#that HAVE been hardened by life. have been made cruel. and have been twisted. but STILL have these soft foundations ingrained in them

[kxllerblond]

clark always being a home for homeless and a person for the personless because that's how his momma raised him and because he knows what it's like to not have anyone and knows how important it is to have someone even if it's just one single person you barely know

[bumblesimagines]

The Cold Stars

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Daenerys encounters a lonesome stranger in Meereen who shares a bitter history with Ser Barriston

Pronouns: He/Him/His

TW/CW: Suicide mention

~~~

"I cannot hide behind walls forever, Ser Barriston," Dany spoke gently, dragging her eyes over the small marketplace in the city. She knew the dangers of being out in public but she had trust in Ser Barriston and Grey Worm, her loyal subordinates. They'd never allow harm to come to her, she knew that very well. Besides, she needed to show the people of Meereen that she cared and valued them. Trust had to be earned, not given freely. So, despite the worries expressed to her by Ser Barriston and Daario, she marched forth into the marketplace, eager to see what her people were selling. 

"I know, Your Grace," Ser Barriston sighed quietly, his eyes just as diligent and alert as Grey Worm's, bouncing around from cart to face in search of anyone with less-than-innocent motives. Most of the people watched them silently, the caution on their faces making Dany frown. She needed their loyalty, not their fear. She couldn't comprehend it well. She freed them from their masters, breaking the chains that made them slaves and they'd seemingly loved her for it. But the hesitation and unhappiness on some of their faces made her heart twist. 

"Do you think King's Landing will receive me like this?" Dany asked the older, more experienced man as they rounded a corner, slipping out of the market into an alleyway, her head angled over her shoulder to peer back at the two. Ser Barriston's lips parted to respond but his eyes flickered away and Dany noticed Grey Worm reaching for his sword. Her head snapped forward, preparing herself for the worst only to notice the young man leaning against the wall with an apple in hand, his eyes-

His eyes...

Cold and displeased and undeniably violet. Her mind flickered back to Viserys, to the mentions of her parents and Rhaegar, to all the portraits she'd seen of her ancestors and all the stories told about them. She felt as if the air had been knocked out of her, and she suddenly yearned for her family, for the mother that died moments after having her, and the father that earned the title of Mad King. For Rhaegar and even cruel Viserys. But the man before them lacked the notable silver hair and appeared more... Dornish.

"(Y/N) Dayne," Ser Barriston gaped, eyes large and pale skin as if he'd seen a ghost. "You... are a long ways from home, child."

"As are you, Selmy." His bitter voice seemed to jolt Ser Barriston, his mouth clamping shut and bushy brows knitting together. (Y/N) raised the apple to his lips and dug his teeth into the crunchy fruit, a trickle of juice dripping down his chin. He chewed slowly as he studied each of them, his hardened gaze only momentarily growing indifferent when he turned his attention to the perplexed Grey Worm. "You are far from King's Landing, Ser. As are you, Targaryen."

"You are in the presence of Queen Daenerys Stormborn, child, you will refer to her as such. Your brother fought fiercely for the Targaryens during the rebellion."

"And he died." (Y/N) licked his lips, the apple beginning to crack and drip with juices under his grasp. The bitterness, near hatred in his eyes sent a chill down Dany's spine, yet she found herself unable to tear her own eyes away from his face. "You claim to have loved and respected Arthur and Ashara but where were you when they died? Where were you when Stark slaughtered my brother and my sister threw herself into the sea?" 

"I would've given my life for either of them, you know that." Ser Barriston responded sharply, almost bristling at the silent accusation. 

"You would've given your life for the Prince." Her trance broke immediately at the mention of her brother, of the man Ser Barriston always recalled fondly. Her lips pulled back into a deep frown and (Y/N) turned his attention onto her. "You should've been willing to give your life for Elia and her children. That Targaryen-" The sneer when he spoke said plenty of his opinions on her family. "-abandoned them to die like a coward."

"Mind your tongue!" 

"My siblings are dead because of him!" (Y/N) snapped back at the knight, the apple finally breaking under his hold, different parts flying around while some of it turned to mush in his palm. Dany flinched and stepped back, one piece sliding right up to her feet and almost disappearing beneath the skirt of her dress. (Y/N) shook his hand and scoffed, pushing himself off the wall and barely sparing Grey Worm a glance when he stepped in front of Dany defensively. Ser Barriston's shoulders sagged, the fury dying immediately. "If he'd done his duty as a husband, Allryia, Aran, and I wouldn't be mourning them, Ser."

Dany raised her hand and placed it over Grey Worm's shoulder, meeting his questioning gaze with a reassuring nod. He stepped aside, allowing Dany to step forward, her shoe kicking aside the apple piece before she lifted her head to look at him once more. "Why have you come here, Lord (Y/N)? If not to ally yourself with me, why?"

"To see if the rumors were true. They say you have dragons and you'll use them to take back the Iron Throne. Ashara told me stories of dragons when I was a child. Elia, too. Dorne fought back against them during your ancestor's conquest."

"I have no qualms with Dorne," Daenerys told him softly. "And I am sorry for your losses. I am not my father nor my brothers. I wish to do things differently. The Lannisters, a common enemy between us, rule Kings Landing, do they not? We can ensure they will not bring harm to anyone else, not under my rule. House Dayne of Starfall is a noble house in Dorne with... close ties to the Martells of Sunspear. As I know it, the Martells despise Lannisters as well."

"Why would we fight for you? Justice is a mere action when you'd be getting the Iron Throne. Dorne has been at peace for many years."

"Perhaps..." Dany paused and glanced toward Ser Barriston. The older man met her gaze with an arched brow and a curious, almost concerned glint in his eye. She pursed her lips. She needed stronger allies, she needed angry allies... and even queens require heirs. "Perhaps House Dayne would be more pleased if one of their own became King Consort of Westeros." 

(Y/N)'s eyes only narrowed in response. The crown would be tempting to any man, especially one of noble birth, but he only appeared annoyed by the offer. "I'm afraid my brother, Lord Aran Dayne, is content with his wife, and Edric is far too young to marry. I've had the freedom of being the youngest all my life. Why would I give it up to become a king when I can do whatever I please?"

"Kings do whatever they please, do they not?"

"Kings like Robert Baratheon and Aerys Targaryen, sure. Your brother did whatever he pleased as prince and plunged the kingdom into war. Rulers do what the people want, what they need. You haven't exactly been keeping your people happy, Daenerys. Dorne will only ally themselves if we know we'll win. You may have your army but Tywin Lannister and his dog have been commanding far longer than you and I have been alive. Prince Doran will never allow a child parading themselves as ruler of a city anywhere near Dorne's army. You'll have better luck asking for Prince Oberyn's hand in marriage."

"It almost sounds as if you believe you can do a better job than me... if so, join my council. You'll have your freedom and when the time comes, you'll have your justice. Perhaps then, you'll feel more inclined to accept my proposal. I know Dorne is known for its... queer customs. You view bastards as equal, women are seen as fine rulers, and having multiple lovers is common. Many have their opinions of Dorne but... I'd be rather happy with a Dornishman. I will grant you the freedom of doing as you please, if you become my consort, as long as we have a-" Her voice nearly broke, forcing her to pause again and clear her throat. "A healthy heir. What do you say now, Dayne?"

[cheriecoke]

i miss when we first met

FEATURING. dazai osamu x f!reader & f!reader x chuuya nakahara — wc: 15.1k

SUMMARY: you'd always been in love with Dazai, but you started to doubt that he'd ever cared for you in return. chuuya, though, had never shown you anything but true affection.

CONTENTS: nsfw 18+ ONLY, pm!dazai, pm!reader, mostly dazai x reader but…, unhealthy relationship dynamics, voyeurism, cheating, manipulation, smut, degradation, guns, angst, dazai is very bad at expressing emotions, pet names, horrible communication, unrequited (?) love, the list goes on bc they’re in the port mafia just be warned

note: this took me like 4 months to finish & i am so so nervous to post it lmao. i wanted to write something different & this is very outside my comfort zone! :) but it's dazai's birthday so i figured i might as well share it today

You rolled onto your side away from Dazai, still breathing heavily as you came down from your high.

Beside you, he had shifted onto his forearms, moving up against the headboards to sit up straight. The covers fell off of him, revealing the marks that you’d left all over his body, the scars from a life lived in the mafia.

Under the red silk sheets, you were silent, your head settling into the pillow as you stared at him.

He’d deny it, but he was beautiful, a tempting, alluring creature that you couldn’t get enough of.

But you also knew Lucifer had once been God’s most beautiful angel, and it only made sense that Dazai Osamu would hold the same kind of exquisiteness.

Dazai closed his eyes, rolled his neck as he leaned back, stretching out all of the stiff muscles. He didn’t touch you again, kept a distance as he wiped the sweat that had dried on his forehead, the fluids that had stained the sheets between you.

He used to talk to you, after something so intimate. Used to hold you in his arms and trace your skin with a gentleness you didn’t know he possessed. He hadn’t always been cruel when he fucked you, hadn’t always put his own needs before yours.

Of course, Dazai had never loved you. That was something you were certain of in your very core. But he’d held at least some shred of respect for you before becoming the head of the Port Mafia. Now, you didn’t think he saw you as anything more than a means to an end.

It didn’t matter, though. It didn’t matter that Dazai spoke to you minimally when you two weren’t alone, that everyone in the Port Mafia knew you were nothing more than the woman who slept in his bed.

It didn’t matter because you loved him. You’d stood by his side since the beginning, since he’d recruited Chuuya, since he’d lost Oda.

Since he’d killed Mori.

You’d been with him through all of it, seen every horrid side to him, and you’d never once wanted to escape. Dazai had his claws in you, and he had them in deep. The thought of being anywhere but with him had never crossed your mind.

“Akutagawa told me what happened yesterday.”

You blinked, snapping out of your haze as Dazai regarded you with cool, condescending eyes. He was peering at you from over his shoulder, picking his dark button-up off the floor. The skin on his back was red from scratches, the lines dragging through his taut skin.

“Did he?” you said, looking down at your nails. You hadn’t expected anything less. Akutagawa did everything in his power to get exaltation from Dazai. “I’m sure his report was thorough.”

Dazai’s jaw clenched. His eyes narrowed, a darkened tint flashing in them. “That’s all you have to say?”

His voice was unamused, icy, and it reminded you that no matter how many times you crawled into his bed, let him use you however he wanted, he was still your boss. He was Dazai Osamu, the man whom everyone in Yokohama feared.

You swallowed. “I’m sorry.” Your gaze twisted away from him, unable to meet his hardened expression completely. “I was distracted. It was my fault entirely.”

Dazai made a noise in the back of his throat as he moved out of the bed. He sauntered across the room, so quietly and cat-like, and you buried yourself deeper into the mattress, wanting to sink into it completely.

“You’re lucky, then, that Akutagawa was able to deflect the bullets.” He began replacing the bandages that had slipped off of his face, covering his cheek with disgust.

He let you see him completely when it was just the two of you. It took every ounce of your self-control not to read into that, to wonder if it was just a habit leftover from when you were younger.

“I am lucky.”

Truthfully, you’d only hesitated for half of a second, momentarily lost in your own loop of suffering, and your opponent had gotten an edge on you. They’d shot at you, then the bomb, nearly prematurely blowing up the building.

“After decades of work, I would’ve thought you’d know better by now.” Dazai sighed wearily, like your presence irritated him. It probably did. “I’ll consider moving you. I’m sure there’s a place for you where you can’t get yourself killed if you fuck up.”

“Dazai—” you swallowed, a horrid tasting stinging your mouth as you remembered your time with him had come to an end. He was back to being Mori’s underling, the man who looked at the city like it was nothing but a chessboard. “Boss,” you remedied quickly, all too used to addressing him differently. It was difficult, sometimes, to recognize where Dazai began, and the Port Mafia’s boss ended. “It was a stupid error. In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever done something like that before?”

Dazai hesitated momentarily, before tensing his shoulders. He didn’t answer your question. “Don’t let it happen again.” A warning was in his eyes when they met yours through the mirror. “I don’t have the patience to find a replacement for you, and Akutagawa’s too valuable an asset to lose to a seasoned professional’s careless mistake.”

You exhaled, looking back down at your hands. The ones that had already been stained in so much blood, wrought with crime and bad intent. “Understood.”

You finally climbed out of the bed, missing the warmth that it gave you, even though Dazai’s cold body always sucked it away. He laid so stiffly next to you most of the time. You remembered when he used to sleep with his forehead pressed to the back of your neck.

As you dressed, Dazai kept his eyes on his work, never paying you any attention. You felt discarded, useless, and you wanted to hate him, wanted to hate yourself for longing to wrap your arms around him, hug him from behind.

“I’ll send you with Chuuya tomorrow,” he said, scanning reports and assignments that he’d thrown aside lazily last night. “An easy assignment outside of Yokohama. Think you can manage that?”

“Just give me the job.” You snatched the paper out of Dazai’s hand, and he didn’t say a word, only watched as you perused it. It was, really, the simplest task he’d given you in the past few weeks. You’d felt like he’d been overworking you just to avoid you. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

Dazai’s smile widened, sinister, and wicked. He brushed his hand delicately over your shoulder, against your neck before patting you on the head. “I trust you won’t let me down.”

