?” 

“No,” you tell him. “We can’t. This is the only option.”

“I know,” Piano Man says with a thin smile. “So stop sulking and get your head in the game so we don’t all die trying to perform a coup.”

You’re startled by the sudden sharpness in his voice, but you suppose you shouldn’t be. Piano Man has always been capricious, going from his whimsical moods to more cold and ruthless ones within a matter of seconds. You can hardly meet his eyes now, looking down at the ground to avoid them.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask after a few moments.

You don’t have to look at Piano Man to see the way he raises his eyebrows judgmentally. “Excuse me?” 

“I was going to kill you earlier. I held a gun to your head. Why are you helping me?” you press, the words weighing heavily on you as you remember the way he met your eyes when you lifted the muzzle of your gun to his temple.

Piano Man has the audacity to look amused. “When I first recruited Lippmann, I tried to drown him in the harbor because I got paranoid he sold me out to the feds after a mission went wrong. It happens—the next time it does, I’m going to be pulling my own gun out though. So, don’t let it happen again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t apologize often, even when you know you’re entirely in the wrong. Mori has taught you only to apologize when it serves you, otherwise you should never make an admission of guilt or liability. So it’s not surprising when Piano Man’s eyebrows shoot upward, but his expression softens after a moment. He reaches out to pat your head.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he murmurs, “but we need you at the top of your game if this is going to work.”

“I know,” you reply. “... I know.”

“Good,” he says, patting the top of your head yet again before sighing. “Let me go get them and we’ll get back to planning, okay?”

“Mkay.”

You lean back against the wall as you look down at the table Lippmann set up for planning. The Flags, your subordinates, Kajii Motojiro—they’re non-factors in the planned coup. The Flags will support it, your subordinates will support you, and all Kajii cares about is his experiments. Paul Verlaine is not quite as secure, but Chuuya is confident that he’ll support whatever Chuuya goes along with.

The issue lies in Kouyou and the Black Lizards.

You already feel a headache come on just at the thought, lifting your hands to your head and rubbing your eyes as you knock the back of your head against the wall and let out a heavy sigh. Kouyou and Hirotsu won’t support the coup, you know it. They’re both loyal to Mori—both victims of the previous boss who found refuge in Mori when he took over. They’ll fight for him, and you know better than anyone that during a forceful transition of power, all dissidents must be removed, especially ones that hold significant power and influence.

But it’s Kouyou and Hirotsu. Kouyou, who was the one to teach you how to do your makeup properly, who bought you your first kimono to match her own. Hirotsu, who was always quick to execute anyone that openly disrespected you, who took you to a movie on your fifteenth birthday when Mori was busy dealing with the power transition so you didn’t spend it alone. The thought makes you sick—they were family, and maybe Hirotsu could be convinced. He’s loyal to Mori, yes, but more than that, he’s loyal to the Port Mafia. If you can manufacture a legitimate reason for the coup…

You sigh as you glance down the hall where Dazai is hiding in the bedroom, startled when your gaze catches his familiar brown. He’s seemingly just as surprised that you caught him spying, immediately slamming the bedroom door shut to retreat back into the safety of the room. Your lips curl up into a small smile, which is quickly washed away when your subordinates, the Flags and Chuuya all file back into the room.

“I’ll talk to Ane-san,” Chuuya finally says, reigniting the conversation. “I’ll make her see reason.”

“There’s no time for talking, Chuuya,” Piano Man tells him. “This all has to be done within hours. If we let word get out about what we’re doing… The coup is risky, and a civil war would be the end of this city.”

Frustration flashes across Chuuya’s face. “I’m not budging on this,” he says, voice tight with thinly restrained anger. “Either you give me the chance to talk to her, or I’ll withdraw my support.”

“Chuuya,” you sigh tiredly, wanting nothing more than to just sit down.

“No,” Chuuya interrupts you. “I won’t actively stand against you, but I won’t stand with you if you don’t give me the chance to talk to her.”

“Fine,” you finally say even though you know it’s a mistake. It’s asking for trouble. Piano Man gives you a sharp, disapproving look, but you shake your head. “It’s fine. She won’t be keeping her executive position.”

Chuuya’s face twists. “But-”

“No.” This time you interrupt him, holding up your hand. “I’m not budging on this. If you want the chance to talk to her and convince her this is the best route, I’ll give you it, but you need to meet me halfway. She’s not retaining her executive position.”

Chuuya looks unhappy, but after a few moments, he nods. “Fine.”

“I can’t risk it, Chuuya,” you tell him quietly. “I need people who I trust in the inner circle. I can’t trust her after what just happened.”

“I get it,” Chuuya says. “I just don’t like it.”

“That leaves three executive seats we need to fill.” Piano Man lets out a heavy sigh as he sits on the edge of the table, tilting his head back in exhaustion. “Your’s, Ace’s, and Kouyou-san’s. Do you even have three more people who you trust?”

Klaus and Akutagawa, you think to yourself, but neither of them are executive material. Your gaze drifts over to Albatross, Iceman, and Doc, each of them pointedly looks away, none of them want the open seats. Lippmann can’t take it, not with what you have planned for him. So, who else-

“Verlaine?” Chuuya offers. “He’s got a ton of experience with the European organizations—we’ll probably need it considering Dostoevsky’s involvement with the Guild, and this Book that’s apparently somewhere in the city. If it gets out to the public, we’ll have organizations swarming just like during the Dragon’s Head.”

You don’t like the idea of Verlaine being an executive, and you don’t think Piano Man does either considering his unfortunate first meeting with the man, but Chuuya raises good points. You have your own experience with the European underworld, but it’s nothing like what Verlaine has.

“Okay,” you agree, “and the other two?”

The Black Lizards are its own command unit that answers directly to the Boss. They don’t have a seat at the table because it’s not their field. Their field is war, not politics… but what other options are there? The people you trust are far and few in-between, you can probably count them on one hand.

“What about Tolstoy?” a familiar voice asks quietly from down the hallway. You look up immediately, gaze focusing on where Dazai is standing in the door of the bedroom, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweatshirt, shoulders hunched. He doesn’t like the attention of everyone on him, so he keeps his eyes trained fully on you. “Mishima?”

“They’re not part of the Port Mafia,” Chuuya dismisses, “they don’t get seats.”

“But what if they were?” Dazai presses, shuffling forward. He hardly spares Chuuya a glance before looking at you again. “The transition of power is going to be shaky, you need to strengthen your position in other ways, otherwise…”

“You think we should merge with the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel,” Piano Man realizes, sitting up straighter as he considers Dazai’s proposition. “Doesn’t that risk destabilizing us even more though?”

He looks at you for an answer, but your gaze is focused on Dazai. He’s not even gone yet, but you already miss him desperately; all you want is to be with him, but it’s just not possible. You can’t have him and run the Port Mafia at the same time; he will die because of his affiliation with you, just like he almost did when the Guild captured him. It wouldn’t matter how safe you tried to keep him, one mistake and he would die. And that will lead to every decision you make being centered around him, not what’s best for the Port Mafia and that will lead to its inevitable ruin. 

“No, Osamu’s right,” you say, and Dazai preens at the praise, but then quickly deflates again. You want to reach out for him, but you refrain. “Not a merger. An acquisition. The Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel are already pretty much extensions of the Port Mafia, we would only be formalizing it. I trust Tolstoy and Mishima—I pretty much built the Three Deaths into what it is today myself. We’d give the Port Mafia an official foothold in Russia, more sway over everything that happens in Tokyo. It’s a good plan. Great one, even.”

“Will they even agree to it?” Chuuya asks doubtfully. “Go from being fully autonomous to answering to us.”

“They pretty much already do just answer to us,” Albatross mutters.

“They’ll agree to it,” you tell him quietly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Tolstoy won’t be hard to convince. He, Chekhov and Gorky are all good friends of yours, you helped them build the Three Deaths, you helped them win territory battles against the Pale Flame and the Red Chamber. All it would take a few words of convincing for them to agree to it. Mishima might be more difficult, but all you have to do is convince his daughters, and they hang off your every word.

There might be some dissent from the Sun and Steel executives, but even then, you think it would be minimal at worst. It’s a good plan. Having Tolstoy and Mishima sitting at the executive table would lend you some much needed support during the transition, and with the Port Mafia subsuming the Three Deaths and the Sun and Steel, it would provide a major deterrence against any foreign movements from Cao Xueqin or Yi Sang.

“What about Hirotsu and the Black Lizards?” Akutagawa asks, shifting awkwardly when all eyes turn to him. He doesn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and you know it’s because he actually cares about what your answer might be. Akutagawa likes to pretend that he doesn’t care about anyone, but you know he has a soft spot for the unit that took Gin in so easily.

“We can’t afford to lose the Black Lizards,” Iceman notes as he lights another cigarette. “Especially if we’re bringing in other organizations. We don't want our own people to feel like they’re being lost in the mix, y’know?”

“I’ll handle Hirotsu,” you finally say. “It’ll be fine. I just need to figure out how to frame this. Needs to be framed in a way that makes him feel like this was the best, and only, course of action for the Mafia. He’s loyal to Mori only to the extent that he’s good for the Port Mafia. I’ll figure it out. Leave that to me.”

“Ace’s subordinates?” Albatross prompts. “They been handled? We can’t have them knowing about him. Can’t have anyone knowing about him.”

“Dead,” Akutagawa says. “I killed them.”

“Security cameras? CCTV? Any record of this kid being affiliated with us?” 

“Wiped,” Klaus answers flippantly. “We’ve gone through it every day since they met. Weren’t allowed to sleep ‘til made sure everything from the day was wiped. There’s no physical record of him ever being around us.”

“Okay, so we get this settled, and then we wait on Repin for the rest of us, right?” Albatross asks. Dazai cringes at the mention of Repin, and you look away from him, unable to watch the pain that crosses his face.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “It all needs to happen within no more than a couple days otherwise we risk the wrong people finding out so…”

“So we should get started,” Chuuya sighs, pushing himself off the wall. He squeezes your wrist as he passes by you, walking in the direction of the door. “We’ll give you guys some time. I’ll let you know how things go with Ane-san.”

You nod, eyes following him as he leaves. The others follow, filing out of the room until it’s only you and Dazai left again. You turn to look at him, so many words on your lips but incapable of pushing a single one out. Instead, you reach out to cup his face between your hands, running your thumbs across his cheekbones. His lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” he whispers, brown eyes heavy and glassy as he looks down at you. “We can figure something else out. I know we can. Just give me some time, I just need a little time, I’ll figure something out.”

“We don’t have time,” you say, voice cracking over the words. “I love you, Osamu.”

Dazai pulls away, shaking his head. He wipes quickly at his eyes before looking at you again. You expect what he says, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“I won’t forgive you. Not for this. Not ever. I can’t.”

“I know.”

--

SIX WEEKS LATER

“I must say, I wasn’t expecting this invitation,” a familiar voice hums as the door to your box opens. You don’t turn to look at him, keeping your gaze trained down on the performance taking place below. “Not from you, and not after everything that’s happened.”

“No?” you ask absently. “It’s unlike you to not expect something, Dostoevsky. Less like you to admit it.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects as he comes to stand next to you. He’s close enough to you that you can feel his body brushing yours. You finally turn your head to look at him—his lips are curved up into a deceptively soft smile, violet eyes glittering with a type of mischief that you know is dangerous. “We are well enough acquainted to be on a first name basis, no?” 

“Dostoevsky,” you repeat pointedly, looking back down at the show as the first act reaches its climax. Of all of the shows you’ve seen, Tosca is still your favorite. This rendition here at the New National Theatre isn’t quite as good as the one at La Scala, but you’re enjoying it well enough.

Dostoevsky lets out a huff of laughter, you don’t turn to look at him when you feel him reach out to touch you. His fingers trace along the maroon scarf hanging loosely over your shoulders. You barely withhold a shiver when you feel his knuckles skim your neck—rumor has it, skin-on-skin contact alone with Dostoevsky is enough to kill. You don’t die, but it’s enough to beckon your attention back to him.

“Red is your color,” he murmurs, looking down at you through his lashes. “You look beautiful.”

“It isn’t yours,” you reply quickly, glancing down at the red tie tied neatly around his neck. “Neither is flattery.”

Dostoevsky does laugh this time—it’s soft and short, pretty like a bell. Unbefitting of him, just like the color red and false flattery. 

“It isn’t?” he asks, keeping his voice deceptively playful. “I wore it for you. Since you invited me, I thought it appropriate that we match. I heard of your success in Yokohama. I should congratulate you on your new promotion. Or perhaps extend my condolences for the death of your father? Are condolences still proper when you were the one to drive the knife into his back?”

It’s a dig, an attempt to get under your skin and throw you off before getting into the meat of the conversation. You can feel his eyes on you, the soft playfulness gone and replaced by a sharpness that has you on edge.

“You said it yourself. One life or thousands.”

“It was a bullet to the head,” you correct idly—the words taste like poison on your tongue, but you’re careful to not let it show on your face. “Condolences are unnecessary. He was not my father.”

“It’s okay, dear, this was how it was always meant to be.”

“Hm,” Dostoevsky hums, amused. “I was quite pleased when I found out about the coup. I wasn’t expecting it.”

He wants to add something else but he decides against it. He’s very calculating with his words, he always has been, but he is especially now. You know that each word he speaks is chosen for a specific purpose, and it’s hard, even for you, to break down each one as he speaks it to understand why he says it so you can choose your own words carefully in return. Fyodor Dostoevsky is the only man capable of consistently beating you in exchanges of words, and that is concerning. 

It’s why you invited him here—you need an idea of what he’s planning while you solidify your newfound position.

“It seems you struggle to expect many things I do,” you note. “I should add it to my resume. I doubt many people are capable of repeatedly surprising Fyodor Dostoevsky.”

“It is true,” he agrees with an airy laugh. “You are a… difficult opponent. I will admit it.”

 “Is that so?”

Dostoevsky makes a soft noise of agreement, lashes fluttering as he glances over at you once before he looks back down at the show taking place down on the stage. 

“You are not guided strictly by logic,” he muses. “It's there, of course, you are very intelligent but it’s laced with so many emotions. It is difficult for me to determine your course of action because I can never predict when you will lead with emotion, and when with logic. And even then, there are grades to it. I could account for dozens of plans of action and miss the one you take because you are just a bit less emotional than I anticipated… I did not predict that you would go for Zelda Fitzgerald, it was quite bold—there was a high risk for failure. You make things… much more interesting. I enjoy it.”

“You would find something like that enjoyable,” you say sarcastically, taking a sip of your champagne. “There is something seriously wrong with you, Dostoevsky.”

“Fyodor,” he corrects again with a light smile. 

“Dostoevsky.”

“Heh,” he laughs quietly. “I will… wait for things to settle before making another move here in Yokohama. I’m curious to see how all of the chips fall on their own. You’re in for quite the storm with that bill that just passed through the Diet, aren’t you?”

