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milky-aeons · 8 months ago

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[3] — STAR-STRUCK

a/n: i wrote this story during a very tough time of my life, and reading back over it brings me so much bittersweet joy. i hope you guys enjoy chapter three!

warnings: female reader, sexual content, toxic!dazai, mentions of misogyny, mdni, w.c 7.5k

౨ৎ . . . chapter THREE of CROWNS OF STARDUST

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗. — Pablo Neruda

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐄𝐗𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐔𝐏 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐋𝐄. Needlessly. After Doctor Yosano had seen to the last maid, who was white in the face with fear and confusion at everyone else's reactions to being checked over, each woman was sent to the servant's bathing area.

Two girls who were unfortunate enough to be the first the Head Maid seen to were plastered up against the side of the huge bath. Steam rose in heavy clouds, curling their hair and warming their bones, but nothing could stop them from visibly shaking with trauma.

"[N-Name]," One of them chattered. "Was it the General Practioneer of Yo we were seen by or a worker of the Devil?"

You swallowed beside Naomi, attempting to force your fright to relax. It made your spirit rebel — how a Court Official had this much of an effect on you. But that woman, the Head of all Maids, was no regular Court Official.

"Let us hope..." You said in a quiet whisper. "Let us hope that we do not run into medical troubles while we're here."

Naomi gave a curt nod. "Lets."

At least you weren't totally alone in your terror — every single woman in the baths seemed to have a similar reaction. The heat did nothing to tame the violent shivers breaking across their skin after a medical examination by Doctor Yosano Akiko. Each of them were checked over for any obvious diseases and given a necessary smallpox injection to protect the Royals if it was true they hadn't been vaccinated before. Which, coming from a commoner's background, it was likely they had not.

Whatever other examinations apart from those, you believed, was unique to each and every one of you. And just as terrifying.

It was obvious that now; every training maid of the Yo Palace would think twice about overstepping boundaries. Not when they witnessed just how easily the Head Maid handled a silver scalpel, or the smile on her face as she did so.

"When you were being checked over," Naomi whispered in a small, shaky tone. "Did she—?"

"I think it best not to speak of it." You shot her down. Apparently, the Head Maid had left lasting fear in her recruits that would follow them throughout their time in the palace. And, perhaps a lifetime. "If she is a worker of the Devil, then recounting her actions will only bring about misfortune."

Naomi made a small squeak followed by a rush of water when she slapped a hand to her mouth.

You were beginning to think that simply surviving Palace Life would be a lot harder than you thought, and not at all because of your habitual loose tongue.

"Are you aware of your duty?"

Even though it was not the Captain of the Ko Cavalry asking her the question when the King had assigned him with this task, the severity of it was no less. If she could offer some input, hearing such a question from this man made her wish to be successful even more. Although maybe that was a matter of her heart.

"I am." The blond Spy-woman answered. Dressed to pose a Yo Maid, she wore colours of white and black with a blue ribbon tying her hair securely. Standard servant attire for the Castle of Yo. How these two members of the Ko Court knew as such would be down to the man she was speaking to

Dressed in nothing but black save for the white tips in his hair, he commanded every Spy in the Ko Kingdom as a Spy-Master. His duty was to collect and listen to secrets. And occasionally reprimand those who choose unwisely not to provide them.

"Tell me again what your orders are." He asked her in that smooth, toneless voice.

The Spy-woman steeled her spine. Like an automated machine, she spoke the words; "I am due to arrive at Yo as a servant woman. My duty is to infiltrate the Castle and confirm if Yo really is struggling financially due to a rumoured drought. Once I affirm this, I am to return. Without being caught or discovered."

The deep grey eyes of the Spy-Master, akin to thunderclouds in a vicious storm, regarded his subordinate for a moment. She had a bright and intelligent crimson gaze, fair skin and a neat cut of blonde hair she trained into a knot. If he was an average man of the Court, he would surely be of the popular opinion that Higuchi Ichiyou was a rare beauty. Unfortunately, Ko's Spy-master was nothing but a hollow husk of a man that did nothing but obey what his King asked of him.

It was why he was so good at his job.

It also enabled him to say such unemotional, practical words to his most enthusiastic of subordinates.

"Prove that your useful, Higuchi. If you are caught and executed, then that will be all you were worth."

Higuchi was a trained Spy of the Ko Court, honed like a steel blade and fierce in her work. Although she was a young woman with a huge secret no Spy-woman should have. And it was that secret that allowed the words of her Commander to turn into icicles and pierce her heart. But being a Spy-woman came with the perks of hiding inner-pain, so she simply nodded her head and quietly memorised his pale face and large, dark eyes so she could visit them in her dreams a Kingdom away.

"I will be successful," She assured. "Akutagawa-senpai."

There were three ruling Kingdoms in this mythical land. Each Kingdom decided upon their own colours; Yo preferred neutral colours of blue and white, Ko was obnoxious in their affairs with shady black and reds decorating their hallways. Hama was the largest and most influential Kingdom of all and took a lavish liking to gold and gentle pinks. Together, the Yo-Ko-Hama country was a melting pot of colours and interests to anyone wishing to visit.

You did an experimental twirl in a cracked mirror stationed above your bunk. After the baths, the maids were dried and each given a designated bed inside a drab sleeping chamber with little light and life. Not that you particularly minded, as to your right was, miraculously, Naomi's bed. Your luck was looking up somewhat, you had thought with a sigh upon hearing the news.

The girl was dressed in the same uniform as you, although she was somewhat more ecstatic.

"Oh, [Name]!" Naomi gushed. She took the black skirts up in her grasp and twirled it as you would a ballroom dress. "Isn't it wonderful?"

You pursed your lips and turned back to the mirror. Caked in dust and not at all what you'd expect from Royals, but at the same time, would in a commoner's sleeping room, you inspected your own reflection.

Placing your ongoing spat with the monarchs that ruled over you all aside, you could admit that the Seamstress had a magic touch for fittings.

The basic black dress that collared at the neck and reached just above your ankles was not too heavy nor scratchy, like you had imagined. In hindsight, it was rather comfortable. Paired with the simple white apron typical to maid-wear and the blue ribbon tying your hair back, you could admire that you looked the part of a working woman.

Just not in the job she wished to be in, the thought came to you with a sinking feeling. You found some happiness in Naomi's glee, though. Who had abandoned spinning like a dancer and was attempting to tie the ribbon in her hair. It was with little success.

"Here," You said with a small laugh. Naomi immediately yielded and passed the blue silk over to you.

"It is not as easy as it looks." She muttered with a pout.

"No, it is not."

"Says you! Your bow is perfect."

Stationed in front of Naomi's mirror which was a little cleaner than your own, you carded your fingers through the long tresses. They came easily into a half-up hairdo, making the delicate features of her face more prominent. You smiled at her in the reflection. "I have been tying bows all my life."

"Truly?"

"Truly." You slipped the blue ribbon in place. "I used to work for the Miyazawa Farm. Skirts are not what a woman should wear when uprooting weeds but alas, that is all I had. So, I improvised. A strong bit of ribbon and my skirts became shorts."

Naomi's grey eyes that sometimes appeared violet blinked rapidly at you in the reflection. Her brows shot up, and all at once, she was in a fit of giggles.

You tied the bow with a frown. "What?"

"No, I mean no—no offense, but," Her giggles quietened and in their place was a bright smile. A talent of hers, you were noticing. You were fairly certain Naomi's warmth could ignite even the coldest of hearts. "It's just—Gods, you are the strangest woman I've ever met."

One brow raised at Naomi. With fingers still on the bow, you gave a tug and the ribbon came undone.

Naomi cried, reaching up like a bucket of water had been tipped over her crown. "[Name]!" She whined with fingers digging into her bangs. "You cruel woman!"

Despite it all, there was a smile on each of their faces. A mischievous upturn of your lips and the same sunshine grin on Naomi's, both of you contesting with silly stares. There was a shift in the relationship now; an upgrade from common acquaintances to budding friends. Inside these lying Palace walls and arrogant, sometimes insane Royal Officials, you were glad that at least something good was coming out of this job.

Perhaps it would make surviving that bit easier.

However the friends weren't fortunate enough to continue with their jests. In a second the radiance was shattered with a handful of words;

"Look! The Prince, it's The First Prince!"

The air took a steep fall in temperature once the title was said in an excited, womanly shout. You and Naomi locked eyes at the same time in the mirror, only moving when every other maid did so.

The lady who had spotted him apparently did so from the window — which was where a gaggle of women now squashed into. You secretly slipped your hand around Naomi's arm. You were never one to be overly affectionate, but after the sudden passing of your late parents, protectiveness came fiercely and uninvited into your personality.

Naomi didn't mind. If anything, she brought a hand to yours in quiet thanks.

"Oh, look! There he is!"

"Such a dream, isn't he?"

"A dream? That's too weak a word. Our Prince is a mythical being incarnate! Strong and brave and handsome."

"Ow — do not push!"

"If you were not so selfish, Cathryn, then I could gaze upon him easily also!"

The sickly, almost indoctrinated words of those who were star-struck by the Prince of Yo almost made you feel sick. Prince-struck, you decided upon while watching the maids fight like schoolchildren to get a look at him. Completely unable to help your curiosity, you found a pocket between the bustling bodies and peeked out. With just enough space to see clearly down into the Palace courtyard—

The Prince of Yo.

You had truly, never before seen him in person. As an only child, the First Prince was labelled with the Throne's Heir since he was but a babe. His fate was set in stone before words could come out of his mouth. So ever since then, he has been pampered with extra care and kept moderately inside the Palace Walls. There were rumours that he spent some time in the Kingdom of Ko in his earlier years, but you knew little of those wonders.

He was not what you expected.

The fierce nickname Demon Prince of Yo had some serious connotations. In your imagination, this enigmatic Prince who instilled the fear of God into the hearts of his people was a large, terrifying looking man. Perhaps with facial hair and an eyepatch.

However this man you were looking at was a stark opposite. He wasn't large, he was fairly slender, however towered over the two Guards he was sharing a joke with. You could not see his face as he was turned away and facing the far Gardens, was only greeted by the curly mass of brunet hair that was tossed when he laughed. With Royal attire of blue and white accompanied by golden embellishments that gave his status away, he looked every bit a pampered Royal Boy of a sheltered court.

In summary; not at all what you expected. Which made confusion dampen your nerves, because why did those men sound so afraid of him? Why was he named after a servant of Satan?

Outside the lancet window, you watched as the Prince stiffened slightly. Then turned right around to look up, and smiled at the attention he was receiving. A chorus of excited squeals erupted when he waved at them. That was right when you stumbled backwards thanks to the hip of another Prince-struck maid and your vision of him was cut short.

Naomi was there to steady you, hissing at the rude woman who cut across you so quickly.

You weren't paying attention, too busy analysing the sheer impact of seeing the Prince's face to care that a maid had near sent you to your behind.

Normal.

It was the first adjective that came to mind; his smooth skin flawless and evident of a spoiled life, curved eyes that tugged his smile up, generous thick waves framing his face. Everything about him is so normal, you thought, beside yourself with shock. All this time you entertained the thought that the First Prince was a terrifying man. That, with one look, you'd feel your heart still and skin freeze.

But you felt none of that. None of that at all.

Could it be that the Heir she naturally hated was just an innocent Prince laid victim to delusional drunkards and their nicknaming?

"[Name]? [Name]." Naomi was shaking you hard when you came back into the room. "Oh, [Name], what did that brutish woman do to you?"

Quickly to assure her and stop the said brutish woman from feeling Naomi's wrath — you looked down to her.

"I'm fine. It was nothing." Squeals and frantic waves from the maids were filling the quiet room still. Obviously, The Prince was one for attention and still waving at his new maids.

Naomi's bright eyes were wide with worry. "You were away for a moment. I feared that—" Slow recognition flitted across her face. "The Prince." Was all she said, although it held the weight of a million questions. "Did you see him?"

Partly because you wished to speak of something the other maids didn't agree with, and because said maids were becoming agitating with their over-zealous mewls, you ushered Naomi far to your original beds. The shorter girl didn't at all complain.

You told Naomi to sit back in front of the mirror so it could appear your were just doing her bow.

"Yes." You breathed after a moment. "I did."

Your friend strongly resisted the need to whip right around with a million questions on her tongue. Naomi waited until the maids quietened into a dreamy din when the Prince stopped waving to let her nosiness come through.

And the first question was;

"Is it true?"

Your lips thinned at the obvious loaded question. You were still wondering of the answer to that question, yourself.

Is our Prince truly a Demon?

And all you could offer Naomi was the truth.

"That's the thing," A sharp silence as most maids came back to their beds, many with stars in their eyes. You were careful to lean down to Naomi with a quiet tone. "It... outwardly appears... that it is not?"

This time, Naomi didn't hesitate to swivel right around. The ribbon fell from her hair and framed her saucer-like eyes with wild strands of black. "It is not—!? Mm!"

You had slapped a hand across her loud mouth.

And warranted the attention of a maid with bright red hair and a deep, confused frown. Desperately, you stretched your lips into a false smile that physically hurt and hitched your tone high. "Excited, isn't she? I'm afraid seeing the Prince has left her star-struck."

You had said it with the hopes that this red-headed maid was another Prince Worshiper like the rest of them. Thanks to some heavenly power, your hope was in the right place, because the maid smiled in genuine understanding.

"I can understand," She assured, reaching up to run her hand through her long ribbon-kept tresses. Both eyes glazed. "Our Highness has that effect on people. Especially us. Oh, how I wish to serve him in his room!"

Your laugh was strained and had every possibility of turning into a wheeze. It was a wonder it didn't. When you were sure the maid was whisked off someplace far away, you returned your attention to Naomi and took the hand away from her mouth.

"F-Forgive me." Was the first words off her tongue.

"I never thought it would be me scolding you to keep your tongue in your mouth."

Blush exploded across her cheeks. "I was just—just surprised. You think he is not?" Her brows dipped. "You, [Name], are telling me the rumours are fake?"

"I said no such thing." You countered with a haughty whisper. Your own confusion was taking an agitated route, which was not warranted nor what Naomi deserved. So you stopped, took a deep breath, and carefully turned Naomi back around.

"I said it appears that the Prince is not what those rumours say." You continued quietly while gathering her hair back up once more. "I'm just as shocked as you."

"I'm more relieved than shocked," The shorter woman said. With that confession was an obvious sigh that dropped her shoulders. "But what makes you say so?"

You took a little more time to answer, trifling it out with the very normal image of the rumoured Prince of Demons as you tightened the blue bow.

Mannerly brown eyes, a smile that was polite and loving to the maids, the Guards who laughed with him about a jest.

Naomi looked at you expectantly in the mirror. You sighed tightly.

"On first look," A beats pause. Your brows clashed. "He appeared... everything a Demon's opposite. The Prince was all a spoiled Prince was meant to look. And his smile," You didn't know why your teeth gnashed. It was the confusion, perhaps. "It was kind and warm towards his maids. Deserving of their desperate waves in its genuineness."

With every word, it was as if Naomi's own brows raised higher and higher until they had no room left. When she digested it — a lot better than how you had, very evidentially — she said; "Why is it that I don't feel at all reassured?"

It was a question you had no answer to. And even if you had, wouldn't have been able to, because a sharp bell tinkled through the air which signalled every new maid to duty.

You constructed a faux smile that hid any new found confusion around your Heir and took Naomi's arm to come with you. The girl knew that looking into it would only cause unwanted stress when she was expected to tend to the Castle.

Wonders and worries were reserved to the late nightly hours. Now, they were expected to smile and move ahead.

Although you had an odd feeling in your gut that you knew would stay throughout the entire shift. Confusion and dislike were not a fond mix. It made you constantly revisit The Princes short, snapshot image in your mind for some confirmation. How his smile lit his face up, how he waved in appreciation, the Guards laughing. Not all all the man who made drunk men confess their deepest fears or women tuck their children up safely at night.

Later

Water sloshed about in the tin bucket when you dumped another rag inside. A little too forcefully, but with annoyance steadily brewing in your gut and knuckles rubbed raw with dehydration, you were surprised you hadn't cracked what it was that you polished.

For the worse half of the afternoon, you had been stationed in an expansive hallway in the West Wing of the Palace. Given completely unique duties independent to Naomi, you were in her own company surrounded by the distant murmurs of Guards and consistent, maddening scrubbing of polish against wood.

"Royals, Royals, Royals." You hissed with every scrub. Trust the pompous family to have a simply random cabinet holding nothing but China in the middle of an unused hallway. "They just have all that—that tax money to waste on fruitless things, don't they?" You asked the spotless wood, albeit quietly, as the walls had ears. "What needs does a hallway have for fine China?"