Going against every sensible atom in your being, you smiled wearily. His minimal display of affection warmed you, a deep pang settling in your soul. “Have I ever?”

“No.” He held a sort of awed fascination, twisting a part of your hair between his fingers. “How lucky someone must be to be my greatest enemy. To get the kiss of death from an angel is not such a bad way to die.”

He held your cheek in his delicate fingers, and you were putty in his hands, wishing that his eyes would soften, even by a fraction. That his hand would cup around his cheek like he meant it.

Instead, he pulled away, and you felt cold, cold, cold, drowning in your own emptiness.

You scoffed, trying to regain some power in the situation. “I’m no angel.”

“Hm,” Dazai hummed, dropping his head in his hands, resuming a spot behind the desk, the deep red chair much too similar to the one in his office, the one that Mori had inherited from the previous boss. “Perhaps not to others.”

And you grew hot, feeling that, maybe, Dazai was giving you a compliment.

It was at times like these that you saw the semblance of your previous relationship. When you could tease him without feeling the weight of his superior rank looming over you. When you could kiss him without tasting venom. When you didn’t have to wonder if it would be appropriate to touch him, or if you should keep your distance.

You wanted to quit him. Really, you did.

He was a horrible, loathsome person.

You’d never be able to stop loving him.

“I could never be any sort of heavenly creature, Dazai. My spot in hell was sealed the moment I sided with the Devil.”

Dazai laughed, the sound raw and dry, so humorless. “I hope you don’t mean me. Flattery will get you nowhere,” he tsked, the tip of his tongue scratching against the back of his white teeth.  

You certainly hadn’t meant that as a compliment.

“Should I say goodbye before I leave?” you asked wryly, doubting that he’d even want to see you again. His image burned against the back of your eyelids, and you drank him in, hoping that when you died, his face would be the last thing you saw.

Dazai didn’t grace you with a simple yes or no. Instead, he glanced up briefly, his one eye exposed, mere centimeters of skin uncovered. “Goodbye.”

You nodded; lips pressed tightly together as you accepted the dismissal. With a sigh, you were out of the room, wondering why you hadn’t just showered before you left. Most of your clothes were in Dazai’s closet anyway.

You didn’t see him again before you left.

The assignment Dazai had given you was a few cities over, a task of infiltrating an enemy organization who’d gotten a little too close to the Mafia’s boundaries. It was simple enough, especially with Chuuya at your side, though the whole ordeal had you away from home for a weekend, and far too much time with your own thoughts.

Dazai had set the two of you up in a suite, one with two separate bedrooms and a shared living space. It was much more luxurious than you even needed, with a view overlooking the entire city and an extensive bar in the kitchen. The furniture was a deep, black leather, every accent dark in color.

It was conspicuous, but you’d grown too used to extravagance after being with Dazai. You allowed yourself to indulge in it.

A silly notion, really; the place you slept every night was much more lavish.

You scrubbed the blood off your face, your hands, and stared at yourself in the mirror without recognizing the person before you. The water at the bottom of the shower was a macabre shade, staining the tiles as it swirled down the drain.

Shivering, you tried to reconcile all of the things you’d done, shelve them away before you could wonder if all of it was really worth it. If Dazai was really worth it.

When you finally emerged from the bathroom, your skin rubbed raw, Chuuya was sitting at the bar, a freshly cracked bottle of wine before him. His back was tense, muscles strained as he regarded you with weary eyes, the darker shade under them obvious and alarming.

“Took you long enough,” Chuuya snorted, pouring himself a glass. The bottle was aged and dark, the label faded. He must have brought it along with him; it certainly hadn’t come from the hotel. “I was getting bored.”

You made a face, taking the seat beside him. “Well, there was a lot of blood.” You reached over to snatch the bottle, pressing it to your lips before he could protest.

“Help yourself, then,” His expression was sour, but his acerbic tone held a hint of amusement. “Do you know how expensive that is?”

“No.” You shrugged, taking a sip. Money had stopped meaning anything to you a long time ago. “Should I care?” The liquid warmed your throat on the way down.

“Probably not. You’ve surely got enough cash behind you to buy me another one.”

“Right.” You snorted and wondered how much of that stuff you’d have to drink before you’d stop feeling a thing. Thoughts of the crumbling bond that you and Dazai shared wouldn’t leave you alone. “And you don’t?”

Chuuya laughed, twirling the glass in his gloved hand. There was a hardened edge to him that you didn’t like. Opposed to Dazai, Chuuya had always been much more open with you, more willing to share his thoughts. “Well, we can’t all be Dazai’s favorite. You’ve got the keys to the kingdom, my dear. Whatever belongs to the Mafia belongs to you too.”

“Favorite?” You spat out the word, darkening at the mention of Dazai, the man who never seemed to leave your brain. It was always Dazai, Dazai, Dazai. The youngest executive there had ever been, the one who’d become the head of the Port Mafia just a few years later.

You hated him. Wished you could burn the memory of that haunted man entirely.

“Hm?” Chuuya leaned forward like he hadn’t heard you.

A bitter flavor blossomed on your tongue when you thought of saying his name out loud. “I don’t want to talk about Dazai right now.”

You brought the bottle to your lips again; it was starting to feel lighter.

“Why?” Chuuya’s eyes dimmed as he stared at you, looking for something hidden in your irises. A secret that wouldn’t be there. You’d always been too easy to read. “Did something happen?”

“I said I don’t want to talk about Dazai, and you immediately think something’s wrong?”

He blinked. Hesitated. “Well, I spent my teenage years listening to you talk about him like a lovesick fool. The subsequent years watching him stare at you in the same way.” He took the bottle away from you, tipping his head back. “Something must be wrong.”

You felt a flush at your neck, the skin itching with sweat. It was cruel of Chuuya to allude to any emotions from Dazai, when you knew they weren’t there. “That’s not true.”

Chuuya sighed. “Isn’t it?”

Although his temper had always been much worse than yours, you felt the same sort of anger claw at your back. The urge to scream at him became almost insuppressible. “Dazai doesn’t care about me like that.” You flopped down on the bar, alcohol fuzzing the edges of your senses. It felt nice, warm.

Maybe being away from the Port Mafia was better for you than you thought.

“Don’t be stupid.” Chuuya’s eyes had narrowed when your head fell forward, his fist clenching around the bottle.

“Stupid?” You immediately sat up, blood rushing straight to your head. Who was Chuuya to come and tell you everything he thought he knew? It was laughable, really. “He doesn’t care, and I think I’d know. Fuck you, Chuuya.”

You slammed your fist down on the table, hurt. You didn’t understand why Chuuya would side with Dazai when he knew how much the situation troubled you. How often had you bared your soul to him, told him how Dazai’s aloofness had hurt you over and over again?

His eyes softened, an apology immediately leaving his lips. “I’m sorry—”

“Are you?” The words were vehement. Chuuya was shamelessly against your relationship with Dazai, always coming up with one reason or another to get you out of it. Now, it seemed, he was trying to defend it. “Dazai cares or he doesn’t. You can’t keep changing your mind based on the situation.”

“Dazai does care.” Chuuya said the words like they pained him to leave his mouth, each one dragging a dagger against his chin. “You think he’d keep you around if he didn’t?”

You did. You knew that you had use outside of Dazai’s feelings, just like Chuuya, just like Akutagawa. Just like every menial grunt who had a shred of value for the Mafia.

“He cares that I have value to him.” A sigh left your lips, and you sunk your chin onto your palm, feeling like nothing more than the dramatic woman in a Shakesperian tragedy. Really, you couldn’t remember when you’d become so pathetic. “What will become of me when I can’t sink a bullet into the skull of his enemies anymore?”

Chuuya frowned, the wrinkles deepening on his forehead. “No one can predict what Dazai will do.” He let you steal his half-full glass of wine, keeping the bottle safely tucked away from you. “Would it make much difference to you if we could?”

“I suppose not.” You’d grown tired, the subtle buzz of alcohol coming in quick on your empty stomach. “Nothing matters much anymore. I’ll never leave the Port Mafia.” Saying the words out loud made it more real than you’d intended, even though it was a fact that had sunk deep into your bones the day you’d met the dark-haired, suicidal bastard. “Why do I have to love him, Chuuya? Why can’t I love a good man?”

You thought, why can’t I love you instead, and left it unsaid. The words might have been too cruel. You knew the pain of unrequited emotions.

“Because you’re in the Port Mafia. Good men would know to stay away.” Chuuya drummed his fingers against the countertop before reaching out, contemplative. Though you remained unmoving in your seat, his hand still retracted before he touched you, as if burned. There was caution in his movements, every action calculated—Chuuya was usually the opposite, as intelligent as he was. “Besides. You’ve never tried to let Dazai go. You don’t want to.”

“I want to,” you said defensively, though even to your own ears, the statement was weak. Dazai was an addiction, and you’d go back to him time and time again. Even when, sometimes, you weren’t so sure there was anything good about him. “I just don’t know how. What would I do out there in the world without Dazai?” You laughed, amused. A normal life didn’t seem possible—you’d have no idea where to start.

Chuuya’s face pinched in disgust. “Take over the Port Mafia. Kill him and run it yourself.” He huffed, running a hand over his eyes, exhausted. “There’s a solution. If you really want to get rid of him.”

You blinked back at him. A moment passed; you’d forgotten he was looking for a response.

“I suspected as much.” His shoulders slumped, defeated, as you drew back in shame. “How long will you talk yourself into this endless cycle of torment? Dazai isn’t the same man that you fell in love with, and he never will be again.” He met your eyes, cold and guarded. “There’s nothing to be done about that. If you want Dazai so badly, put up with every single part of him. I’m tired of listening to the same grievances, time and time again.” 

Chuuya made to stand, but you stopped him, grabbing his wrist lightly. He glared at you from over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” you said, trying to convey your apology sincerely. “You’re completely right. I’ve never tried to let Dazai go, and maybe I can.”

You didn’t give Chuuya time to formulate a response. Before he could understand what was happening, you leaned forward, catching him off guard, and planted your lips on his.

For one singular moment, Chuuya had kissed you back, tasting your mouth in its entirety, before he shoved you away, scrubbing his skin like he’d been burned.

“Don’t do that.” He had a hand in your face, scolding you like a child. “Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

You stared at him; his dark eyes were full of an emotion you had never seen before. “Why not? You said I should try to let him go.”

“Not by kissing me, fucking hell.” Chuuya hissed, his voice just above a whisper like someone else was listening in. Something vile had been unleashed in him as he gesticulated around wildly. “You’re Dazai’s.” He scoffed. “Do you think any smart man would do anything with you, knowing you sleep in that monster’s bed every night?”

You sniffed, sticking your jaw out. Maybe, you’d been wrong all this time. Chuuya was like everyone else, wasn’t he? Holding you at a distance because you cared for the wrong person.

“I’m not leaving the Mafia. I’m not leaving Dazai.” You reached across the table, grabbing one of his cold hands. “I just want to be someone else for once. To know what it’s like for someone to care about me so completely.”

“It’s not going to be with me.” Chuuya yanked his hand away, laughing mirthlessly. “I never thought you’d try to manipulate me like this. “You’ve been spending too much time with him.”

Your eyes flashed, infuriated. Chuuya looked at you with some kind of betrayal, like he wasn’t the exact same way, like he wasn’t the same kind of vile person that you were. “I know you’re in love with me, Chuuya. I know you’ve looked at me since we were sixteen years old, wished so badly I would look at you the same way.”

His jaw clenched, the anger giving way to something else. “Don’t start.”

“You’ve wanted me all this time, haven’t you?” It was a genuine question; one you’d always been too scared to voice. Chuuya was the only person you considered to be a friend and knowing that he felt that way about you would ruin your friendship completely.

Though you had one sip too much of alcohol running through your veins, and you’d spent two days wondering how you could stop feeling a single thing for Dazai. Rationality had left you entirely.

Chuuya was silent, still watching you with hesitance.

“You’re the only person in the Mafia who really cares about me, aren’t you?” you said, softer, wondering if you could lure him in. Spring him into a trap you��d both be certain to regret in the morning. “You’re the one who talks to me about everything, who watches out for my well-being. Who’s never looked at me like I was anything but the prettiest girl in the world.”

And though Chuuya still didn’t trust your actions, his eyes had softened just a hair, his body releasing the tension. “You are.”

You smiled, but his compliment made you feel nothing but guilt. “Then why won’t you let me kiss you, Chuuya?”

“Because.” He scraped a hand over his face, breathing heavily like it was taking every ounce of his willpower to resist you “Dazai will kill me, you understand? He’ll kill you.”

“Wouldn’t you at least like to know?” You invaded his personal space. Each word you spoke cracked him a little bit more. “I know you’ve imagined me spread out before you, entirely exposed to you. How I’d look with my hips arching off the bed, crying out your name—”

“Stop it.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” You felt like you were losing your mind. Something had cracked in you, and you couldn’t come back from it. Things would never go back to the way they were after those careless words had been tossed into the world. “You’ve always wanted me, so why, when I’m giving myself to you completely, won’t you accept?”

Chuuya swallowed. His voice had grown thick with desire. He raked his eyes over you cautiously. “You’re asking a lot from me, baby.” He held your cheek, grazing the bone in the gentle way that Dazai had forgotten. “Believe me, I want to. But you’ve had a lot to drink.”