You don’t respond. You got the answer you needed, so there’s no reason for you to keep entertaining his snide comments; you’ll just watch the show in peace. You’ll have the bit of time you need to get things settled before Dostoevsky makes his next play. Though the man is a compulsive liar and you have no reason to trust him, Dostoevsky has never lied so blatantly to your face, so you’ll take him at his word until you have reason to believe otherwise. 

Dostoevsky takes your silence as an opportunity to continue talking, naturally.

“I did have a question for though,” he says, a bit too thrilled by the prospect of your answer. You don’t like the way his eyes are lit up, and you especially don’t like the smile on his lips. “Entertain me?”

You raise your eyebrows pointedly, waiting for him to ask it. 

“I heard rumors that the reason behind your sudden decision to overthrow your father was more… intimate than most believe,” Dostoevsky murmurs, leaning like he’s sharing in some schoolgirl gossip with an old friend. Your brows furrow as you process his words. “You must tell me what boy has managed to steal your heart. He must be something special. Not even I was capable of that, I’m almost jealous.”

You look at him now, gaze sharp but confused as your eyes trail over him before focusing back on his face. He seems surprised by your reaction, tilting his head to the side and studying you carefully.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

--

to be continued in ... the land is inhospitable (but are we?) [est. release: early feb]

--

WOWWWWWW GUYS WE FUCKING FINISHED CIVZAI .... or well, ;) civzai1. some notes:

i promised a happy ending, i know ... but i promised it for civzai in general, and they DO have a happy ending ... just not yet. pls dont bully me ill cry i'm so proud of this. i didn't lie.

i always intended on there being two parts to this series because i feel like time apart is essential in the pmreader universe. when dazai defected in canon universe, and now with her taking over as boss and wiping her memories of him. the first part was always gonna be the guild arc, the second arc is gonna be my rendition of the hunting dogs and the decay of the angel

this is the ONLY universe where pmreader becomes port mafia boss ;) i actually had it noted that there was only one universe on the background page in wykyk once i started writing wasteland, baby but no one caught it ;) i was wondering if anyone would put two and two together

i actually went back and retconned chapter 1 to have them talking about the divine comedy instead of petrarch because of the first scene in this chapter. i thought it would be neat coming full circle with the themes of betrayal and death, + the hozier song this chapter is based on is about the 9th circle in the divine comedy. so everything just tied together too neatly for me to not add it.

;) just remember now with repin involved, reader's narration is now entirely unreliable. we don't know what's truth and manufactured by repin.

i was actually really tempted to base civzai2 off of a mother mother album just because hayloft II fits what's going to be the first half of it SO fucking well, but i had to go with mitski because the whole album literally captures the vibes of the second series perfectly

[deadsetobsessions]

AU of my Gotham/Tim Drake! Danny where Danny doesn’t know any knowledge beforehand about the DC universe.

Danny doesn’t know how he got here, but the fact that he now shares something in common with Vlad other than their technical halfa status disgusts him

His new name is Timothy Jackson Drake. It’s so far removed from Danny that his parents had him examined for deafness because he didn’t respond to it. He got better at it, at putting on the mask Janet and Jack Drake wanted to see. So they took him to the circus.

He meets Dick Grayson. Danny thinks the kid is adorable, even if Danny himself is technically younger. He sees the flying Graysons fall. The buzzing in his head doesn’t go away.

He’s five, when the fading spirit of Gotham reaches out and pleads her King to protect her city in her stead. She is fading. He says yes, because she’s one of his. The buzzing in his head settles and oh because that’s what’s been missing this entire time. Danny didn’t have a haunt and Gotham gave him one.

He grieves when she dies, the new title settling around small shoulders, and the city grieves with him. In the city proper, Batman and Robin are having the worst night of their lives in the sudden storm.

He’s nine. Robin is Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson, in turn, is an idiot. Batman… well, he’s at least mentoring and protecting the child vigilante, which is more than Danny ever had. He grows fond of them. How could he not, when they tried their hardest to help his city? To help him?

He shows himself, to the duo, in his Phantom form. It’s still him, still modeled after Danny Fenton’s face instead of Tim Drake’s. Ghosts are a reflection of the soul, after all.

“Who are you,” Batman demands, shielding Robin with half a step.

“Gotham.” He replies. Danny wills the city to affirm his claim and the city wraps its arms around the vigilantes. Batman and Robin understands, a deep well of pure knowledge being tapped into in ways they weren’t truly meant to understand.

“…How?”

“Magic,” Phantom says, dry. He tells them of city spirits, and that they can call him in times of dire need.

Dick calls him to help with Two Face. Two Face learns the pain of unmelting ice to the balls.

His core aches when the Bats fight, but Danny knows now that it is inevitable. They’re part of his haunt, his ‘fraid. He knows these things far before they come into fruition.

Dick moves to a sister city. Phantom expands his haunt to Bludhaven because he doesn’t, won’t, ever leave his Robins to themselves.

Nightwing is hopeful, is pleasantly surprised, and very suspicious when he shows up during patrol.

“Gotham…? What are you doing here…? This isn’t, well, Gotham?”

“Satellite City. It is an extension of myself. You were Robin, yes. You’re Nightwing, now. But that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you when I can.”

Phantom goes back, and finds a kid trying to steal tires to make a living. He guides his Knight to him. The starved features, the bones Danny could see, it tugs at his core. It feels like the Ancient of Fate themselves were pulling him along.

“How’d you know I was taking the wheels?”

“Gotham.”

“Are you… high on shrooms or something?”

Bruce sighs. Batman asks Gotham to meet the new Robin, and chuckles when Jason is surprised by the glowing green figure.

Phantom hides this Robin just as much as the last one. He curls shadows around his vigilantes, sometimes at the same time, and softens what little sounds they made while stalking through his city for crime.

He makes small jokes with Jason. Danny forgets, a little, the crushing loneliness of being Timothy Drake.

“I didn’t kill Garzona!”

“You-”

Batman stops as a chill he’s never had experienced directed at him weaves around his neck. An angry Gotham.

“He didn’t kill him.” Danny slides a cold hand on Jason’s shoulders.

But the damage had been done and the next day, Batman is begging Danny to tell him any clues of where Jason had gone.

“Ethiopia.”

He clears the way for Batman to get to Robin. He clears the way for Bruce to get to Jason.

He’d fallen into the trap of believing that Batman would handle everything when in the end, he’s just a man in a mantle that demands more than he ever thought he’d have to pay.

Robin is dead and Danny grieves. The skies crack open and pours a torrent of smogged rain water upon the streets of Gotham. Despite that, Crime Alley is untouched by flood. They say the second Robin was protecting his home.

In a way, it’s not wrong.

Gotham fishes Batman from the bay, carelessly tossing the broken Joker against a shipping container.

“You can’t keep doing this. You’ll die.”

Bruce, Batman, lays on his back, eyes glazed and empty. “Maybe I want to.” He admits. And Danny can’t lose someone else. It’s already bad enough he feels the death of everyone in his city, he can’t lose him too. But Dick won’t come back. He already denied Gotham when Phantom had asked him to come back. Granted, Dick was nervous about denying him the entire time, but Danny realized that he’d lost a brother in the colors his parents chose for Dick. Danny- Phantom had cradled Dick in a swaddle of shadows and comfort.

“Alright.”

“Is it? Alright? I- I don’t want to fail you, Gotham.”

“It is. You’ve always made me proud. You will always make me proud. Whether it be by different name, it matters to me not. Stay. Heal.”

Like Dick was given permission, like he received a hint of peace, Dick Grayson crumpled to the floor and sobbed into Gotham’s shoulder.

(Later, long after Dick Grayson realized his little brother was also his city personified, he cries again into Tim’s shoulders after the later dropped a flower pot perfectly on top of Catalina Flores’ head.)

Gotham, Phantom, Danny makes a choice.

“Tomorrow, a child will show up at your door. You will let him in.”

“No- I can’t. I won’t.” He knows what Danny will ask of him.

“You will.” Danny doesn’t ever do it with his people, with his city, but dire times call for dire actions. It is an order. And Batman is Gotham’s knight. “You will. You will train him. You need a Robin to leash your brutality. I need a Robin, for Robin is my hope. The city’s hope. Our people’s hope. Do not forget the goal you have set out to accomplish in my city.”

Batman rages at him, until he falls unconscious from the wounds he’s gathered. Danny brings him home. He tells Alfred what to expect tomorrow. Bruce wakes up, eyes fixated on the crack that appeared on Danny’s neon green face. “Did. Did I do that?”

Danny nods slowly.

Batman crumples into Bruce Wayne. “Okay.” He says. “Alright. Tomorrow.”

Gotham watches him, unreadable. “Tomorrow.” He says, before fading away.

Tim Drake shows up at the door. Nightwing shows up not long after. Tim Drake adapts to Bruce Wayne’s cold looks and brutal training. Slowly, but surely, he leashes in Batman’s grief fueled brutality and less criminals go to prison with half of their lives beaten out of them.

Batman doesn’t see Gotham as much anymore. He feared that he’s angered his city, that he is no longer welcome.

When Tim figures it out… he allows the roads and the shadows to help Batman once more.

Batman stared intently at the extra coverage. “Thank you,” Tim hears him whisper. “I’m sorry.”

And when Jason Todd comes back to life and attacks Tim in the tower, Tim lets Hood beat him. Gotham had failed him, as Jason’s city. He deserves it. (He doesn’t but Danny had gone past the point of being healthy about his own physical wellbeing. Perhaps being a city spirit this long had affected him, even with the King’s title mitigating the worst of the damages.

“HE REPLACED ME!”

“Because I ordered him to.” Tim whispers, past the pain of a broken leg.

“You? Order Batman around? If you’re going to lie, make it a better one, Replacement.”

Tim catches Jason’s wrist, the one holding the knife to Tim’s throat.

“Robin,” he says simply, allowing Gotham to come out and peer at the child that is his.

Jason stares, disbelieving. Gotham had… Gotham had come by and approved of his plans to clean up Crime Alley. Gotham had extracted a promise not to damage the buildings.

“No.”

His city stares back and him and Jason stumbles away. Tim shifts into Danny, into Gotham.

“You…”

“I am Gotham. I- I did not want to wear these colors. They were yours and Dick’s. But Bruce was hurting the city, he was hurting me. So I made sure he stopped.”

Jason stares at the new cracks, the fresh ones he just caused and the old ones he does not remember being on Danny’s ghostly skin.

Jason swallows. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I. I am sorry I was not there to save you. I am sorry that you died.”

Jason stares at him. The Replacement is Gotham. Jason almost destroyed his city.

“I am glad that you’ve returned. That you’re alive, now.”

“…Really?”

“Always.”

Alternative Version of the above Tower Scene:

Jason slides the knife against the Replacement’s neck.

Danny sighs. “I can’t believe I’m dying again.”

Jason pauses. “What the fuck did you just say, Replacement?”

Danny rolls his eyes at him and Jason rethinks his decision of not offing the little fucker right away.

“You think you’re the first one to die in this household? Get a grip. I did it first, way before you did, jackass.”

Tim is 14. He’s a child. What the fuck is Jason doing?

“When…?”

“How do you think I became Gotham, little bird?”

Jason freezes. And then he’s scrambling backwards, the knife flung away in his horror.

Tim shifts into Gotham and Jason bites back a cut of regret and bitterness.

He… no, what? What even is happening?

“Why is the Joker not dead? You… you told me that you loved me. That Gotham… that-”

“I’m cruel, little bird. The Joker would not suffer as much if he were dead.”

“He’s killing people! He’s killing your own!”

“So everyone thinks.”

“What?”

“I am Gotham, little bird. Mass hallucinogenic gasses are so within my reach to the point it is concerning. Perhaps you should help Ivy with the city clean up?”

“Huh?!”

[gaddaboutgriffon]

Super Phantom

Writing prompt #3

Danny reveals his ghost half to his parents and they took it well accepting him. As a result the doctors Fenton then backed out of the weapons deal they had with the GIW and are actively protecting Phantom from them.

The GIW don’t give up even after the anti ecto acts are being repealed and sabotaged the gas tank for Nasty Burger’s grill. This causes the explosion that would Kill Danny’s family and friends there for Jazz’s graduation celebration. Clockwork foresaw of a Dan event happening and froze time to take and de-age Danny, Jazz, Sam, Tucker and Vallarta. (Clockwork is a jerk and frankly blames Jack and Maddie for making the he portals that caused both Vlad and Danny’s halfa status and a lot more work for him. He is letting those two die.)

Clockwork then sends the Deaged to babies/toddler to different places in the Yong Justice cartoon DC universe. All the kids are liminal and have powers.

Jazz now a 3 year old is sent to Hippallita on Themescira. (Excuse my spelling) liminal powers make her strength on par with Amazons.

Sam, age 1 as well and sent to Giovanni Zattarra. Three year old Zatana gets a younger sister that also has the gift of magic. Especially nature/plant magic.

Tucker I had a hard time deciding but eventually chose Lucius Fox. (If you can think of someone better go ahead and make suggestions.)

Vallarie was Supposed to be sent to Ted Kord, but Lex Luthor was trying to tap into the watchtower’s zeta tubs but accidentally got clockwork’s portal instead. It cased he basket to be dropped instead of gently set down. Startled, two year old Vallarie instinctively activates her ghost tech armor. Now that is a curious unexpected asset Lex will find a way to utilize.

And finally deaged to one year old Danny is sent in a in a basket with a solar system print blanket with a envelope sitting on top. The portal opens and the basket is carefully set on the table with the note. Then clockwork places a folder thick with other papers of to the side. He retreats into the portal closing it behind him just as the apartment door is opening.

Clark Kent has just finished his third week of work at the Daily Planet, the evening patrol and even grocery shopping. Thoughts of the paper he needs to write and turn in the morning are on his mind as he enters his apartment in time to notice a Green glow wink out of existence from his kitchen door. He drops the now forgotten grocery bags when he hears the tiny heartbeat and rushes over to the basket on the table.

A sleeping baby. A baby! Wha- how had anyone. When his brain stops stalling he notices the letter. It reads:

Superman,

The boy’s name is Danny. You are the most likely to survive him learning to use his powers as they emerge. His parents died trying to protect him. It is not safe for him here.

I have already forged the legal documents naming you as his godfather and a cover story in the attached folder. Also three gold coins will be sent to you each month as child support. If anyone else looks at this letter the text will change to simply read that you are the godfather of this recently orphaned boy.

Clockwork.

Clark stood in shock rereading the letter in shock a dozen times. Before Lois snapped him out of it.

“Hey Smallville, it may not be Gotham but even in Metropolis you shouldn’t just leave your door open.” She called as she entered from the hall. Then she noticed the spilled bags of groceries on the floor. And came in. “Are you ok? You may be a klutz but you always pick u- Oh My God, That’s a Baby!”