Your reflection answered you. Wild and untamed thing that you were; your hair coming undone from the bow and cheeks dusted rose. Well, if you were to actually succeed as a housemaid for a month, you thought with a huff, reaching to tie the bow neatly again, you should learn not to scrub forcefully enough to shake your hair loose.

When the bow whispered and tightened did you drop your hands into your apron pocket and produced the small notebook every training maid had been gifted. Most women coming to the Castle had very little, if not no educational background. So, for the first few weeks they were permitted to take down their daily tasks instead of memorising them. Whether it was through sentences or broken pictures if they were illiterate enough, Miss Yosano did not mind.

What she did mind was that every task was finished at the time of the last bell. And if it wasn't — a bead of sweat came down your spine at the notion — you didn't want to imagine what punishment could possible await.

Fortunately, despite being against it all, you upheld your promise to Naomi and got every job done. Now, there was only one left;

Rake ashes from Guestroom One. Polish fireplace in Guestroom One. Think of how useless it is to have ten Guestrooms. Perhaps sweep the ashes under the pillow. Pray for strength. Card, beat and straighten Guestroom One's mattress. Check for mites behind Guestroom One's mirrors. For Naomi, for Grandfather. Empty chamber pot in Guestroom Five. Tend to the Guestroom guarded by too many men.

The last task was taken down in a haste, hence its apparent vagueness. A poor, appalled [Name] heard the words empty a chamber-pot come from the Head Maid's mouth and zoned out with shock. It was degrading enough that you were serving under a House of Royals that had no respect for their people, so you were beside yourself upon learning maids dealt first-hand with their utmost private waste, too.

For those curious individuals; you had not a pleasant experience, and secretly used the Guestroom's sink to rinse your hands until the waxy soap began to sting.

Yet you had snapped out of it enough to hear the warning that the room would be "guarded by many men", so that was all you scribbled down. A Lord, perhaps. Most of the Guestrooms you had been tending to today were kept in check by one outstanding Guard. Sometimes not even that. These West-Wing rooms were not used too often, you were told by Yosano before setting off.

However, the East-Wing of the Palace was. And you were also warned to be especially careful of your manners.

Let me see how long I shall last, the amusing wonder came as you walked bristly with the can of water. You thought herself fortunate that you had not bumped into any Royal Officials or — God forbid, the Royals themselves — while on duty. But now, you were entering an area that was apparently crawling with them.

Keep your tongue in, [Name]. For Grandfather, for Naomi.

You considered your execution if you snapped at a Palace Dweller, and then saw an empty bed beside a broken-hearted Naomi. It was what made you swallow tightly and try the damnedest to get this task done quickly as possible. For it was almost dusk; the sky outside the lancet windows was bleeding orange and blush.

The Castle of Yo was situated on a small incline in the Kingdom, far above any village houses or common squares. But you knew everyone existed under the same sky, and wished your Grandfather could see the same gorgeous display of twilight.

Do you miss me, you old wart?

"You better do." You answered, although a smile was on your face. "Who will you play chess with now?"

Images of the chipped board and hand-crafted pieces came with voice and laughter — all trinkets of the past. You were not given the liberty of reminiscing, because you had now turned a corner east. A new Wing of the Palace was where you found yourself. And Yosano had not been kidding, but she had also not been firm enough with her warnings, either—

The place was crawling with Royal Guards!

Everywhere you looked; beside the lavish paintings against the walls, potted plants watered by housemaids more experiences than you, lining every single doorway, there was men with swords and the hilt and hard expressions. Your hands tightened on the bucket, not feeling the nicest with so many eyes suddenly lasered on you. What, am I that threatening? You wished to ask. I'm carrying a bucket, for Gods sake! Hardly a weapon of destruction.

Alas, none of them would take their eyes off of you as you made way to the most protected room of all. An impressive diplomat, he must be behind those doors. With golden lining the wood and four men on each side, you couldn't help but wonder if he was a visiting Guest or a permanent resident. Or just a high-standing man of society who wished for more Guards than he needed.

You would not be at all surprised.

You came to a stop right before the Guard who looked wildly different than the rest of them. He was tall and fierce looking, with grey hair let fall around his shoulder and silver eyes. A wolf, was the first thing you named him while taking in his strange dress. They were definitely not Palace colours. No, this stranger wore a robe of murky green and had a thinner, longer sword sitting at his side.

A foreign diplomat, the man he's guarding must be. The Guard looked at you and you had to straighten your spine. This Guard is not from here.

"What business have you here?" Was the only question he asked you. A level, strong voice. Not commanding, like you initially expected. The aura around this man, the very way he stood. You were quickly understanding that perhaps this foreign man did not command for anything. He simply received it.

Resisting a huff — what do you believe my business is, Guard? I'm in maid's clothes with a maid's pale, you shook the bucket in your hand. "I am to tend to this room, My Lord. It is almost time for the bell and it's the last on my list of duties."

Cool grey eyes slipped down your form in inspection. The Guard deemed you acceptable with a short nod and a step aside.

Although before you entered; "I am no Lord."

Water sloshed dangerous in the bucket when you backtracked to look at him. "Pardon me?"

"You addressed me as a Lord. I am none, nor have I ever been."

Your brows pinched. Truly, such bizarre words from a man of a Royal Court. Perhaps he was not from this Court, but still — it was common to address those higher in society with the appropriate label.

"Then..." You ventured with an unsure, albeit curious tone. "What shall I address you as?"

The strange Guard had his eyes closed now and returned to looking ahead. "Fukuzawa." Was the name he said, a unique one not from this Kingdom.

Was he asking you to use his name? In a Royal Court? Or was this a test?

You thought it probable that this man could be messing with you just to see a poorly maid whipped. In a Palace, no sort of deceit would surprise you. "If that is your name, my Lord, I cannot use it. It is improper."

"Then you may address me as Wolf."

"... Truly?"

"Indeed."

So he does not intend to whip me. He is just another outlier of the Court more stranger than the rest. Although you chose not to protest further with the odd Guard and pushed your way into the room. After all, you were still a training maid, and the time of sunset was almost upon you.

"Wolf. Honestly." You chuckled quietly once inside. Shaking your head, you set the bucket down on the floor. "What type of title is that?"

Although it could not be disputed that he didn't give you the same agitation other Royal Guards did. It was a thought you placed quietly aside, right where the ones of the Prince were to mull over later. Because now it was time for tending—

The wind was knocked right out of your empty stomach.

Gold. Everything in the Guestroom you stood inside was tipped and coated in the finest notes of gold; from the walls to the tables. A huge poster bed with the sheets only creased and not slept in took up most of the room's decor, its silk complimenting the curtains that tossed delicately in the wind. Painted a pale blue with intricate arts of white, the walls were embellished with paintings and the ceiling was high. From there, a chandelier glittered and danced with the settling sun.

You swallowed, having never seen such an obnoxious display of wealth. And then, the wonder and awe soured into sharp anger.

The Royal Family have this much money to spend on Guestrooms when their people are wasting away? Just for a foreign diplomat? A diplomat that didn't even sleep in his bed, but merely lay on top and turned just a few times. Nor did he touch his food tray. The silver platter had a delicious display of cheeses and breads, fruits and candied oranges, cracked eggs that were collecting grey with how long they have been left.

The shamelessly wasted food made your stomach growl and rage thunder. Whoever this man was that lived in here, he ought to be ashamed. To the highest order. Wasting a platter of breakfast and not appreciating a warm bed. But truly, what had I expected from Royals and their contacts? They would throw food and wealth at others to impress, do anything to cover up the breaking pegs of the Kingdom that held it up.

With a new-found shame and disgust at your monarchs, you busied yourself with everything you had conducted in the other Guestroom. Fixing the bedsheets, carding the mattress, polishing even specks of dust on the mirrors, however in this place you did it with a genuine snarl on your lips. Especially when you picked up a full entrée of food you hadn't even tasted before, much less seen, and dumped it right into the waste bucket.

Such a shame. Grandfather would be appalled when she told him. Or perhaps he'd attempt to defend them.

But how could you defend this? Wealth slapped against the walls and wasted food? You saw absolutely nothing but guilt in the action, making your frown deepen.

Although one part of the room that made your skin physically tight with anger allowed the frown soften somewhat.

A chessboard.

Situated on a table of its own with two plush chairs, there sat the most beautiful chess board you had ever cast your eyes upon. It was not out of place in this room of gold, but fond memories of your Grandfather made you look upon this ornament not with hatred, but gentle curiosity.

Oh, but you could not help yourself. You had such a soft spot for the game and the memories it held. Carefully walking over to the table right at the window, you reached out to finger some of the tiles. The stone was cold to the touch — pure marble, and not wood. The pieces were akin to crystals. Glossy, cloudy glass for the white and murky black for the opposing side. You knew it was just another ornament, another gaudy display, but you picked up a piece in anyway.

A pawn. Your lips kicked up when Grandfather's words echoed in your mind;

"My favourite piece? That's easy lass. A pawn."

"A pawn? But—But they're the weakest piece on the board, Grandfather."

"Aye, they may be considered weak. And they are. But at least they never back down."

"They never back down..." You parroted quietly. A steady ache bloomed in your heart when you turned the smooth piece over. Unsurprisingly, you found yourself preferring Grandfather's chipped wooden counterpart; those pieces never felt so cold and unloved.

A sudden creaking of a door behind you.

Your heart slammed against your ribcage and you snapped around — placing the piece blindly back onto the board.

It was the peculiar Guard. Wolf, per his request. He was looking at you with calm eyes, although one brow was raised ever so slightly.

"Miss Maid," He began. "Your service is appreciated, but I thought it worth mentioning the sound of a bell I just heard."

A bell? You frowned, wondering why that applied to you. Although realisation of why it did hit you with the terrifying force of a freight train.

That bell!

"Oh!" You gushed. Then quickly gathered composer with a tight cough. Acting ladylike in front of a Guard, even a strange Wolf Guard, who were you really? "I am done." You affirmed.

Gathering your skirts and rushing to take the bucket, you brushed quickly passed Guard Wolf and into the hallways. This was the first day and you were already behind time. Any other Royal Official and you would have went out of your way to be late. But the overseer of maids in this Castle was a terrifying woman who sent shivers up your spine. You pushed harder, only noticing that you failed to check over the room one last time before leaving.

One final check. Always. Don't you dare leave without it. Yosano's voice in your head. It was obvious that it was more a threat than friendly advice. No matter, you dismissed quickly. That room was untouched enough. You could wager your neck nothing was out of place even without it.

Unfortunate it was for your neck. What this particular training maid failed to consider that in her haste, she had left one item out of place in the room of gold and diamonds.

High, pleasure-riven cries were what filled the small room that the Prince of Yo was wasting some of his time. At present, it was with the most stimulating of distractions; sex.

He steadily eased his long fingers in and out of her — this high-standing Lady-in-Waiting who was becoming a little too frequent for his liking. Attachment of a woman such as herself could indeed prove a headache. But no matter — they were future worries that had no worth in the present. With long, luscious waves of deep red that matched the blush spreading across her cheeks, Rosette was the most impressive Lady of his Court.

He's be foolish, however, to think her anything but the venomous viper that she was.

"Oh—Oh, My Prince," She mewled for him. Rocked her hips into his skilled touch greedily. "There, it's there."

Dazai raised a brow and moved his quick touch to everywhere that wasn't there. "Hmm? Giving your Prince orders, Rosette?"

With a wicked grin unlike the smiling Prince his maids knew him to be, he listened at her agitated cry. It was followed by a rushed apology, of course, and then a desperate plea for him to spare her. That was the one thing Prince Dazai was always sure of - he'd never enjoy his maids in a sexual way. It was, as his Father would reprimand him, an unsightly display and encourager of more labels. Maids had loose tongues when not in Court. But Women-in-Waiting.

He felt her hands on his broad shoulders — a quiet beg, another shift of her hips into the hand underneath her immaculate skirts.

Women-in-Waiting tended to keep their love-affairs to themselves, unless it was to make other Women of the Court jealous. It was, in their minds, a race for the throne after all.

"My Prince—!" Rosette's whine was wanton again. It was becoming irritable, Dazai was noticing. Laced in a false tone that hid her want to cage him, lure with her charm so she could one day be Queen. With her strongly-scented perfume and painted lips, Dazai looked her right in the eyes and lowered his voice.

"You will never be Queen."

Rosette's equally red brows clashed in confusion. Bright, hazel eyes became wide. "My—?"

Although Dazai gave her no time to finish. In a frenzy, and partly because he wished her to silence, he attacked her lips with his and manoeuvred his touch back to where there was. He had it memorised, and whatever confusion was tightening Rosette's muscles melted away. She eagerly returned his attention with quick, tiring movements of her tongue and encouraging moans.

Her hips snapped harder into his touch. He pressed, twirled, sunk his teeth into her bottom lip and her movements stuttered.

"Hah—ah!" The Lady-in-Waiting came undone underneath him. Pressed up against the wall, her hands fisted into his shirt and she threw her head back. "Oh, My—My Prince! Ahh...!"

Dazai removed his fingers from her when she was finished and completely released her. He was cruel in that regard; sex was a passer of time, not an intimate act. Reaching for a cloth in his pocket, he cleaned his hand and hid the strangely cold smile playing on his lips.

Prince Dazai of Yo did not believe in intimacy. Love was difficult for him to feel. Wicked and intelligent, he was given constant praise for being it, so he could comprehend why humans would want to feel love. They were lonely, wishing for a deeper meaning to life than simple existence.

One thing he did not understand, however, was the want to look for a deeper meaning in existence. Sometimes, Dazai felt as if he was the only truly awake one in the room. Life had no meaning, existence was bleak as it was taxing. Humans only felt truly released when they allowed themselves to die, and that was where his opinion ended.

Perhaps that was why he kept seeing such dull, grey walls.

"My Prince?" Rosette called his attention back. Although he did not look to her, he heard how she smoothened down her gown and fixed her mused hair. Happy after-pleasure made her words light. "If I could ask, what was it that you said to me? A few seconds prior? I'm afraid I was too... preoccupied, to really understand."

Clever. Dazai fixed his expression back into Princely charm and lifted his head. Such a bright smile, his eyes closed and curved with it. "Forget it. I was too preoccupied too, it seemed. You do have that effect on men, lovely Rosette~"

The barest flicker behind her soft, hazel eyes. No one except for the Prince of Yo, who was perceptive to a point where it bordered unnatural, could catch it. Sadistic glee raced in his bloodstream — she had heard him. Loud and clear.

And she was far from happy.

It seemed that the most beautiful Lady-in-Waiting was not used to being denied. But he was her Prince, so she was cautious with her wording. "Oh, but allow me to beg you," She reached up to clasp her hands and rest them on her generous breasts. "For it'll haunt my dreams to know. I do respect everything you say, My Prince."

Dazai didn't allow his smile to drop, nor his tone to deepen. Although he made a quick decision that this little triste was coming to its close, and he needed to make himself clear. "Will you insist if I keep my secrets?" He sang with ribbons of playful tease.

"I believed we were past secrets."

There was his reason. Nail stamped in the coffin. "Well, how could any man resist you, Rosette?" The barest tilt of his head left. "I said we should stop seeing each other."

Rosette's face was like a mask had just collapsed right from it. Her false smile went from bright to completely slack, her eyes let their walls down to show nothing but intense hazel fury. "M-My Prince?" Although she could be given credit, for her tone was the same sugar-poison as always.

Dazai opened his eyes and all of a sudden, gone was the happy Prince many in the Court knew him to be. Now, he was appearing how he did to only a handful of unfortunates in the Palace. Blank, deep brown eyes. An uncaring smile. The Demon Prince of Yo saw the fractures in Rosettes plan and decided he'd tear it down until it existed as mere broken shards.

"I said; our triste has gone on long enough, and I wish to end it. I don't particular wish to be collared, and yet you are attempting to collar me. Perhaps there are men of the Court who wish to sleep with a viper who'll bite them after they do, but I am not one of them." Cold, amused laughter. "To answer you properly, I said you would never be Queen. Queens of snakes belong in a small burrow and not a Kingdom's golden throne."

Finding immense pleasure in the way Rosette's skin had drained in shock until it was mere rice-paper, Prince Dazai lifted a hand to the door. "You are free to leave." Was how he ended this distraction, his tone a teasing lilt.