“I haven’t,” you said, grabbing his wrist before he could pull away. The touch of another person felt so nice against your icy skin. “I’m okay. I’m not drunk.” You weren’t—the alcohol had just made you brave enough to ask. “Please, Chuuya.”

He swallowed thickly. “He’ll kill me.”

“And he’ll kill me. Just as you said.” You met his eyes completely, wondering why you couldn’t care for this man in the same way, why his lips weren’t as alluring as Dazai’s, why his voice didn’t set a blaze deep in your stomach. “Do you really care whether Dazai thinks of me as his?”

His cheeks were flushed, eyebrows pinched, and you spotted the moment he began to draw back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just can’t.”

Then, you panicked, eyes becoming glassy as he released you, turning to retreat back to his bedroom, and you scrambled for another way, a way to bring him back to you.

“Chuuya, please,” you said, desperation in every syllable, and when he turned around, you knew you had him wrapped around your finger. “I just want to know what it’s like with a person who loves me. Can’t you give me that?”

That was it. That was all you had to say. When Chuuya bowed his head, you knew he’d given in.

“Why do you think I can give you what he can’t?” Chuuya’s voice was nothing more than a whisper. “I’m not that kind of man. I’m not the kind of man you’re looking for.”

“No,” you said. “You’re not that kind of man. You’re Chuuya. The only person that’s always been there for me.”

He hesitated, momentarily, before sweeping you into his arms, his touch the softest you’d ever felt. “Are you certain that you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Then it doesn’t matter if Dazai kills me.” Chuuya spoke into your mouth, carving the words into your aching heart. “You were always going to be the death of me, anyway.”

His lips were upon you again, kissing you with the hunger of a starved man, and you gave him back as much as you could, which was the despair of a lonely woman. His touch was one of loving hands as guided you back into the bedroom tenderly.

When your back hit the bed, he asked if you were okay, asked if everything was comfortable. The concern in his eyes had rarely been seen in Dazai’s own—you couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken care of you first.

“I’m fine, Chuuya,” you promised again and again, and you smiled, caressing the soft skin of his jaw.

His lips pulled back in return, and then your shirt was thrown over your head, carelessly tossed towards the corner of the room. Though, no matter how many articles of clothing you lost, the necklace that Dazai had given you still rested against your collarbone.

You cupped your palm around it, trying to avert Chuuya’s gaze as he stared down at the precious metal, something conflicting in his cool irises.

“It’s okay,” you said, doing your best to distract him. You wouldn’t take the necklace off. It didn’t matter how much Dazai had hurt you; you needed the reminder of the absolute infidelity you were committing. “Keep going.”

Feeling more anxious than you had before, you kissed Chuuya, trying to dispel the bile that gathered in the back of your throat.

“You’re so beautiful,” Chuuya said, kissing every inch of your face, his hands hovering over your chest. “I could look at you forever, and it wouldn’t be long enough.”

Chuuya’s sentiments warmed you, but words weren’t enough. You pulled his vest off, then the buttoned-shirt and every other intricate article of clothing he wore.

It felt wrong. His height was wrong. His skin felt too warm under your palm.

“When did you fall in love with me?” you asked, breathing heavily. Desire pooled in your abdomen against your will, your own heart betraying you. Still, it was nothing more than the most basic reaction of human nature, raw and primal, unaffected by the organ that was jailed within your ribcage.

Chuuya was surprised by the question, and he paused, his face just inches above your stomach. “I think I realized when I was seventeen.” He huffed out a laugh, inhaling your perfume. “It was the first time I saw Dazai kiss you. I thought I was going to be sick.” He continued kissing down your body, sliding your pants past your hips. “I’d always wanted you. I guess I just didn’t realize until then.”

You exhaled, feeling tears spring to the corners of your eyes, ones you suppressed.

Dazai had given you flowers that day. You remembered how they smelled, the rainy spring breeze. The way the sun reflected in his brown irises, melting them into candied honey that brightened his entire complexion.

“Then take me, Chuuya. If you’ve wanted me for so long, then fuck me like you mean it.”

His dark eyes flashed, but his gentle caresses never turned rough, never sped through a single moment you had together. You smiled, your expression peaceful and open when he finally slid your panties off, your cunt throbbing as his finger brushed against your swollen clit.

Chuuya took his time with you, singing praises that you hadn’t heard in a long time, and you came once around his slender fingers, the ones that were much less skilled at knowing every place you enjoyed being touched.

When he finally sunk inside you, you still felt empty, unfulfilled. You tried to lose yourself in his mouth, in the taste of wine and Chuuya, and dug your fingers into his back.

“Feel so good around me, baby.” Chuuya whispered into your skin, imprinting the words into your neck. He was careful not to leave any marks, though he wanted to, wanted to claim you as his own. “Taking me so well.”

You tugged on his hair as he kissed down your collarbone, between your breasts, his breath hot and heavy. Though you cried out, you kept your voice quiet, still fearful that someone might hear, might know exactly what kind of betrayal you’d committed.

Chuuya thrust into you slowly, so much gentler than Dazai, hitting the spot deep inside of you that had you arching off the bed. “Fuck,” he said, choking on his own breath. “You have no idea how you make me feel.” He was full of desperation, his hands digging into your hips.

“Chuuya,” you said, holding his head between your palms.

He gave you the brightest smile in return, sad and meaningful. “I know. I can feel you squeezing me tighter. Let go for me, doll.”

His hair was just as soft, but it wasn’t dark enough, wasn’t short enough. His kiss didn’t feel the same, and you felt tears blurring your vision as you realized you’d never wanted him, you only wanted Dazai, and this was all wrong.

Still, you came around him, as he was buried deep inside you, but his name never left your lips, not even as a breathy whisper, because the one that was sitting there was Osamu.

And when he pulled out of you, you stroked him with practiced laziness, moving your hands in the way you knew Dazai liked, even though Chuuya felt so much different in your palm.

Chuuya kissed you as warmth flooded into your hand, and then he was breathing heavily, collapsing onto the bed next to you. He kissed you over and over, holding you tight, and you smiled, satisfied, because at the least, you knew this was what love felt like.

You’d never get it from the man you wanted, so you’d take it from Chuuya, even if it made you feel rotten inside.

The room smelled like sex and betrayal, and Chuuya took care of you, carried you out of the bed for a bath, and gently rinsed away the sweat and grime.

You were silent for most of the time, only reassuring him when he asked if you were alright.

For the first time, maybe you were. You imagined a future where you could learn to love Chuuya, a future where you were finally able to rid yourself of Dazai and start over again.

But it was nothing more than a delusion, a dream that would never happen. Dazai was a part of your soul. You knew that and Chuuya knew that, even as he closed his eyes next to you, the woman that would never give her love to anyone else. Your heart beat and bled for Dazai Osamu, every inch of your being meant for him. It would kill you to let him go, and if he died, you’d die right alongside him.

You turned away from Chuuya, burying your face in your hands, completely unaware that he’d left the bed to sleep in the other room.

You didn’t talk to Chuuya the next morning, not when you took a private car back to Yokohama, not when you stepped foot back onto the Mafia headquarters. Things between you had soured, just as you’d suspected, and you didn’t know how to fix it, didn’t think there was any way to go back from what had happened.

Higuchi was waiting for the two of you when you walked in the door, her blazer perfectly pressed, and her shirt tucked. She greeted you with a half-smile—gesturing towards the stairs. “The boss wants to see all of us for a meeting. He said you two would be arriving at this time.”

You nodded, and Chuuya scoffed, shaking his head. “I’ll never understand his superhuman ability to know what’s happening all of the time.”

Swallowing, you followed Higuchi, trying not to hear the foreboding nature of Chuuya’s statement.

Most high-ranking Mafia members were in attendance, with Dazai at the head of the table, the dark wooden chair beside him eerily empty and welcoming. You took a seat, and Dazai’s eyes ran over you, smoothly and hastily, before a small smile appeared on his features. “No injuries?” he said, and though his tone was professional, you could hear the slightest bit of concern.

“None,” you said, and something in your voice cracked, ever so slightly.

You were such a fool. You’d never be able to hide something like this from Dazai.

He eyed you suspiciously, before sliding his glance over to Chuuya, who was as cool as usual. His face was shadowed by his hat, hiding any evidence of a sleepless night.

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, tucking his palm into his hand. “Debrief.”

Your partner gave Dazai every last detail, summarizing as best he could, and sliding in the occasional sarcastic remark as he leaned back casually in the chair. Dazai listened with boredom in his expression, drumming his fingers against the table until Chuuya’s monologue was complete.

He turned to Akutagawa, who bowed his head an immediately launched into his own assignment.

You blinked—you hadn’t realized that Akutagawa’s squad had been sent elsewhere. It made no sense for Dazai to send you with Chuuya when your own division had a separate mission.

The meeting wrapped up quickly, and the members scattered, going their own separate ways for the afternoon. Chuuya refused to meet your eye as he got up from the table, one of the last to leave the room.

As you stood, Dazai closed a hand around your wrist, his thumb brushing your pulse.

“Was the hotel alright?” he asked, his head titled curiously. “You look tired.”

You took a sharp breath.

Fuck.

“It was fine, Osamu,” you said, and when his name slipped easily from your tongue, something in him changed. He loosened the hand on your wrist before releasing it entirely, the bandaged palm falling into his lap. “Thank you.”

Dazai nodded, turning away from you, and you’d forgotten that there were still other people in the room. Akutagawa, who lingered with morbid curiosity, and his sister, who had always sort of pitied you for your tumultuous relationship, bore witness to the brief interaction.

Behind them, Chuuya stood tense, his back straight as he crossed the threshold, sparing you only a glimpse before exiting into the darkened hallway.  

“Alright,” Dazai said in a hushed voice, his face schooled back into the usual, guarded expression. “I’ll see you later.”

It wasn’t much of a response, and he didn’t elaborate, keeping his steely eyes ahead as some low-ranking members trudged in for a meeting with their boss. He’d be busy all afternoon, it seemed.

You swallowed, and left, knowing that it was fruitless to try and keep a secret from him.

Chuuya waited for you outside, his arms crossed as he regarded you with a contempt that hadn’t been there before, such a contrast to the loving man you had seen last night. “This changes everything, you know?”

“I know,” you said, your voice thick with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Chuuya.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he scoffed. “I was the fool. I made my choice.” Chuuya sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I meant what I said, though. Yesterday. It was all true, and if you need anything, I’ll be here.”

You felt a chasm open in your chest, and you wished the floor would’ve swallowed you whole. You were losing everyone, it seemed, and maybe, Dazai really did have a point with his talk about suicide.

When you stepped into the bedroom, Dazai was sitting on the edge of the bed, the setting sun casting a shadow of his own reflection. He was twirling a pistol around his pointed finger, staring at the wall with blank eyes.

You shut the door quietly, your hands shaking against the golden knob.

Though you hadn’t made a sound when you walked through the door, Dazai’s gaze was on you immediately, sensing your entrance.

You’d never been able to slip past him.

“You’re back early.” Those were the first words that came to your mind, your voice breaking the uncomfortable silence. He was regarding you with disdain, his jaw set coolly. His hair turned bronze in the evening rays, loose strands scraping against the bandages.

“I am.” His jaw clenched, examining you with a singular, dark eye. You felt exposed under his gaze, laid bare for him to see no matter how much you shrouded yourself with. “You sound like you’re unhappy to see me.”

Dazai ran his finger along the trigger like he’d never held such a weapon before, the gun becoming an object of morbid fascination. 

You exhaled. There was so much space between you, a distance you weren’t sure you’d ever cross again. Though you thought you knew Dazai better than anyone, in that moment, he was unreadable—a chapter of pages that had been torn out.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, standing tall. Despite your nerves, you were fixated on Dazai, always drawn to him like a moth to a flame, desperate to uncover the very thing that could kill you. “I miss you every time we’re apart. You’re no stranger to my feelings.”

You could offer him that, at the very least. An undeniable truth before everything between you shattered.

Dazai stood, his dark coat billowing out behind him as he finally came to face you, suddenly seeming much taller than you remembered. And with one look, you knew that he knew. He’d always been too smart for his own good.

“I’m not certain of that any longer,” he laughed, though it was a bitter sound that clawed its way up his throat. “Why don’t you tell me the truth, instead.” Dazai stood before you with a smile that was so sweet it was almost sinister. “Aren’t you going to tell me what you did?”

You weren’t sure which one of you would blink first, caught in some deadly staring contest. Most people would’ve surrendered to him by now.

 “Why?” you jutted your chin out, refusing to give in to him in any way. If you were going to die, and you were, you would make sure Dazai knew everything you’d never told him. “You already know.”

“No.” He poked the gun into your cheek, right beneath the sharp bone. He’d clicked the safety off moments before. “I want to hear you say it. You betrayed me.”

When you refused to say a word, Dazai hissed and cocked the gun. He pressed it to your temple, the metal cold against your delicate skin.

“Say it.”

You sniffed. He wasn’t giving in, and instead, stood there silently, unmoving until you finally caved. There was something about the color of his eyes. No matter how much they hardened, you still remembered the young man he used to be. The one who wasn’t quite so cold, who picked you flowers, even with blood dripping down his arm.

“Fine.” You narrowed your eyes. “I fucked Chuuya.”