Well that is enough for tonight. I will add on more later. Wonder how quickly this would grow if I don’t tag anyone? Eh just a few. @bloggerspam @confusedshades @hypewinter @zylev-blog @kizzer55555

[a-lurking-fae]

Thinking about the reader being Focalors/Furina's grandchild. What if they adopted a child, and let's say that the kid could have been transported between worlds, they end up in Gotham, taken in by Martha and Thomas Wayne.

Now, after a couple of years, readers mom ends up with Bruce. He takes in Dick, then Jason, after your mom gets pregnant, and during childbirth, she dies. Instead of Bruce neglecting the reader because "They were the reason why my love is dead." type of neglect (っ- ‸ - ""), which is always pretty stupid if you ask me,

He can't look at the reader because you look like a mix of both the two women he has truly loved in his life. His mother, the one who sang him bedtime songs, the one who brought him to his love, your mother. The one who accepted him for his faults, the one who was there during rough times, the one who gave him the greatest gift of all time— you.

But instead of treasuring the precious diamond he was given, Bruce ends up throwing you away. A shame, really, after all, how can he look at you without being reminded of them? How can he look into your eyes, which took the shape of his mother, and held those (e/c) eyes that used to look at him with so much love?

Dick would also have a hard time acknowledging you. After all, you were sort of the reason why his mother had died (reader's mom), but you were her child too. You can't experience what he and Jason got from her, bedtime stories and all.

But at the same time, he can't help but look a little closer, enamoured by the same eyes that saw him, acknowledged him, loved him. He really doesn't know what to do, so he avoids you when he has the chance.

Now, Jason— he's a good child before he died. He's definitely your best friend before he died. How can he not love you? The child of his parents, how could he possibly turn away from you? So imagine his surprise and disappointment when both Bruce and Dick actively ignore you.

Oh, he is angry. How dare they! He argues with them during meal times, but they shut him down! Let's time skip a few years now, Jason is dead, then he turns up alive, apparently?

You try to approach him, hoping he was still that big brother you once knew, even though he looks a bit scary and big right now! He avoids you like the plague, you don't recognise your big brother anymore...

When Tim was taken in by Bruce, you hoped that you'd form a bond with your new brother, and he's very smart too! You hope he can help you with homework, but he says that you're not really worth his time. That stung a bit!

Then Cassandra, Barbara, and Stephanie are in the picture. You still had a bit of hope that you'd bond with your sisters! They might be different from your brothers! Ah��� it's the same thing over again.

Finally, Damian, he's your younger brother. Clinging on to your last hope, you approach him, hoping— but to no one's surprise, he rejects you. He hates you so much. He hates that you were so weak, how, although he is strong, forced to cater to his mother and grandfather's wishes, robbed of the childhood he dreamed of, you ended up with a peaceful childhood, the one thing he always wanted. (He didn't know you were robbed, too.)

It's honestly your last straw, so after packing your bags, you head to your mother's home— Fontaine, and it's a hell lot more nicer than Gotham. The fresh breeze of the sea, cute adorable sea creatures, and a whole lot more things you could explore!

Your grandfather, Neuvillette, adored you, both of your grandmothers who loved you so much, the friends you made in Fontaine, even adventures you went off to. It's no surprise that you didn't want to go back. Yeah, Alfred would miss you a lot— but you're sure he'd be happy to know that you're in a better place, safe from the crime-filled-gotham!

Now, enjoy the last days in Teyvat because they want you back. How could they not? Bruce and Dick never hated you— no. They'd kill themselves before that. It's just that it hurt too much to see you! But, they've realised their mistakes now, they'll make it up to you, don't worry! Bruce will throw you lavish parties anytime you want! He has deep pockets, after all, and that old room of yours? Your new room will be next to him, to make sure you're safe.

Dick will be there for you. Even though he wasn't there before, he'll be next to you every step of the way this time and make no mistakes. He won't let you out of his sight, not anymore. You can count on the best big brother in Gotham to make sure you'll be safe. With a little help from Tim, who'll place trackers on you when you get home. It's for safety precautions, you'll understand.

Jason blew when he realised you've been missing for weeks— and none of them have noticed! He was the best big brother to you, right? Won't you come back home to him? He knows you, and both of you could bond by the things you guys used to love, right? You probably still like the colour (f/c) you don't anymore. He'll cook your favourite food with you, and all you have to do right now is to come back home.

Casandra, although a perceptive person, she never realised the small figure that trailed behind her grew up, not to be seen in weeks. She knew something was missing. The small figure that she'd see in the kitchen during ungodly hours, who'd leave her little notes of praise time-to-time, was not there anymore.

Every time Barbara and Tim had migraines, you'd be there, handing a tray with two cups and medication. They wondered where those always came from, and then it suddenly stopped. To think it was their sweet baby sibling all along! Those little hints that you were there weren't really noticed, but they appreciated you and the small actions you did for them. They want to repay the favour, don't you wanna play games with Tim? Or get ice cream with big sis Babs?

Damian will demand attention from you. How dare you give your love to those good for nothing children of lower breeding, he's your blood brother! Sure, he said he hates you— but he really didn't mean it! He didn't know you were robbed of the same childhood as him. And without his older sibling, how can you expect a complete family? You don't have to worry about being weak. He'll protect you. He's strong enough for both of you.

Neuvillette is having trouble closing the multiple portals they tried to create. With the help of the Justice league, of course. Don't worry they'll get you back sooner or later.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ

This was already posted!<33

[dadsbongos]

how to (unintentionally) drive away a suitor

5.4 k words / warnings - misunderstandings, you're manipulative but in a marriage-seeker way, lame ass exposition dump at the beginning sorry

summary - you go to The Island in hopes of finding a suitor better than what your parents picked, you meet Laios. disaster ensues.

posting while bleaching my hair send hlep ~~~

When you were five, your father’s first hunting dog died. Matilda. A hound mix he praised as if she were his firstborn, and that would sound neglectful if she didn’t feel like your eldest sister. When she died, a true member of the family died. Your child heart exploding out of your little chest with the mosaic of grief ripping you this way and that. It was so ugly, you hadn’t expected to feel that way until your parents or a human sister croaked on you.

It’d also inspired you to do better for yourself than what destiny had in mind. As the youngest in a long line of children, you had little hope of a large inheritance from your well-off father. Instead, you would marry rich and smart and handsome.

Leading you, with a throbbing disinterest in the suitor picked by your parents, to set for The Island in the year 510.

Where you met a very strange man named Laios Touden.

Denial

Month 1 - your first proposition

“We should celebrate with drinks,” you skim a finger along the waistline of his cuirass, “Another dive with no deaths.”

“Oh, yeah,” Laios nods, grinning blandly at you, “You think I could rope Shuro into sticking around this time? He usually skips nights out unless Falin asks.”

“I was thinking something a little more private. Just you and me, maybe?”

“Sure,” suddenly his brows furrow, a serious ridge setting across his lips, “Is there something you need? I know rent in the western part of The Island is starting to go up, do you live there?”

“Laios, I- “ you cut yourself off before reminding him you two live on the same street because a sudden idea strikes you. He’s doing this on purpose. Of course, he is. He’s the type of guy that wants you to actually ask for it, “I mean, if you really want then I guess everyone coming isn’t so bad.”

But two can play at that game.

“Okay, great! I’ll let the party know,” he gives you a thumbs up and turns towards the rest of your group as they pack for the surface.

You watch him wrap an arm around Toshiro and beam at the withdrawn man. You deduce that he’s the type that likes to be chased. Which you feel is a little beneath you, but you’re willing to play a long game as long as he makes it worth your time.

Month 2 - the time you take him to dinner

“This place is so quiet,” Laios murmurs, both hands splayed across the table.

You study his fingers, thick and red at the joints -- you bet a gold wedding band would glitter nicely on his hand. Candle light flickers suddenly, a shadow sharpening across his face as he looks around. This snags your attention, you lean forward and curl both arms on the table, chest pressing into the well.

“Well, it’s nice, right?”

“I guess,” he avoids looking you in the face, instead focusing on your painted lips before flitting to the table, “I just feel like it's more for couples, right?”

This is it!

“Huh, you think so?”

“Mhm,” his eyes settle between your own, observing the curve from your forehead to your nose.

“I bet we make a pretty couple, then.”

“Oh,” he nods slowly, mulling over the suggestion, “Probably. I’d say we’re both decently attractive people.”

Is this it?

Just as you go to ask what exactly he means by that, your food is ready and Laios starts rambling about how hungry he was regardless of the awkward atmosphere. It makes no sense, but he’s the next village chief of his hometown so you let it pass.

Month 6 - the time you two take a walk

“Thanks for accompanying me.”

Laios waves off your gratitude, “It was nice to find out we live on the same street anyway.”

You bite your tongue from telling him that he should already know this in favor of boldly wrapping an arm around his. A rehearsed yelp splices your throat; practiced stumble rocking you askew. Immediately, you set to memorizing the feel of his beefy bicep around yours, wondering how his waist feels. His thighs. His neck and calves and cheeks.

“I saw a rat,” the lie slips easily, spare hand coming up to coyly cup your own cheek.

“Really?” he peeks over your head, “Where?”

“Laios, that’s not important!”

“I didn’t hear any squeaking, do you think it was trying to be quiet?”

“Laios!” you pinch his arm, apologetically rubbing over the tender skin when he whines, “I hate rats…”

“They’re just- “ your sudden furrowing brows and massive scowl halts the rest of his sentence, “Sorry. Are you scared of them?” before you can respond, he spins you towards his other side -- arms still linked tightly, “If you heard it over here, it’s probably best I stay on this side.”

“Aww,” you tilt your head against his shoulder, “That’s actually so sweet, Laios. Thank you.”

“Uh-huh,” you’re too blinded by the gesture to notice his intense stare scavenging along the dark ground, if you did then you probably would’ve realized he just wanted to see a rat.

Month 11 - the time you find his gourmet guide

“Is this why you started a party?”

“No,” his face flushes rogue from forehead to collarbones, eyes darting away from you. Hands twitching to rip the book from your own.

“You’re an awful liar,” you wave the stained, peeling green book -- careful to not rip any of his carefully placed tabs or note cards in the swaying, “Why hide this? Everyone already knows you’re chock full of monster trivia.”

Laios sighs quietly, reaching out for the book, and he seems genuinely surprised with what little fight you put up. He smooths one of the curling edges of the cover under his thumb, “This book hasn’t gotten the best reception before. It's easier to just avoid people seeing it.”

Somewhere in your chest, there’s a twinge and ache before you’re speaking again -- for once no plan or motive to your words, “That’s terrible, Laios. You should be able to show it off.”

“You think so?” he grins.

Technically comforting him will only advance your plan to wed, but strangely you’re finding that you just… want to. You don’t want him to filter himself to live, that sounds cruel.

“You can talk to me about it anytime,” you don’t find monsters so fascinating -- to you they’re no different from a common beast, what does it matter that they’re eaten by Laios? Despite your own indifference, you want nothing more than to indulge Laios, “I’d love to hear about how they taste.”

And you’re not sure where that desire comes from.

“I haven’t been able to eat one yet, but I’m hoping to. I can’t find time to traverse the first few floors by myself.”

You just know that it feels right to see him excited.

“You don’t have to go by yourself now, I can join. You’ll be able to go deeper that way, right?” you laugh at his flaming cheeks, “And what luck: I’m a support mage, you couldn’t ask for a better setup.”

“I’ll have to see when our next rest period is, that way we won’t be exhausted before going on our own.”

And when you’re in bed alone later that night, you justify to yourself that having a secret between one another will lay good foundation for future intimacy. You pretend that was on your mind the entire time you made the offer.

Year 2 - the time you invite him into your home

“I have lychees. It’d be a shame to let them go bad, you know?”

“What are lychee?” Laios glances from your neck to your room door.

“You’re kidding,” you twist the knob and swing it open with the weight of your body, thudding against the wall to allow Laios entry, “They’re fruits! Imports from the Eastern Archipelago, I would’ve thought you’d hear about them since you pester Toshiro about the area all the time…”

Laios’ head is on a full axis swivel to find anything unfamiliar, ready to taste all your excitement about the fruits, “No, never came up,” he watches you stride past him to a cabinet, “By the way, whose Toshiro?”

Quietly, you laugh to yourself, pulling down a rocky, pinkish ball. Laios is too busy thinking about the damage it’s looking to do to his bare hand to process the fact you never answered his question.

(you thought he was joking)

“Consider this a gift for walking me home again.”

“You asked,” he shrugs, watching as you squeeze around the fruit until it cracks in the middle, then peeling the shell away, “Besides, we live on the same street so it’s not out of my way.”

You hope he says that because he remembered, rather than having ‘discovered’ it for the fourth time. To stop yourself from asking clarification, you slice the pearly fruit in two, plucking the dark seed before handing both halves to Laios.

“I’ve heard some people just pop the whole thing in their mouth, but I’ve never tried it that way,” you confess, watching him roll the fruit from one cheek to the other before chomping down.

Laios’ eyes flutter shut, a muted moan following, “That’s sweet.”

“I know, right?”

“But I still get hints of citrus.”

“I know, right?!”

He points to the other lychee in your palm, “Do you have more, or…?”

You don’t.

“Have it,” you peel and deseed the one in your hand to press against his lips, “Say ‘ahh’!”

He smiles faintly at the cooing, popping his mouth open for you to slide the fruit past his teeth and onto his tongue. A soft kiss tickles your fingertips as he mutters, “Thanks.”

“Uh, yeah,” you pull back slowly, tangling your fingers behind your back and rocking onto the balls of your feet nervously, “Yeah, of course.”

You’ve never been nervous this way around a man before. You’ve felt fear and you’ve felt hatred and you’ve had crushes, but none of those have made your heart pound quite so hard.

It’ll be good to be attracted to your husband, you think, anybody can marry into power but it takes a real hunter to find power so handsome and polite.

Year 3 - the time you ask him to marry you

“We should get married,” you blurt, interrupting Laios as he ponders aloud the best way to safely boil a scorpion.

Laios darts up from his book, wide eyes unabashedly boring into your soul, “What?”

“You and me,” you’ve chased enough, now you’re ready for him to get serious -- you can’t live like this. Dangling just out of reach, only to be abruptly yanked at his whim. Your parents want to meet your fiance, the one you’ve abandoned home to find: the one you’re apparently certain is better than their choice for you. You need him to admit defeat before you go insane, “We should get married.”

“That’s what I thought you said, but I wasn’t sure,” he closes his beloved gourmet guide around a bookmark you crafted specially for him from braided yarn and beads. It had multiple tassels for slotting various spots through the guide simultaneously to more easily find sections he was currently occupied with rather than sort through tabs. He loves its practicality, and he loves it more when he thinks about how you made it with him in mind.

He thinks you’re nice. He thinks you’re charming. He likes spending time with you. You even already know about his monster obsession, and you’re on-board!

Which is basically the best he can get, right?

Dinners with his parents were silent, and the room’s temperature would sink to match their chilly demeanors.

Dinners with you would be warm, and the quiet moments would be comfortable.