Quiet amusingly, Rosette's ashen complex heated until it was the colour of her hair. With no words to her Prince, because after all, she was a Lady-in-Waiting and he a King's Son, she furiously gathered her skirts and rushed from the room. Leaving behind an unamused Prince who watched her go with unfeeling eyes. The Demon Prince of The Yo Kingdom. A man who cared not for other humans emotions and say everything in life through a lens of grey.

ʚɞ . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ʚɞ . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #kunikida doppo #naomi tanizaki #crowns of stardust #headers by astralnymphh #dividers by saradika!#port mafia #armed detective agency #🪄— milky writes #fukuzawa yukichi #akutagawa ryuunosuke #higuchi ichiyo

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holyshitisthatajojoreference · 4 months ago

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lesbian kakyoin pfps (free to use/poorly edited)

divider by @/cafekitsune

#jjba #jjba pfp #pfp #icons #jojo #jojos bizzare adventure #stardust crusaders #kakyoin #noriaki kakyoin #kakyoin pfp #profile picture #free to use #divider by cafekitsune #holyshitisthatajojoreference #fictkin #kakyoin kin #kin #kin pfp #kin icon

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dtdrawz · 5 months ago

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Artfight Reference Drop!!

#artfight #artfight 2024 #team stardust #artfight prep #dtdrawz art #scemo #Tabitha (Whazindabox)#<- holy shit an oc tag that's crazy #I'll get my team card done once I finish up a few references #also dividers are fun so I put them in there cuz it fits the character lmao #oc art

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tomsmusictaste · 10 months ago

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Tom’s Top Ten | ALBUMS OF 2023

It's (belatedly) that time of year again, let's get into it.

10. Hotel Bleu - Broadside

I’ve made peace with the fact that Broadside record is likely to top Old Bones for me but Hotel Bleu is choc full of plenty of upbeat catchy tunes, a refreshing dose of positivity after their more sombre previous record Into The Raging Sea.

Favourite song: Dazed & Confused

9. Past // Present // Future - Meet Me @ The Altar

MM@TA have delivered a very solid debut record. One downside is the lack of easycore-style riffs and breakdowns (one of the main things that drew me to this band’s previous EPs) in favour of a more generic pop-punk sound - that said, all songs are plenty catchy and do a great job of showing off Edith’s vocal range, which is front and centre of this record.

Favourite song/s: Say It (To My Face) / It’s Over For Me

8. Childhood Eyes - Yellowcard

A big year for Yellowcard putting out their first new music since breaking up in 2016, and it delivers. It may just an EP but it's earned it's spot on the list and made me incredibly excited to see what else is on the way from this new era of Yellowcard. Also a collab with Dashboard Confessional? A Spider-Man 2 soundtrack reunion, you love to see it.

Favourite song: Childhood Eyes

7. Slow Burn - Conquer Divide

One of the later albums from the year but I'm glad that I didn't miss this one - Conquer Divide have been something of a 'background band' for me up until now, but this is a record I found myself listening to front to back over and over.

Favourite song: N E W H E A V E N

6. One More Time - Blink-182

I have to confess I have mixed feelings on Blink-182's big comeback album - great to see Tom back in the band and the band back to their classic lineup, lots of great emotion on the title track. Maybe contro but I do think some of the non-single tracks feel a bit pale or watered down compared to the singles, but the singles themselves do have a lot of what I love from that classic Blink sound.

Favourite song: Dance With Me

5. Postcard From A Living Hell - RedHook

RedHook were a new discovery for me this year, and a welcome one at that. This is one of those albums that soon as it came out I had on constant repeat, just banger after banger, not to mention a collab with Mik from Yours Truly; that gets a hell yeah from me.

Favourite song: Inarticulate ft. THE FAIM

4. Join The Club - As December Falls

One of my hottest anticipated releases of the year, As December Falls have come soaring this year, with this their third album and constantly selling out their tours (before i can get a ticket >:( ). Every single song on the tracklist is single worthy and the record makes no shortage of showing off Bethany's vocals, in particular on the emotionally driven 'Home.'

Favourite song: Mayday

3. A Call To The Void - Hot Milk

After knocking out of the park time after time with their EPs, Hot Milk finally released their debut full-length and brought everything that's good about them to the table. From the very first listen I knew this was gonna be a strong contender for AOTY, and indeed was only beaten out by two others.

Favourite song: Alice Cooper's Pool House

2. The Surface - Beartooth

It should be no surprise to my followers seeing Toof pop up on the list, there truly never has been a Beartooth album that hasn't made my top ten and The Surface is no exception. Going against the grain of their MO up until now and releasing an entire metalcore album full of love and positivity was an incredible move, and wonderful to see Caleb find himself in a place where he can write this kind of lyrical content and celebrate his own journey overcoming mental health struggles. The Surface is a welcome addition to the Beartooth catalogue.

Favourite song: I Was Alive

Before we get to the Number One, I'd like to shoutout some honourable mentions that didn't quite make the cut - those being 'Til The Wheels Fall Off - WSTR, Tear Me To Pieces - Story Of The Year, Power To Play - McFly, Untitled Mixtape - Carousel Kings and Linkin Park's 20th Anniverary Edition of Meteora

Also a special shoutout to Sum 41, Neck Deep and Green Day, for their singles off albums that will be released in '24. Good stuff.

With that all out of the way, let's get into my NUMBER ONE ALBUM OF 2023...

1. So Much (For) Stardust - Fall Out Boy

It was tough to crack down on the order of the top three here, but ultimately the number one album couldn't be anything else. I've made no secret that I'm not the biggest fan of the three FOB records prior to this, but here the boys return with a bang combining all that's good about both their pre-hiatus and post-hiatus sounds, resulting in an incredible record that has been definitive for my 2023. What more can I say? Fold Out Bed bloody did it.

Favourite song: Love From The Other Side

And there you have it! Those are my top albums of 2023. We're already a fair way into '24 at the time I'm posting this and this year too is shaping up to have some strong contenders... bring it on.

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lunarcry · 8 months ago

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hiiiii muse page list update post i meant to do earlier but then i had icecream and did other things instead peace sign

this is for the full one on my page, srry i dont have it elsewhere/on my pinned yet. eventually. peace sign. as per always my multi is a billion times messier than my other blogs(guy who cant shut up)👍👍👍 atm the most proper writing will be happening on akira. probably

added general links of the gbf main story archive, and the a3 & prommy of wizard main story translations👍

on that note added sakuya & misumi (a3!) & chloe, figaro & mitile (promise of wizard) except figaro is mostly type0 verse & mitile will likely lean toward gbf au for a lil bit. thats not to say theyll stay this way (im about to reread+finish main story pt2), its just that i unfortunately am obsessed with type0. i will probably eventually put the rest of spring troupe on my 'wanna pick up' list....(person whos oshi is omi

on that note i should make a new type0 oc i need a silly class9 girlie SO bad. that was the foolery secret intel class right

i can not explain why type0 lives this much in my head

natsume (natsume yuujinchou) is on the list too now. lanna & lumina (island of happiness/a wonderful life) are there for now we'll see who else i add. none have descriptions yet, i know i have one for lanna & natsume from olds blogs but :[ i didnt wanna today

updated mika's (gbf) page with the text i wrote a while back, i'll revise it in the future. fenrir, morphe&phoebe, thelonim has events&fate eps linked on their pages now. emu has the official playlists of wxs main story & her first focus event added.

none of these links are meant in a 'check these', but rather, if you ever get interested in any of the media/characters, there's places to check. i should add the wxs digest anime to emus oh my god i forgot about that one

all the new charas are gonna take some months to be implemented properly...<3 i havent started rereading a3 still & i took a break from natsuyuu when my dog got surgery in february. they're there cuz i felt like updating the lists with links, and figured why not add the rest too. lots of descriptions are missing still. 'then why even add them' because faty was alrdy sending me stuff for figaro so why not actually put him on the list sunglass emoji

i added it on the muse page too, but if u dont know where to start then emu & fenrir are always good choices👍 once my emu break is over ill get back to all of that. phoebe is also a good choice thinking about it...

#stardust speaking !#i think about my ask box here like once every two days tho. i wanna get caught up on akira & then ill divide my attention between here&gran #and maybe ebfore im done w akira too................................we shall see:]#ANYHOW I THINK THATS ALL #i would put a 'fastest replies' scale for my muses but i also dont think itll be a worry.....???????#i think emu is the most liklely to get stuff. since shes my silly icon and header still. and then the gbf muses #and thats about the order of how ive been here overall (well mostly with ic dash comm stuff the past months but #i cant imagine itll change too much even for proper interactions #unless u jumpscare me that u know of my more lesser known media (very welcomed)#any type0 fans in chat #ok thats all i did. i didnt even get to the akira reply i wanted to do today too much stuff happened

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stardusted-petals · 5 months ago

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Made a basic repeat divider for my AF profile - here's how it looks when you put multiple together:

Free to use, if you want - credit would be appreciated!

#stardusted art #dividers

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kantelo13 · 5 months ago

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Stardust themed divider (credit if use)

#dividers #team stardust #artfight #stardust divider

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 4 months ago

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THE BLUE OF THE SKY MUST HAVE BEEN MY IMAGINATION ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru can’t take your grief away. but on days when you feel as if it’s swallowing you whole, pulling you underwater, he’ll be there to reach a hand out.

word count; 10.9k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, f!reader (gn prns are used, but gojo calls you sweet girl and princess), depictions of grief/allusions to death (reader mourns their dead best friend), hurt/comfort (heavy on both), fluffy towards the end, satoru is a good partner <3, stsg subtext if you squint, switching povs, reader is implied to be a non-sorcerer!!

a/n; i’ve always loved the idea of gojo being with a reader who also lost their best friend/other half, so this is just me playing around with that concept :3 losing a soulmate and finding a new one through the loss of that thread must feel really meaningful, right? + i’m also dedicating this piece to @neptuneblue my precious bday girl <33 i added an extra dose of devotion, flower symbolism and greek mytho refs just for you!! (pretty dividers by @/saradika-graphics <33)

a pang of sorrow.

as your consciousness begins to unfurl, cruelly torn apart from the realm of dreams, the sensation hits you like a hammer to a nail. your eyes flutter open, and your muddled mind adjusts to the soft light dyeing your bedroom a mellow gold — patches of sunlight splattering on the bed and warming up your skin, illuminating your features. gentle and soothing.

almost as if trying to coax you back to sleep; trying to protect you from something you don’t quite understand. just close your eyes, your body whispers, your mind shushes. don’t think about anything at all.

but you don’t listen.

part of you knows it’s a mistake. trying to identify the source of your sadness usually only makes your heart feel more tangled up — but you get the sense that this particular sorrow is one you should never, ever let go of. so you rest against the mattress, focus on the rise and fall of your chest, and simply feel it out.

it’s a strange sensation. blooming like a flower, in the back of your brain, expanding at an alarming rate — seeping into your bloodstream, soaking the sheets beneath you with something dark and gritty, something that sends shivers down your spine. an acute sensation that something is wrong.

that something has been wrong. for a very long time.

(and then it hits you.)

— ah.

an intake of breath. the open air has been warmed up by caring sunrays, bouncing off the glass of the windows. it tastes like dust and daydreams.

it’s today, isn’t it?

the flower in the back of your brain keeps unfurling, leaving you with a certain ache you can’t get rid of. a stain you can never, ever rinse away — and the sun’s comforting embrace does nothing to quell its weight.

what a shame, you think, gazing out at the blue of the sky. the weather is so lovely today…

something tickles your cheek. it snaps you out of your spiraling thoughts; and this time, you don’t need to feel it out to know what it is. you’re already well aware. your brain knows, your body, every string of your heartbeat.

a strand of white hair. ghosting over your cheek, causing you to stir.

two big arms are looped around your midriff, heavy and slumbering, practically immovable. you’ve tried to peel them off more times than you can count, but they just won’t budge — if anything, that only makes him cling to you tighter. subconsciously or otherwise.

(you suspect it’s the latter, on most days.)

as always, you’re pressed up against him, close as can be. completely enveloped by his scent and body warmth, strawberries and stardust, cocooned in the safety his touch brings you — like a big, weighted blanket. or maybe more like a clingy dog.

and, despite everything… it manages to cheer you up a little. doing what the delicate caress of sunlight couldn’t. just feeling him close is enough for the corners of your lips to curl up, a warmth trying to take root in your hollowed out chest; feeling his heart beat against your own, in steady motions.

satoru. your very own personal sun.

he’s admittedly cute like this, soft little breaths slipping from his parted lips, quiet snores that he’d deny if you ever brought them up — his jaw resting contentedly on the top of your head. it’s sweet. he’s sweet. but the feeling of his hair tickling your skin is a little insufferable.

insufferable, but still somehow so endearing.

(you’ll probably always find him endearing, no matter what he does. maybe you should feel embarrassed.)

when you crane your neck, glancing up at the man in question — your breath hitches. halts, in the back of your throat. afraid to come too close.

satoru is always pretty, but there’s something so serene about the way he looks in the morning. before he has a chance to wake up, cover up, make himself seem bigger than he is. right now, he looks so unguarded; so sleepy and pretty and comfortable. specks of sunlight scatter across that pretty face of his, like little freckles, caressing his skin with a heavenly glow.

it really is such a shame. the sun is shining brightly, waving hello to the newly-awakened city, and your own personal sun is right by your side. snuggled up with you, and looking prettier than ever.

but neither of those blessings are enough to change the inevitability of what day it is, today. you feel a little bad; but you know what you have to do.

just to see the limitations, you squirm away — or try to. you don’t even move an inch. satoru’s got you trapped, caged in by his strong arms, like he’s making sure to protect you even in his dreams. a big, overprotective bear.

wanting not to rouse him from his peaceful slumber, you can’t bring yourself to make much of an effort, either. your hands travel down to the expanse of his arms, wrapped around your midriff, gentle and light as you try to tug them off. but he won’t relent so easily — the moment you succeed even slightly, those insistent arms fall back in position. only trapping you further.

after your fifth attempt bears no fruit, satoru lets out a low groan; shifting closer, and hugging you just a little tighter. muttering under his breath.

so you resort to a different tactic.

when you finally get a proper look at him, craning your neck as far as you can, your eyes soften. his expression makes your heart melt; sleepy and snug, and just a tad annoyed. because of your numerous escape attempts, no doubt.

he’s so beautiful it hurts. just a little, just to look at him, just to map out every contour of his angelic face.

so you feel a little guilty. you really don’t want to wake him up, when he so rarely gets to sleep in like this — and he’s been working so hard, lately. doing his usual sorcerer thing, that he never lets you know too much about. the guilt seeps into your bones, growing deeper with every second spent etching his soft expression into your memory, knowing just how tired he must be.

it’s not like you really have a choice, though.

leaning closer, so close you can hear his heartbeat if you strain your ears enough, you put your lips against his skin. he smells like strawberries, from the shampoo he always steals from you, and he’s pleasantly warm. like a confectionary.

a moment passes. you drag it out as long as you can, indulging in the sweet fragrance.

then you begin trailing kisses up his jaw, ghosting over his skin. soft little butterflies, fluttering from his jaw to his cheekbone.. once you get close enough to see the way his eyelashes flutter, and he stirs ever so slightly, you lean in to whisper in his ear.

”satoru,” you murmur. ”just need to go to the bathroom. can you let go for a little bit, please?”

you try your best to speak as quietly as you can, not wanting to disturb him too much — but you can tell he hears you, even in the state he’s in. all tuckered out, his muddled mind still registering the sound of your voice, how you move your lips to form sounds. a lullaby to his sleep-ridden brain.

bringing a hand up to his forehead, you brush his bangs away with palpable tenderness, leaving a kiss against his forehead. satoru stirs, again; letting out a sleepy noise somewhere between a groan, a sigh, and a whine. squeezing his eyes shut.

”honey,” you coo, hoping the term of endearment will get his attention. ”let go, please? i’ll be quick.”

satoru’s eyes blink open, slowly, like the shutter of a camera. you wish you could take a picture of him, right now — in all his angelic glory, painted over with warm colours and tangled up in freshly washed bedsheets.

he takes a moment to adjust, unaccustomed to the bright morning light of your bedroom, face scrunching up — then his gaze falls on you.

and his heartbeat picks up.

you’re looking up at him so sweetly, fingers reaching out to cup his cheek, smooth skin against his own. the cerulean of his eyes flutter shut once more, as he nuzzles into your palm; moving one of his arms from your waist, just so he can place his palm over yours, where it rests against his skin. absentminded.

a smile crawls up to your lips.