Dazai blinked. Then, he started laughing. Crazily, maniacally. You saw too much of your old boss in him that it made you sick.

“Shameless.” Dazai took a step back and dropped the gun to his side.

“What?” you sneered, pressing yourself up against him, refusing to be intimidated by the man that had been yours for years. “Should I be ashamed?”

Dazai’s eyes flashed, his jaw clenching. “Yes,” he said, fists curling at his sides. “After everything I’ve done for you.” Dazai grew quieter, flicking a strand of hair out of your face. “Do you feel no remorse?”

“You can’t be serious. What have you done for me, Dazai?” You grew still, grabbing his wrist before he could touch you again. “You’re not upset I was with another man; you’re just upset that it was Chuuya.”

You poked him in the chest, a hot stream of air exhaling through your nose.

“I gave you everything, didn’t I?” The two of you spoke at each other, avoiding the answers, never acknowledging what the other had to say. Around and around you went, an endless circle until one of you finally conceded. “I’ve given you the world, and you still wanted more.” Dazai finally broke free of your loose grasp, stroking your cheek. “What can Chuuya give you that I can’t? I ask for nothing but honesty.”

There was no jealousy in the tone, no sorrow; it was the most genuine question he’d asked you in months. The inquiry of a man who’d lost sight of himself in the past few years, and who’d somehow, over time, forgotten what it meant to care for another.

“You gave me nothing,” you said, but somewhere along the way, your cheeks had grown wet. You’d been struck by the sudden affection in his voice, the softness harsher than a slap to the face.

He was a horrible man, the worst kind of man. Yet, you couldn’t imagine a life without him, a world where you existed alone.

The truth rested at the edge of your tongue. It wouldn’t solve much, your affection for him never had solved much, but at least he would understand.

“This was never about wanting more. I never wanted Chuuya. You’re a fool if you think that.”

Dazai was silent. You pressed on.

“I wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted you. I’ve devoted my entire life to you. I do everything you ask.” You were breathing heavily, big gulping breaths that contained minimal oxygen. “I asked for nothing in return. Nothing but for you to care about me, and you never did.”

“Is that the case?” Dazai laughed humorlessly.

You ignored him, your confession leaving on one heavy breath, a string of words incomprehensible to your ears. “But Chuuya loves me. He always has, and he made certain I knew that.” You paused, averting your eyes. The entire city could be seen from the window over his shoulder. “He told me all of that, and you know what I thought the whole time?”

Dazai scowled.

“I wished that he was you instead. I wanted it to be you so badly, I wanted it to be you saying those things to me, kissing me like I was the most important thing in the world.” You took his wrist again, pressing the gun back to your temple. The cool metal was almost soothing against your skin. “Please, Dazai. Give me this one last thing. I’m begging you to kill me. I can’t take this any longer.”

His finger rested on the trigger.

“I want it to be you. I’ve never wanted to die at anyone’s hands but your own.” His hand felt just as it always had in your palm, his fingers much longer, but his skin so soft. It was almost comforting, how familiar he was, and you longed to be a part of him, to bury yourself deep within him and wear his skin as your own.

Dazai’s expression twitched, and you smiled at him, the taste of salty tears spilling into your mouth.

As you closed your eyes, you prepared for the noise, hoping your blood splattered on Dazai’s coat and stained it, the proof of your existence inerasable. You hoped that Dazai would grow to regret it, would realize that your love for him was close to unconditional.

But the violence never came. The cool metal fell away from your skin, and when you opened your eyes again, Dazai’s shoulders had slumped, the very image of defeat.

“Do you honestly think I can bring myself to kill you?”

“What’s the matter?” you asked, blinking your eyes open. You reached for the gun again, but he drew back, as if stung. “Afraid to lose your best assassin?”

“No.” Dazai’s eyes were hard, his frown set deep into his face. “I’m afraid to lose the woman I love. The most important person in the world to me.”

You stared. Blinked. Then, the worst kind of emotion washed over you.

You swallowed over and over, trying to get the bile out of your throat. You’d wanted to be done, wanted to escape. And yet—

“Don’t say that.” you shook your head, backing away as Dazai inched closer, too close and you felt yourself getting sucked back in, remembering that you’d loved him for years, and you’d never love anyone else. “Fuck you, Dazai. Stop toying with me, and just kill me."

“I love you. I thought you knew that my darling angel.”

You were crying harder, shaking your head. “I don’t believe you. You don’t care about me.”

“No?” Dazai had grabbed your wrist again, but it was so soft. “I thought you were smarter than that. Did you think you were partnered with Akutagawa at random, and not for the sole reason that I knew he’d do everything in his power to protect you? Did you think I moved your seat next to me at meetings because you were nothing more than my stupid whore? Bought you everything you ever wanted because I couldn’t stand you?”

“Yes,” you said, sniffing, feeling yourself melt where he touched you, itching to reach up and pull the bandages off his face, see the beautiful features beneath them that he hid from the world. “You don’t care about me."

“I do care,” he said, fingers grazing your chin. “I’ve killed for you. I took over the Port Mafia so I could give you everything you wanted. Why wasn’t that enough?”

“Because I never wanted that. I never wanted any of this. I wanted you, Dazai Osamu. That was all.”

Dazai frowned, and then he bowed his head, kissed your neck, then around your earlobe, and it was the softest you’d ever felt in your entire life, a gentleness you hadn’t known he was capable of. When his hands snaked around your stomach, pulling you back against him, you were lost in his adoration.

“You never said anything,” he said, kissing your shoulder, breaking the tension in the muscles. You were his, in every lifetime, you’d be his. “I thought you were… happy?”

“How could you think that? I’m not happy, Dazai. I’ve never been less happy.”

“Not even when I tell you that I love you?” he kissed your knuckles.

“Do you love me enough to be a better man? Do you love me enough to let me sleep in your bed and see your whole heart instead of the fragmented pieces that you sliced up just to hide?”

“Yes.” The word was resounding, resolute. “I love you enough to forgive you.”

You held him at a distance, lips falling apart easily. “But I don’t want to forgive you.”

“You will.” Dazai smiled, that irritatingly knowing smile of his that you’d fallen for in the first place. “You will because I mean it this time.”

“You never apologized,” you looked away, trying to find the strength to move. You were enraptured, in every fiber of his being. “You never will. You never do.”

“I never knew anything was wrong,” he frowned, and it wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie, and you had him so close that you just wanted to forget anything had ever changed. “How was I to fix it if you never told me?”

His words were full of poison, but his voice was so soft you couldn’t help but fall back into him. Perhaps, you should’ve said something. Maybe your actions had never been enough.

“How long have I been at your side, spent hours listening to your every word, even when they didn’t make sense to me? You should’ve known, Dazai. I shouldn’t have to tell you something like that.” Your words were losing their bite, and his lips quirked up, knowing that you were slowly coming back to him, clearing you of the sins you had committed.

He was hesitant, thoughtful, before pressing a kiss to your forehead. And perhaps, that was the final straw in your resistance, his gentle kiss enough to set your soul on fire.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Dazai said, his lips ghosting over yours, handing over the apology like a gift. “Won’t you give me a chance to fix it now?” It felt like a bad idea. Dazai wasn’t deserving of any more chances; you’d already given him years of second chances, had always given him the benefit of the doubt.

“You expect me to believe you’ll let us off scot-free?” you said, your face deadly close to Dazai’s. “What about Chuuya? Will you kill him in my place.”

“You’ve got me in your hand, love. If you want me to punish Chuuya, just say the word. I’ll kill him if that’s what you want.”

It wasn’t. That was the farthest thing from what you wanted, but you worried that if you sounded too enthusiastic, he might just follow through with it.

Instead, you pulled him to you, grabbing the dark tie that he wore around his neck. He grinned into your lips, his saccharine smile seeming much too deadly to be all that sweet. “Do you honestly think I believe a word that you’re saying?”

“You want to,” Dazai said, curling his hand around your jaw, his fingers brushing your ear. “That’s what matters the most.” He kissed your lips, and you could taste the difference, all the love he poured into it this time. It wasn’t like kissing a statue. “It’s all true, anyway.”

You broke away, breathing. “I won’t do this anymore, Dazai.” You finally had his hand in your own, placing the gun back to your temple. “You’re not the man you once were, and you’ll never be him again.” The smile that graced your lips was sad, though it was knowing. Things were always going to end this way.

Dazai’s face wrinkled as he tried to decipher all the words you’d never spoken. “I’m not the same man, that’s true, but my affection for you has never died.” He cupped his other hand around your cheek, hesitantly keeping the gun to your temple, squinting with his head bent.

“You’re the leader of the Port Mafia, and such a ruthless man wouldn’t let a betrayal go unscathed.”

There was a wave of silence while the two of you stared at one another, sifting through the situation with hardness in your jaws, the tension palpable within the air. Dazai straightened, clarity in his irises as a smooth smile burned onto his lips.

“Is that what you want?” he said innocently. “You want to be punished for your insurrections?”

Your mouth grew dry, but you held your ground firmly, swallowing back all the uncertainty. Perhaps you didn’t want to die. Perhaps you did. You just hated the gaping hole inside of you that never seemed to leave. “I want you to kill me.”

“Kill you?” Dazai laughed, then the hilt of the gun was against your temple once more. He held your chin steady between his forefinger and thumb, regarding you with thinly veiled disgust. “You’ve never wanted that before. Not when I asked you to die alongside me, to follow me far into the afterlife.” He sighed, releasing your chin before cocking the gun. “This isn’t about death at all.”

“What—”

“You want me to claim you, is that it?” He clicked his tongue before leaning forward, sneering. “Perhaps it’s that other way around. You want everyone in the Mafia to know I belong to you, hm?’

You blinked, though you began to feel weak in the knees, the eyes that you knew so well suddenly intimidating. “I never said—” but even then, your voice wavered, unsteady and uncertain of the immediate heat that had swirled under your skin.

Dazai’s mouth curled, a gruesome smile there. “I know you better than anyone. I’ve always known exactly what you want. Even though I shouldn’t forgive you, I can’t help myself.”

You swallowed, and Dazai had taken a step forward, pushing you with him, the gun still swaying at your temple, even when the backs of your thighs hit the bed. You fell onto the mattress, and he was on top of you, his finger caressing the trigger as he collapsed.

Dazai had never scared you, not even when he was a child you’d barely known, the teenager shaped in Mori’s image. Though, now, the unreadable expression on his face was alarming you, and you wondered if all this time, you should’ve been fearful.

Still, even with your underlying hesitance, you felt a wave of desire crash over you at the sheer need in his eyes. It wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with, but there was something else there. Maybe it was the love you’d just never noticed.

“Osamu,” you said in a quiet voice, not afraid, but not confident either. Your finger brushed the point on his wrist—it was the same heartbeat you’d always recognized.

“What?” he said, taunting you menacingly as he towered above you. “You were so bold just a second ago? What happened, darling?”

Unable to do anything but blink back at him, Dazai brought his thumb to your lips, brushing it across the plump skin before dipping it into your mouth.

Unprepared, you nearly choked, eyes blown wide as you stared back at him. Though, there was a command within his eyes, and you obliged, sucking as you watched the saliva drip down to his palm. Dazai pulled it away from your mouth with an obscene pop, giving you a sweet smile from his position above you.

Despite your humiliation, you shifted your hips on the bed, bringing your thighs together to provide you with a fraction of relief. Dazai’s eyes flashed at the movement, his smirk widening with an amusement.

“You’re nothing more than a dumb slut, aren’t you?” Dazai’s hand ghosted of your stomach, settling on the inside of your thigh momentarily. You ached with need, swallowing your pride and any demands that you could make of him. “Had Chuuya all to yourself this weekend, and still expect me to fuck you senseless.”

Your brow furrowed, and you opened your mouth before shutting it, lips still covered in your own spit. “Osamu,” you began, attempting to diffuse the situation, to explain that what had transpired between you and Chuuya meant nothing, but he never gave you the opportunity. “It wasn’t—”

Dazai’s gaze hardened, the adoration disappearing the moment you dared to speak. His fingers deftly wrapped around your throat, thrusting you into the mattress with enough force to quiet you entirely. “Shut up. If I want to hear you speak, I’ll ask. Understand?”

You could do nothing but nod, hating yourself for the ache that had grown more and more intense in your core, desperate for some sort of contact. Dazai, distracted with his own task of tearing your top off, had failed to notice the breathing that had grown heavier, the flush of heat that spread on every inch of your body.

His slender fingers finally removed the confining pants, a task he did skillfully with one hand still wrapped around your throat. Then, his fingers were against your aching cunt, and you twitched, letting out a heavy sound from the singular movement. You could feel yourself pulsing against nothing, desperate for his fingers between your legs.

“Pathetic,” he said, his fingers lazily dipping through your folds over your underwear. “I’ve barely touched you. How can you be this fucking wet?”

“Please,” you said quietly, your own hand aching to take over, if only to provide yourself that relief that he refused to give you. Every time you shifted into his hand, he brought it away, taunting you with the release you so craved.

“Please?” Dazai was mocking, cruel, every bit of the person people expected him to be. The one he never had been with you, not until recently. “You’re nothing more than a greedy little whore. Must have been why you fucked Chuuya without a second thought, huh?”