“Sure,” he eventually answers, when he finds no protesting nausea bubbling in his gut he takes it as a good sign, “We can get married.”

Not the exact response you’d been hoping for. Though, you should’ve been more direct, Laios is stubbornly socially inept after all.

You’ll mark it as progress anyway, overjoyed Laios is baseline willing. Which is enough for you.

Definitely enough.

Definitely. Just. Enough.

Anger

Upon arrival to the dungeon three years ago, you found it difficult to acclimate to the fact that death was not the end down here. When you saw your first corpse on the second level, you were nigh inconsolable in the weary arms of Toshiro as he mumbled assurances in your ear.

Now, as a seasoned adventurer, you’re reasoning that coldblooded murder isn’t immoral in the dungeon.

(of course, it is, and also of course, you won’t murder anybody. but- )

You rather like the image of the woman flirting with Laios exploding

Honestly the longer he goes without refusing her, the more you like the image of him exploding too.

“Laios is an idiot,” Toshiro again is the one to comfort you, “It’s best not to watch.”

You’re sure he’s right. You’re also sure you want to keep watching -- which will entirely ruin your mood for the crawl ahead of your party. This is only your first day, on the first level, during the first meal before you all officially set off. And Laios is explaining to a strange, yet beautiful, woman the way a slime can seep out overhead and suffocate her to death. She isn’t even appreciating the knowledge, she’s just staring at his stupid pink lips.

“Once she hears what he’s saying, she’ll lose all interest,” Toshiro adds, then continuing as your glare fails to subside, “It isn’t like you two are actually married. She probably thinks he’s single.”

“He is single,” Chilchuck buds in, hands locked behind his head, “Inter-party relationships are bad news, you know? I’ve seen lots of people fall apart because of jealousy and cheating,” he shoots daggers at Toshiro briefly, “Pining is just the first step to an all out collapse.”

You gasp at the accusation. You are not pining!

“I don’t even like him that way. We should just get married for the land and wealth advantages!”

You entertain his monster fantasies for the money, you feed him lychees for the status, and you’re fiending to rip that woman away for the property expansion. That’s all! His being handsome is just a bonus, not a factor. His soft heart is a neat detail, not something you dream about holding.

Chilchuck doesn’t believe you. And you don’t think you believe yourself at this point either.

Depression

In the wake of Chilchuck’s ominous warning: you’ve been avoiding Laios. You’ve been avoiding most of your party, actually. First to lay and last to rise from your bedroll to most effectively close yourself off from nipping at Laios again.

He hadn’t even managed the nerve to ask what had you so perturbed following his conversation with the floozy on the first floor. He just strolls along, normal as he could hope to be while you languish in the back of the party with Toshiro. You wonder if Laios notices you’re not at his side, you wonder what precisely is going through his head. Did he notice she was flirting? Did he care? Is he still keen on marrying you?

Was he ever?

Toshiro catches the sudden exasperated huff you let out, you rub at your aching eyes. While he detests Laios’ clueless and overly familiar nature, he does feel grateful to work with you. He’d consider it a massive shame if you were to drop from the party because of emotional duress.

“Read any good books lately?”

Your hands lower, eyes blinking sluggishly until you’re staring at him with full inquisition, “What…?”

Maintaining a forward stare, Toshiro reaffirms his resolve, “Humor me.”

“Uh, well…” you comb through your brain for any answer other than the honest one, exhaustion and melancholy blurring your lying ability, “Just one.”

Eager to strengthen your bond and hopefully secure your stay in the party when this Laios fiasco fully explodes, Toshiro smiles softly at you, “Tell me about it.”

“It’s, well, old. Really old. A little gourmet guide…” you pout, “Laios and I read it together.”

“Oh,” Toshiro clears his throat, “Sorry.”

Bargaining

Laios could not seem to care less as the handsome dwarf perched at your side pays you yet another compliment. A shred of you feels terrible, terrible pity for the man as every other second your attention sears across the packed tavern to your party. To the blondie still in his armor; the blondie not even looking your way.

“Another drink, then?”

“Hm?” you beat ungracefully, forgetting you were meant to be charming the man.

“Would you like another drink?” he gestures to the barrels behind the bar, “On my coin, of course,” his tone falters, head shifting to follow yours, “I get the idea you need to forget this night.”

“Oh, I- no, it’s nothing…” you risk another peek at Laios, finding him somehow more disinterested in you than before -- thoroughly enjoying a one-sided conversation with Toshiro, “I’m not…”

“Better ways to get your mister’s attention than flirting.”

“Oh,” you’re embarrassed to be figured out like this, “I’m sorry. Really, I can’t- God- I’m sorry.”

“He’s lookin’ this way.”

Chancing it, you confirm that Laios is now looking at the both of you. His amber eyes flit from your face to the man beside you, to the floor. He returns all focus to Toshiro.

“Wow.”

From pitier to pitied at breakneck speed is more jarring than Laios’ carelessness.

“He said he wanted to marry me,” you reason.

“Did he now?” the dwarf so obviously disbelieves you, you’re sick just hearing his voice.

“Yeah!”

The dwarf nods slowly, a sarcastic lilt in his following words, “Seems like he meant it.”

“I’m not drinking anymore…” you slide off the bar stool, pausing when the man’s voice punches your gut once more.

“You should find someone more attentive to you.”

Racing away from the dwarf, you tug Laios away from your party’s table by his elbow. You’re glaring, you’re glaring so hard and so viciously that it genuinely startles him.

“Are you okay?” his neck cranes to gaze upon the dwarf, “You were talking to that guy, right? Did he freak you out?”

“So you knew I was with him?” you scoff, “Don’t you care at all?”

Laios shrugs, he didn’t see flirting -- he has no idea what you’re talking about, and he doesn’t want to seem like a nightmare boss, so… “Not really, I guess.”

“Are you serious?!”

“It’s not a crime for you to unwind at a bar. Besides, it isn’t like we belong to each other or something.”

You turn suddenly, back completely to him before charging out of the bar -- Laios chases, disliking how this conversation is slated to end. He slams into you at the edge of the street, and when he tries balancing you by the shoulders you knock his hands away.

“I thought- “ you circle back to stare at his face, “I thought we were… I was always on top of you, and we- I said- you said we should get married.”

Laios squirms with humiliation, then irritation, “Well, you said it weird. Marcille says that stuff to Falin all the time. Why didn’t you just ask to be together?”

“I did!”

“Did you?”

“All the time…”

Acceptance

Laios squirms with humiliation, then irritation, “Well, you said it weird. Marcille says that stuff to Falin all the time. Why didn’t you just ask to be together?”

“I did!”

“Did you?”

“All the time…”

“I never knew,” he blinks at you, and the most dreadful thing is you know he’s not bluffing. Laios is a terrible liar, you’ve prided yourself on plucking his fibs apart in the past, but this is not one of those times.

“You didn’t notice?” you’re lightheaded at his nonchalance, arms coiling around your waist as if to belt your insides right where they are, “You seriously didn’t notice?”

“No,” Laios’ pretty lips tear in a frown, “Should I have?”

He means it literally: are you terribly sad or can we start all over again?

You assume he’s being himself, oblivious and avoidant and so, so, so annoying.

“I’m…” you stumble back, face so hot you’re seconds away from blacking out with terror. Stretching out to steady you, Laios continues to play the kind leader, and it only makes your dinner lurch up your throat. Instinctually, you clasp a hand over your mouth, shaking your head and taking a step back toward the bustling dirt path, “I’m going home.”

“Are you sure? You don’t have to, we can- ”

You shush Laios, memories whacking you over the head every millisecond just to taunt how stupid you were. Indignity blinds you, eyes snapping shut, “I’m going home, Laios.”

Panicked, you stammer a goodbye before lugging yourself away. Laios watches you fade into silhouette, drowning under the clogging crowd by townsquare until not even your head is visible. His fists screw at his sides, knuckles burning white, his feet feel the phantom pummeling of a rush against the ground; urging him forward. That might scare you though, and you already seemed awfully upset, so Laios figures it better to let you sleep off tonight. The two of you can rekindle tomorrow.

Peeking over your shoulder, you spot no broad shoulders or sandy blonde hair looming over the rest of the townsfolk.

Call it melodramatic and frustrating, but you were hoping Laios would follow just to grab your hand and ask you to stay. Not that you should be surprised. More often than not recently, you’d felt a burden on the party. Perhaps Laios is content you’re removing yourself. Perhaps he’ll be relieved you’re no longer pestering him. Perhaps he’ll walk inside and out your feelings to the rest of the party for them to share a laugh over.

(you should know him better than that, but you’re not in your right mind: storming into your room, a teary-eyed mess, to throw your things into bags)

Laios feels a lithe hand dig nails into his arm, he squeals sharply at the sensation and rips back to see Marcille gaping up at him. She throws an arm out toward the dirt road, “What are you doing?!”

Falin gently pries the elf off from Laios before humming thoughtfully at her brother, “They seemed really distraught. What happened?”

“Where’d you two come from?” Laios twists toward the tavern door, “I didn’t hear you at all…”

Flustered at the questioning, Marcille scoffs and drags Laios inside toward their table, “This isn’t about us! Have you never read romance before?! That was terrible!”

“They were upset, they probably wanted space,” Laios reasons, slumping into his seat at the head of the table, “We’ll see them tomorrow, we’ll talk again.”

“What’d you do now?” Chilchuck lifts a bottle of wine to his lips and tosses it back in a way that makes Toshiro cringe.

Namari quirks a brow at the man, waiting until he’s finished gulping to ask, “I thought you hated personal relationships and work?”

“I do, but if he just got rid of our other cleric then we should probably know about it.”

“I didn’t get rid of them!” Laios folds his arms with a sigh, “We’ll sort everything out tomorrow when we’re well-rested.”

Toshiro debates even opening his mouth. Laios is a one-man paradox, somehow well-meaning and belligerent in one breath -- overbearing and entirely hands-off. Laios’ spot in Toshiro’s heart is a complicated one: at this very moment the spot is incredibly tender. Down to that part of a night out where Toshiro empathizes with how clueless the bumpkin is, and it's that part of his brain that chastises him. After all, if it were him and Falin, he would want someone to say something.

“They’re going home,” Toshiro mumbles.

“Huh?” Laios cocks his head at the input, “I know, buddy, she told me she was heading home.”

“No,” be nice, be nice, be nice, be nice, “Home off The Island. No returning to the dungeon.”

“How’d you get all that?” Marcille leans onto the table with both elbows, nervously brushing long flaxen locks behind her ears.

“When we first met, it was something we talked about,” Toshiro confesses, “If they couldn’t marry on The Island, they’d have to take the suitor arranged by their parents back home. This rejection must be the final one.”

With Falin around, he decides to bite back his next statement: I’m not sure why Laios caught their eye in the first place, though.

“Pretty ditzy of you, party leader,” Chilchuck’s jab echoes into the bottle already resettled against his lips.

Laios stands, unsure of why except for the fact he cannot take the news lightly. His heart is racing in protest, one word jamming another in his hurry to speak, until he finally stutters out, “So?”

So, what should I do?

So, why wouldn’t you mention that?

So, why did he let you walk home alone?

“So…” Falin jumps to respond first, settling a massassing hand on Marcille’s shoulder to subdue the fuming woman, “If you want to smooth things over, you should probably go.”

Laios charges from the tavern despite Namari’s scolding that tonight was supposed to be on his tab.

Quickly coming to terms with the fact you’re long gone, Laios heads straight for the inn he and Falin live above. Certain once on that road, the memory of which hostel you’re renting out of will flood back to him.

. . .

You’re jamming bags puffy to the clasp when overzealous knocks threaten to rattle your door from its hinges. The only reason you don’t flee via window to shake the banging madman is because you recognize his voice: Laios, calling your name.

You sigh, forfeiting, “Come in, Laios!”

Despite your own disinterest, you want nothing more than to indulge Laios. It seems that this is something you’ll let devour you.

Flinging the door open and shut behind him, Laios stares at you -- slack jawed and pupils eating away irises. He stares into your face.

“What is it, Lai- “

“We can actually get married!” he blurts, stunning you into utter bewilderment, “You don’t have to take a suitor, you can marry me for real! I don’t care much for inheriting the village, but we can tell your parents I do.”

“Laios…”

“I don’t have much to throw for a wedding, though, so it’ll have to be something quieter than you probably imagined.”

“Laios.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t marry you,” you turn away from his confused pinch, now sweeping a finger along the scratched edge of your nightstand, “You don’t get it.”

“So make me get it,” he says so casually, you almost believe it’s really that easy.

“I can’t marry you because I don’t care about your dad,” he’s struggling to hold in the confused puppy-head-tilt of questioning, you can sense it, “I stopped throwing myself at you for stupid titles a while ago. For a long time I did it genuinely. Because I wanted to.”

“Because you liked me.”

“Now he gets it,” you huff bitterly.

“I can hear you,” Laios steps bravely to be beside you, “Do you still like me?”

You laugh because that’s all you can think to do. The sun just asked a daisy if it enjoys photosynthesis. A rhino wonders if the oxpecker is well fed. A black cat curls around an orange one in a window sill. Weeds grow so tangled up they need to be ripped as a knot. Two moth-gnawed coats hanging in the back of a rich man’s closet. Stars scorching at one another, colliding lightyears ahead. Squiggly stick figures holding hands in a defaced oil painting. Two eagles clawing at one another as they plummet from the sky.

“I don’t know if there’s a plane where I don’t.”

His morbid fascination and tactless enjoyment of life have you in a chokehold, one so fatally unshakable you’re certain he’ll someday kill you. Eventually, he’ll say something so thoughtlessly true to himself, with so much excitement it oozes from his pores, that you’ll have a heart attack then and there.

“So, why not stay?”

One day, he’ll lead you so deep into the dungeon that you cannot escape.

“You know what you’re implying, right?” your voice catches behind chattering teeth, a nervous whisper all you can manage, “I couldn’t, not if you’re just saying this out of guilt.”

“I know what I’m saying, I want you to stay so we can be together,” his face flushes, “I know how selfish it is, but I don’t want you to go home and marry someone else for your family. I want us to marry each other because I like you.”

His abrupt and daring confession has you petrified. Only your jaw is capable of movement, and the most it can do is dumbly drop before you gargle out a stunted, “Okay.”

“Okay!” he excitedly flails out both arms before crushing you against his cuirass, intensely aggressive and deeply endearing at once, “Do I have to meet your parents now?”

“Yes, that’s kind of the reason they let me stay here, you know? To see who I’d find on The Island instead of home.”

“I hate meeting adults… they’re so… weird.”

You choose not to point out that he, as well as everyone he associates with, is an adult.

“Just be yourself,” a sudden, maybe minorly manipulative, plan roars behind your eyes, “You’ll impress them so much, they’ll leave me alone forever!”