”… mm,” is all he manages, an incoherent little mumble. you make another attempt at getting away, only one of his arms caging you in now, but it still doesn’t work. the moment he feels you even try, he tugs you even closer. arm keeping you nice and safe in his embrace.

satoru makes sure that his palm is still resting over yours when he leans forward, snuggles further into your side. nuzzling into your neck, pressing his lips against your collarbone, muffling a low whine.

”stay,” he murmurs, sleepy and upset, and you almost give in. he’s still too tired to really register what’s happening, only that you’re trying to leave him.

it makes your chest ache.

a soft sigh leaves your lips. ah, this really is too cruel. how are you supposed to ever leave his embrace when he’s acting like this?

”satoru…” your free hand finds its way to his hair, carding through the pure white strands, and he practically purrs. ”just gotta go to the bathroom. i’ll be back, okay? i’ll hurry.”

another incoherent mumble. he doesn’t move, doesn’t even attempt to. still kissing your collarbone, content to have you run your fingers through his soft locks.

and you feel awful, you do — but desperate times call for desperate measures.

as you feel him slowly, gradually fall back asleep under your caring touches… you opt to make your move. this time, you’re a little rougher — tugging his arm off and squirming away before he can think to stop you. it’s hard not to feel guilty, especially with the whine satoru lets out, arms blindly reaching out towards you — to no avail. you’re sure the loss of body warmth hits him just as hard as it does you.

an urgent voice inside your chest begs you to soothe him, to console him. seeing the little pout on his pretty lips, the furrow of his brow.

so you lean over, carefully, cupping his cheek to leave a soft kiss against his forehead. a silent apology. ”i’ll be back soon, toru. go back to sleep, okay?” you hope he feels your love, in the action, in the words. even if he’s not really conscious enough to properly respond.

just in case he doesn’t, you state your feelings more transparently. thumb caressing his cheekbone, as a whisper flows from out your lips: ”i love you.”

maybe it’s just your imagination, or a coincidence, but you swear he settles down a little after that. succumbing to the needs of his sleepy brain, still a little groggy and frustrated; but soothed enough to rest easy. so far, so good. caught up with thoughts of satoru, and how tiny he looks all alone in the big bed, your brain momentarily forgets about the sorrow.

but the moment you step out of the bedroom, it’s there to greet you again. creeping up on you — a subtle, gentle kind of shock. almost kind. but hollow and cold, like the temperature of the room dropped, your almost-smile fading like a piece of paper blown away by the wind.

and suddenly, you remember what day it is. you remember what you’re supposed to be doing.

as you brew your morning cup of coffee, trying to distract yourself with the purring of the espresso machine in front of you, you find your thoughts drifting back to satoru. hoping he’ll manage to stay asleep, despite your interference — it’s his first day off in a while. he needs to rest.

… and you don’t really know if you could deal with him, if he were to wake up and locate you right now. you can imagine what he’d say, what his expression would be like; and you can imagine the exact moment he’d realize that something is wrong, how easily he’d be able to squeeze the answers out of you. you’re weak to satoru. you’d tell him immediately, just to get him to stop frowning that subtle way he always does when he’s worried but doesn’t want you to know.

which is exactly why this is your only option. sneaking away while he’s asleep, blissfully unaware, even if the guilt eats at your heart. you suppose it’s a welcome distraction.

(today was going to feel awful, one way or another.)

everything feels a little like a struggle; putting your coat on, stepping into your shoes, making sure you have everything you need. and then, lastly, the note. satoru leaves them for you fairly often, on days he has to go to work early and doesn’t want to wake you, before late night missions and sudden workloads. when the reverse is true, you do the same. just something simple, a little act of love.

i’ll be back around midnight. don’t wait up for me, okay?

have a good day. :)

don’t eat my portion of the kikufuku! i know you’re thinking about it.

i love you. <3

… usually, leaving a little note behind for him to find would make your heart feel light. but today, it’s not nearly as fun. you try your best to sound lighthearted; wholly aware of how ominous the contents still end up sounding.

good morning, satoru ♡ i’m sorry for waking you up before :( and for leaving without saying anything. i have an important errand to run, so i’ll be gone for a while. i’ll make sure i’m back before the sun sets, so just be patient, okay? i know you’re probably really mad, but don’t be too angry with me when i get back, please? i’ll buy you something sweet omw back!! ^^ that’s all, i think. i know how this sounds, but don’t worry. i’ll be back before you know it. have a good day, alright? enjoy your day off!! i love you ♡ :)

in all honesty, it’s a little mean. telling satoru not to worry about you is like telling the sun not to shine. he’s confident when he’s with you, thoroughly assured of his ability to protect you… but when you’re out of his sight, you think he gets a little anxious. even if he’s awfully good at hiding it.

still, there’s nothing else to do. you swallow the guilt, stick the note to the fridge, and step over the threshold. out into the real world, the cold world, the empty world. as the sun envelops you, and a spring breeze enters your lungs — that acute awareness strangling you only seems to grow deeper.

everything finally dawns on you, all at once. and it’s impossible to shake away that suffocating feeling —

the feeling that something is wrong.

(that something has been wrong. for a very, very long time.)

the cemetery is empty, this year.

you suspect the glaring sun has something to do with it. blinding you, casting a bright glow over the tombs of the dead, entirely out of place. no one wants to do their mourning in this kind of weather. it just feels wrong.

that hasn’t stopped you, though. you wonder if it’s due to a love so strong it disregards the weather, or a blatant disregard towards the feelings of the dead.

maybe both. probably both.

the solitude creeps up on you like a hungry ghost, but it’s a blessing in flimsy disguise; right now, you’re all alone. and today, that’s all you truly need. a feeling almost like stepping into another realm, one with no connection to things like reality or time. it’s just you, and the graves, and the ghosts. there’s no one here to see you cry, no one who can pretend like they understand. no one to witness the price you’ve paid for loving so fervently.

slowly, you make your way across the cemetery. sparing a glance towards the city skyline, before fixing your eyes on one particular tomb.

when you crouch down, the paper bag in your hand hits the ground with a soft crunch. all flowers are still in perfect condition; asters and forget-me-nots, haberleas and hyacinths. you cradle them tightly, pressed against your chest, feeding off your weakening heartbeat — your eyes moving, flitting over the grave, the name engraved into the stone. putting the bouquet down.

(you really hope she’ll like them.)

it’s surreal. to look at an object and still see a person, to touch the petals of a flower and remember the softness of human skin. you never quite got used to it. all you ever seem to do is lean into the strangeness of it all, the kick you get out of sullying something untainted. trying to remember something that should be left in the past. you can’t leave her alone.

”hi,” you whisper, so low you barely hear it. ”i’m back.”

with a sigh, you settle down on the ground; sitting cross-legged, getting comfortable. this’ll take a while.

the cherry trees are beautiful, this year. they always are; always in full bloom, almost mocking in their beauty. with their silky petals, fallen all across the ground, dyeing everything in shades of white and pink. as your eyes trail across the flowery landscape, basking in the sickening solitude of it all, that sense of otherworldliness deepens. you try not to look at the blinding sun, try not to think of the man it reminds you of.

it’s just you, here. just you, the graves, and the cherry trees. just you, and her, and your sorrow.

for a moment, you delude yourself into thinking that it’s true — you’re in a different world, now. one that settles on the wrong axis and paints itself with the wrong colours. one that stopped spinning long ago.

(the tender stirring of your heartstrings never fades away. it sounds a little like a hymn.)

all you can think of is her. all you can feel is the grief. that hole in your heart, extending, extending, extending. it hasn’t stopped since she left. a black hole of a feeling. it’s been years since it opened, years of trying to patch it up, clawing your way to a state of normalcy. living with a piece of you carved out.

losing your other half feels a little bit like dying in reverse. having to keep going with half your shadow stripped away, out of the tunnel, into the light. even if you’d much rather fall to the bottom, with your silhouette still intact.

(throughout the years, you’ve come to a single conclusion; orpheus had it so much worse than eurydice.)

despite everything, a smile curls its way onto your lips. something soft and fleeting, that blossoms within your irises, in between your ribs. she doesn’t answer you, as always, so you keep talking — anything to still feel connected to her. anything to fill the silence of the cemetery, the numbed out grief inside your chest.

”let’s see. where should i start…” is muttered into the open air, followed by a moment of silence, as you think of what to say. ”i’m still with satoru, if you were wondering. everything is still… good. more than good. he’s a really, really good guy.”

a moment passes.

”i hope you’re doing okay. wherever you are. if you’re anywhere at all,” soft air leaves your lungs, a little slip of a breath, but it’s shallow, like your chest doesn’t really care if you miss an inhale or not. like just giving and never getting could keep you alive. ”i miss you. a lot. i wish i could see you…”

a hum buzzes in your throat. you try not to think of her hair, the scent of her perfume. the flower in the back of your brain has grown bigger, you notice. unfurling at an agonizing pace, blossoming the way a wound heals. throat burning, heart aching, you swallow.

(the hole inside your heart feels jagged, like cracked glass seeping into your pancreas. a deep, internal ache.)

when you speak, your voice comes out small. nothing more than a whisper, a flurry of air. there’s an honesty to the words that makes it hard to breathe.

”… everything is so boring without you around.”

a shuddering breath leaves your wobbling lips, and you know it’s coming. you make a halfhearted attempt to keep your voice from breaking, but it doesn’t work. your eyes are already glassy, wetness spilling out, tears getting stuck in your lashes, dripping down your cheeks — you manage a meek chuckle, but it comes out sounding more like a broken whimper.

try as you might, her figure never leaves your mind. it’s all you can think of, ingrained into your retinas; a single silhouette, walking ahead of you. a sweet girl, maybe a little mean, but still so gentle. your very own moon, soothing in her confidence. every step she took was like a landmark for you to follow.

if you strain yourself a little, she appears before you — a polaroid dug out from the depths of your memories.

in almost microscopic detail, you can see her smile, the way the light reflected off her teeth. you can feel her hand, the way her fingers curled so perfectly around yours. you can see her, hear her, the colour of her eyes, the sound of her laughter. a moonlit girl, who left you all alone — walking ahead of you, always ahead, leaving you behind to catch up. bringing whispered secrets with her, soft bouts of laughter.

your one and only best friend.

(it’s not fair.)

something in you urges you to keep talking. it’s all you have it in you to do. and maybe it’s weird, maybe you’re crazy — to talk to someone who can’t hear you. less than a ghost.

but it’s nice. it’s comforting. it reminds you of the voicemails you would leave each other, on weekends you were both too busy to speak on the phone. her voice always came out a little fractured, from her shitty nuclear bomb of an iphone, but you strained your ears to hear every word she said. you always, always did.

(it was nice.)

so you continue. you tell her everything, and then some more. talking and talking, about you, about her, about satoru. by the time you’re done, the sun is getting ready to descend, painting the sky a bleeding orange. your voice has gone hoarse, eyes red and puffy from all the crying, but your chest feels a little lighter — the hole inside it a little more narrow, not as broken and split and jagged.

”so, well,” you clear your throat, finishing your one-sided conversation; smiling weakly. ”i guess what i’m trying to say is… i loved you this year, too.”

the smile on your face is tearstained, feeble, as you get back up on shaky legs, brushing petals and dust off the fabric of your pants. stretching your arms out.

”i’ll be back,” you promise, the same oath every single year. ”wait for me.”

one last look at her grave is all you allow yourself; soaking in the peace and quiet, the creamsicle sky framing it. parting with this sight always feels so strange. crossing the boundary, going back to a world where she’s dead and gone. discarding her so callously.

but you can’t keep satoru waiting, anymore. you promised him you’d get back before sunset.

when you begin your descent down the hill, you can’t help but look back — just one look, just in case she’s standing there. she never is, but you still spare a glance over your shoulder, every single time. you like to think of it as an act of love.

it doesn’t feel as all-consuming, anymore, that exhausting numbness. the sorrow is still there, the grief is still there; but it’s a little less unendurable. and you feel that you can return to reality for another year, until you need to come back and cry some more.

for now, you can manage.

(but you still have one big obstacle to deal with.)

it doesn’t take long to get back.

as your fingers curl around the doorknob, you mentally prepare yourself. taking a shaky inhale. satoru definitely won’t be happy — you can already picture the frown he’ll have on his face, his crossed arms. the neverending flurry of huffs and scoffs.

you’ll just have to bear with it. exhaustion crawls beneath your skin, and everything feels a little too heavy for you to bear without breaking. normally, you’d head straight to bed, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to coax the day into ending early. but you can’t pull something like that, today. not when satoru will be there to see it. you can only hope he’ll be understanding — even without knowing anything.

(such an unfair thing to ask of a person.)

the door creaks open, and you step inside.

a particular scent engulfs you, as soon as you cross the threshold to your apartment. a blend between sunlight, and the fabric softener he likes, and freshly squeezed fruit juice. and, of course, that certain aroma you can only ever describe as home.

it smells like satoru, too. then again, maybe that’s just the scent of home in disguise.

finally, the weight around your shoulders starts to crumble. it’s a little easier to breathe, like this, a weighted blanket of comfort around you. something sweet and soothing and smelling lightly of rosemary. peace — or as close to it as you can get, today.

a sigh pushes past your lips; heavy with fatigue. dripping with relief.

(you’re home.)

”well, well, well.”

— a moment passes.

the sudden noise makes you freeze up, eyes wide and alert, still in the process of kicking off your shoes. internally wincing, bracing yourself. here it comes.

slowly, hesitantly, you raise your gaze from the floor — locking eyes with a certain man.

satoru looks displeased, to say the very least. arms crossed, with a cute little frown playing on his lips. just as you imagined. you can’t see his eyes from behind his shades — but if you could, you’re sure they’d carry a sense of betrayal.

”… hi, sato —”

”i can’t believe you.”

an amused breath slips from your lips. amused, but sheepish, awfully nervous. like you just came home to an angry wife, after promising to be back early from work. and satoru only huffs, staring you down like you just killed his dog.

”betrayed. deserted. by my own partner,” he scoffs, shaking his head in obvious disapproval. ”what, are you done with your errand now?”

”satoru,” you try, voice falling into a melodic lilt. smiling up at him, inching closer. to your surprise, he takes a step back.

(you must have really upset him.)

a sad smile. you exhale, wringing your hands together. ”… i’m sorry i left you.”

”you should be,” he pouts, voice wounded to a degree that must be at least a little bit exaggerated. ”and you said you were just going to the bathroom.”

you let out a small, guilty chuckle. he remembers that? ”i’m really sorry. i left you the note, though…”

”right. the note,” satoru scoffs, like the word itself is personally offensive. ”d’you know how awful i felt, seeing that first thing in the morning? no sign of you anywhere, and some silly note is supposed to make up for it?”

oh, he’s being so unfair. looking so disgruntled, tapping the pads of his fingers on his elbow. you wish you could take him seriously, but he’s way too endearing. and he won’t let you get a word in.

”i was so worried. i thought someone had kidnapped you.” satoru doesn’t let up, even when an amused chuckle leaves your lips. ”you turned your phone off and everything! what were you even doing?”

”i know, i know. i’m sorry, really. i am!” you hang up your coat, brushing off a leftover cherry petal. ”it was a personal thing, like i said. but i dealt with everything now, so it’s fine.”

”that’s not an answer,” he mutters. ”you’re really not gonna tell me?”

a pang of guilt hits your heart.

”… sorry,” you murmur, low and feeble. avoiding his gaze. ”some other time, okay?”

satoru only lets out another spiteful scoff, arms still crossed. you wonder if he’s holding himself back from hugging you, or if he really is so angry with you that he doesn’t want you near him.

”look, toru —” you try, again, molding your voice into something soft and sweet. ”i’m really sorry. i won’t do it again, okay? and i’ll make it up to you.”

you hold up a paper bag, waving it slightly to get his attention. you can tell that it works. ”look. i got you your favorite pastries.”

satoru’s frown remains, despite the sweet treats. he must be angrier than you thought. ”really? you think some cookies will be enough to make things right?”

so stubborn. you suppose it’s warranted, though. you know how satoru is — if you’re not by his side for an extended amount of time, he starts to mope. after a while, he starts feeling lonely.

and then, finally, he starts to get anxious.

he’s told you, before, how much these days mean to him; days when the two of you can stay in and relax, and watch silly tv shows, and cook dinner, and fall asleep in each other’s arms. days when he can just be your toru, and no one else. your personal splotch of sunshine.

of course he’d be upset.