You were silent, staring him down with a clenched jaw. Your brain was twisting, betraying you, turning into empty cells within your skull, and you weren’t sure how to handle the accumulation of emotions that you felt for the man before you, the one who’s love had always been purposeful and merciless.

“Well?” he said, tightening a hand to close off the air to your lungs, trapping you with his strength. “Answer me.”

“No,” you gasped, and when your words sounded choked, when you clawed at his wrist, he loosened his grip just a hair, the only indication that the man you loved was in there at all. Still, your hips acted of their own accord, shifting further into his hand. “I’m sorry, Osamu, I am.” You felt tears prick at the corner of your eyes as he finally slipped his fingers under your panties, rubbing your aching clit. “I wanted you; I needed you and you were never there, but Chuuya was, and—”

You were a stammering mess of desperation and regret, feeling unglued under Dazai’s hands, like the words you’d been meaning to say could finally come out. He was the only one who’d ever listened to you completely, who you’d felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable with. Yet, it had been so long since you’d let yourself be open with him, and now that the opportunity arose, you were too weak to deny it.

“I was always here,” Dazai said harshly, and you were almost certain that his anger was genuine, the tone breaking in his voice a result of true sadness. “You never came to me, and I thought that’s how you wanted it to be.” His fingers sunk into you, and you threw your head back into the pillow, moaning sinfully with the lewd sound of him sinking in and out of you, the wetness collecting with every movement.

“You never showed me you cared,” you cried out, certain that there were tears streaming down your cheeks, and you should’ve been humiliated. It was humiliating—the way you were clothed in nothing, crying as Dazai laughed at you, taking full control over your body. How he could’ve done anything to you in that moment, and you would’ve let him, because that was just how much you wanted him.

“And Chuuya was the solution?” He grabbed your cheeks with the hand that had once been around your throat, pinching them to make you look at him. “You going to pass yourself around the rest of the Mafia, sweetheart? Who’ll get a taste of you next? I’m not so certain even Akutagawa would pass up the opportunity.”

His words were senseless, meant to hurt you, and you still couldn’t stand the anguish that was in his eyes.

“No,” you said, and you leaned up, wanting so badly for his lips to be on yours, to feel some semblance of the connection that you’d always had with him. “I wouldn’t, Dazai, I’m yours.” You choked on the sounds of your own moans, your thighs shaking with every change in pressure. “I’m yours. Please, I need you.”

You were certain there were marks on your neck from his fingertips, and Dazai ghosted his mouth along the delicate skin there, biting at the soreness from before. You jerked, digging your nails into his back as you drew closer and closer to your climax.

“Don’t make demands.” Dazai leaned back, and you missed the closeness, the sharp scent of him lingering in your space. “Chuuya hasn’t been a part of this conversation yet. Should we get him up here? I hadn’t considered what to do with him, but this might suffice.”

Dazed and drunk on the feeling of his hands all over you, it took you a moment to process what he was saying. His hand was already swiping through his phone, picking the number of the man that you least wanted to see.

“No, Osamu, don’t—” you cried out, and yet, you made no move to stop him. Instead, you remained pliant on the bed as he sunk another finger into you, his thumb moving in agonizing circles against your clit.  He tucked the cellphone under his chin, smiling at you maliciously, controlling you with every blink of his lashes.

You had always had trouble resisting him. Now was no different.

Chuuya answered as you released another moan, and Dazai was grinning wickedly, as if some larger scheme had finally come together, the culmination of everything he was plotting. “Boss?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai said, and you flinched, locking gazes with his deep brown irises, the color so alluring and beautiful, a shade that had darkened with each misfortune you’d endured together. You hated him, you did, but there was a fine line between the two, and your love for him would die with you, would transcend whatever simple rules the afterlife placed on Earth. “How quickly can you make it up here?”

You could hear the hesitation on the other side; Chuuya didn’t say anything for a moment.

“A couple minutes, I think. I haven’t left the building.”

“I’ll give you a couple minutes then.” Dazai’s words were clipped as he hung up the phone, throwing it to the arm chair a few feet away from the bed.

His attention was back on you completely as you let out a shaky breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure before Chuuya came into the room. Though it was so hard when the pools in his irises were pulling you deeper, locking you into a heaven that you’d never been able to reach.

Dazai pulled away briefly, his soaking fingers leaving your body to alleviate his cock from the confines of his dark pants, hovering before you.

You swallowed, not able to remember the last time your desire for him ached this badly. Your eyes trained on the very part of him that you wanted inside of you, the tip flushed so beautifully. There was nothing on your mind but him, how you wanted every part of him, even if it meant enduring misery after misery, and Chuuya was right—if you were to love Dazai, you needed to love every part of him, even when it seemed impossible.

A whine escaped you and you were reaching out to him, knowing he’d never let you live down your humiliation, but the future was not a part of your logical thinking, not now. “Want you inside me.”

“Surely you can hold off for a few minutes,” Dazai said, though the way his toned chest pressed to your own, and how he kissed your face with a tenderness you’d forgotten made it nearly impossible for you to refrain. “So desperate for my cock.”

You wanted to touch yourself—you would’ve, had you not been so nervous of the fact that Chuuya could come in at any minute.

“Tell him to leave,” you said, dragging your fingers through his hair, finally kissing him like you’d been wanting to, and the sound was sinful, heavy with lust as you forced a taste into his mouth, wishing every part of him was a part of you too. “I don’t want him or anyone else, just you, I promise—” 

Dazai cut you off and ignored your pleas; he smiled against your lips, though it was anything but kind. “I think he’ll enjoy seeing you like this, won’t he? You’ve got such a filthy mouth on you when you’re fucked properly.” He kissed his way down your chest, resting his face just above your breasts. “I bet Chuuya didn’t see this side of you, did he?” Dazai licked a circle around your nipple, tugging it between his teeth. “I’ve done nothing but call you names and you’re dripping all over the sheets.”

You shook your head, feeling pained by how badly you wanted release.

“Of course not.” Dazai sat back up like he could sense Chuuya approaching from the other side of the door, his presence bold and detectible. “He’s forgotten what’s mine, after all.” He smiled at you once more, kissing you with a kind of love that only he could portray, the kind that was nowhere close to innocent. “Don’t cum until I tell you to. Be good for me, okay?”

Dazai had always known what to say to you, even when your relationship was falling apart, even when you hated him more than you loved him. His words could be so tender, the praise melted in with the unkind quips of his tongue. It was the gentlest tone he’d used since your clothes had come off, and you couldn’t help but melt under him, nodding like you’d give him anything he asked of you.

Of course you would.

Dazai traced your features delicately, grinning maniacally, ears attuned to the quiet that broke from the footsteps approaching. His cock was lined up against your dripping hole, and it took every ounce of restraint not to plant yourself on it, trying so hard to please him, the sinful man who held too much power over you.

“You’re so pretty like this, aren’t you? My beautiful little whore, always willing to take whatever I give you.”

“’Samu,” you babbled, blinking away the tears as you latched onto him, wishing you could spare yourself the humiliation, but too drunk on him to care. He shifted you forward, taking your thighs in his hands and placing them around his waist. “I can’t take it all at once—”

“You’ve done it before. Do it again.” He growled, squeezing your throat once more in one smooth motion, thrusting into you. And though you had doubted how prepared you were, he slid into you easily, already so loose and pliant from his fingers. “See? Never forgot the shape of me, sweetheart. Even after you’ve been with another man.”

You let out a choked moan as Chuuya walked into the room, lost in the ache and the burn and the pleasure that came with loving and fucking Dazai.

There was one singular pass of silence before Chuuya spoke, letting the door shut with a quiet click on the hinge. “Boss—” Chuuya was hesitant, though his eyes were immediately drawn to you, raking over your blissed-out form. “You said to—” His hand was still on the knob, though he was distracted, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, ashamed but so full of want that it ached.

“Come in, Chuuya,” Dazai said sharply, his words solid and commanding, and you couldn’t help it when you clenched around him, drawing him further into you with nails scraping down his back. “We should discuss something.”

“Well, can we talk about it when you’re not in the middle of fucking your girl?” Chuuya asked, swallowing down the desire he hid so poorly. His cheeks had flushed, words just on the edge of stumbling and slurring together. “Another time, maybe.”

“This is the perfect time, actually,” Dazai stopped moving, already breathing heavily above you as you stared, whined, needing so badly for him to stop teasing you. “Besides,” his eyes drifted knowingly to Chuuya’s obvious erection as he laughed darkly. “I don’t think you mind so much.”

Dazai pulled back painfully slowly before sinking into you with a quicker thrust, your back arching off the mattress to catch even more of him inside of you. A barely noticeable sweat had broken against his hairline, and you stared at him, mouth slightly agape in awe at the boss of the Port Mafia, the one you somehow had wrapped around your little finger.

Your breathing had grown unsteady as his cock got deeper and deeper inside of you, hitting where you’d never been quite able to get with your fingers, the thickness of him catching on every sensitive part inside of you. His hand was back between your legs, rubbing circles on your clit, and you weren’t sure you could last much longer, not as he carried on a conversation with Chuuya, who watched you with darkened eyes, barely holding himself back.

“Please, Osamu,” you were practically begging now, your cheeks glistening with wetness as you clawed at the muscles between his shoulder blades, surely leaving bruises all down his spine. “Please, please, let me cum.”

Dazai made a tsk noise in the back of his throat. “Not yet. I don’t think you deserve it quite yet, does she, Chuuya?”

Chuuya sniffed, shifting uncomfortably as his pants grew tighter. “Gonna punish her all day, boss? Such a pretty thing should get what she wants, shouldn’t she?”

Dazai dropped his chest closer to you, going deeper into you, and you cried out his name, though your eyes were still locked with Chuuya, as if he were going to be your savior. You remembered how gently he’d touched you, how careful he was, and you wondered why you’d ever wanted that at all.

“Chuuya thinks he can fuck you better than me, darling, but you know that’s not true, don’t you? He’d spoil you too much, but this is what you want, right? You want to be called a stupid fucking cockslut.” Dazai grinned against your lips, whispering in a breath that only you could hear. “Just so that at the end of it all, you’ll be my good girl.”

You whimpered, soaking him as you clenched harder. Your brain had gone numb from the feeling of him. Dazai was smiling viciously, but you could see the underlying tenderness.

“She looks so pretty right now, doesn’t she Chuuya? Not a single thought in that beautiful little head of hers.” He smiled at him knowingly, dark hair flopping into his eyes as the rest of the loose tendrils stuck to his forehead. “You’re lucky. You’ve gotten two chances to see her now. Twice as many as most men who fantasize about fucking a woman that sleeps in another man’s bed.”

Chuuya’s voice was raw, his words cracked. “You’re sick, Dazai,” he said, clenching his hands into fists. “Putting on a show like this just to punish me.”

“You and I both know you’re enjoying this.” Dazai traced your cheeks sweetly, kissing your lips deeply. You let out a strangled breath into his mouth, something on the precipice of a moan. “Can you do one thing for me, pretty girl? One more, then I’ll let you cum, how’s that?”

You nodded, desperately, as Dazai’s fingers finally dipped back down, rubbing agonizingly light circles.

“Tell Chuuya who’s making you feel this way,” Dazai said, pushing your face away from him to stare straight into Chuuya’s dark eyes. “Tell him who you love the most.”

“You,” you gasped out, clenching tighter around him. What an easy request to make—you’d never loved anyone else. “I’m in love with you.”

Dazai sniffed, though he was patient, slowing his thrusts almost to a stop. “Not good enough. I need you to be more specific.”

You cried out, locking your ankles onto his hips, trying to force him back into you. But Dazai didn’t budge, watching you until you provided the answer that he so desired. “I love you, Dazai.”

He frowned, shaking his head once more. “My name. Say it. It sounds so sweet from your lips.”

“Osamu,” you choked out. “I love you, Osamu. I love you. I love you.”

Dazai finally smiled above you, gently tracing your cheeks with his thumb as he slowed down the pace of his hips. “I love you too, darling.” His words were soft, whispered into your lips before he turned away, meeting eyes with Chuuya across the room. “See?”

Chuuya was glowering, stiff as a board, his face pink, and his legs shaky. “I got it, Boss.” He choked out, though his eyes were on you, unable to leave your body, even as he tried so hard to be polite. His aching cock strained against his pants, and he breathed sharply, swallowing over and over. “Do I need to be here any longer?”

Dazai laughed, and you thought he looked so pretty when he did that, his smile flashing wide and alluring, the corners of his eyes crinkling marginally. “Never said you had to stay. I figured you’d want to watch her come undone one last time.”

Chuuya, for as noble as he wanted himself to be, made no move to leave, glued to the spot on the floor beyond your bed. He was just across the room, but you couldn’t focus on anyone but Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, Dazai, the man who you’d killed and bled and committed horrible acts for.

You said his name again, scrambling to bring his attention back to you, hands on his face with a desperation you didn’t realize you’d possessed.

And Dazai, with the kindness of a man he wasn’t, placed his hands just above your stomach, leaving kisses across your chin as he thrust into you, sweetly, menacingly, one last time. “You did so good, my love. You can cum now. Make a mess all over my cock, beautiful.”

You jerked, squeezing around him as you felt the pressure in you finally release, the colors shifting and changing between your high as Dazai brought you in and out of an orgasm, his words reaching your muddled brain with soothing noises. Your body twitched as your muscles spasmed, sweat gathering in the space under your knees. There was little in your mind, save for the dark-haired man that had quickly become your whole world.