Hope

“And since they’re slimes, if you poke their eyes they stay perfectly calm! Which is another good way to tell them from the human they’re mimicking,” your dad made the mistake of asking Laios what he studied, misinterpreting your use of ‘fascinated by nature’ to mean ‘biology scholar’. Laios immediately began ranting and neither of your parents had reawakened from their shock yet, “Succubi can also duplicate people, but that’s usually when taking the most desired form their target has. Which is mainly sex appeal, so for me it’d probably be, well you know!” he affectionately squeezes your hand in view of your parents. You watch a little more of your dad’s soul crumble within his eyes, “The strangest is probably mirror monsters though, since they reflect what they see. They rely on flattery and illusions to swap with humans. I’d love to meet one so I could see their lure techniques in real time.”

“Wow, honey,” you grin, peeking at your parents across the table, “Can you circle back to how the shapeshifters make their copies? I just can’t wrap my head around why they’d use memories instead of the real things!”

“Oh, so it’s actually pretty simple!” Laios devolves into another ramble, eyes alight with excitement.

You’re just as glad to be feeding his need to talk about monsters as you are to be terrifying your parents.

“And you have a village in the North?” your father finally coughs out, holding a hand up to silence Laios.

“It’s my father’s,” Laios glances at you through his peripherals, visibly unsure how to carry out the conversation. To his credit, he’d pestered you about what exactly you wanted him to say about his father, and you only brushed it off as something you’d take care of.

“You’re the eldest, right?” your mom chews her thumbnail nervously, “A son at that!”

“Yes, yes, he’s a firstborn son,” Dad looks to you, “It was in the letter!”

“I am,” Laios’ foot taps beneath the table. Again glancing at you for further prompting.

“We’re not moving from The Island anytime soon,” you return Laios’ previous hand-squeeze, hoping to ease his nerves. You sit up straight, “We want to keep exploring the dungeon.”

“Yes, but after that?” Dad’s eyes are wet with concern and dread, “You’ll have to settle down eventually.”

“We’ll be fine, Dad. I’m fine living like this, I’ve had lots of fun -- I want to keep having fun. I’m excited to marry Laios, and he’s excited to marry me,” to add to your point, Laios nods enthusiastically, “I’m happy marrying for love, and I don’t care what it implies about me as your child.”

Meeting Laios was like striking gold. He’s different from anybody you grew up with, and you’re content to be with him as you continue to grow old.

“If you’re sure,” Mom lays a hand on your father’s back, as if to wrangle a dog before it bites, “Just visit more often, okay?” she catches how Laios perks up at the mention of more traveling, “And bring Laios, too. He’s very… interesting…”

You know. That’s why you courted (suffered) him for actual years.

[darkbluekies]

Can we have more Jerry content please?

"Familiar, like my mirror years ago"

Yandere!female!mafia x reader

Summary: darling getting shot reminds Jerry of memories she can't help but repress, and is now forced to face

Warnings: gore? Blood, lots of it, pain, trauma? In other words, a dark oneshot

Word count: 4.5k

She can’t believe it. The sight is enough to make her sick. Her darling, her only light in this miserable life, lying unreachable in a hospital bed with countless machines connected. How could she ever have let that happened? She’s been sitting by your bed for hours, holding your hand tightly and not looking away. She hasn’t felt a pain like this for a long time, not since her family died. Jerry tries her best to think of something else, but it keeps coming back. 

“Mom and dad are out, I’m supposed to make dinner for us.”

Yuna looks up from her homework and grimaces. She’s still wearing her school uniform. “Then we won’t eat”, she mumbles sulkily. 

“Hey, watch it.”

Yuna laughs. Jerry’s long hair is tied into a loose ponytail. She sits down on the floor beside her younger sister, watching over her while drinking from a juice pouch. Yuna’s much smarter than her, both in school and life, and that’s good enough for Jerry. She doesn’t have to be smart if Yuna is. 

Yuna lifts her head up from her math book. She looks over her shoulder at Jerry. 

“Sister, there’s a boy in my class”, she says, “and I think that he likes me. He asked me to go to the amusement park on friday.”

“Who’s this rat?” Jerry scoffs. 

“He’s the class president.”

“Oh, your academic rival.” Jerry takes a new sip of her juice. “Is he smarter than you?”

“No.”

Jerry smiles and ruffles Yuna’s hair. “I know that’s right. My little sister is the smartest in school.”

Yuna squirms embarrassedly, but her smile exposed her. 

“Before you go out with him I want to meet this little boy of yours”, Jerry says as she bites the straw. “I need to accept him.”

“He’s nice, I promise.”

“I’ll believe that once I see it.”

“Please don’t embarrass me.”

“Embarrass you? Do you think I’m a child?” She thinks for a second. “Don’t answer that.”

Yuna chuckles. 

“What about you, sister?” she asks. “Don’t you have someone that you like?”

Jerry leans her head against the wall. 

“No”, she replies and smiles. “I don’t need one. Well, are you hungry? Should we get some food?”

“What are you going to make?”

“I’m not going to cook, we’ll go out and buy something. If mom and dad doesn’t know we’re eating junk food, they can’t get mad. I’m feeling like tteokbokki or convenience store food, what about you?”

“Street food sounds nice.”

“Good, let’s go.”

Jerry stands up and goes to grab her jacket. Yuna follows. They walk out of the apartment, out onto the lit up street. The stars in the night sky twinkle beautifully. They walk side by side. Yuna’s shorter than Jerry, for now, but she’ll be taller in a year, she’s sure of that. Yuna’s only sixteen. Jerry’s eighteen. Jerry was Yuna’s age when she started doing things she shouldn’t. It had started small with skipping class, then smoking, then tealing lip glosses from the mall. And then it escalated to robbing and assaults. Jerry wondered where she would be if she hadn’t befriended the wrong people. She had never been good in school, not like Yuna, but had been good at PE. But that doesn’t matter. She has a new chance with Yuna now, to make sure that she does everything Jerry didn’t and make sure Yuna doesn’t do the things Jerry did. 

“Look what my friends got me for my birthday”, Yuna says and shows a ‘Kuromi’ plush charm hanging on her bag.

“That’s cute”, Jerry agrees. 

Yuna’s friends are the type of friends a teenage girl should have. They gossip, go out for fun, have sleepovers, late night talks. But Jerry knows that Yuna’s friends are scared of her. Ever since Jerry got kicked out of school, people have been suspecting her of things she has done. But no one has evidence. Yuna knows about the theft and the assaults, but not of the others. Jerry has made sure that no one knows that she has joined a gang. If Yuna knew, she could get hurt. That can’t happen. Yuna does everything right in life, she isn’t supposed to be involved in these things. The gang doesn’t know about Yuna either. That’s for the best. 

Seoul’s streets are empty, apart from a few people walking their dogs or out on walks. They walk to a nearby food market and buy one thing from every food stand before walking to the nearest river and have a picnic. 

“We should have gotten water”, Yuna says. 

“Go put your head into the river”, Jerry chuckles. 

“I washed my hair this morning.”

“Then thirst to death.”

“Can’t you go buy water? Please?”

Jerry sighs and stands up. 

“Fine”, she groans. “Wait here. Don’t eat everything when I’m back.”

Yuna laughs. Jerry grabs her phone and leaves. She walks to the nearest convenience store and gets two bottles of water and two ice creams. The lady behind the counter smiles at her and wishes her a good night. Jerry wishes her back. 

A cold wind brushes past her as she walks back out into the night air. For a moment, it feels like someone is watching her. Jerry looks around, but there’s no one to be seen. She frowns and hurries back to the river. Yuna has eaten all of the sausages. 

“I told you not to eat all of it!” Jerry says. “If you wanted more you should have bought them yourself. And here I got you ice cream, you ungrateful brat.”

“No, please give it to me!” Yuna laughs and reaches for the ice cream. “I'm sorry, sister, please! You can take all the remaining fish cakes, please!”

Jerry pretends to think for a moment.

“Okay”, she says nonchalantly. “I guess that works. Greedy bitch.”

She gives Yuna the ice cream. Yuna laughs and Jerry can't help but smile.

“Do you think life is pre-planned for you?” Yuna asks after a while. “As in, your fate is already decided, it doesn't matter what path you'll take, you'll eventually end up where you should be?’

“I don't know”, Jerry replies and licks her ice cream. “Wouldn't that be kind of sad, though?”

“Why?”

“If your life is already decided for you. You can't change it. What if you don't like the decided fate?”

“But what if the decided fate is the most perfect for you?”

“What would mine be, then?”

Yuna studies her. “I don't know, but I know that it isn't robbing people. I think you'd be a good psychologist.”

Jerry lifts her eyebrows. “Me? Why?”

“You're good at noticing emotions, and feeling them. You know when I'm upset without me even saying anything.”

“That's because I know you … and you're like an open book, wearing your heart on your sleeve.”

“Maybe, but you know how to make me feel better.”

“I don't think I'd be a good psychologist, unfortunately. I'd be a good mechanic, though. I'd be like a doctor but for machines. What about you? What do you think your decided fate is?”

Yuna sighs and looks out over the river. “I don't know”, she says in defeat. “I wish I knew. I want to get good on the CSAT when i have to do that, get into a good university and get a good job … but i don't know what I want to do.”

“You're sixteen, Yuna, you have time to figure it out.”

“You too. You're eighteen. You can choose something better.”

Yuna’s eyes turn to her, full of sorrow. Jerry’s heart aches. She puts her arm around Yuna’s shoulders and leans her head against hers.

“I'll figure it out”, she sighs. “Don't worry about me.”

“But I do. All the time. I love you.”

“I love you too, but you don't have to. I will figure it out. I will.”

Jerry sobs. Her body is breaking into pieces, can feel the flesh rip itself apart.

Please wake up, Y/N. Please. I can't do this.

She should have done more to protect you. She should have learned from her mistakes. She opens her left hand. A small Kuromi plush charm rests in the palm of her hand. The other hand holds onto yours tightly. The little plush stares at her with cute aggression. She wants to bury her sharp nails into its face, claw away the mocking expression. 

You couldn't leave me without a little bully, could you? When you're not here to tease me, this is.

Jerry looks up at your face and feels her body goes cold once again. You look so small, so breakable. She's afraid of squeezing your hand too tightly, worried that she'll snap it in half.

“This is my older sister Yubin.”

Jerry scans the boy up and down. He dresses well, has his hair neatly prince and styled and bows deeply. A real dream for a mother in law.

“Nice to meet you”, he says. 

Yuna pulls Jerry to the side.

“Please, can I go with him?” she whispers.

Jerry glances towards him. He twiddles with his fingers

“Okay”, Jerry gives in. “I’ll come get you at eight.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to make sure you get home safely.”

She watches her sister leave the apartment with her arms crossed over her chest.

“He seemed like a nice boy”, her mom says behind her. 

“Yeah, let’s hope that, for his sake”, Jerry mutters and walks into her room, closing the door behind her. 

She keeps herself occupied by watching a cheesy drama in bed while eating snacks. Every now and then she glances at the clock on her phone, waiting for it to be the right time.

After four episodes—and not a single kiss yet—it's finally time for her to get moving. Jerry gets out of bed and grabs her jacket. She gives her mom and dad a quick ‘goodbye’ before exiting the apartment. The evening air is crisp, the music blasting in her earpods. Her ears are always surprised by the sound, either heavy rap with skillful execution or upbeat bubblegum pop. 

She walks through lit up streets full of students taking advantage of the fact that there is no school tomorrow. Fridays being out the wildest in even the calmest of teenagers. Jerry should know.

Suddenly, the feeling of being watched enters her body again. She doesn’t stop to look around, doesn’t want to give any potential stalkers the knowledge that she’s aware. Jerry shakes it off, she always feels watched. She’s paranoid. 

She sees Yuna and the boy stand outside the gates of the amusement park. Jerry walks up to them, hands in her pockets. Yuna smiles and waves goodbye to the boy.

“I had so much fun!” she tells her as they walk.

“I can tell”, Jerry says, trying to sound unbothered but the way her lip curls upwards exposes her. “So, how much money did you waste?”

“None, actually. He paid for everything.”

Jerry raises her eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh?” She can't hide her surprise. “He did?” But quickly composes herself. “As he should.”

“I feel bad though, he spent so much money trying to win me a stuffed animal at those machines, you know? The ones with a claw? But I think they're rigged.”

“Of course they are.”

Yuna yawns and leans against her older sister. Jerry chuckles and wraps her arm around her shoulders.

“What?” she questions. “Are you tired now?”

“Yes”, she replies. “Can you carry me?”

“Fuck no, you can walk by yourself.”

“Please?”

Yuna clings onto her and stops walking. Jerry groans and lifts her up on her back, piggyback carrying her. Yuna hugs her neck.

“I think I like that boy”, she mumbles with a smile.

“If he ever hurts you I'm breaking his neck, you know that, right?” Jerry says. “No one hurts my sister.”

Yuna hugged her neck tighter. “No one gets to hurt my sister either.”

Her heart breaks. Jerry has moved away from the bed and sat down beside the window, looking out over the city. The sky is dark, lights twinkling everywhere, like stars.

There's a knock on the door. Jerry looks over, eyes swollen from all crying. Her boss walks in with a bodyguard behind him. In his hands is a colorful flower bouquet, surrounded by soft, pinkish gift paper. He glances at you before turning his eyes to Jerry.

“I came as soon as I heard”, he says and places the flowers on the chair by the bed. “How are they?”

“I don't know”, Jerry says quietly, voice not reaching more than a broken whisper. "Nobody knows.”

Her boss takes a deep breath. He's much more careful than Jerry has ever seen him. 

“If there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to let me know, ‘kay?” he says.

“Kill that coward”, she says coldly. “No, don't. Save him for me.”

“I will.”

Jerry makes the mistake of turning her eyes towards you. Your poor soul. Her boss walks over to her and, to her surprise, puts his arms around her. He has never hugged her. In the four years she's known him, he has never hugged her. She has to control herself to not break out into childish sobs again.

“I really love them”, slips out of her before she can stop herself. “Oh, fuck, what do i do?”

“You don't do anything”, her boss says. “You'll stay here and watch over them and I'll do the rest.”

He leaves shortly after, wanting Jerry to have time to herself. She can't cry in front of him, and crying is exactly what she needs.

She walks to the bed and picks up the flowers. There's a little card attached to the gift paper. Jerry opens it.

“Get well soon, Y/N, the entire organization is sending its wishes for you to heal quickly and come back to Jerry — M.”

Jerry smiles slightly. She places the bouquet in her water bottle.

A small noise is heard from the bed and she turns to see you slowly, but surely, open your eyes. Jerry feels her heart stop. She throws herself forward, getting closer to the bed.

“Y/N, babe, I'm here”, she breathes out. “Babe.”

Your eyes seem to not be able to register anything in the bright light, but as they move to see where the sound is coming from, they pupils seem to grow. They fill with tears. Jerry turns your cheek with a trembling hand and wipes it.

“It's okay, baby”, she whispers. “It's okay.”

“Jerry …”, you croak out.