(you really are cruel, keeping him in the dark like this.)

seeing him so grumpy makes you oddly happy, though. just his presence makes that suffocating feeling in your chest feel a little more bearable, easing the burden on your restless heart. he makes you feel vulnerable.

with a thud, the paper bag drops to the floor. you open up your arms, like a blooming flower, a sheepish little smile on your lips. ”i missed you?”

the words are tinted with honey, sweet and warm, but also kind of sad. you tilt your head to the right, slightly, a silent invitation into your arms.

and for a second, something unreadable sparks in satoru’s eyes, hidden behind the black of his shades. you still notice it, though — almost as if his whole face pauses for a second. in clever contemplation.

you wonder if he noticed it, then. your puffy eyes, the sagging of your shoulders; the fatigue seeping off you, sticking to your skin.

you wonder if that’s why he relents, finally, stepping closer to bring you in for a hug.

the moment your head meets his chest, you’re enveloped by his scent. strawberries and fresh laundry, and a hint of expensive cologne. home.

a sigh leaves your lips, deep and content. you clutch onto the fabric of his shirt, melting into the embrace — and satoru can’t really bring himself to be too angry, anymore.

”… well, i guess i could forgive you,” he muses, arms securely wrapped around your waist. you’re sure he’s trying to sound stern, but it’s not very convincing when he’s snuggling into you like this. ”but you’re gonna have to make it up to me. alright?”

”right, right,” you exhale, smiling. just thankful to be close to him, to feel that he’s there. ”thank you, oh benevolent satoru.”

a chuckle slips from his lips. you feel it; the low tremor running through his chest, rumbling, as he rests his jaw on your head. ”careful with the snark. if you want to be forgiven you gotta be nice to me, sweetheart.”

you let out a breath, somewhere in between an exasperated sigh and a fond giggle. he’s relieved to hear the sound. satoru prides himself on being observant — being able to read someone with a single glance, notice if something’s off almost instantly. and he’s especially proud of his observant nature when it comes to you.

as clear as the blue of the sky, or the brightness of the sun, satoru can tell that something’s wrong. he noticed it the moment he read that note, the moment you stepped back into the house, the moment he saw your meek little face staring up at him — desperate for comfort. as if one wrong touch could have you falling apart, shattering, like a flimsy sheet of glass.

whatever you were doing, today… it couldn’t have been pleasant.

he’s curious, of course, and still more than a little irked at your escape — but that can wait until later. satoru can be patient, when he wants to be. at the very least, he can be patient when it comes to you.

(for now, he’ll focus on cheering you up.)

nuzzling further into his chest, you take a deep breath, basking in the familiar sensation creeping up on you. satoru makes a halfhearted attempt to stifle his coo.

”aw, look at you,” he grins, swaying you softly side to side. ”so clingy. you really did miss me, huh?”

a huff leaves your lips. ”shut up,” you mumble, feeling a heat rush to your cheeks.

”be nice, baby.”

…

and you relent. the least you could do is indulge him, even if you know he’ll abuse the opportunity fully. you part your lips, and speak.

”… of course i missed you.”

”there we go,” a smug grin blooms on his lips. he rubs your back, absentmindedly. gosh, he’s infuriating.

(you love him so much you want to sneak into his chest and gobble up his heart.)

after a moment, he pulls away from you. just a little, just to get a good look at your face. drinking you in, with his blue-soaked gaze, as your eyelashes flutter. he reaches out, the pads of his fingers meeting your soft skin — cupping your cheek with his palm, big and warm, cradling you the way a believer would cup a mouthful of holy water.

then he leans in to kiss you. giving you no time to prepare, drawing you in, drawn to your touch, inexplicably. helplessly.

it’s a chaste kiss, light and heart-fluttering. his lips are soft, tasting lightly of cherry chapstick. when you exhale against them, you feel him smile, almost smirking. a blissful little breath that he drinks in, hands squeezing softly at your hips, bringing you just a little closer. rubbing his nose against yours.

his tongue flits out to lick at your bottom lip, a teasing flick, and then he’s pulling back — still close enough to make you flustered.

”missed you too,” he purrs, voice deep and raspy, rumbling through his chest. ”thought i was gonna go insane without you.”

with a flushed face, and something akin to a pout playing at your lips, you avoid his gaze. you’re sure that if you looked now, you’d see those pools of blue peeking out beneath the black glass.

satoru leans in to kiss you, again. giving you no warning, as always; unable to resist the temptation.

(you really are too cute for your own good.)

it’s a little intoxicating, the way he breathes you in. sweet and warm, like he’s trying to say i love you without using any words, with just his lips and lungs and tongue. he’s a little too good at it — someone so inexperienced has no business being so naturally good at kissing. it’s a little irritating.

but that’s satoru, for you. always surpassing your expectations; like there’s no limit to his love.

satoru finally decides to spare you, satisfied with the tiny squeak that bubbles up in your throat when he nibbles at the flesh of your lip. he’ll demand more kisses later — preferably when you’re seated in his lap, and he can properly turn you into a boneless puddle.

”alright,” he chirps, a melodic lilt to his voice, stepping back with a palm still on your hip. his thumb rubbing circles into the fabric. ”let’s see those pastries.”

”oh. right…” you’re quick to lean down, snatching the paper bag from where it lays on the floor. passing it to satoru, so he can look into it.

seemingly satisfied with the contents, he lets out a contemplative hum. ”okay, this is a start,” he nods, decisive. ”c’mon. let’s eat ’em by the couch.”

…

you narrow your eyes, suddenly suspicious. ”… hang on. have you had lunch yet?”

satoru gapes, as if in disbelief, barking out a soft, offended little scoff. ”really? you’re doubting me?”

”that’s not a yes.”

a pout forms on his lips. ”of course i have. who do you think i am?”

”oh yeah?” you give him a smile, a tiny raise of your brow. something in you knows that he’s lying. ”what’d you eat?”

”what is this, an interrogation?” he huffs. ”i’m a grown man. i can eat what i want!”

”not when i’m around,” you deadpan. then sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. ”satoru, you can’t eat a bunch of sweets for lunch. it’s not good for you.”

”so you can abandon me for hours, but i can’t have a little treat every once in a while? is that how it is?”

a roll of your eyes. you shift on your feet, letting out a low groan, and satoru has to reel in his growing smile. ”alright, drama queen. i get your point.” a moment passes, and you hum. ”… want me to make you something? or should i just order take out?”

satoru pouts, again, like a big huffy dog. ”babe, don’t you trust me? i’ve already had lunch. i got yakitori from the place downtown!”

”oh? you mean the yakitori place that’s closed on sundays?”

”huh. that’s weird,” he muses, smiling faintly. ”must’ve been some other place, then.”

you give him an unamused look. he returns it with a vague upturn of his lips, completely unbothered.

a sigh.

”… i’ll order take out.”

”whatever you say, princess.”

you stifle a smile, and go digging for your phone, feeling your own stomach rumble a bit. in the midst of the banter, you almost forget what day it is.

and satoru feels satisfied. you look a little more alive, now. a little more anchored to reality. as you call the takeout place of your choosing, he can even spot some earnest light in your eyes. he’s not exactly worried — but you did seem oddly stiff, just now, a little blurry. faded at the corners, like a dusty old polaroid.

and if there’s one thing satoru gojo can’t do, it’s leave you alone when he knows you need him.

satoru’s punishment for leaving him alone so long is swift and severe.

you’re seated in his lap, caged in by his long arms, and this time you know there’s no escaping them. even if you could, you wouldn’t dare to try. being caged in like this, warm and comfy in satoru’s embrace, isn’t really much of a punishment at all — even the kisses he has you press against his lips and jaw aren’t unwelcome, albeit a little embarrassing. he’s a merciful tyrant.

but you can’t help but feel like you’re deceiving him.

you still feel so lost, somehow, a murky sensation you can’t seem to shake off. and you know it’s because of your brain, because of the correlations it’s stitching and crocheting between today and her and you.

it simply won’t let you be happy, today.

you can’t help but feel a little greedy. ungrateful. even though you have your precious sun with you, even though you should feel warm, her absence hangs heavy on you. her continued absence, in your world, your life. a chill that rots your bones from the inside out. you know you’ll never get over it. you don’t ever want to get over it. it’s tough, though.

you should be happy, snuggled into your boyfriend’s arms, but her sorrow clings to you. you should be mourning, but his arms feel so secure like this. no reaction feels right, no emotion warranted.

(you really are greedy, aren’t you?)

satoru chuckles, a sound both delighted and amused — snapping you out of your spiraling thoughts. as always.

you’re watching a movie he likes, some cheesy old romcom. you really, really don’t understand his taste. but his commentary is always entertaining. judging by his cute little noise, someone just said something funny — funny to his standards, anyhow.

it’s too tempting to resist. you crane your neck, glancing up at him, wanting to see his face. from this angle, you can spot the blue of his eyes — beautiful and bright, flickering with splotches of pure white. they flit down to meet your own, gleaming with amusement.

”do i have something on my face, baby?” satoru chuckles, leaning forward to get a better look at you, all tucked against his chest. he grins, smooth, handsome; tailor-made to make you flustered. ”you’re staring at me real hard, there.”

(what a tease.

unfortunately for him, you saw this one coming.)

”nah,” you show off a grin of your own, bubbly and teasing. ”you’re just pretty.”

he blinks. a few seconds passes by.

then a smile breaks out across his face. his eyes crinkle softly at the edges, like little petals, snowy bangs gliding against his skin when he tilts his head.

”oh?” he leans closer, hands still keeping you in place, making sure your gaze stays locked onto his. ”so forward. am i really that irresistible?”

there’s something soft in your eyes, something tender in the way your fingers go to touch his skin. a ghost of a caress, paired with your flimsy smile. you look at him like he hung all the stars in the sky, breathing out an exhale. ”… i wouldn’t go that far.”

”aw, don’t be embarrassed,” he lets out a coo. ”come on — tell me i’m pretty again.”

”you liked that, huh?”

satoru flicks your forehead, no real strength behind it, so soft you barely feel it. there’s a certain reprimanding tilt to his voice, teasing as it is. ”be nice.”

he’s lucky you’re feeling too vulnerable to put up a fight. you turn around, to face him properly, squirming in his hold; reaching out to cup his handsome face.

”pretty boy,” you murmur, running your thumb along the expanse of his cheekbone. satoru grins, and your heart thumps loudly in your chest. you can spot earnest giddiness on his features — such a sucker for praise.

blindly, he searches for your other hand, bringing it to his lips. they’re warm, you notice, as he kisses across your knuckles, the tips of your fingers. soft as a feather, tickling your skin. like every peck is a whispered psalm, a silent worship. but it’s light, it always has been — the weight of his boundless adoration. it’s not the heavy kind of love that gods give, not the one you hear about in stories, that always ends in death. satoru’s love isn’t crushing, and it isn’t suffocating. it’s delicate and careful, soft. it reminds you of how sunshine licks at your skin in the morning.

nothing more or less than one human being’s wholehearted love for another; giggles buzzing against your skin, crinkled eyes and mouthfuls of honey. blissful summer days.

(it reminds you of her, but it’s also something entirely different. something you can only ever make sense of when you think of the sun. when every single corner of your home has been doused in sunshine.)

a moment passes. so, so intimate, unbroken by the grief inside your chest. balm to your fractured heart, smoothing across your jagged edges. satoru leans into your palm, into your touch, relishing in the affection you give him. like a bee to a flower, blooming, wilting.

a nagging need tugs at your heartstrings.

(you want to see him. up close.)

although a little unsure, you reach your hands out, slowly, delicately, like approaching a frightened fawn — eager to remove his shades. he makes no move to stop you, so you assume that it’s okay. his eyes flutter open, when you do, white lashes parting like a bird taking flight; crinkled at the corners, overflowing with warmth. like sunshine streaming in through the curtains of your childhood kitchen.

your heartbeat stutters at the sight.

all you can do is stare. transfixed, losing yourself in their calming hue, drinking them in. you sigh; a soft, quiet little sound. ”you’re so pretty.”

…

satoru lets out a breath, tinged with laughter. his eyes are teasing, but warm even still. ”… am i, now?”

”mhm. the prettiest.”

he chokes back another chuckle. hoping you won’t notice the slight flush to his ears, the heat on the back of his neck. he’s grown skilled at keeping a poker face, even when you try to fluster him — but it’s harder when you’re not trying, when it comes to you so easily. when your words are honest.

just when he’s about to turn the tables on you, you duck your head under his jaw. nuzzling into the crook of his neck, inhaling his cologne, craving his warmth, knowing how much it grounds you.

that, and his eyes are just a little too beautiful to stare into for too long. they always see right through you, deep into your soul, into every little nook and cranny of your mind. that undivided attention makes you feel a little meek, like you’re bare and raw before him. like there’s nothing you can hide.

(something in your hollowed-out chest begins to crumble.)

falling silent, you absently fiddle with the hem of satoru’s shirt, resting your forehead against his shoulder. he doesn’t say anything. the room would be silent were it not for that cheesy romcom, still buzzing in the background — you think the main couple just got divorced, again. or did get they married? you can’t really keep track of the plot. you can’t keep track of much at all, right now.

satoru makes you too happy.

so happy you forget what day it is, forget you’re supposed to be mourning. sometimes, you forget she’s even gone at all. as if she’s resting on some summer field, outside of your vision, alive and well.

but she isn’t. you can’t forget that.

guilt. how long has it been part of your life? you don’t know the answer. you’re not sure you want to know. most of the time, it’s all you can feel. guilt, because you’re sitting here, happy, with the love of your life — the most wonderful person you know. guilt, because you haven’t told him what’s going on, because you don’t trust him enough — even though you’d like to think you just don’t want to burden him. you don’t trust anyone enough to let them glimpse into your decaying chest. you’re afraid of the rot. you’re afraid it’ll mold his hand at the slightest touch.

guilt, guilt, guilt — because you’re lucky enough to meet such wonderful people, over and over again, and never quite manage to deserve them.

(having lost its moon, where does a star find solace?)

a hand begins to stroke your head. the weight is a comfort, reassuring, a jolt of warmth trickling down your spine. for a moment, it’s all you can feel.

(— in the warmth of the sun.)

”sleepy?” he murmurs, low and soft. a little teasing, mostly inquisitive, a calm lull of his tongue.

are you? you didn’t really notice, until now. things are starting to feel a little hazy, aren’t they? you feel comfortable, too comfortable, your body aching for a moment of rest, a chance to shut off. sleep, sleep, sleep. don’t think about anything anymore.

satoru notices your sleepy little breaths, the way you gradually soften under his touch, melt into his arms. so he continues to run his hand over your head, petting you gently — knowing it’ll coax you into resting. he’d like you to stay up and binge shows with him all night, but you seem awfully tired. just this once, he’ll let you sleep — the plot was starting to get boring, anyhow. the sequel’s way better.

”you can rest, baby,” he coos, with a gentle intonation. his voice buzzes in your ear. ”i’ve got you.”

(he’s got you.)

the words make you feel so horribly, awfully safe. you can already feel yourself drifting away. his hand smooths down your hair, and a yawn slips from your lips, and you’re just so, so tired. how nice it would be, for the day to end. to be able to forget, for another year.

yeah. how nice.

you wonder why you don’t take the opportunity.

maybe it has something to do with satoru. with the way he seems to bring you back to reality so effortlessly, soothes you without even really trying. maybe it’s the way he bares himself in front of you, blue eyes on full display, allowing you to see every single part of him.

maybe, it makes you want to do the same.

”… satoru?”

your voice sounds meek. tiny, unguarded. the man in question only hums, feeling you slump against his shoulder. ”hm?”

”today…” you trail off, unsure how to proceed. you can only think of a certain girl, a certain moon. the melancholy is almost overbearing; it pushes you over the edge. ”i went to a cemetery.”

satoru doesn’t respond. he gives you space to continue, never once halting the motion of his big hand on your head, smoothing down your hair. you gulp, trying to force your dry throat to make sounds.

”… my best friend is buried there. she died today. a couple years back… so i —” a coldness crawls under your skin, words hollow as they leave your lips.

”… you know.”

”yeah. i figured.”

a blink. your eyelashes flutter, in surprise — you can’t see satoru’s face, with the way you’re pressed up against him, but you still look up.

what tipped him off, you wonder?

you believe him. satoru has a way of seeing through you, one way or another, always more observant than you give him credit for. he’s tactful, in how he brings it up, and that slumbering maturity he tries to hide comes into view. there’s no judgement in his tone, no pity — only understanding.

”… oh,” is all you can mutter. dumbfounded.

”i’m sorry. about her.”

”don’t be,” you murmur, managing a soft shake of your head. ”i’m — i’m sorry i didn’t tell you. i just wanted to go there alone, and… deal with it? i guess.”

after a brief pause, you keep going. feeling so, so small. but satoru holds you so tenderly. a whisper slips past your lips, dripping with longing.