You smiled lazily, lacing your fingers with Dazai as you slowly began to come back to yourself. The world around you was empty. Chuuya had all but disappeared into a block of nothingness as you stared into the world itself. If there was no Dazai, there was no you, and it was as simple as that. He was everything you’d ever wanted—you’d be a fool to ever left him go.

As you regained your breathing, still sensitive all over, Dazai came inside you, spilling hot release into you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care, too busy being satisfied with the feeling of him all over you.  His hands never left you—he was delicate, caring, pressing loving touches into your skin as you recovered from your high.

“I’m yours, Osamu,” you said, closing your eyes as you basked against the bed, wanting nothing more than to curl up against him, bury yourself in the warmth of another body. 

He smiled against your cheeks, lips flushed and bruised. “I know you are,” he said to you only, before pulling away. You shivered, but opened your eyes, and he’d already held the gun out to you, presenting it as an offering. “That’s why you’ll be the one to kill him.”

It took you all of ten seconds to remember who him was, and that the man who had borne witness to your most intimate moments with Dazai had not disappeared and was still gawking at you from the corner of the room.

“What?” you asked stupidly, your jaw falling open.

“You heard me.” Dazai pressed the pistol into your palm, curling your fingers around the handle. It was like ice against your hot body, and though it’d been years since your first time firing such a weapon, you suddenly felt like you were there again, uncertain, and afraid of the dangerous firearm. “Kill him.”

You stared at Chuuya, the honest man who, even despite his rough exterior, had been there for you since you were kids. You remembered how the three of you had been so close, for such a long time, until Dazai had gone and killed Mori and fucked it all up.

It felt wrong. The entire situation was wrong, and it never should’ve come to this.

“It’s Chuuya,” you said with tired eyes, something in your voice pleading and desperate.  

Dazai shrugged, holding you close against him as you struggled to sit up in the bed. Your muscles ached and you were still so sensitive, but reality was coming back to you. This was all a mess, and you wanted so badly to feel shame at everything you had done, but you were trying so hard just to–

“You’d think I’d let him live after what he did?”

“Osamu.” You weren’t sure you could bear it. You’d always sworn to kill whatever adversary Dazai and the Port Mafia faced, but Chuuya would always be an exception. You wanted him in your life as much as you wanted Dazai, someone you could trust without fail, who would listen to you complain even when it hurt him. “I won’t do it. He’s my friend. I thought he was yours too.”

Dark eyes full of disdain met your own, and he pinched your jaw once more, a mixture of devastating anger. “I can’t allow a traitor to live. I’ll kill him if you won’t. Then, I’ll kill you. Then myself.”

You shoved him away, suddenly wishing you weren’t so exposed, on display in the middle of the room. “Then fucking do it already, Dazai. What are you waiting for?” A tear broke free from your eye, and you wiped it furiously, not giving him a chance to mock you.

“Stop.” Chuuya finally spoke, his voice drawing your attention like a commandment, and you fell silent, refocusing on him as he bowed before you, dropping to his knees. Eyes locked onto your own without a single fear, cruel acceptance surrounding dark pupils. “It’s alright. I deserve to die. I’ve broken your trust, boss. I might as well be a traitor to the Mafia.” He swallowed, though he was unwavering. “I don’t want to live with this feeling any longer.”

“Don’t say that.” you spat, hating that such a strong man was giving himself over, exposing every weary weakness that he’d come to carry. “You don’t mean it.”

“I do.” He sighed, straightening his spine as he leaned forward towards your hand, much as you had done before, and you realized that this was such a sick, twisted change of fate. That the affection you’d always doubted was real after all, but Chuuya was still left playing the fool.

Perhaps, you were of the same vein, wanting desperately to die in the heavenly hand of the one you loved most. You could understand him for that. You could grant him one final wish.

“Do you regret any of it?” Dazai asked, as the wheels in your head spun, the decision dawning upon you, handed over from the ancient tragedies, rival even to the gloomy romances of Shakespeare.

Chuuya shifted towards the other man, looking into his cold, distant eyes. “No,” he said honestly, his jaw set. “I don’t regret it because now I know she’ll never love me. She’s all yours Dazai. Always has been. Always will be. Does that satisfy you?”

There wasn’t an ounce of fury in his expression when Dazai smiled back.

“You heard him,” Dazai said, lifting your limp arm by the elbow, pointing it like a skilled tutor. The gun was on Chuuya’s forehead, between his eyebrows, and your finger was on the trigger. Dazai’s whisper was like the Devil on your shoulder, and you were falling fast, your last shred of morality burnt from papery resolve. His hand supported your weakened muscles, guiding you along like you’d never before committed such an act. “You’re an assassin, aren’t you?”

You stiffened, narrowing your eyes before cocking the gun, mustering up the last bit of strength you had left. Chuuya couldn’t have looked more prepared for death, and you basked in Dazai’s prideful smile as he branded it into the crook of your neck.

“You’re certain?” you said to Chuuya, once more, hand no longer shaking despite your guilt.

The man, nothing more than a victim, nodded, and he had the audacity to smile, to look peaceful about his release from this life.

“I’m sorry, Chuuya. You shouldn’t have to bear the weight of my sin.” “It’s mine to carry, just as it is yours,” he scoffed, eyes hard with resolve. “Of all the things that would land me in Hell, I hardly believe this is the worst.”

You nodded, regrettably, and took a steely breath, erasing the heat the stung behind your eyes.

Then, you pulled the trigger. You waited for Chuuya’s brains to stain your floors, for the remnants of his skull to shatter all across the wall behind him. For the life to slowly drain from his stunningly bright eyes, leaving you with nothing but a corpse that would rot away wherever Dazai chose to toss his body.

Though, none of those things happened, and you stared at each other with fierce incredulity, knowing that you’d unwillingly become puppets in Dazai’s dramatic play, a show put on for no one’s entertainment but his own.

You’d been completely senseless, an idiot, really. The gun had felt lighter than usual, and you’d ignored it, even when you should’ve known it housed no bullets.

“Dazai?” you said in a low voice, dangerously, twisting to look at him from over your shoulder. An anger you’d never felt before had bubbled up inside of you, your heart thundering with a fierceness you hadn’t realized was a part of you. “There’s no bullets.”

“Obviously,” he scoffed, taking the gun away like it was but a toy, throwing it onto the armchair in the corner. “I’d never kill the strongest ability-user in the Mafia. You both should know me better by now.”

You scowled, the ugly expression marring your face, and Dazai frowned, leaning forward to appease you. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You played me for a fool. Was all of this an act?” you cried, wondering if maybe Dazai had been lying this entire time. Maybe all those sweet words he said had never been true, and you had fallen for them anyway, like the mindless pawn you were.

“Which part?” Dazai asked, but you could tell that he knew what answer you sought, what lies you wanted to unveil.

“You know which part,” you said, moving away from him, not sure what emotion to grant control. You felt an intense amount of fury, misery, and pity for yourself, who’d never asked Dazai for anything but to be on your side, and he still couldn’t give you that. “Fuck you, Dazai.”

Your lip quivered, but if you’d begun to cry, shame would swallow you up and drown you in the dark abyss of misery. You would have no other choice but to throw yourself out the window, where everyone in the Port Mafia could bear witness to all the ways that Dazai had ruined you.

“Boss—”

Chuuya’s sentence was cut off sharply.

You’d tried to climb out of the bed, but Dazai had grabbed your wrist, stopping you before you could escape from him once and for all. Though he spoke to Chuuya, his eyes were hard on you, never leaving the set he stared into as you swallowed over and over, trying to think of anything but the sick feeling in your chest.

“You can leave now, Chuuya. Consider this your lucky day.” His voice was icy, threatening, and though Chuuya lingered a moment before climbing to his feet, he spared you nothing but a small glance in return.

You inhaled, then exhaled, trying to stop the simmering of blood within your veins, feeling the heavy weight of his hand on your wrist. As you sat there in silence, waiting for him to be the one to break it, you started to wonder how much of this was really Dazai’s fault, and how much you were the one to blame.

“It was a test.” Dazai tried to bring your attention back to him, letting only a fragment of emotion drain into his voice, though it was enough to slowly, slowly pique your fascination once more. “That was all.”

You wet your lips, though your tongue was just as papery. “So none of it was real.”

“What do you mean?” Dazai came to sit in front of you, his skin pale in the dark lighting, and you could see the cracks in his facade, and maybe this splinter in your failing relationship would slowly begin to heal itself. “Everything I said was very much real.”

His soft fingertips traveled up your arm, curling around your shoulder, across your collarbone, before settling in that delicate space between your jaw and your ear. There was a starry look in his eyes, the twin pair that had been exposed.

“Why would you do something like that to me?” you said, scrunching your face in remorse, wanting to slither away from him, even as he drew you closer, close enough to smell the expensive cologne he wore, the liquor that he favored when you were away. His hair had been freshly washed, and the smell of shampoo still lingered, even under the thin layer of sweat.

“Why would you do something like that to me?” Dazai countered, the hurt not veiled in the slightest this time, and it didn’t take a genius to know what he was talking about. Heat flooded to your cheeks, and you were looking away, wondering why he was pulling you close to his chest when he should be hating you with the passion of a thousand fiends. “How could I trust you after that?”

You parted your lips to speak, but your jaw was locked, and the inside of your mouth tasted like cotton.

“I’m not a good man,” Dazai said, kissing the shell of your ear, your temple, and you squeezed your eyes shut, clinging to his bicep. “You’ve always known this. Yet, for as often as you talk about me with disgust dripping from your words, I’ve never sought to bring you pain.” He breathed in deeply, and you buried your face into his chest, wondering how much longer it’d be before you wept. “You’ve caused me pain.”

You tried to cry out, to tell him that you never thought it would hurt him, but he’d seen the very same in you, hadn’t he? You’d never given him any indication that the coldness in his words was bothering you, that the blurred lines of your relationship were getting confusing and hurtful, and he had done the same.

“We’re not good for each other, Osamu,” you whispered quietly, your lip quivering. The weight of your voice shattered against your vocal cords.

He let out a breathy laugh, smiling against your forehead. “On the contrary, I think we’re the perfect fit.”

For what reason he believed that, you weren’t sure.

You clenched your jaw tight, but it didn’t stop the feeling of tears from overwhelming you, hot droplets that spilled heavy from your eyes, running off your chin to Dazai’s chest. Your hands shook, clenched around his arms so tightly you were sure you were breaking the skin.

Dazai pulled away, monitoring your face with concern. You hated the way he looked at you with such pity when he was the reason for such pain. Yet, you couldn’t help but curl into him, warm, never wanting to escape from his reverence. “Why are you crying, my sweet angel?”

Nausea soured your mouth, and the regret that tinged you, tainted you, was vastly overwhelming. It was horrible in a way that you’d never felt.

It struck you, then, that you’d been blind to Dazai’s every affection, too ignorant to notice the ways that they had shifted as his life did. He no longer held your hand over the table during meetings, but the chair beside his was just as grandiose, and he greeted you with something of a smile when you walked into each room. He no longer accompanied you on assignments, but you were always taken care of, in a hotel most people couldn’t afford with a partner that could singlehandedly take out a hundred men. He no longer picked you flowers from a wild field as he’d done as a boy, but the vase on the table always held a beautiful bouquet of deep, red roses, without a single wilting flower.  

Chuuya, all this time, all these years had been right. There was no use in loving Dazai if you couldn’t stand him in his darkest hour, the bitter ugly side of him that no one wanted to see.

You’d never thought about it, really, but you’d changed just as he had. Everyone in the Mafia had blood on their hands, was ruined in more ways than one, and you were no exception. If loving Dazai meant loving those parts of him, then loving you meant just the same.

The tears fell harder, and Dazai seemed panicked, stricken, always so oblivious when it came to the affairs of your heart, and sometimes he tried, but you couldn’t hate him if he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” you said pitifully, knowing from the spoiled heart in your very chest had ruined everything. “I’m sorry.” You said it again and again until Dazai was shushing you, running a large, cool palm down your back, the only way he knew to soothe you.

“I wish I’d never done it. I wish I’d just spoken to you, asked you, anything—” you wiped your face, heavy breaths stuttering before Dazai took your hands away, and erased the tears for you. “I just thought you hated me. It was the only thing that made sense.”

Dazai smiled sadly, because no one had taught him to love. How was he to know that he’d been doing it wrong all this time. “I wish I’d seen it before. I didn’t mean to push you away.” He sighed, dropping his head to your shoulder with a weariness that he’d been born with. “I’m sorry.”

A tingling sensation began under your skin, and you were warm all over, realizing just how much that apology had meant to you. For some reason, it felt like coming home.

The strong grip that nostalgia had on you gradually began to melt away.

[atombombkaytee]

I’ve watched the entire series again today in a hungover state and I CAN’T DEAL with all the parallels.

I mean, when Lucy finds out about her Dad’s true actions and origins - her whole world falls apart. She saw the vaults as safety - she looked up to her Dad more than anyone else in the world. She learns that he’s lied about who he is as a man and as her father, but also she must realise that the vault’s are hiding their own dirty secrets (especially after her experience at vault 4) and that her Dad is a part of that too. She even says to Max, after leaving vault 4, that if she destroyed a whole community to save him, he would be heartbroken: when that’s exactly what he did on an even grander and more terrible scale. Lucy’s life wasn’t even in direct danger to warrant that reaction - he’s just an insecure selfish arsehole.