She nods. Tears filled her eyes. She squeezes your hand tighter.

“My pretty baby”, she sniffles and wipes your tears. 

“It feels weird.”

“You have machines connected to you, that's why it feels weird. But they're there to help you.”

“How am I alive?”

“I don't know … it's a miracle.”

She must have someone on her side, a guardian angel … or someone that has seen it all before and couldn’t let it happen again. Jerry looks down at the little Kuromi plush in her hand, heart sinking. 

“I never thought that i would be shot”, you admit. 

“It’s my fault”, Jerry says. “I should never have let it happen. I’m an idiot … but fuck, am I happy you are alive. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t woken up.”

You look around the room, eyes stopping at the flowers. 

“Did you get those?” you ask. 

“No, my boss did”, she replies and takes out the card. “He even wrote a little message for you.”

She reads it out loud to you and breathes out in relief at your small smile. 

“I must be the first person to get that kind of message”, you joke weakly. 

“You are”, Jerry says and takes a risk at a joke. “I hope that you’re grateful, because you won’t get another one unless you die.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

Jerry smiles and caresses your cheek. “That’s my baby. You’re not dying for a long while, and I’m going to make sure of it.”

You notice the plush in her other hand. 

“What’s that?” you ask. 

Your weak hand reaches for hers, trying to get a better look at the Kuromi figurine. Jerry feels her heart stop, her body turn to ice. You knew that she had a sister before and that something happened, but not what happened, or where she is now. Too stunned to react, you’re able to take the little plush out of her hands. You hold it carefully, turning it around to get a good look at it. 

“It fits you”, you say quietly, smiling slightly.

“It wasn’t mine from the start”, slips out of her, breathlessly and unfamiliar to her. “It’s not actually mine.”

“Did you steal it from someone?” 

If only.

“No”, she says slowly. “I didn’t. It was my sister’s.”

You pull your eyes away from the charm and look at her. She has gone pale by now and stares empty in front of her. The stare reminds you of soldiers who’s seen too much and you apologize for bringing it up. 

“You don’t have to apologize”, Jerry mumbles and takes the little plush carefully. “I guess that you should know the story. If anyone should know, it should be you.”

“What was her name?”

Jerry smiles sadly. “Yuna.”

“Yuna.”

Hearing you say it breaks her heart all over again, makes it bleed into her throat. She wishes that you could have met her, and that Yuna got to met you. 

See? Jerry would have teased her. You didn’t think I would get a good partner, what do you say now? 

“You would have loved her”, Jerry says quietly, still wearing the painful smile. “And she would have loved you—adored you. She loved everything and everyone. A soul too good for this world. She never broke any rules, never did anything stupid … and when she did one time, I scolded her so bad that she never did it again.”

Jerry can see the hesitation in your eyes before you ask the question. 

“What happened to her?”

Jerry’s head pounds in pain. Blood runs down her chin, from the corner of her mouth. She wipes it with her sleeve. She really should stop getting into fights, it never ends well. Even if she wins them, she’s left with aching limbs for days to come. But the pride from a win makes her do it again, and again, and again. She usually gangs up with a few people from her gang, and go at it until they can’t anymore. But today was different, she thinks as she makes her way home, through empty streets. They smiled too much today, provoked her more than usual. When she was ready to leave, they pulled her back in with their taunting words, knowing exactly where to press to rile her up again. As if they didn’t want her to leave. It was weird, different than usual. 

Jerry drags her feet over the pavement. She will have to take a shower to remove the blood—whether it’s hers or not doesn’t matter. 

The door to the apartment complex isn’t fully closed. A small drop of blood sits on the ground. Is she bloody enough to drip? She opens the door and walks into the building, pulling herself up the stairs to the apartment. This door isn’t closed either. Jerry frowns and opens the door, walking into the hallway. She can tell, right away, that something is different. There’s a new smell in the air, one she is oddly familiar with. 

The smell of blood. 

Her heart stops, nerves crackling with panic before she runs forward, into the livingroom. 

“Mom?” she shouts. “Dad? Yuna?”

Blood covers the floor, the walls and furniture. Jerry spins around, desperately trying to find where it leads. It seems to have been smudged in all directions. She opens the door to the bathroom. Empty. Her parents room. Empty. Kitchen is empty. Her hand hovers shakingly over Yuna’s bedroom door. Please don’t, Jerry thinks as sweat runs down her back, please, please. She opens the door. The room is covered in blood. Her parents are lying across the room, blood smudges across the floor exposing that they’ve been dragged here. Their throats are slit. Jerry stumbles backwards, hand reaching for something—anything—to grab onto. Her heart seems to be everywhere in her body, beating irregularly. An ice cold, burning nausea covers her fully, like water. 

“Mom—”, she chokes out, sinking down on the floor. She can’t form a sentence, let alone an understandable one. “Dad … oh, my God. Oh, my God, oh shit.”

Her vision is blurred by tears.

A thought enters her head, and suddenly she’s on high alert again. 

Yuna … where’s Yuna?

On shaking legs, she clumsily pulls herself up and stumbles out into the corridor again. All other rooms are empty, where is Yuna? Where the fuck is Yuna?

There’s only one room left. Jerry’s. She drags herself over to her closed door, feeling like she’s going to vomit any second. After a long while of waiting, she finally opens the door, revealing her own room. Jerry screams. 

Yuna is lying in Jerry’s bed. Her school uniform is covered in blood, her black hair spread out over her face. One arm lies over her stomach, the other hanging over the side of the bed. Jerry has to grab onto her desk. Suddenly she doesn’t feel like she’s there. She can’t feel her legs hold her up.

Without noticing it, her body has moved her forward. She’s standing by her bed. Theres a folded note on Yuna’s chest. Jerry’s hands tremble as she opens it. 

“See this as a warning, bitch, next time it will be you.”

She throws the note across the room. Her heart hammers in her chest, but this time in anger. Those disgusting creatures. She can’t find words to describe them. They’re subhuman, but not even that is enough. 

She tears down everything on her desk, including her laptop and lamp amd when there’s nothing left for her to destroy, she hits herself, clawing and pulling at anything she can get her hands on. As long as it hurts. It’s her fault. She put her family in danger. Her choices led to this. She killed them. 

When her body loses power, she sinks down on the floor, shaking and crying. Jerry covers her face in her hands to avoid looking at her little sisters lifeless body. She can’t remember the last time she cried like this. It exits her body in a whine-like howl, her pain needing to come out. 

But even those end. All feelings end at some point, leaving her in a numb, broken shell. She looks towards her bed. The arm that’s hanging of the side of the bed seems to hold something. Jerry crawls over and opens Yuna’s hand slightly. Her skin is still somewhat warm under her touch. In her hand lies the Kuromi charm plush, still somewhat clean. Jerry takes it out of Yuna’s hand and holds it in hers. She hugs it, breaking out into new sobs. 

Realizing that she can’t stay here—the ones that have done this will most likely return, or the cops will arrest her for the deed—Jerry stands up. She grabs one of her black backpacks and throws in whatever she thinks that she can need before leaving the apartment for the last time. 

Your eyes are filled with tears, and so are hers. You reach forward to wipe hers and she squeezes her eyes shut. She can’t look at you. 

“I’m so sorry”, you say. 

“I can’t lose you too”, she hisses. “I fucking can’t lose you too.”

She can feel you hug her and she’s quick to remove your arms. 

“You shouldn’t move”, she says with a panicked voice. “You’re hurt. Just let the medicine and what fuck-not do it’s work, please. Just do as I say.”

You lay down again. Jerry sighs out heavily and wipes her tears harshly. 

“That’s why I joined this organization”, she says angrily. “I realized how vulnerable I was by myself. I needed people that could protect me and have my back … and I’m so fucking sorry I pulled you into it, too. I should have learned my lesson with my family, but I didn’t. I was so fucking selfish doing it again, just because I fell in love. And i could have lost you too. Ic ould have repeated my fucking mistake.”

“But you didn’t”, you say. “I’m here.”

Jerry sighs and holds out the little plush. 

“I, somehow, feel like she did this”, she says flatly. “As if she couldn’t watch me go through it again, so she saved you. Yuna died holding this charm. Somehow thinking that it would protect her … or she just didn’t want to die alone.”

Jerry has never said these thoughts out loud before. And when she does it, she doesn’t dare to look at you, scared to see a judging look in your eyes. But you don’t, you look at her with such empathy, such sadness for her. 

“I can’t bring myself to get rid of it”, she says and sighs. “Because this was so important to Yuna. I don’t know why.”

“Did you ever get the ones that did it?” you ask carefully. 

“No … never. But I will find them one day, and I will make them pay. And the one that did this to you is going to get what he deserve too. I will never let anything hurt you again. I will do whatever it takes, but so help me, if anything ever happens to you again.”

“I think that if she saw you now, she would be proud of you”, you say. “Maybe not for what you do, but for how loving you are.”

Jerry scoffs, but you see that your words hit her hard. 

“You are”, you insist. “Not everyone sees it, but you are. Even if you don’t believe it yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” she scoffs. “How ‘loving’ can I be after everything I’ve done to you?”

You swallow, thinking of everything Jerry has put you through but shake it off. Not the right timing. 

“You sat here with me all this time”, you say. “You’ve cried for me. Worried for me.”

“Well, yeah, I’m not a monster.”

“You aren’t. You are human. And that’s why it wasn’t your fault, for anything that happened. You didn’t do anything.”

Jerry sniffles and looks down at the plush, and then at you. 

“Thank you, Y/N”, she says, giving you a small, sad smile. “Thank you.”

After you’ve fallen asleep that night, she places the little Kuromi plush on the pillow, by your head and smiles sadly. She falls asleep with her head on the free space on the bed beside your legs, eternally grateful that you came back to her, and with a new peace in her body. As if a heavy weight has lifted off her shoulders.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

What is Mage Viktor doing?

So it turns out I do have a take on what's going on with Mage Viktor, why he's messing with timelines in the way he is, and what he hoped to achieve by bringing Jayce to the torment nexus dimension and then sending him back to his own timeline armed with facial hair, trauma, and the ruthless determination to somehow stop his own Viktor.

Of course this is just my own reading; there are many ways you can interpret the reveals of the final episode. But it's become my preferred reading because it makes Mage Viktor come off as absolutely BATSHIT. The apotheosis of all Viktor's best and worst qualities. As he would be.

First we gotta lay out some fundamental principles about how I understand Viktor that will inform this reading.

Viktor was never being controlled by the Hexcore. This deserves its own whole meta, but tl;dr, I think it is directly antithetical to the core themes of the show to think that Viktor wasn't making his own decisions all through s2.

Over and over again in Arcane, we see characters become "monsters" and do monstrous things, and every time the thematic point is that this is still the person you love. When Vi says that her sister is dead because she is Jinx now and when Jayce says "my partner died in this room" THEY ARE BOTH WRONG. The person they love is different now but they're still in there and they can still be reached.

Viktor is transformed by something terrible happening to him (like many characters in the show!) but all his decisions are still his own and to me they seem like perfectly consistent--if extreme--extensions of what we know about him as a character before he gets a Hexcore heart.

So my analysis starts with the premise that Mage Viktor is not trying to free his past self from an outside influence. He's trying to hack his own character traits to make a different version of himself do what he wants.

Viktor is BOTH genuinely altruistic and compassionate AND deeply arrogant. This is such a banger combination and I think turning down the dial on either trait makes Viktor less interesting. I think Mage Viktor has genuine remorse about what he did in his timeline and he is, fundamentally, trying to find a way he could have stopped himself from killing everyone (within certain constraints; we'll get to that). When Jayce is able to show main timeline Herald Viktor his memories of what Viktor is about to do to their world, the first thing Viktor sees is not dead Jayce, or himself left alone in an empty world. It's all the ordinary people who are going to die terrified because of him.

I do not think any version of Viktor wanted this result. But Viktor is so convinced he is always right that his arrogance carries him right past the point of no return before he realizes oh actually I haven't freed everybody I have killed them.

So I do think Mage Viktor is trying to find a timeline where this doesn't happen, but he is not timeline-hopping in order to preemptively stop other versions of himself from making the same mistake. If he wanted to do that, he would just leave all the many many timelines where Jayce dies in a blizzard as a child alone. No Jayce who grows up obsessed with magic, goes around Academy rules to get the hex crystals, invents Hextech and gives Viktor the power to fuck everything up. Easy peasy.

But no. Instead, Viktor is actively going into other timelines and changing them at the point where Jayce would have died.

He is doing things that appear to make the sequence of events that leads to his world-ending magic blast WAY MORE LIKELY. And that's because...

Viktor is obsessively selfish when it comes to Jayce.

Mage Viktor wants to find a timeline where he doesn't doom the world but not at the expense of meeting Jayce and spending years doing science with him.

If the goal was only to prevent Jayce from dying in the blizzard, he could have done it quietly, waiting for Jayce to collapse in the snow and then transporting him to the base of the mountain, leaving before Jayce had any idea who saved him. Instead he makes SUCH A DRAMATIC PRODUCTION of it that Jayce remembers and can repeat the steps of the action years later, well enough that he actually produces a working spell from a barely-tested Hextech prototype. Mage Viktor wants that shit burned into baby Jayce's brain. He wants to make sure he fundamentally alters the arc of Jayce's life, bending it into a trajectory that collides with his own.

Viktor also (as far as we see) doesn't go the route of going back in time and killing his younger self, or steering the course of his own life along a path where he never meets Jayce. He doesn't even go for a timeline where he and Jayce meet each other but they don't invent Hextech. Now maybe it's the case that some time before our Jayce arrives in his timeline, Mage Viktor tried all that, and has figured out that none of those options work. (Maybe in some of those timelines Jayce is the one who goes Machine Herald, and there's no partner there to talk him off the ledge of ending the world.) But I think it's also possible that, now that he's gotten the experience in one timeline of spending years with Jayce making once-in-a-generation scientific breakthroughs together (which I truly believe is just as important a part of their relationship to Viktor as any romantic or sexual element might be)...he can't bear to deny any version of himself the chance of having that--even if the price is the rest of the world. Because a world where Jayce isn't his partner isn't a world worth saving.

So what I think Mage Viktor is doing is sitting there with his stubborn engineer brain and the husk of his dead soulmate, fiddling with the timelines like a Rubik's cube, going Not meeting Jayce CANNOT be the only option. There MUST be a timeline where Jayce and I meet each other and entangle our lives in an alarmingly codependent way AND we dodge the apocalypse at the last minute, I don't end up killing him, and we do not doom the world together. And I'm going to fucking find it.

So he's been hitting timeline after timeline, trying to find the combination of factors where everything works. He is not trying to preemptively save every timeline from himself, he is trying to prove to himself that meeting the love of his life doesn't doom the entire fucking world. It's devotion that is SO PROFOUNDLY SELFISH that he is willing to doom timeline after timeline, but driven by someone with enough compassion and pride that he doesn't want the guilt and shame of knowing he can only have this one life-changing thing if he ruins everything else for everyone, and enough arrogance to still look at this as a problem he must be smart enough to solve.