”… you’d have liked her.”

”what was she like?” comes his reply, instantaneous.

…

huh.

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. your mind spins in circles, but nothing happens.

(what was she like?)

”… i really loved her.”

satoru lets out a breath. vaguely amused, but he isn’t smiling. his words have a kindness to them; an understanding, more than anything. ”that’s all, huh?”

a slight intake of breath.

— then you bring yourself to think of her.

you think of her face, how her lips curled up into a smile when you tripped over air, the splotches of sunlight reflecting off her white teeth. you think of her laughter, how it always echoed in your head, how she took your hand in hers when you were too scared to walk ahead alone — taking the first step so you wouldn’t have to. a whole human being, multifaceted, enough traits and quirks to fill the whole night sky.

your moon. your eurydice. the only one who understood you.

you loved her a lot.

”… when i was with her, even sitting around and doing nothing made me happy.” nostalgia seeps into the whisper, like warm honey clogging up your throat, choking you. ”just her being there made every day feel like a good one.”

satoru doesn’t say anything. but he holds you, and he doesn’t let go. even when your voice begins to waver.

”i guess that’s… how i’d describe her.” a small breath. then a smile, even smaller. rueful, but it’s there, and it means everything. ”i’d do anything to have that yesterday back.”

satoru stays silent.

you’ve spoken about her, before. he knows some things. not a lot. he knows she’s important to you; the person who shaped you into who you are, your very best friend. he tries to picture her, inside his mind.

you let out a tiny sigh, your lungs feeling empty of air. ”… i’m sure you two would have gotten along.”

”yeah,” he hums, palm smoothing down your back. stifling the thought that threatens to sneak into his mind — you wouldn’t have gotten along with him, but i would’ve wanted you to. ”i’m sure we would have.”

it’s a little too sweet to be true. but it makes you happy, just to imagine that kind of reality — the two of them, together. satoru would tease her, and she’d ignore him, hiding a smile behind her palm. she’d warm up to him eventually. they’d bicker over who knew you best, and demand your own verdict —

you’d smile, not saying a thing.

your voice has gotten a little shaky. it’s scary, opening yourself up for him to see; it feels a little like being sewn open. but you force yourself to keep going. satoru rubs your back through it all, soothingly.

(he’s so, so proud of you.)

”i was thinking…” you trail off, gaze fixed on satoru’s shirt, fingers gripping the smooth fabric. ”maybe, some time in the future — i mean, if you want to — you could… come with me? maybe?”

silence.

”you don’t have to say yes. but if you do want to —”

”i do.”

satoru’s voice is absolute. there isn’t any room for doubt; he makes sure of that. ”i’d like to meet her.”

… oh.

it was that easy, huh?

(you wonder what you could have possibly done to deserve him.)

”… okay,” you mumble, meekly, breath fanning over his skin. ”next year, then.”

satoru glances down at you. curled up against him, nearly sleeping, looking a lot less burdened than before — though there’s still a desperation in the way you lean into his touch, a silent terror, like you could drift away if he doesn’t keep you close. satoru wants to fix it. he wants to run his hands across your skin, stitch the scars life has left you with, even if his touch could never be as gentle as he’d like it to be. he wants to be tender.

but there’s no fixing grief. it lingers, always, no matter how much you try to scrub it away. even if you run a washcloth over your skin until it starts to bleed, the scent still remains.

and there’s a sickening sense of comfort in the knowledge that it always will.

(there’s no getting rid of him, satoru knows. and deep down, he’s glad that it’s true.)

more than anything else — satoru is content. content in the knowledge that you trust him, that you can bring yourself to open up to him about something so personal. that you chose to tell him, even though he gave you a way out. something about it makes him feel almost overwhelmed with affection. the kind he can’t bear not to show you, the kind that makes him seek you out almost subconsciously; seeking out your touch, your laughter. the smile on your face.

and maybe, just maybe — it makes him want to be a little more open with you, too.

”yeah,” he murmurs, craning his neck to leave a kiss on the crown of your head. ”you can sleep, baby. we’ll talk more about it tomorrow, okay?”

”… i’m sorry for leaving you this morning,” you whisper, suddenly. a little meek. ”i felt really bad.”

satoru chuckles. raspy, an amused little breath. ”you’re forgiven, honey,” he coos. ”just don’t do it again, hm? might break my heart.”

with a yawn, you loop your arms around his neck, nuzzling further into his warmth. fighting the urge to close your eyes. drowsiness washes over you all at once, as if it was waiting for you to get the last of your worries off your chest. ”… i love you.”

”i love you too,” comes his reply, a smile tugging at his lips. ”my sweet girl.”

it’s hard to resist the temptation. almost impossible, with how warm satoru feels, your eyes helplessly fluttering close. you were supposed to stay up with him — you haven’t even finished eating. and you didn’t finish his awful romcom.

but he runs his hands over your head, and down your back, and it’s simply too hard to withstand the temptation. so you close your eyes, just for a second —

and that’s all it takes.

satoru keeps petting you, softly, until he’s sure you’re asleep, soft little breaths falling from your parted lips, drool slipping down your chin. he’ll forgive you for staining his shirt, just this once. with you in his lap, sound asleep, he feels himself soften — hands running down your back, rubbing circles into your skin. cradling you closer and closer, ensuring that you’re comfortable. taking a few sneaky pictures, that he’ll tease you about tomorrow —

(though in reality, he just wants to be able to look at them whenever he wants.)

even while eating, romcom flickering on and on, all he can think about is you. how you look so pretty sleeping against him, how you trust him enough to let him see you at your lowest. how you trust him to take care of you, run his fingers across the scars etched into your soul. even if it does no good, even if his touch is clumsy at best — that act of trust alone sets his heart aflutter.

he wonders what he could have possibly done to deserve this happiness.

”well, here we are.”

satoru holds a bouquet of flowers in his arms, putting it down on the grave, crouching down next to you.

a sigh leaves your lips.

”… this still feels a little surreal,” you admit, sparing a glance at the man to your left. ”sure you’re not a little freaked out?”

”nah. don’t mind me, just do your thing.”

”that’s… easier said than done,” you murmur, arranging the flowers for the grave. asters and forget-me-nots, haberleas and hydrangeas.

a hum buzzes in his throat. ”well, what do you usually do when you’re here?”

”i… talk to her, i guess…?” you gnaw at your bottom lip, turning your face away. you feel a little awkward, admitting it out loud, but if satoru finds it weird he’s frighteningly good at hiding it.

all he does is take a step back, as if giving space for your words to fit in. respectful, accommodating. so smooth you barely notice it. ”then talk.”

”… i can’t do that with you here.”

”eh? why not?”

”because — i just can’t, okay?” you let out a huff, averting your gaze, shying away from him. ”whatever. i’m just gonna do it in my head. she’ll have to manage.”

satoru turns his head, looking down at the city skyline below you as you clasp your hands together. when he looks back, he sees you mouthing something, no sound coming out — and decides to leave you be.

the grave is well kept. he wonders how many visits you’ve managed to sneak past him, in the years that he’s known you. he wonders if it’s supposed to feel this foreign, being here, staring down at something he knows must mean the world to you. the grave of your very best friend. someone who holds a piece of your heart, a side of you he never got to see.

he’ll have to make a good first impression.

satoru clasps his hands together, too. and he speaks, silently, with no words; lips pursed in a tight line.

(hi, there. it’s nice to meet you.)

it’s not like he has no experience of talking to the dead, himself. he’s more than acquainted with one-sided conversations, lonely visions of boys with black hair, men with sad smiles. framed by the setting sun.

so it doesn’t feel too odd.

satoru talks. about this, about that. he tries to keep it professional. this is important to you, so by nature, it’s important to him. the conversation comes to a close, and he looks at the grave with an unreadable expression — hands still clasped in silent prayer.

(i promise to take care of them.)

a sniffle.

satoru glances over at you, just as you turn away — trying to hide from him. but he knows. he’ll always, always know when you need him most.

two strong arms curl around your waist, stabilizing you, anchoring you to earth. ”i’ve got you,” he whispers, and you fall into his embrace. allowing him to pick up the pieces, to put you back together. ”i’ve got you.”

”i —” your voice breaks apart, crumbles into stardust, a shuddering breath that escapes from the back of your throat. there’s nothing to see through your tears. ”i miss her so much.”

satoru cradles you close to his chest, tucking you under his chin. ”i know,” he soothes. your little sobs leave his heart with a bitter feeling, and he wishes he could make them disappear; but he knows you need this.

when he holds you, something brushes against the fabric of your clothing. the soft thrumming of his heartbeat. something alive, deep within his chest, something for you to ground yourself with. and you know it was intentional, on his part — the decision to press your hearts together, a promise he doesn’t have to find the words for, because you know.

(stay alive for me. i’ll stay alive for you.

when you can’t breathe properly, i’ll be here to do it for you.)

your tears stain his brand-new coat, but he doesn’t care. all he cares about is you, the fact that you’re crying, how to properly comfort you. it’s new to him, all of it, everything about you is just so new and he’s so afraid of messing it all up again —

but he holds you close. murmuring, right by your ear, endless sweet nothings. he waits for you to get it all out of your system, and he doesn’t let you go.

when you finally collect yourself, thoroughly tired out, eyes red and puffy — satoru smiles. it’s brighter than the sun, positively life-envoking. it gives you something to hold on to. he parts his lips.

”thank you for bringing me here.”

a shake of your head. soft, as he thumbs away your tears, one by one. ”thank you for coming with me,” you smile, small as it is, holding onto his hands. feeling the warmth of his skin, the smoothness of his palm.

after saying your farewells, and promising to come back next year, the two of you begin your trek down the mountain trail. hand in hand. it’s mostly silent, but not at all in a bad way. satoru knows when to be serious, and when not to be. today, he knows you’re especially fragile — he wouldn’t dare overstep.

(especially when he knows your pain so well.)

”hey,” you break the silence. ”thank you, really. for… well, everything.”

satoru brushes you off, with a light squeeze of your hand. ”don’t mention it. i’m your boyfriend, aren’t i?”

”it’s not about that,” you chuckle, an embarrassed smile on your lips. ”just… thank you for existing, i guess. i love you a lot.”

…

satoru hums.

if he were any other person, maybe he’d respond with something just as sincere — something to let you know exactly how much you mean to him, how you make his world brighter just by being in it. how you mend scars he didn’t even know he had, as effortlessly as brushing a strand of hair away from your face. how you remind him of a certain boy, but also something entirely different; a love so light it makes him feel human.

but he’s satoru gojo — and so he has to do things in a more roundabout way.

”hey,” he starts, with a soft click of his tongue. ”next christmas. are you free?”

you blink up at him, with a tilt of your head. ”… of course. we always do something on christmas, right?”

”no, i don’t mean that.”

another tilt of your head. satoru hums, low and contemplative, humming quietly.

”eh,” he flicks his hand, waving you off. ”you’ll see.”

”… okay?”

silently, you study his expression, hoping to find some sort of hint that’ll give away the meaning of his words. you can’t find anything except a carefree smile, his eyes still obscured by his shades — hidden from you and the rest of the ghosts.

you suppose it doesn’t really matter. satoru seems happy; and, really, that’s all you could ask for.

so you only tug him closer, greedy for his warmth, basking in the feeling of it enveloping you. protecting you from the chilly air.

satoru closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath.

(a boy with black hair smiles behind his eyelids.)

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo angst #gojo hurt/comfort #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk hurt/comfort

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gingernut1314 · 9 days ago

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My...Purpose?

Summary: Just a few of my thoughts on Polnareff's life (I have more just wanted to put this bit to start)

Content: JJBA part 3 spoilers (Sherry, deaths), JJBA part 5 spoilers (in regard to Stands, the Boss, Polnareff's ending), kinda just general thoughts about polnareff's life, its angsty

Word Count: 470+

A/N: I've had these thoughts in my mind for a while now and it was my intention to write a little drabble in regard to them, but I feel like that might never happen so I would like the put them out there and if I do end up writing the drabble/one-shot, then perfect! two fics lol. I hope you all enjoy!

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Polnareff raised Sherry

Their mom died when Sherry was a baby and Polnareff was really young

Their father was never truly in the picture

Just barely there enough to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs

Until he left them all together leaving Polnareff the sole caretaker of Sherry

He spent most of his life working

He didn’t care about his education enough to decline a shift or seek higher education

All he cared about was making sure he could keep their house and keep Sherry fed, clothed, and as happy as she could be

He poured his whole life into taking care of her

So when she died, it broke him

He left heartbroken

He felt lost

Just completely and utterly alone

He thought of nothing else besides getting revenge on the person who hurt her and took her from him

So when he finally gets his revenge, he feels lost again

Alone

So he poured his heart and energy into this fight against DIO

But when DIO is defeated

And everyone goes their separate ways

He begins to feel lost and alone once more

A drift with nowhere to go

We know he went back home to France,

but I think he didn’t even step inside his childhood home

It would be too painful

So I think he travels around the world under the guise of “finding other Stand Users”

Maybe to train them

Maybe to make sure they don’t use their power for evil

But he really has no purpose in life after everything is said and done

Going back to school?

Getting a job?

No that’s just not on the table anymore

He can’t just sit still anymore

So when he finds out about the Stand Arrows

He latches onto that thread and follows it as far as it goes

It doesn’t matter that it brings him toe to toe with Diavolo

It doesn’t matter that his body is broken

It doesn’t matter his friend left him in Italy with no hope of escape

Because he can now pour his life and soul into stopping some grand evil once more

And he doesn’t have to live alone with his thoughts about Sherry and Kakyoin and Avdol and Iggy

So no, it doesn’t matter to him that he’s killed

Doesn’t matter that he possesses a turtle

As long as they get the bad guy

As long as he doesn’t have to think about the people he’s lost

But after Diavolo is gone?

He begins to feel that lost feeling all over again

But he joins Giorno

Is glad to become his right-hand man and help run this grand mafia operation

Because he’ll do or be anything

As long as he doesn’t have to think about the past

As long as he’s not alone again

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n-ctars · 6 months ago

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Inuyasha Themed Tumblr Layout⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

f2u [ with credit of course ~ ]

check out the layout in action here!

made for @eskeys 400+ event ~ day 1 [ favorite color ]

𖦹⋆｡˚ we are a request blog that offers graphics, transparents, name and username suggestions, and the like! please check out our full list of what we make and our rules here!

#400+eskeys #❀ ۫ ͡ ︶graphic kits #❀ ۫ ͡ ︶dividers #❀ ۫ ͡ ︶graphics #❀ ۫ ͡ ︶headers #❀ ۫ ͡ ︶icons #inuyasha #inuyasha icons #tumblr layouts #tumblr graphics #tumblr headers #headers #icons #dividers #tumblr dividers #☆ sprinkled with stardust

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milky-aeons · 10 months ago

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[1] — STARGAZER

a/n: i wrote this story years ago! and while i was rereading it out of pure boredom, i decided i wanted to breathe some life back into it again. this shall be multi-chaptered! take your time with it, and please read the warnings before you embark, loves!

warnings: class differences, oppression of women, mentions of illness, mentions of death, depression, violence against women, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, superstitious natures, spoilers, mdni, w.c 7.4k

౨ৎ . . . chapter ONE of CROWNS OF STARDUST

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚜.

— Grace Willows, To Kiss a King.

𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆. Dotted studs of white fire, splattered over a glassy night sky that sometimes bloomed with purples and indigos of rare supernovas, if you were lucky enough to see them.

You could lie here for hours, like this, gazing at the wonders above. Counting as they winked at you from far away, feeling the evening breeze nip at your cheeks and whisper through the field. And above everything; allow yourself to imagine. To think, secretly, what it would be like if everyone thought like the stars did.

They didn't discriminate, stratify, hate or detest. They simply shined brightly, each of them made of that very same material everyone in the world was also made up of; incandescent, special speckles of stardust.

If only they could see that. If there could be some way to force through the social ladders of your society, to break away from the labels placed upon you. Perhaps the world would be a better place if we thought how the stars did — believed that everyone, no matter how rich or poor, was the very same on that fundamental level.

Intertwined within our souls was the stuff of stars that made us no better or worse than the person next.

Perhaps the world would be just as beautiful as a sky on a peaceful, undisturbed night when every person was allowed to shine just as brightly as the stars above. But this stargazer locked that thought up deep within her heart, just like all others that expected too much from her rank, her social label, and staggered to her feet with a heavy sigh.