At the very same time we see the flashback scene of Coop hearing Barb suggest that they drop the bombs on America. This woman that he loves and trusts and has made a family with - who he said he fell in love with because she always tries to do the right thing. Their reactions at the point of realisation - shock, inability to speak, almost dissociation - are both extremely similar. Him having gone through that betrayal before (and likely plenty of times since) is EXACTLY why he talks to Lucy how he does. He’s preparing her for the eventual heartbreak - because he has experience which states that nothing could ever be as perfect as she claims her life is. When he’s making ass jerky from Roger, he even tells her: there’s what people say they do and then there’s what they really do.

When you look at all of that, really, in the scheme of things, Coop - the man that she’s seen as this inhuman, cruel, murderous monster - he’s the good guy. He too thought his wife’s business with vault tec was abhorrent. Yes, he’s been warped and twisted by the wasteland and by his own trauma - but he does see this brightness in Lucy. He thought she was just naive and full of bullshit (especially being a vault dweller. Something which I’m sure triggered him considering his past with vault tec and the links to his wife) but when she proved herself by giving him the vials instead of letting him die, he’s probably amazed that there’s someone left in the world who isn’t just a liar and a terrible person. He’s so used to betrayal and violence by this point. She’s a good person - a trait that he literally said he was in love with his wife because of. She softens him.

But she also proves herself in another way - by shooting her feralled mother - showing that she’s also grown and learnt that not everything is black and white. It’s not just “good and bad” in this world. And although Coop has questionable morals, he’s honest, like her. He tells it how it is. Plus, after her Dad’s huge life changing betrayal and her time in the wasteland, she understands a little more why Coop has done all the things that she’s seen him do - I mean he did meet her pretty much day one out of the vault initially - hence why she goes with him. He has hardened her up to protect her in the wasteland.

Wilzig even says “will you still want the same things when you’re a different animal altogether.”

My god. It’s just genius. Absolutely genius.

“You comin’?”

Edit: Can we also talk about how Coop is basically the inspiration for the vault boy - who Lucy basically looks to (physically a few times throughout the series) for inspiration to do the right thing. AND the fact that her Dad was obviously a bit obsessed with Coop and probably still was when Lucy was born, seeing as he’d been in a pod and had only just woken up, retaining recent memories. So Lucy likely watched all of his films and her Dad maybe even saw him as a bit of a role model (or at least his in-film characters). AND the obvious exchange of index fingers. Yup. Honestly if this relationship doesn’t become cannon, I will start dropping bombs too.

ANOTHER EDIT: Sorry one last thing but, I just want to add: nothing that post-war Coop does is personal. It’s either: to get a job done, survival, because he’s been triggered by something (understandable after what’s he been through) or, in Lucy’s case, to teach a (admittedly often harsh) lesson. He doesn’t just mindlessly kill - or particularly enjoy killing - he just has no issue with it, it’s all just means to an end. He even still remembers to pay for his tomatoes in Filly ffs haha… I imagine he’s extremely numb and devoid of all feeling - except for when it comes to his wife and little girl. That’s the only time we see more visceral reactions in either actions or dialogue from him. He’s such an intricate character and Walton did an amazing job of portraying him.

[kinzhae]

Hi hiiii! Okay so... I'm not quite sure if you accept like request and all but i enjoyed your vlog so much cause been craving for Gojo angst that hurts my heart and i love it 😭😭

And i have this idea... You know Toga Himiko right? So like i have this idea in mind where Gojo neglected the reader, like the bully fic you made? And so, in the end Gojo was like dyin (In his teens where he still didn't know RCT). Reader having the same power as Toga Himiko so yeah you know what happens next.

That episode ached my heart so much that i cried and i kinda wanna see it in Gojo x reader part. You don't have to make it just sayin my idea and all 😅

Omgg hello, you are actually the first person who requested to write something so ofc I will do it. I didnt continue watching MHA after season 2 so I might not capture Toga Himiko's quirk that well </3 but I still tried and hoping you will like it.

Note: it ended with a slight angst.

Past Wound That Will Never Change

The world had always been cruel to those who were different, and you learned that lesson early. Your cursed technique was rare, one that made people uneasy. By consuming the blood of others, you could take on their appearance and, to a degree, their abilities. It was powerful, yes, but it was also isolating. People whispered behind your back, called you a parasite, and avoided you like a curse waiting to manifest.

Gojo Satoru, of course, had been the worst of them all.

He wasn’t just cruel; he was relentless. With his unmatched abilities and natural charisma, he had no reason to think twice about how his words or actions might hurt you. To him, you were a joke, a walking anomaly he could poke fun at when life at Jujutsu High grew dull.

“You ever think about how creepy you are?” he’d say, his friends laughing along. “Like, do you just look at someone and think, ‘Wow, I wanna drink their blood’? That’s disgusting, man.”

The words stung every time. You tried to fight back, to pretend his insults didn’t matter, but he had a way of cutting deeper than anyone else. The more you tried to stand your ground, the more he mocked you.

“You’re not even a real sorcerer,” he said once, his voice dripping with disdain. “You just leech off of everyone else. What’s the point of keeping you around?”

No one defended you. Geto sometimes gave you a pitying glance, but even he didn’t dare go against Gojo. They were close friends after all. You were utterly alone, and every day felt like a battle you were losing.

It all came to a head during a mission gone wrong. You’d been sent out with Gojo and another student to exorcise a particularly nasty curse. Things had been going well until Gojo, confident as ever, underestimated the enemy. The curse turned its attention on you, nearly killing you in the process. You barely managed to survive, but when the dust settled, Gojo shrugged it off like it was nothing.

“You’re fine,” he said, his tone dismissive. “Stop being so dramatic.”

That was the moment something inside you broke. That night, you packed your things and left Jujutsu High without a word. If they thought you were a parasite, then so be it. You would survive on your own terms, far away from their judgmental eyes.

---

Years passed, and you became someone entirely different. The pain of your past hardened into a cold resolve. You used your cursed technique without restraint, earning a reputation as a rogue sorcerer. People feared you, and for the first time in your life, you felt powerful. You no longer cared about proving yourself to anyone. You lived by your own rules, taking what you needed and leaving destruction in your wake.

But fate had a twisted sense of humor.

You found him in the ruins of a cursed battlefield, slumped against a crumbling wall, his once-pristine uniform soaked with blood. Gojo Satoru, the untouchable, was dying.

He looked up at you with bleary eyes, his usual confidence replaced by something fragile.

“Figures,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “Of all people… it had to be you.”

You stared at him, your emotions a tangled mess of anger, bitterness, and something you didn’t want to name. He looked so different now—vulnerable in a way you’d never imagined. For a brief moment, you considered leaving him there. It would be poetic, wouldn’t it? Letting him die alone, just like he’d left you to fend for yourself all those years ago.

But you couldn’t do it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said coldly, kneeling beside him. “I’m not doing this for you.

He didn’t respond, too weak to argue. His blood pooled around him, staining the ground a deep crimson. You bit into your hand, drawing your own blood, and then leaned down to press your lips to his wound. The metallic taste filled your mouth as your cursed technique activated, his power flooding into you.

It was overwhelming. For a brief moment, you were the strongest, the infinite possibilities of his Limitless technique unfurling in your mind. You used it to heal his wounds, channeling his power with a precision that surprised even you. When it was done, you pulled away, wiping your mouth as you staggered to your feet.

Gojo sat up slowly, testing his limbs. He looked at you, his expression unreadable.

“You saved me,” he said quietly.

“Don’t read into it,” you snapped. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

He frowned, guilt flickering across his face. “Why? After everything I—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “You don’t get to apologize. Not after what you did.”

He fell silent, his usual arrogance nowhere to be found. For once, he looked small, almost fragile.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was a fool back then. I didn’t—”

“Stop,” you said, your tone icy. “I don’t want your apology. I don’t need it. Just live with it, Gojo. Live with what you did.”

You turned and walked away, leaving him sitting there, his words hanging in the air. He didn’t try to stop you. He didn’t call after you. He simply watched as you disappeared into the distance, the weight of his guilt settling over him like a shroud.

---

Gojo recovered, but the encounter haunted him. He searched for you, hoping for a chance to make amends, but you were always one step ahead, always out of reach. The guilt of what he had done to you lingered, a constant reminder of his failures. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t fix what he had broken.

You, on the other hand, continued to live on your own terms. Saving him hadn’t changed anything. It hadn’t softened the bitterness in your heart or erased the scars he left behind. You didn’t forgive him, and you didn’t need to.

In the end, the past was a wound neither of you could heal. He was left to carry the weight of his guilt, while you carried the scars of his cruelty.

[witchofhimring]

Loyalty Chapter 7 (part2)

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x Tyrell Reader

Aemond Targaryen x Ellyn Baratheon

Alys x Aemond Targaryen

Jaecerion Targaryen x Reader

Jason Lannister x Reader (minor)

(more to come!)

Y/n Tyrells Profiles

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, childbirth, emotional turmoil, death, unrequited love?, humiliation by Ellyn Baratheon, marital abuse, marital consummation, misogamy (internalized as well as external), brief depictions of smut, Plot twist at the end!

Synopsis: You arrive at Harrenhal after the Blacks make an attempt of your life. It is you, Aemond, Ellyn, and a witch named Alys Rivers.

And they all went pale with what you said next.

"I suppose that is why it must be so difficult for you." Katrina gasped beside you. Unable to take the tension anymore Lady Alana got up, excused herself, and departed. Two others were quick to follow. But the rest remained, caught between horror and a desire to see this unfold. The lady of the castle and the mistresses friend facing of one another. "How long did it take for you to be with child?" Lady Reyne's face twisted. Her hands clenched stretching the pale skin. "What was it again.....three years?" Lady Reyne breathed in through her nose, grey eyes glazing over. At first she looked ready to cry and you felt a pang of victory. Only her eyes hardened, reminiscent of steele daggers. "I hardly believe it is your business, My Lady." Her voice dripped with contempt. You simply laughed. "Do you take me for a fool? I know what you meant by that comment." "And what-" You would not let her finish. "Listen here. It does not matter how many bastards your friend over here provides. She is a whore and will remain so. So it does not matter if my husband goes and decides to give her pleasure because that is all she is good for. A hole to use when his wife it too busy." The tension was physical and seemed to be pressing in from all sides.       "That is a pity." You said. All heads snapped to your direction. With a leisurely grin you regarded Lady Reyne. You did not know Lady Reyne very well, but there were small tidbits of gossip divulged for your ears. Perhaps your tactic was cruel. But Lady Reyne never should have crossed words with you in the first place.

Finding this too much Lady Redwyne got up and left, hiding her face from your view. One of the others followed and you made note of that. She would be dismissed from your service. No allie of hers would be in your service. With satisfaction you leaned back in your chair and glared at Lady Reyne. Her fingers flexed, itching to strangle you. With a slight smirk of your face you turned back to sewing. "There is nothing she can do." You thought.

"Lady Reyne and her cousin will be dismissed from my service!" Everyone else had been dismissed as a row broke out. This may not have been your first argument but this time you would not bend. Over and over you had bent to your husbands will. Not this time. It was always you had had to concede to your husbands demands. Putting up with his disrespect, getting rid of Elinor and his mistress. Was it so much that you require respect! "Lady Reyne is a respectable woman. It was your poor behavior-" "Mine....mine!" You looked murderous. Had you been a vicious woman you would have leapt at him with nails. "Your mistress dares show her face to me and I am disrespectful!? Tell me dear husband, does she have your tail as well as your balls?" Jason Lannister's hand shot and and calloused fingers seized your throat. "If it were not for that child I would discipline you. Do you know what we do to women who do not curb their tongues?" "Do you know what we do whores in Highgarden?" For a moment Jason Lannister's hand tightened and his dark eyes looked like pools of hate. He might have struck you down at that moment were it not for the babe. "Do not think that just because you are my wife you can insult me." "And I will say the same to you. Just because you are my husband does not mean you can insult me." He let go of you. "Very well. Have it your way. But when their families come asking why their daughters have been spurned I will tell them why." "You do that then." You turned on your heal and stormed right out.

Whatever fondness had grown between you and your husband was gone. The two of you could hardly look at each other these days. Breakfast was taken in stony silence and then it was off to your own duties. The brief period of cheerfulness had dissipated as the war dragged on. There was no more lounging on cushions gossiping away. Now people talked in hushed voices.

Your pregnancy would not be hidden any longer. The maids and ladies had started to catch on to the changes in your body as soon everyone knew. When the news reached Rhaenyra you did not know. In your room was the only place you felt safe. By the window you would sit and try to hear the trees rustle in the distance. These days, you could hardly hear it and the little voices it carried. Sometimes you felt like running away into the woods. Here it was so lonely. You remembered those happier days and it pained you. No letters had come from Kings Landing. It seemed everyone had forgotten about you. Only Flora had written to you once, but that was it. You wondered what Prince Aemond was doing. Most likely enjoying wedded bliss these days. All those years of friendship must have meant nothing to him. Prince Aemond had Ellyn, Jason Lannister had Lady Redwyne. So where did that leave you? The only person that loved you was far away and you had no idea if she was even alive. Your parents must have loved you and by any Gods out there you wished they were still here. Jaecerion had at least was alive. But for how long you did not know. If you died would anyone even mourn you. For who had shown you any loyalty in your life. Everyone wished for love and affection, however they might deny it. For who did not want to be loved and told they are irreplaceably cherished? What had you done to deserve such a fate as not to feel that? Jaecerion felt something (whether that was love or not was as of now beyond you). But it counted for little since you did not love him back. But if this was how you felt did you then have the right to hold hurt against Prince Aemond. Discomfort crept upon you at the idea that you may have placed Jaecerion in the same place that you yourself were?