At some point in this process, I think he also figures out that Jayce is the only person who has any chance of reasoning with any version of himself. I think it's worth paying attention to the exact wording of his "in all timelines, in all possibilities" speech, because it's not just a love confession (although it is that).

"I thought I could bring an end to the world's suffering. But when every equation was solved, all that remained were fields of dreamless solitude. There is no prize to perfection. Only an end to pursuit. In all timelines, in all possibilities, only you can show me this."

And while this is some hella romantic cosmic soulmate level shit, it is also Viktor saying I need you, because you are the only person I have ever trusted enough to save me from myself.

It's the Hexcore promise all over again. Viktor knew he couldn't destroy his own creation. I read this not as Viktor being physically unable to destroy it because the Hexcore had some power over him, but not having the will to destroy it. Because this huge leap in Hextech technology was his big breakthrough and not (as I think he saw it) him supporting Jayce's dream. He knew he couldn't do it. So he asked Jayce to do it for him. Please, save me from my own pride, my desire to leave a legacy. I can't do it on my own.

It's a huge extension of trust, for Viktor to admit such a need. And now he's doing it again when the stakes are MUCH MUCH higher. I need you, because you are the only person who can show me the horror of what I am about to do and have me believe it.

Of course, the deep irony is that really the only person Viktor trusts to tell him he is wrong is HIMSELF FROM THE FUTURE. Astral plane Machine Herald Viktor is standing right behind Jayce, watching Jayce's memory of Mage Viktor telling him what the consequences of his actions will be, and that is the moment the horror sinks in and cracks him fully out of his machine shell.

But of course Jayce is the only person he would ever trust enough to carry such a message (from himself!!) to somewhere close enough to reach him.

It's not clear exactly how much of a detailed plan Mage Viktor has when he sends Jayce back to the main timeline, or how much of that plan he shares with Jayce. But I think he has figured out some broad strokes which affect how Jayce behaves.

(1) Jayce has to immediately go and kill commune Viktor. Squishing Salo is maybe a bonus side quest, but Jayce doesn't even take time to fucking shower before he heads for the commune. (I would love to see the part of the conversation where Mage Viktor is like yeah you know that pit you just climbed out of? Yeah the first thing you gotta do is go right back in there, all the way to the bottom, and find me looking like ethereal cyborg Jesus and blast a fucking hole through my chest.) Maybe this is because if Jayce waits around at all, commune Viktor finds a way to get to him and he folds and joins the cult. Maybe this is because there are just fewer variables involved in forcing Viktor to speedrun his own villain arc by Jayce repeatedly turning him down in one "perfect" form after another. Maybe Mage Viktor knows himself well enough to realize "yeah if you say no to me even ONE TIME but ESPECIALLY when you are HOT and SUFFERING I will go fucking apeshit and we can use that to our advantage."

(2) I think Mage Viktor has realized that he can only be stopped at the very very VERY last minute. He has to be able to see the direct line between what he is about to do right now and the arcane-blasted hell world he's about to create. Otherwise his ego will get in the way and tell him he is smart enough to figure out a way to somehow not kill everybody. Yeah Mage Viktor fucked that one up obviously, but I, main timeline Viktor, will be smart enough and well-intentioned enough when the time comes to simply not do that. I think this is why, for example, Jayce doesn't go to the commune trying to get Viktor to see the error of his ways. It won't work until it is allllmost too late.

Main timeline Viktor stops literally seconds before the point of no return. The arcane corruption spikes that we see everywhere in Mage Viktor's world are already starting to appear.

I think Mage Viktor knows that Jayce has to let him get right up to the edge, close enough to be looking over into the abyss, before he'll be able to pull him back.

But he knows Jayce can do that. That's what they do for each other, right?

This is why I think it was always the plan for Jayce to fight him all the way to the top of the Hexgate, and then surrender. Jayce has to survive until the end of the fight, and maybe for magical physics reasons he has to wait until Viktor sends the anomaly into the sky above the Hexgate. But once they get to the top of the Hexgate tower he stops trying to fight Viktor altogether. Maybe Mage Viktor told him exactly when it had to happen or maybe he just realizes this is the exact same place where he died in Mage Viktor's world; this is his last chance. But in any case, Jayce lands on the top of the Hexgate on his knees and he doesn't try to get up.

He waits, and when he senses Viktor behind him he doesn't try to fight or run away.

I think he knows, either because Mage Viktor told him or through his own intuition, that he has to let Viktor pull him into the astral plane if he wants a chance at reaching him.

How exactly he was going to get through to him and/or get close enough to share the memories before Viktor assimilated him...ehhhh I don't know if either of them had that figured out. The "you were never broken" part of Jayce's speech, while important from a character perspective...very crucially DOES NOT WORK. IT DOES NOT WORK AT ALL. Viktor is assimilating Jayce the whole time. You can see Jayce's astral body changing from the unique version that's still him (like his hands on the left, when he first enters the astral plane--which still look more or less human even though Viktor has already erased "imperfections" like the scrapes and cuts from his time in the pit and the arcane corruption that's spreading up and down his arm from where the rune is embedded) into a featureless gold blob like the other assimilated people.

You can watch the gold light creeping up his body steadily during those lines until it reaches his eyes.

The ONLY thing that stops this timeline from ending the same way Mage Viktor's does...is EKKO.

I think you can make the case that Mage Viktor sent Ekko to the no-Hextech timeline intentionally. But it is such a complex chain of causality for Ekko to get to the point where he's chucking a time machine at Herald Viktor's face that there is no way anyone--even a remorseful demigod with lots of time on his hands--could control every possible factor.

However elaborate Mage Viktor's plan was, and however determined Jayce was to keep his promise to him, it all would have failed if not for factors outside their control and random fucking chance.

Arcane is FULL of near-misses and what-could-have-beens and characters who are trying their best to do something getting knocked off course by consequences they never could have foreseen. Season 2 in particular introduces a persistent thread of chaos and the sense that even events that have understandable root causes are now spiraling out of characters' control. So it feels fitting that such a moment factors into the show's ending.

This is Jayce right before Ekko blasts through spacetime right above Viktor's head.

Yeah that guy was cooked.

The only thing that stops Jayce from being assimilated is Ekko breaking time to throw the Z drive at Viktor's face.

Which startles Viktor enough that he takes his hand off Jayce's head in the physical realm, and also breaks a piece of his machine mask off in the astral realm.

As he always does when one of his "perfect" bodies gets damaged, Viktor withdraws and tried to hide, enough that he lets go of the assimilation connection with Jayce.

Jayce starts to regain his own identity/autonomy.

And he gets a do-over. Exactly the same way Ekko used the Z drive to get a do-over with Jinx when he was trying to talk her out of suicide. Jayce gets another chance, and that's when he goes for "all I want is my partner back" and "because I promised you." Which works.

Mage Viktor's plan, I think, was for Jayce to help main timeline Viktor realize what he was doing before it was too late, and then give him the runestone, which allows him to release all the minds/souls that are connected to him before this becomes some runaway chain reaction of arcane power that swallows everything around him. (How the runestone does this exactly, and how the anomalies play into it, is stuff I am still thinking about. But tbh I am less concerned with the details of made-up magic physics than I am with the character beats.) Mage Viktor had accepted that main timeline Viktor was probably going to die in this process and he'd made peace with it. That's what "should" have happened anyway, if Viktor never found a way to forestall his illness, right? As long as this Viktor got to spend the best years of his life with his Jayce, it was okay.

I don't think Mage Viktor ever expected Jayce to stay there until the end. His goal was to save the world and spare Jayce from himself. And why would he plan otherwise? We know why Jayce stays, but Mage Viktor never got that part of the story. He schlorped up his own Jayce's consciousness with everyone else and maybe he only understood the depths of what Jayce felt for him in the moment that he was killing him. And main timeline Viktor certainly does not expect Jayce to stay. He's shocked when he realizes Jayce has no intention of leaving. No, that wasn't part of any master plan. That part was all Jayce.

[lil-dragon-rawr]

Y'all what if FNaF and DC were in the same universe can you imagine the chaos

Part Two, Part Three

Michael: *applies for a security job at WE because go big or go home amirite)

Tim, doing the interview because everyone else was freaked out by Michael: so, uh. What's your work experience

Michael: oh! I was a security officer for a bunch of places. Only for like a week at a time though cause I was only working there to set them on fire

Tim, now deeply concerned: um. So uh. That's a crime

Michael, realizing he made a Mistake™ and attempting to defend himself: hey, with the last gig it was literally in my contract that I had to burn the place down

Tim, contemplating insurance fraud:

Michael: also I'm great with lawsuits

Michael: *is living in Crime Alley because of course he is*

Michael: *gets shot while interrupting a gang war*

Michael, staring at the bullet in his chest: oh cool! My first souvenir from the east coast!

Red Hood, trying to get the obvious civilian out of the way: uhh hey buddy, are you good?

Michael "Allergic To Dying" Afton: yeah I'm good! Check out this bullet!

Red Hood, deeply concerned: what the [REDACTED]

Michael, remembering most people die when they're shot: oh don't worry, ever since I got scooped I can't die!

Red Hood, deeply concerned and regretting this conversation: uh. Scooped?

Michael, excited to talk about his trauma: yeah! My dead sister tricked me into getting my insides scooped out so she and her friends could wear my skin as a disguise to escape their prison

Red Hood:

Michael, working at WE and high on fear gas thanks to Scarecrow: oh, the nightmares are back!

Michael: *ignores them and keeps flipping through the cameras to see where Scarecrow went*

Red Robin, trying to help his employees: sir, you need to evacuate the building. Also, here's an antidote to the fear toxin-

Michael, annoyed: hey can you get out of my face? You're blocking the bestest boi

Red Robin: you're on fear toxin, whatever you're seeing isn't real

Michael: yeah and it wasn't real the first four years either but nightmare foxy is back and I'm never letting him go, he's the only one I like

Red Robin: sir please

Tim: *checks in on Michael and sees a little robotic bear reading an official-looking paper*

Tim, incredibly confused and praying that's not confidential WE info: hey Mike, whatcha got there

Michael, scooping up Helpy to present him like it's his favorite child: this is Helpy! He's the best and is so helpful. He also cuddles really nicely!

Michael, getting flashbacks: unlike SOME animatronics

Tim: what's he. What's he holding

Michael, with the energy of a parent excited to show off his kid's latest project: oh it's a lawsuit!

Michael, having a Conversation™ with Red Hood: wait you're dead too!

Red Hood: uhh yeah?

Michael: but why aren't you purple? Are you an animatronic?

Red Hood, incredibly confused: ...why would I be an animatronic?

Michael: cause you aren't decaying like me???

Red Hood: ok cool new question

Red Hood: HOW would I be an animatronic?

Michael: what, like it's difficult?

Michael: I mean, my little brother got rebuilt into an animatronic when he died so it's not that much of a stretch

Red Hood, realizing this is karma for every joke he made about his own death:

Michael: and there was that time a pile of robot spaghetti wore my skin so they could be a real person

Red Hood: would you pLEASE stop talking about that

Michael, ignoring him: didn't stop me from decaying though. Hm

WE: *gets shut out of their systems by an unknown hacker with a robot fox face*

Michael: don't worry guys I got this!

Tim, severely concerned that Batfam stuff is going to get leaked: but you're a security guard?? How-

Michael, typing in LOL: yeah don't worry it's just Lolbit! They like to cause problems on purpose from time to time

Tim: Lol...bit? Causes problems on purpose?

Michael: it's like enrichment

*Batfam realizes they have to start investigating Michael*

Red Hood: I mean, we could just ask him

Red Hood: the first time we met he told me exactly how he died in great detail

Red Hood, reminiscing (read: war flashbacks): he had a twenty-four slide powerpoint

Red Robin, realizing Michael's purple and smells bad for a reason other than "classic Gotham chemicals": he's dead???

Red Hood, desensitized: yeah, he didn't tell you?

Red Robin: *approaches Michael outside of work*

Michael, no longer high on fear toxin: oh hiya boss!

Red Robin, panicking: uhh what

Michael "FoxyBro" Afton: is there a reason you're talking to me outside of business hours? Am I in trouble?

Red Robin, wondering how he was going to explain this to Batman: uhhhhhh

Batman: please explain your previous jobs. For the investigation

Michael: oh! Well it all began when I tried to play a prank on my brother, shoved him into Fredbear's mouth, and got him killed-

Michael: then the nightmares started, which I later found out was partially due to my dad running experiments on me every night-

Michael: eventually he died but not really,

Michael: oh! And my sister got eaten by Baby-

Batman, lost at "shoved him into Fredbear's mouth":

*Batfam arrives at the Pizzaplex to try and figure out what the heck is going on*

Michael, there because he's visiting his siblings, standing next to Baby, Golden Freddy, and Gregory (on Glamrock Freddy's shoulders): oh hi guys!

Red Robin, who read the Funtime schematics: Michael what the [404 SWEAR NOT FOUND]

Red Hood: there's a child?? Why is there a child???

Michael: didn't I tell you about him? Anyways this is Gregory, he's the robot version of my dead brother!

Michael, gesturing to Golden Freddy: and this is my dead brother

Michael: though technically that's also another kid who lowkey kinda scares me

Michael, moving on: and this is my sister!

Michael: y'know, the one who tricked me into getting my insides scooped so she and her friends could wear my skin as a disguise?

Red Hood: can you PLEASE stop talking about that

Baby: I told you you wouldn't die!

Michael, looking at the Batfam like they're cameras from The Office: and she wonders why she's not my favorite sibling

Nightwing, having a moment but still trying to get information: who's. Who's the other bot

Michael, patting Glamrock Freddy: oh that's me!

Michael: a piece of me anyways

Nightwing: I have so many more questions

Signal, who can see the ghosts: please do not ask for answers.

Michael, showing the Batfam around the Pizzaplex: do you want to see my favorite ride?

Red Hood: ...sure

Michael: it's Foxy's log ride! Foxy is my favorite, I'm so upset he got replaced with Roxy but at least he's still around! Y'know when I was a kid I used to wear a Foxy mask, which is coincidentally the mask I wore when I got my brother killed-

Michael: *goes on a whole rant of the evolutions of Foxy and why OG Foxy is his favorite*

Red Hood: *starts taking notes*

Roxy, storming through the Pizzaplex: Gregory, you lawless RAT, how DARE you replace my HAIRBRUSH with a pORCUPINE-

Gregory: *running to hide behind Spoiler because he associates purple with Michael*

Spoiler: *as Roxy runs up* oh uhh hi there. Roxy right?

Roxy:

Roxy: you're not Gregory

Spoiler: haha nope! No Gregory here!

Roxy: oh. Sorry

Roxy: love your outfit though!

Spoiler: thanks, love your makeup!

Roxy: I know, right? I'm gorgeous!