The Village of Yo, January, 1831

A chipped, wooden horse came down hard against the worn chess board with a force that rattled all the other pieces. Hand-carven, they were fragile and you should have been a little less vigorous. But caught in the grips of victory, you had little room for such caution.

"Checkmate," You smiled giddily, knocking the King piece off the board. "I win."

Your opponent; a willowy old man with lines streaked across his forehead and an impressive beard grumbled with narrowed eyes. Reaching up, he rubbed a hand down his face. "My, lass. I knew one day you'd catch up to me, but I didn't think it'd be this quick."

Still smiling, you reached down to pick up the King from the floor where it'd landed. You brushed off the delicate carvings on the piece with care, hoping you hadn't damaged it any more. A terrible habit of yours it was; becoming too excited about games and strategy. It was bad enough that one of the castles was missing its parapet because you had become angry at a sneaky strategy your teacher had used. And hurtled the poor piece across the room.

But now, you placed it carefully back, it looks as if said teacher has been bested by the student.

"You should take pride," You assured through a grin. "It means you're a great teacher."

"Teachers don't teach to be bested by their students, lass. Maybe it's my eyes. I didn't even see your counterattack in place, at all."

"Ah, I see. Go on, then. Blame your eyesight." Your lip jutted in a playful frown. "God forbid that a woman beats you at anything. What will the village think? You'd be locked up and subject to a shower of rotten fruit."

"[Name]!" The wood whined as he rapped on it three times. Superstitious to an art form, your Grandfather has always been. Which of course, was why you spoke so loosely to him in the first place. Receiving a rise out of him was one of the ways you loved to keep entertained in this small, handwoven cabin typical to that of common folk.

His cheeks tipped rose when he exclaimed, "You mustn't feed the air with talk of such events!"

You, the victorious Chess Champion, stared your Grandfather in the eye. The pair of you didn't reach the third second before a low chuckle escaped the older man. It was hoarse in a way that spoke of his age, an obvious hallmark of his weakening health you didn't think about so much.

He shook his head. "Aye, my Granddaughter has bested me. Are these lungs of mine finally getting to my head?"

Three consecutive knocks rang through the air. This time, it was you who had copied your Grandfather's superstitious habit and tapped the table. "Now who is feeding the air with bad thinking?" You asked him softly.

"Not bad thinking, lass. Pure truth."

"Grandfather." You frowned even more. Talk of your Grandfather's weakening health sent a thousand small stabs through your heart, opened doors to thoughts of an empty cabin without him there. You couldn't bear to entertain anything but the thought that the new medicine you've received would work. No, it had to.

It must.

The man gave another rattling cough, followed by a scowl. "Rather than wasting money on all that fancy apothecary, why not more food? You're an awful liar, [Name]." His eyes similar to your own — that clear tone which rivalled the smoothest of glass — riveted into you. "You believe you hide your stomach growls, but you doubt the hearing of an old man with poor sight."

On instinct, you placed a hand to your stomach, pressing hard. Through the simple dress tied off at the waist, you could feel the tight skin, the lumps of your protruding ribcage. The hunger spasms had drawn your muscles taut, but the pain was tolerable. Grandfather needed the food more than you, after all. He needed to get better.

"It is nothing," You mumbled. "There has been drought throughout the summer. You know that. Food is sparse. I'm young, I'll live."

The older man studied you with a shaky hand stroking over his beard. It was a long moment before he let out a chuckle. "You've got your Mother's selflessness and your Father's poor deceit. Really, what'll I do with you?"

Images of the young couple that birthed you were gone as quickly as they came. It didn't hurt as much to think about them anymore, as you knew they too, existed in the stars that looked down upon you all. [Name] of the Willows family was strong and always kept her backbone in check, but would be lying if you said you were ready to be completely alone. Not after the sudden passing of your parents.

Even if you had to work in a farm trudging through mud picking up weeds and other unpleasantries, you would keep your Grandfather here on this earth. Your only living relative — one you couldn't bear to let go.

It did not help in the slightest that this drought was financially crippling not only the farming community in the village, but the whole Kingdom of Yo as a nation. They were mainly an agrarian province that got most of its income off of produce. Drought of any kind, especially one lasting this long, was bound to cause chaos in every aspect of the Kingdom. And it had — chaos that was quickly balanced by raising taxes in order to stabilize the economy.

An idea offered by the Royal Family of the Yo Palace.

You ground your teeth every time you thought about the monarchs all were meant to bow down to, to marvel and respect. When they were treated like nothing but cattle to be milked of everything they had? The Miyazawa farm you worked on hardly has any money for themselves in this current climate, not concerning your wages, which had been shaved down as of recently. You had no reason to blame them. No, the people you directed such distaste to were the money-laundering aristocrats that stood on top of it all.

If anyone was responsible for your forced fasting in order to afford basic medicines for your Grandfather's health, it was them.

You were unsure about many things in life; marriage, family, food, but if you could count on one thing; it was that you hated the Royal Family. With everything you could possibly gather within you.

"It's a terrible thing you can't get rid of me," You continued with Grandfather's remark, trying to distract yourself from the depravity of it all. You carefully set up another chess game with the delicate, whittled pieces. Your favourite game. "Who would wake you up in the morning, then?"

"The taxman at the door, that's who." He scoffed.

Whatever water you had in your stomach went sour. "The Royals ought to be ashamed of themselves, taxing us like we have it all to give. Do they not know the people they rule over? How we're struggling?"

A sigh filtered through the air. "Don't be quick to blame the Royals for everything, [Name]. Running a Kingdom is not often black and white. If I had to guess, I believe they don't have a choice."

Suddenly very taken aback by your Grandfather's point of view when his very body was wasting away because of the people he was defending, you shot up. Eyes blazing a bright inferno, neck tight. "How could you defend them?"

"I'm not defending them, lass. But it is wise to think before you project." He rounded his own clear eyes on you. "How would you save a Kingdom if it was falling apart?"

You were about to give into that same habit of reacting when worked up and lash out. They tax us silly, uncaring of how many lives they leave in ruins! But before you barely got a word out, there was a loud commotion outside.

An explosion of high, excited chatter that caught both your attention. Cautiously, you left the chessboard and Grandfather's company to venture to the front door and peer outside. What could it possibly be at this early hour? You wondered with a huff, blinking the sunlight from your narrowed eyes. It was midday; the time of lunch, if one was lucky enough, and perhaps quiet work.

Not an entire gaggle of women hurriedly knocking on doors and running around with their skirts gathered up in their fists.

Wary, you almost scowled at the lady who scurried towards you. The lady was too excited to notice, it would seem.

"Oh, darling!" She gushed, taking you by the hands. "Oh, it's amazing! A miracle!"

"What is?"

The lady shook her clasped hands. "You truly don't know? You have not heard?"

I would have not asked if I did, you wished to remark. Women such as these who were nothing but charm and gossip unnerved you the most. But instead, you remembered basic propriety. "Pray tell? For I have not."

"The Royals, my darling! They've smiled down on us and heard our cries! Recruitment, they have just promised, for all young women under forty and unwedded. With a promised wage! They wish to help those in need in these taxing times! Oh, we've been saved. Saved, my darling!"

Your twitching brows knitted. You were having serious trouble understanding what you had just been told. "Pardon, Miss?"

"The day is wonderful, my Darling!" The lady took her hands away from you and twirled happily on the spot. Her cheeks were stained a delicate rose when she stopped. "I'd place my name down quickly with the Registrar, [Name] Willows! Unwedded and in these troubled times, a servant's job will be a blessing to you!"

Servant's job?

The woman was already scurrying off to the nearest house ready to spill the news when it caught up to you. Your mouth parted to draw a shaky, disbelieved breath. No, this can't be. You turned to look at the other houses along this path. Each and every one of them looked busy, some already ushering their daughters out the door so they could place their names down and help the family income.

Hold on a moment, the Castle is suddenly accepting women to become servants for the Court?

In this financial climate?

Such a handful of women who were desperate for income, like you, were currently taking to the streets with hastily wrapped scarves around their heads. It was a sea of excited commoners, close in age and status to you. Some of which, you were close friends to.

The sight of it all made you suddenly take the severity of what was happening seriously and gather your skirts to turn back into the house.

"Grandfather," It was a hurried whisper on your tongue. "Grandfather, where are you?"

The older man was already standing at the small kitchen you shared, his back turned. Unbothered, he never really was one for dramatics when they arose in the society. "Why do you sound like you've seen a ghost, lass?" He asked while pouring a shaky cup of water. "Don't bring any of that societal malarkey into this home."

"No, Grandfather, this is not—this is," You were having trouble getting coherent words out. Because surely, this couldn't be true. "The Castle—they're—?"

"Use words correctly," A small tap on your forehead that made you blink. You hadn't been flicked as such since your teenage years. But it seemed to do the trick — because your were shaken right out of your startled haze. One tight swallow and you were right back in the room.

"The women," You began quickly. "They've come saying that the Castle is looking for new workers. Servant women, able and unwedded. They promise of a wage, Grandfather." Your expression suddenly grew tight. "Do they mean to mock us? First they take away our taxes, now they take any women who are able for a family?"

Silence followed your obvious open question. It made you frown when he stared into the murky water with quiet contemplation.

"Grandfather?" You pressed, now confused.

It was a few more moments of a now heavy silence before he tipped the water down his throat, followed by a rattled cough. "So, what are you waiting for?" He suddenly piqued, irritated. The cup came down heavily onto the kitchen table. "Where is your scarf, your bags, your birth papers? You'll be a fool to think that they will accept just any woman who doesn't get there first!"

Warmth spread quickly from your chest up to the top of your neck. Like a slap to the cheek, the words from your Grandfather were hard and unexpected in their impact. Your hands clasped into shaking fists at your sides.

"What are you saying? Do you honestly believe I would work as a servant woman in their Castle—?"

"Better a servant girl than pulling weeds up in that Miyataza farm you work on."

"Miyazawa farm, Grandfather. It is the Miyazawa family."

"Does it matter, lass? I could bet a Castle job would pay you far more generously than weeding. Servants are treated well. They are fed and warm when they sleep."

The heat was creeping into your cheeks now. How dare he try to send you away? How dare he even think you would consider being sent away?

"I'm not leaving you." Was the hard-line, final statement. You stood straight and taut, daring your Grandfather to wish you away.

Truthfully — due to the mechanisms of this time and the harsh needs of society; you really couldn't stand in the way if Grandfather truly wished to send you to the Castle. Because you were a woman, and he led the house as a man. Misogyny was the only thing a tomboy, unwedded woman like you could not break down with nothing but her soul and stubbornness.

But you could damn well try. Every day, you could try.

"Grandfather," You put every emotion into the soft plea. Begging him to understand that this would rip a hole in your heart. That you would better uproot weeds from a farm with your skirts bunched than polish a lavish Palace hall. Would rather feel the pang in your stomach from days of foodless meals than not see him every morning and night. "Please, don't send me away."

The answer which greeted you was icy and so unlike the man who cared for you. "That's enough, lass. You're going. It's an opportunity not to be missed."

"I don't want to leave you!"

At that, Grandfather glared at you. But it was softer around the edges — the glass of his eyes now a gentle powdery colour. For a spared moment, you were hopeful that guilt had finally swayed him. Even more so when he reached up to pet your hair; an affectionate gesture of his own. You dropped your eyes and leaned into the pat, knowing that the hope would crackle and burn around you. Like everything else in your miserable life you continued to struggle against.

"Servants of the Castle are permitted to return once a month. You won't miss this ol' shack that much, lass. Tending to me and my rotten coughing. Your parents would have wanted it for you," He spoke softly. The gravel of his lung condition made the words a raspy wheeze. "A servant woman of the Palace. You couldn't ask for anything better when we're all drownin' in poverty."

A choked sob was steadily rising in your throat, but you pushed it down and averted your eyes. In a shaky whisper, you attempted one last time, "The Royals are the last people I would ever serve, Grandfather. Even if they promise of a wage."

You could hear it in his chuckle — the knowing grin he always wore. Oftentimes, it reminded you vaguely of your Father.

"Remember, [Name]. If your Kingdom was in ruins, how would you save it?"

The village of the Yo Kingdom was still buzzing with excitement hours after the news was relayed to every single door. Mothers and Grandmothers alike who did not meet the criteria for work waved their younger daughters off, some with cloths up to their mouths to hide the tears. Of elation or despair, you didn't know.

It was with a heavy heart that you packed your things in the small area you and Grandfather shared for sleep; him on the bed while you took to the floor most nights. Not that it ever bothered you. Something about the musty scent of oakwood and the tuft of hay you treated as a pillow stayed with you as you wrapped the scarf around your head. Home, you thought with lines bracketing your frown, this was your home and you were only permitted to return once a month.

Could you truly serve the family you hated so much?

You didn't let the hope in your heart dwindle. Having spent a generous deal of time arguing with Grandfather while getting ready — perhaps the Registrar was no longer there. Maybe a good number of women had beat you to it first and you were too late. With a deep breath did you continue your walk across the small village street — following some stray women as they hurried along the same route. Constantly, you turned around to look at your Grandfather once more. But you had ventured far into the city now — your home was around the bend and well out of eye's view.

If the Gods smile down on you, then perhaps you wouldn't have to leave for too long. The Registrar will be full, and you could return right back to where you wanted to be.

Perking a little, you entertained how you would laugh right in his face when you returned home. Ha! Would you look at that, you senile old man. It just wasn't meant to be! A servant woman is not where the Heavens want me to go! A small giggle rushed through you, lifting your spirits ever so. It seemed more probable now the more you walked; there was a high chance the Palace would not accept any more applicants after the previous sea of women bombarded them.

Yes, you told yourself, that's right. And then I can think of what to make Grandfather for dinner tonight. No more will I have to entertain the thought of aiding that horrid, despicable family—

You rounded the sharp bend, only to feel your stomach plummet to the floor.

Sitting in the middle of the cobblestone pave-way was the table you were desperately hoping would not be. Women flocked around it; an ocean of scarfed heads and chattering voices. If it wasn't for another lady brushing passed you would have stayed there frozen and allowed the small sack to fall through your fingers. The Registrar, you quickly realised with dread, he's still here.

You hadn't been too late, after all.

The Gods continued to hold their frown on you.

"Oi, you!"

You snapped to attention when someone singled you out. A burly man, dressed in robes of blue and pure white with a sword at his hilt. The Palace colours. Everything about his demeanour told you swiftly that he was a Royal Knight.

And this Royal Knight was glaring at you intensely.

"I asked you to move into line!" He thrust a gloved hand to the suddenly startled row of women, whose eyes darted frantically. "You block any woman attempting to come through standing there!"

Survival instincts instructed your body to move on command, knowing full well a Royal Knight was not a man to be trifled with. Especially one twice your size and brandishing a terrifying sword. But because you had a stubbornness that could border dangerous in the wrong situations, you projected a tempered glare his way.

"Forgive me, my Lord." You said through tight teeth.

The Knight bared his own teeth and opened his mouth — obviously, he was unused to common village girls who didn't bend underneath his command. Damned Knights, it was a bitter thought quick in your mind as the Knight brought his hand up, everyone attached to those Royals believed they were above everyone else!

Bracing for a crack to your cheek — like so many others you had witnessed, especially when commoners were loose-lipped with those in high command — your eyes snapped shut. Women shrieked and moved away from the scuffle. Your whole body tensed in expectation.

"Sir Francis!"

It was a strong, steely voice that sliced through the air. Because it was taking too long for the pompous Knight to impact, you risked opening one eye. Then the other when your possible assailant wasn't looking your way any more. What in the world...?

The Knight was staring over to where the table was when you trained your eyes there, following every other woman's gawks, also. Seated at the table and the obvious owner of the words was the man that took the names down of possible servant candidates.

The Registrar.

His grey eyes gleamed impatiently underneath the square glasses he donned, mouth stitched.

"—disrespectful, my Lord." You caught the tail-end of what the Knight was saying. "I was teaching her a lesson."

"A lesson, huh?" The Registrar wondered. If you could believe, it looked like he was displeased with the Knight's actions. Surely not, you shook your head minutely amidst the surprise, it was common knowledge that most Knights mistreated commoners. Slapping women was not the worst they could do.

The Knight nodded stoically.

"Bring her here." The Registrar asked with a quick flick of his wrist. "Quickly. Hindrances will only delay the schedule."

"M-My Lord?"

"Are you wasting my time, Sir Francis?"

"A-Absolutely not!" The Knight exclaimed. Then before you could react, he wrapped a strong hand around your frail arm and roughly hauled you forward. Your habit kicked up again on reflex, hurling every disrespectful word you could at the Knight — even attempting to kick him in the shin. But he was Palace trained and you hadn't eaten in days. Any attack you attempted would have been laughably akin to a toddler's in your state.