Spoiler:

Roxy: ...wanna have a girl's night with me and Glamrock Chica where we get dressed up and make Sun swear in binary?

Spoiler: did you even need to ask?

Robin, in a corner vibing with Mangle: *petting Mangle*

Mangle, also vibing: ._.(^w^)

Batman:

Puppet:

Batman:

Puppet:

Red Hood, realizing this is a staring contest: *goes halfway across the Pizzaplex to get popcorn and comes back to them in the exact same positions* ooh. Getting interesting

Nightwing: *argues with Circus Baby about clown etiquette*

Signal, overwhelmed by all the ghosts: man sure wish I had my lofi beats to study and relax to right now

DJ Music Man: *climbs out of the wall*

Signal: *unholy screeching* HOLY M- wait you're chill aren't you

DJ: *starts playing his version of lofi beats to study and relax to*

Signal: ...huh

Black Bat: *disappeared, found Ballora, and is now dancing with her* (^ ^)

Red Robin, recognizing the fox face from the WE hack: yOU

Funtime Foxy: I appreciate the enthusiasm for performing arts, but you must be thinking of my sibling!

Red Robin, who didn't find Lolbit's blueprints: your what

Lolbit, appearing out of nowhere: he means me!

Red Robin, with newly energized fury: YOU!

Lolbit: ...LOL!

[stone-stars]

happy 6 years of naddpod everyone <3 (alt title: the dragon pussy podcast making me cry for 6 minutes straight)

Transcript:

Mee Maw: That's true, but… there's also somethin' else. Murph: And you see she pushes her cloak to the side, and you see she has black scabs-- Caldwell and Jake: Oh, no! No no no! Moonshine: Oh, Melora! Murph: --and deep crick rot all over her chest and neck.

Marabelle, weakly: Jolene? I-- I didn't realize I was gonna get to-- say I was sorry. Moonshine (pretending to be Jolene): Thank you, of-- of course you're forgiven! I love you so much! You're my big sister!

Melora: You're not cursed. You were born like this.

Hardwon: (desperately) Gemma? Gemma? Gemma wake up. Gemma baby. Hey. Murph: You see she's-- she's-- she's cold and dead. Hardwon: Fuck!

Balnor: I couldn't help them. I can barely swing a sword. Alanis: There's a war coming, and everyone needs to fight. Even old men who don't know how.

Beverly, crying: No, he's-- he's my light. He's my Pelor! He always was! I strayed!

Bev Sr: You tell her the truth, Bev. You tell your mom that I died in the Feywild. Beverly: (crying) You know I'm bad at lying. Bev Sr: It's not a lie, Bev.

Deadeye: Yeah, I know I'm down a hand. And an eye. And a life. But I got a soul, and a family. And I finally know which is worth more.

Deadeye: I hate to think about what woulda happened to me, but maybe more I hate to think about who I still would've been if I had never met you.

Rosa: JV, I can't-- I can't find my lantern. JV: Aw, well look at that? There's a lantern right here. Rosa: Are you sure that's mine? JV: Yeah. Yeah, I'll-- I-- I'm gonna go look for mine.

Hardwon: --interpretation. I-- I-- Moonshine: Hardwon, I really don't want you to want to die, because I want you to live so much and I don't want to be alone in that feeling.

Lydia: Elias, is that you? Hardwon: It's uh-- It's still little Elias. You saved the child, ma.

Lydia: I don't know what I've been these past few years, I don't know what I've been these past few decades. But I want you to know that when I was your mother that... you were wanted.

Murph: Somebody who felt they could never have a child… um, is holding their child. Moonshine: I-- I didn't want to need you, dad, but… now that you're here… it-- it's kinda nice.

Murph: Your father has given you... a strategy guide on how to beat him. Caldwell: I have to look away so that the tears don't ruin the pages.

Beverly: (tearful) I don't want to go. I don't want to go. But I have to. It's my duty. I have to do this. Moonshine: Okay, youngin, I want you to know. I will love you whatever you choose to do. But, here's my two cents: A child has a duty to his father, but a hero has a duty to the world. Now, I've got my opinion of which you are. But it's time for you to decide.

Bev Sr: Thanks, Bev. I always-- I knew I could make the deal, because I knew you'd stop me.

Moonshine: (tearful) I-- I've been wanting to tell you about this for so long, and I just didn't get a chance to. And I don't know if I will, so I just wanted to make sure I told you.

Moonshine, crying harder as she goes on: Paw Paw. You are… You are my best friend. And you are the best part of me. (sobs) And I am so grateful. For-- (sobs) the fact that so much of our lives have been braided together. But… where I'm going, next-- after we beat Thiala, which we will-- you can't come, mmkay? So I just need to make sure that you are taken care of, and I need to make sure that you take care of some people, okay?

Pendergreens: This time, you picked me up. And you were nice to me for no reason.

Pendergreens: If when you come back... if I'm different? Moonshine: Mhm? Pendergreens: Just, remember me as I am now. 'Cause I like who I am when I'm around you.

Death: I will take everything from you-- Hardwon: Quit pointing at people! Death: --until you come with me. Hardwon: Ok-- I'll go! I'll go. Beverly: Hardwon, no! Hardwon: Bring her back, and I'll come. Bring her back.

Lydia: All my life, people told me what I had to be. You don't have to be anything other than what you are.

Lydia: I think you should talk to your friends. Not because you owe them an explanation, but because you deserve to be heard.

Melora: Beverly. Beverly: Yes? Melora: I wish you could grow up in a normal world, but the Gods have not blessed you with a normal life. You are… afflicted with duty. Things thrust upon you far beyond your years.

Melora: The world should have protected you, but you have been asked to protect it. What an honor, what an injustice.

Moonshine: How long do Half-Elves live? Mee Maw: You talkin' bout Hardwon? Moonshine: I mean-- It's on my mind.

Moonshine: I guess, if I'm being honest, I don't know what it's gonna be like to know Bahumia without Hardwon Surefoot. (tearful) And there's a part of me that doesn't want to find out what that feels like.

Moonshine: There is something sour I probably need to swallow, though. It is-- There's people you meet that are once in a timeless body lifetime kinda people, right? Mee Maw: Oh, yeah. Moonshine: Okay. Mee Maw: And you keep 'em with ya. Moonshine: Okay.

Moonshine: (crying) It's okay, Balnor. Like all the most powerful things in this world, I knew I was only borrowing you.

Hardwon: Moonshine, when-- When I left Irondeep, I-- I didn't know where I fit in. And then I met you, and you didn't just let me in. You brought me in, and you thought I was good.

Balnor: I hope that you all get to leave this world with the same comfort that I had: knowing that it's in good hands. I love you. Murph: "Your knight, Balnor."

[lazycats-stuff]

What about male reader being Alfred's nephew who came to live with him because his parents died or were just unfit parents? Alfred isn't all too happy that he's here, but not because he hates him, no, but because Gotham isn't the safest place and the fact that he's bow living with the vigilante family isn't the greatest fact. I feel like Alfred would be very overprotective of his nephew, and just the family's reaction to Alfred's nephew, i feel like the family didn't really ask Alfred about his family and such .

Oh yeah, some Alfred for the soul. That man needs more love. Also, this will be under Batfamily since I'm too lazy to put a new masterlist for Alfred.

Summary: Alfred's nephew comes to live with Bruce and the rest of the fam.

Warnings: child abuse, mentions, mentions of what happened, everyone trying to make sure that (Y/N) is comfortable, Alfred being protective.

Alfred left the UK and London behind a long time ago. He had his training and career as a soldier and then as a spy. Soon enough, his path led him to the USA, where he got a job as a butler for the Wayne family, even before Bruce was even in the picture. It wasn't really easy to leave his life behind, but Alfred knew it was for the better.

He needed a new beginning after everything he has witness over the years. Especially since his sister cut contact with him. Alfred, while said, he knew he couldn't change her mind in the slightest. But that didn't matter today. What mattered was his new family and his four grandsons and son.

Yes, he did consider Bruce to be his son. After all, he did raise him from when he was 7. And as his four grandsons came along, he was happy.

As far as his old family? Around 13 years ago, his sister had a baby. A boy named (Y/N). Yes, Alfred kept some tabs on his family, just to make sure that everything was like okay back there. Years went by and when (Y/N) was 13, Alfred got a call.

It wasn't a pleasant one.

Alfred sighed as he ended the call, rubbing his temples, muttering a lot of unpleasant things underneath his breath. His nephew (Y/N) was taken out of his sister's custody because she was abusive in every since of the word. And in every shape too.

Starving, beatings... Neglect...

Alfred was really mortified and he could barley speak as he remembered the conversation... He sighed and quickly made his way down to the kitchen opening up the cabinet where he held the strongest drinks in the manor. He poured himself a glass of scotch, since it was the first thing he could see.

I downed the scotch in one sip before pouring himself another one. He sighed yet again, leaning on the kitchen counter, trying not to snap.

" Something happened? " Bruce asked from behind him and Alfred sighed for the third time.

" Well master Bruce... Something did happen. " Alfred said, taking the glass and turning around to face Bruce. Alfred knew that (Y/N) had to come live here... But this family is full of vigilantes... But this is also a safe space too.

" What happened Alfred? " Bruce asked, worried for the man. Alfred is often composed and sarcastic, but now, he was shaken and just... Sad?

" My nephew is in the custody of CPS, well, at least the British version. " Alfred started and Bruce crossed his arms as he leaned on the doorway.

" I didn't know you had a nephew... " Bruce admitted softly and Alfred chuckled, sipping his scotch slowly.

" Yeah... My sister cut contact with me a long time ago master Bruce... " Alfred acknowledged and Bruce nodded, not knowing what to say.

" Either way... I'm the only family he has master Bruce, which means he will have to come here. " Alfred whispered, downing his scotch again.

" That's not a problem Alfred. I'll make space for (Y/N), clear out one room for him and talk to the boys. " Bruce responded and Alfred shook his head, making Bruce frown and tilt his head in confusion.

" That's something I know you would do master Bruce. " Alfred explained and poured himself more scotch. " It's... You are Batman and the danger that comes with that name... I can't bring my nephew into more danger. " Alfred finished explaining and downed the scotch once more.

" It will be different. We will be honest with him. " Bruce said and Alfred did have to agree, they had to be honest with him.

" He will flying here tomorrow master Bruce, so we will need to pick him up. But before hand, we need to talk to the boys. And it will need to be serious. "

" Of course it will be serious Alfred. (Y/N) will feel safe here. And if any boys are out of line, send them to me Alfred. I'll call them down now so we can talk about this. " Bruce said before he went upstairs.

Alfred just finished a bottle in the meantime.

Bruce sat his sons down, telling them that this is very serious.

" Now, listen to Alfred intently. He is officially a lead on this. " Bruce said and sat down. The four boys looked at Alfred, who looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here.

" Well... My nephew is coming here to live with us. His parents, my sister and her husband were abusive to him... Physically, verbally... They starved him too... Either way, he is in a bad mental place. Which means that you four better be on your best behavior. No fights in front of him, both verbal and physical. Don't force him to talk about it and try to befriend him. " Alfred finished, looking at his grandsons with a pointed look.

" Is that all you had to say? " Dick asked and Alfred nodded.

" You have a nephew?! " Jason exclaimed and Alfred nodded.

" Okay, that... I thought you had no family. " Tim said and Alfred sighed and Bruce smiled sadly.

" I thought you were an agent for the MI6 and had no family... Like killed off. " Damian said and Alfred sighed yet again.

" Okay boys, that's enough commentary. " Bruce said and they all grumbled. " It's important that (Y/N) feels safe here. And Alfred has my full permission to put you all back in line. "

" As if he ever needed permission. " Jason mumbled quietly and Dick smacked the back of his head.

" Thank you master Dick. "

" Everyone, this is (Y/N). " Alfred said, introducing his nephew to his grandsons. " (Y/N), these are the infamous Wayne kids. I don't think anymore introduction is needed. " Alfred said, glancing at his shy nephew.

" Now (Y/N), let me lead you to your room. " Alfred said and gently lead (Y/N) to his room. It was one of the bigger ones, with a lot of room and a comfortable bed.

" Now (Y/N), are you hungry? Because it's lunchtime in America at the moment. " Alfred said as (Y/N) put a small suitcase on the bed.

" I could eat something. " (Y/N) said and Alfred nodded, smiling at the fact that (Y/N) would eat something.

" I was thinking about some burgers actually. I can make a good one, with my awesome recipe. Do you want to come down or do you want to stay in your room? " Alfred asked softly.

" I would like to go down... This is a nice place... " (Y/N) said, still nervous.

" I agree it is nice, now come on mate, lets go down. " Alfred said and let (Y/N) go down. Alfred gently led him down to the kitchen and (Y/N) sat down, the boys all around him, keeping some distance, trying to not make him feel overwhelmed.

" So... Is it true that the Queen is a lizard? " Jason asked out of the blue and (Y/N) rolled his eyes at that, but with a smile.

" She passed away. " (Y/N) said and Jason raised his brow.

" No. "

" Yes. "

Jason scoffed with a smile and Alfred listened as he started making the meat mixture for the patties.

" Is it true that people from London speak the best English? " Dick asked and (Y/N) rolled his eyes.

" It's not true. It's so far from the truth... " (Y/N) said and Dick chuckled.

" Well, the royals are there and they must be educated... So how come? " Dick joked and (Y/N) shrugged his shoulders.

" Is it true that gun control is tighter? " Jason asked curiously and (Y/N) nodded.

" Damn... Well, welcome to the land of freedom. " Jason joked and (Y/N) smiled, but it was tiny. Tiny as hell.

" If you hear a bald eagle screeching it means you have reached the peak of staying here. " Tim stated and (Y/N) rolled his eyes a bit.

(Y/N) turned his head when he saw Titus, the Great Dane walking in with his head high and tail wagging at the sight of a newcomer. Damian was ready to intervene if necessary, but Titus was calm with people.

Damian watched as Titus sniffed (Y/N)'s hands, licking them softly and then (Y/N) hesitantly petting him.

" What's his name? " (Y/N) asked, not sure who to ask directly.

" His name is Titus. " Damian answered as he kept watching, tilting his head in wonder.

" Is he yours? " (Y/N) asked as he scratched Titus' ears.

" Yes he is. " Damian answered and (Y/N) moved down his hand to Titus' cheek. " He is huge... " (Y/N) mumbled as he kept patting Titus, who was wagging his tail.

" He is a Great Dane so he is big. " Damian explained and (Y/N) stopped petting him, making Titus whine.

" He is a big baby. " Jason chimed in and Damian nodded.

Alfred put the things he needed aside and checked on (Y/N) and the way he was handling the situation was great. The boys didn't push him, joked about something with him... And (Y/N) was comfortable. That was the most important thing here.

Thankfully, Alfred and Bruce both have experience with sort of traumatized children so (Y/N) will be able to heal properly. And the truth about them being vigilantes... Well, that can wait until (Y/N) is more stable.