An unhinged, furious wreck; you were thrown before the Registrar's small table. Your hands flew out to brace yourself against the wood so you wouldn't sink to your knees. No man would make you result to your knees; Royal Guard or the King himself.

But your fumble did result in an ink bottle tipping over and spreading a river of black all over the parchment of names.

"Ahh! T-The names!" One voice wailed. Another Royal Guard. His tone quickly became seething when directed your way. "You useless cur! You'll atone for this with a whipping—!"

"There will be no whipping."

Blinking, you shot up to see the face of the Registrar staring you down. Tall and faintly handsome; he had smooth skin of porcelain that threw his grey eyes into sharp focus. A mane of golden hair was kept neatly in a tail at the back of his head — not a piece out of place. You hated how his heavy stare made you gulp. Especially when there was an irritated tick to his jaw.

But then, he sighed. "Fetch me another bottle of ink," He spoke to the Knight over his shoulder. "There should be a Craftsman nearby. You have two minutes."

"My Lord, this behaviour is uncanny. You should not allow her to—!"

"Whipping is a sore waste of time when we have so much women to get through." The Registrar hissed in a tempered whisper that could very well be a chilly breeze. He tossed his eyes back to the Knight, and you noticed the bob of his throat. "Are you attempting to tell me what to do?"

It wasn't a question. It was a careful, dangerous threat.

And the Royal Knight answered him correctly. "N-Never, My Lord!" And with that, he was spun around and off he scurried to find the ink bottle. You noticed the barest droop in the Registrar's tense shoulders, and couldn't help it when the words came tumbling forth;

"You saved me from a beating."

The Registrar slid his eyes to you. You knew you shouldn't have said it — not because it was improper and lacked propriety, because it did. You had no care for that. It was because he was looking at you now as a human would stare at an insect, and you were reminded of why Royal Court Members were people you'd never show gratitude to.

Straightening, you steeled your spine and hardened your glare. "I don't know what I can offer you." You hissed.

The Registrar may appear as if he is looking at a bug, but now his eyebrow raised. An interesting bug, perhaps. "I do hope you don't believe you can become a servant with no etiquette."

"Oh, I don't want to be a servant." You said proudly. "It was my Grandfather who sent me."

"Surely, he does not place the hopes of income on you?" The faintest ribbon of amusement in his tone. You caught it, and grinned.

"Better on me than a useless airhead woman who has no backbone when expected to serve in a Castle of Thieves."

Were you purposely attempting to jeopardise your chances? Perhaps. Your sharp tongue was more to do with the gleam of jest in the Registrar's cool grey eyes. It rubbed your nerves wrongly, how the Royal Workers thought the people they ruled were amusing little rodents; only to give money and anything else material.

"The Castle of Thieves?" He ventured, albeit lowly. It would surely be odd if the Registrar repeated such accusations of his place of work. You couldn't help but be taken aback by his curious manner, but hid it well.

The Registrar leaned back. No longer an insect, you thought as he regarded you with indifference. You had upgraded to a comical animal. The barest smile on his lips gave it away.

"You speak boldly." Was all he offered.

"Someone in this village has to." You countered.

"Speaking boldly in the Palace will result with your skin being littered with scars. Court Members are everything but lenient."

"Well, then that's that settled! I'm just too improper to be a servant woman. Truly, a shame." Secretly elated, you were preparing to turn right around. "I thank you for listening to me, My—"

"Wait."

Your bones and muscles snapped, froze. With an uneasy feeling in your gut that your habit had just upset the Registrar, who commanded the Knights around him, did you hesitantly look over your shoulder. When he said nothing but stared did you hold back a sigh and turn right around.

"Yes, My Lord?" You got out. A beating? Or perhaps you will be forcefully robbed of your innocence? It was unwise to question the extent of punishment a high-standing Official could mete out. But were you sorry? You grit your teeth, never in an aeon of existence.

The Registrar was quiet for a second, only studying you with everything but a livid expression. It not only made you perplexed, it also made you more nervous than what a glare would do. "Do you have your birth papers?"

You blinked. "Pardon?"

"Your birth papers. I expect you have them on you?"

Indeed, but you weren't about to give them up to this man. Although two Royal Knights had suddenly flanked either side of you — attracted by the commotion and why you were taking so long. So, with a jaw locked and eyes daggering into the man before you, did you reach into your sack and produce the heavy parchment.

He took it in his long, nimble fingers. Studied it with eyes downcast under his peculiar frames.

"[Name] Willows. Of childbearing age," He glanced up. "I assume you are unwedded?"

He assumes. You forced the annoyance down into your gut. Right where the other hatred for the Royals and their henchmen resided. "No." The Royal Knights and their weapons made you spit, "My Lord."

You and the grey-eyed Registrar didn't break the stare-off, not even when the Knight came stumbling back with the fresh ink-bottle in hand.

"My Lord!" He yelled breathlessly. "My Lord, I have fetched the ink. Some new parchment too. Courtesy of the Craftsmen Charlisle."

"He has my thanks," The Registrar opened his palm behind so the bottle could be placed there. When it was, did he spread the new parchment out and dip a fine quill in. "[Name] Willows," He said the name like a condemning sentence. The very end to all of your happiness. Your wide eyes tracked each swirl of the quill, every dot and dab. No way —

The Registrar sat up and smiled at you. It was that unnerving half smile. One that set all your nerves alight and spread fire coursing throughout your bloodstream. "Congratulations. Starting today, you shall be a training servant woman. May you enjoy your stay in the Castle of Thieves."

You let every bit of your pride go in the moment of shock. Mouth gaping, eyes widened. Surely there had been a mistake. There was no way the Castle accepted women who didn't keep their thoughts, voices and tongues to themselves. It was a matter of propriety, and in the Castle — propriety was held at the highest value. The Registrar was still studying you when the red cleared from your vision.

"Miss [Name]," He questioned. "Did you hear me correctly? There are others we must see to."

This damn Registrar, your fists clasped at your sides, practically vibrating with rage, this man was messing with you! He had to be!

"You can't be serious." You whispered. "The Castle would never allow it."

"I'm the Registrar. My duty is to choose what women I believe will make the most able servants. And perhaps, dare I say, you've enlightened me. It's true. Women who, as you say, 'have no backbone' will never survive serving under the Prince and King of the Yo Court."

The sentence was sealed in stone. Due to your habit, your humanly need to not be treated as scum by the higher-ups in society had just landed you in your worst nightmare. A job at the Caste, serving under the monarchs you hated the most. Being given a wage made from the taxes these villagers were being squeezed of. And there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

Already plunged into hell, you figured you may as well go out with a bang while you descended.

"What is your name?" You whispered to him.

His golden brow cocked. "I'm the Registrar."

"You mean to tell me your Mother gifted you with that name?"

A beats silence. The Registrar stayed still, contemplating long enough to deceive you into thinking he would not answer. Of course he wouldn't, pompous Court Official that he was. But after the silence was up, he leaned over the table. This wicked grey-eyed man who had just sealed your fate under lock and key.

"Kunikida Doppo," He said to you. "Secretary to The Throne. I will also be controlling your wages, Miss [Name]. I do hope your time-wasting habit does not carry over to your work."

You met him with a challenging smirk. "My Lord, Kunikida Doppo. How grateful I am to be granted this chance. Of course, I won't waste my time." Then, your voice dipped into a deadly whisper. One that was uncanny to any woman of society. Or any woman who wished to keep alive, period. Yet you, in that moment, couldn't find it in yourself to give a damn. "But I can promise you that I'll do everything to waste yours."

Outside the Throne Room, the Royal Palace of Yo

Court Officials; dressed in their beautiful garments of fine silks and studded gems, waited cautiously outside the Throne Room. The women with fans open in front of their faces to hide their frowns. Frowns, after all, stressed the skin to a point of wrinkles. No woman of the Court should be caught doing such a thing. The men had their hands of the hilt of their swords, swearing under their breaths and chattering in low voices.

"What do they think the Prince will do? If none of us could crack 'em, why do they think a pampered Royal can?"

He was met with violent shushing of another man. This one was a lot older and therefore, not as arrogant. Arrogance in the Palace of Yo got any man killed.

"Idiot!" He hushed. "Don't speak so easily of the Prince! Have you not heard his name in the halls?"

"His name?" The other man wasn't impressed. "'Course I have. It's common knowledge to know our Prince's—"

"No, his nickname. 'Demon Prince' is what the walls call him! You would be wise not to doubt his abilities of cruelty. Especially during interrogation."

The nickname of the Prince, the only Prince of Yo and heir to The Throne, sent violent shivers down each spine in the room. Women recoiled further behind their embellished fans, men cast their faces to the shadows with thin lips. It was all except for the gaudy original man, who had recently only joined the Court and was foolish in his thinking.

"Pwah!" He scoffed. The soft whisper of metal as he took out his sword. "I don't believe for a second that a spoiled Prince could do what actual Guards couldn't do! He was a lapdog his whole life — an only child!" There was an arrogant smile on his face. Perhaps the reason why he didn't notice the heavy sounds of doors opening behind him, or the desperate quiet pleas of the Court Members, was because he was so caught up in his bragging.

Whoosh, his sword sliced lazily through the air and he declared loudly, "I wager I could knock the brat on his behind with just one match!"

"Truly?"

It was a new voice that filtered through the air, stiffening everyone's bones in the hallway. Soft and mellifluous, the tone of the Yo Prince was rumoured to send men to their knees, women shaking with uncontrollable sobs, and government officials to tighten their jaws.

Today, his voice was echoed by the hiccups and tears from inside the Throne Room. The man that every Guard was interrogating without success was resulted to a blubbering, pathetic mess with just ten minutes alone with the First Prince.

The man brandishing the sword swivelled right around.

It wasn't only his voice that could break even the most hardened souls with wicked words. Rumours circled that it was his eyes — the shade of mahogany, of whiskey mixed with deep coffee. They bore into your spirit. Scanned deeply until you were stripped bare of everything you attempted to hide.

There was a sudden clang of metal on the tiles. The Prince didn't even flinch. He continued to stare at the now defenceless man, who was shaking in his boots.

The Prince cocked his head. "Would you be so kind to repeat yourself? I don't think I heard correctly."

Perspiration broke out everywhere along the man's skin. He was shaking so much now that he was sure of collapse. No one in the hallway was surprised, and braced themselves for the fate of the arrogant Court Official. He barely had lasted a week, and proceeded to insult the Prince to his face. Death, or something far worse, was imminent.

"N-N-Nothing—Nothing, My Liege." The shaking man regurgitated the words. Unashamedly, there was a growing patch of wet taking form in his tights. "I-I-I assure you."

The Demon Prince let absolutely nothing change in his expression. Silence befell over them, heavy and thick, coating everyone in a layer of sticky oil. No one dared breathe, blink or even move. Not when an execution was about to be sentenced.

But the Prince did something more than that, and objectively a lot more terrifying.

He smiled.

"Ah, is that so? Forgive me, Guard-san. It appears the interrogation has left me tired~" His eyes blinked once, twice, and the dark coffee was now a bright whiskey. That was the other rumoured thing about the Demon Prince; his usual persona was calm and silly, yet underneath there housed a terrible monster no one should get in the way of.

He turned to another Guard. "Officer-san?"

"Y-Yes!" The older man stood to stoic solute.

"He's a spy of the Ko Kingdom," The Prince said easily, gesturing to the man who was crying on the floor in the Throne Room. No doubt his soul had ben fractured into thousand irreparable pieces. "Was sent to gather information on our economy. Word is spreading quickly that our drought is near crippling. He was due to report back to the Kingdom yesterday," He let out a light, almost playful sigh. "But you see, the man got greedy and enjoyed himself too much in a brothel house last night~! Spilled his entire guts to a lovely whore he was accompanying. What do you say to that, Officer-san?"

The man almost turned green with pressure. "I—I have nothing to offer, only that it was a life threatening mistake on his part, My Liege."

"Ehhh, you think brothels are 'life threatening', Officer-san?"

"T-That is not at all what I was—"

A peal of perfect laughter rang out when the Prince threw his head back. His mass of brown curls fell perfectly over his eyes when he straightened, those eyes decorated with long dark lashed were shut in happy moons. Deceitful, that was the First Prince of Yo, and God love anyone who fell for his blindingly attractive charm.

"My, my, Officer-san. You're like an innocent school-girl! How about we go to a brothel and find a lovely lady to not tell your wife about~?"

"M-My Liege!"

"Come now, don't be nervous. Life if all about new experiences."

"I can assure you that I have—I have—!"

The atmosphere around the hallway was gently eased until the air was at least breathable again. Some brazen women snapped their fans shut now that their lips were upturned into a smile. Many of the men engaged in the Prince's easy banter. It was no small secret that, when he was in the correct mood, that the Prince had his way with people. Those who never touched or saw the other side to him naturally flocked to his presence.

The only remnants of his commanding, terrifying side was the sounds of wails in the Throne Room; a spy who stood no chance against the Prince's careful questions that everyone decided to stay ignorant to.

That and the shaken man who had been on the receiving end of the Prince's stare. The man who stared death right in the face through eyes of the darkest brown, and escaped, but was now resulted to a soiled, sword-less mess. Frozen to the spot, staring at the open Throne Room and unable to escape from the nightmare the Prince has traumatised him into.

"Were you successful?"

The Prince of Yo, nicknamed the 'Demon Prince' by many of those who were unfortunate enough to encounter that side, strolled into the Quarters he was summoned to. This room was laved in gold and expensive jewels, silk bedsheets and grand oil paintings. In those paintings was the man who ruled over the entire Kingdom of Yo. And, the owner of the voice that called to his visitor.

The King of Yo; King Dietrich. He rarely uses his family name, although the house they lived in was brandished with the surname Dazai.

With a sigh, the Prince waved his hand. "The man was like an open book. Too easy to read, I got him to talk within a minute."

The King turned from the window to gaze at his son. His only son, and yet, there was a rift between them that was too cold to be one of family. They were simply King and Prince, and their fondness never extended past those titles.

He raised a brow. "Officer Hijikata told me you were in there for ten minutes."

At that, the Prince smiled. It was a bone-chilling smile, one that sucked the light from his eyes. "There are other things to do to a man's mind when you take away all his secrets."

The King regarded his son for a long moment, through the brown eyes so similar to his. Then, let out the most regal of sighs. "Such an unsightly habit you have, Dazai. You'd be careful not to terrorise the new servants being trained. It's taxing enough that your branded with a nickname."

"Nicknames are commoner games. Do you think they use them to feel power? That brandishing another with labels is how they humanise?"

"There you go again, speaking so unsightly. These manners will slip out to the public."

Dazai Osamu, the Prince of Yo and Heir to the Throne, waltzed lazily over to his Father's desk and picked up a tumbler. It was gorgeously carved out of magnificent glass, intended truly to be a gift for the King.

He poured himself a healthy serving of whiskey and downed it in one go. Alcohol never did much to fill the indescribably gaping hole in his existence, but it made him feel something.

"Then let them. It'll only produce more labels. More ways of pointless humanising," He brought the empty glass to his lips and stared distantly. Through those eyes that broke men down, that instilled fear into those older than him, that yearned for amusement to distract himself from his outlook on life. "It matters not. I don't deserve the title of human, any way."

ྀི. Chapter Notes:

↣ "The Registrar" is a title I gave to Kunikida as he was taking names from the women who were registering to become a servant of the Castle. It's not his official title, however. His official title is The Secretary of the Palace. ↣ A "Secretary" to a Throne is someone who supports many aspects of a monarch's private affairs; such as finances, schedules and correspondence. The main duty of The Secretary is to communicate the monarchs wishes to different areas of Government. Sometimes, a Court Secretary can also be The Secretary of State. ↣ Prince Dazai's nickname; "The Demon Prince of Yo" is a direct play on his nickname "Demon Executive" of the Port Mafia during the Dark Era arc of the anime. And the Fifteen Light Novel arc, I think? I tend to mention these plays throughout the book as I don't want to discredit Asagiri and make it clear what are my ideas an what is parody. ヾ(≧▽≦*)o ↣ Dazai's closing dialogue of; "I don't deserve the title of human, any way" is drawn from both Osamu Dazai's book No Longer Human and his ability in the anime, No Longer Human.

ʚɞ . . . 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

ʚɞ . . . 𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄

#bungou stray dogs fanfiction #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #kunikida doppo #crowns of stardust #headers by astralnymphh #dividers by saradika!#port mafia #armed detective agency #🪄— milky writes

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