"Go back." The voices whispered to you. But you continued down that dark tunnel to the other side. There was a light at the end so it hardly made sense to veer off path into the darkness. The voices got louder and pitched and you walked faster. Branches tore at your arms in a desperate attempt to hold you back. But you forced yourself free and ran. For a brief moment you saw a woman's face, pale with black hair and piercing green eyes. It was only for that moments before her hands seized yours and pulled you through to the other side. The you were all alone. And blood pooled from your wrists. "You should turn back."

A spasm of fear woke you. Breathing became an effort as the terror you felt was so profound it might choke. There was a low breathing and you placed a hand on Lady Alana's back. She was not moving. A warm thick liquid was dripping down her spin. The sticky metallic scent of blood suddenly hit you. Then there was someone breathing out of sight. It was right behind you and suddenly the realization dawned. In a moment you had scrambled over Lady Alana's body before the assasin could grab you. A cloaked figure stood, knife drawn. In the moonlight you could see Lady Alana's blood shinning on its metal. "This is for Vaeron Velaryon. His mother the Queen sends her regards." They were going to kiss you like they did Jaecerys. There had been a pool of blood there his headless body lay. Now it was your own in his place. On instinct you fled into the bathroom. The door slammed behind you and with a click it was locked. Shaking, you backed away from it. You bumped into something and cowered, only to see it was the bathtub. The room was completely dark. Only moonlight came in through the window and you realized he might come in through there too. So you did the only thing that came to mind.

For Gods know how long you hid in that cupboard hardly daring to breath. Every noise gave you cause for fear. Any moment you waited for the searing pain of a knife plunged into your belly. There was still blood on you, Lady Alana's. She had not even been the intended target and yet she was killed. When the door opened you covered you mouth. It slammed against the wall and the scent of blood nearly overpowered you. "My Lady!" Thank the Gods, it was Lady Mari! You staggered out of the cupboard, a terrified Lady Mari raced towards you. "Oh thank the Gods!" You had never seen her cry before. Usually impeccable, the lady's hair was let lose and her whole face was swollen with shed tears. A wail pierced the air and you knew they had found her body. "They've killed her." The words suddenly made it feel so dreadfully real. Lady Alana, who had been nothing but kind now lay dead at ten and eight years of age. When you walked back to the room there she lay, blood splattered across her thin throat. Her golden hair would never know the sun again, green eyes now unable to take in the brightness of the day. Days of sitting and reading love poems and laughing with friends were ended. You watched her loved ones wail around her corpse and lament the life that was lost. Despite everything, you were just as powerless as a Dowager Queen's lady-in-waiting.

The assassin had disappeared into the night. Nevertheless there was no question as to who was responsible. No word came from Dragonstone but Rhaenyra had ordered you death. Only it was Lady Alana who payed the ultimate price. "Just as Lucerys payed with his." You thought. You wondered on your old malice and realized you felt quite sad at the boys death. There was hatred but now his death brought no satisfaction. In your dreams blood mingled from dead bodies, only to grotesquely twist into a tree with many faces. The desire to tell someone about these nightmares was great but for fear of being labeled a witch you held your tongue. By now you had come to the conclusion that these were no mere dreams. Perhaps they were a punishment from the Gods for the malice you held. But was it so wrong when it was against those who had injured you so? And then there was the woman that would appear. For the past few nights you had visions of her in which she pulled close. Her green eyes reminded you of the description of dancing light across the sky in the north. Her hair was a pitch black, darker than dark. The skin was pale as snow without a mark to blemish it. Was the one of the Gods, old or new? What you were sure of was that there was something otherworldly to her looks. She was as beautiful as the Maiden, with all the terror of the Stranger.

You now slept in your husbands bed. There were no windows there and guards by every door. Constantly you were attended, with each person being checked before stepping in. Normally this would be suffocating but such as your fear that it made such conditions a mercy. Sometimes you found yourself looking for Lady Alana amongst the faces around. And each time it felt you bitter. By now your grief had turned to rage and you prayed Rhaenyra would meet just as cruel a fate. Maybe Daemon would reach such an end as to have his throat cut. After all, he was the one who orchestrated Blood and Cheese to kill poor Prince Jaehaerys. Some said Rhaenyra had no involvement, but you would not believe it. She just just as cruel as her husband.

Day were spent sewing for the baby. Thankfully Lady Reyne and her friend were absent from this circle. The idea that your husbands mistress had ordered the assassination did cross your mind. But it was unlikely as you were told her things were searched. Besides, although the assassins identity remained unknown everyone knew that they were in the employ of Daemon Targaryen. You were of a mind to purchase an assassin of your own and take someone he cared about. Perhaps one of his children. Then the hideous impulse vanished leaving you with great shame. Then the frustration came and you cursed your bleeding heart. Once in such times you might have prayed, but those days were past. You were utterly alone in this world.

"I believe it to be best we find another location for you." Jason Lannister brought you into his study. "For my safety?" You inquired. He nodded. "But My Lord, is Casterly Rock not safer than other places? Even the Red Keep would place me in greater peril." That was only half of it. You never wanted to see that infernal place again. Where once it was you home it now only held sour memories. "Casterly Rock is safe. But there are safer locations for you to reside." "Where?" Your thoughts went to Highgarden. It had been years since that place had been your home. But you felt a great longing to go back to those gardens. Jason Lannister let out a sigh and placed a stamp on a letter. "Prince Jaecerion Targaryen will escort you to a secret location for the time being." You felt a thrill, at least a friend would remain. "Do you know where?" Jason Lannister nodded but said nothing more. "So, will you be telling me?" "Not as of now. This journey will be made in the upmost secrecy." You wanted to argue. Not this time. The terse tone told you no amount of arguing would help your case. "Will I be taking any of my ladies?" "Yes. Lady Mari, Clarissa Casterly and my niece Katrina will join. I trust Lady Katrina's presence will be welcome?" There was the smallest smile on his face. "That would please me very greatly." There was a small light for you in this darkness. Katrina's presence would be so welcome. If Lady Alana had still been living she might have joined. Your hand went to your belly.

Your disappearance was to be made in the upmost secrecy. Most of your things were to be left behind and replacements would be made. Jason Lannister tried to comfort you with the notion that your belonging would be protected for your return. "If I return." You thought. The longer war dragged on the more hopeless you situation seemed to be. Every day you waited for word on Jaecerions location. He and several companions would be racing across the continent to take you away. His dragon would be left at Kings Landing.

Bad tidings did come, but not from Jaecerion or the war. Upon hearing that Katrina would be going with you Tyshara kicked up a fuss. Under no circumstances would Katrina be going with you. So now you had lost a friend and instead Lady Dara would be accompanying you. While amiable, it did not stop you from hating the girl. You hoped one day Tyshara would find herself as alone as you were now. Even a girl of ten and four years had more power than you.

Because the sea was not an option it took a month for Jaecerion to finally arrive. You were worried he might not arrive in time as the Riverlands fell into chaos. With so much in flames you worried for his safety. Although the future scared you leaving this place might be for the best. As of late this place had become a pretty golden cage. The stone walls started to remind you of the dungeons. One time many years ago, you and Aemond had thought it wise to explore the dungeons that Maegor the Cruel had constructed. They said that the voices of those trapped and forgotten down there still echoed. Instead of taking this as a warning the two of you went down. At some point Aemond took on path, you took another and before anyone knew it the pair were lost. Terrified, you had cried and consigned yourself to the thought that you would be forgotten down here. Thankfully that was not your fate. But Dowager Queen Alicent (though she was Queen Alicent then) gave the pair of you the scolding of a lifetime. This is how you felt right now, trapped.

A hand on your mouth first woke you up. Horror seized you before silver hair came into vision. Jaecerion smiled down at you and brushed some hair back. "Ready to leave?' His voice was low. Without saying a word you flung your arms around him. Tears bordered on your vision but the impulse to weep was stifled. There was immense relief and profound grief. Lady Alana should be the one sleeping beside you, not Lady Dara. You wondered if she liked trips and it occurred that such a question had never been asked. All at once you wanted to ask her so many questions. Questions that as of now could not be answered. Jaecerion took your face in his hands and his lips ghosted your hairline. "I've missed you." "I too." You tooked up at his beautiful face and suddenly had to urge to kiss him. His lips were a soft pink, delicate as a flower petal. But you remembered the bonds of marriage and so desisted. You rolled up and woke Lady Dara who slumped out of bed. With ill grace she gathered everything. Well, she should not have drank so much last night. Lady Mari and Lady Clarissa came in, cloaks and bags in hand.

"We will be leaving through a passage. Lord Jason will see you off My Lady." Lady Clarissa said. You nodded and the five of you tip toed out. Four guards were sent to flank the party. In every shadow you expected someone to jump out. But everyone got to a statue of a lion tucked away on the lower floor. Jaecerion pulled out a key and unlocked it. A low grinding noise scraped the stone as the lion moved sideways. One of the guards descended the ladder first. Then Jaecarion, then you, and lastly all the rest. It was uncomfortably claustrophobic though thankfully short. Ahead you smelt the ocean and heard waves. A guard knocked on the metal door and it opened revealing a host of twenty and your husband. Jason Lannister told Jaecrion to step aside so he could help you down. "How are you feeling?" He inquired. "Well." Horses nervously pawed at the sand. There was a sense of anxiety in the air. This mission would either be successful or lead to disaster. "You will not be riding long." Jaecerion took you bags and saddled a horse with them. You pulled your cloak tighter as the wind picked up. Were there any dragons in the sky tonight? You imagined Syrax circling the castle, hunting. Although from what you heard Rhaenyra had been laid low as of late. Her stillbirth had apparently damaged her body even after she seemed to have recovered. That was of little comfort, scratch that it brought none, as Daemon would be the more likely candidate. You remembered how he had taken Vaemond Velaryon's head off in one strike.

"My Lady, may we speak?" Jason Lannister looked ill at ease. No doubt worry for his heir. The two of you walked a short distance before he said his piece. "I suppose this is the last we will see of each other for a while. Perhaps, Gods willing, you will have a son in your arms." He looked down at your expanding belly. You wondered that if it had not been for your present condition if he would have even bothered to keep you safe. "I do hope it is a boy." Was all you said. Truth was that while you had the words you could not speak them. Months of pain still lingered. You just wished that for once you could let it out. First with Prince Aemond and then with Jason Lannister. So although the words rested on your tongue nothing further was said. He bid you farewell, a kiss, and then let you go. Jaecerion helped out onto a horse and you turned around to get one last look at your husband. He would be leading an army to the Red Fork come tomorrow. Your horse snorted and you began to trot away from Casterly Rock, looking no more at your husband.

You rode through the night till everything hurt. In the early morning everyone stopped at a small but impenetrable looking fortress. It was Lady Clarissa's mother who provided the sanctuary. Lady Casterly fussed over her daughters appearance despite Lady Clarissa's protests. You envied the maternal affection she took for granted. As of late you had started to miss what could have been with a ferocity you were unfamiliar with. If you had a mother would everything have been better? Perhaps she might have advocated for you when Jason Lannister continued his affair with Lady Redwyne. If you had a father he might have defended you against Ellyn. Perhaps that was the reason you were perceived as such a weak target. The little orphan girl with no siblings. The memories of your mother were brief, but she loved to smile and dress you in green. She sang too, although you could not remember the words. Father's memory was more clear. He had bright e/c eyes and would pick you up in his arms. One day, when you had felt very lonely, he had made a swing for you in the garden. You wondered if it was still there. Probably not.

Traveling was not so bad. Lady Clarissa and Jaecerion provided good enough company. As it turned out Lady Clarissa knew much in the way of herbs and plants. She brewed a sweet tea that helped settle your stomach. She showed you a leather bound book with various recipes. Most impressive, as many upper-class lords and ladies hardly bothered. Such tasks were left to maesters and midwives. But you were grateful Lady Clarissa took to the study. Jaecerion was all over you, making sure everything was up to par. You need only ask and he would give. "I am quite well, Jaecerion. There is no need to worry." You laughed over Jaecerion's fussing. He propped your feet on a pillow. "It is your first baby Y/n. We must be careful." Jaecerion lectures. You rolled you eyes and giggled. Leading up to the escape you had been so worried. But these days you were happier than ever. The fortress was in the middle of a lusious fortress. Surrounding it were leaves and for the first time in what felt like ages you clearly heard the rustling of trees. But as beautiful as they were nothing could compare to the forest near Casterly Rock. There was something archaic about the very energy of that forest. No murmurs came to you from its dark depths.

"How long do you think we will stay here?" You asked Jaecerion. Together the two of you took a short walk around the fortress. It was fairly safe is there were scouts ahead and guards posted. He had hold of one arm, helping you walk. Your belly had expanded to the point were every step was heavy. "Gods know. Although I do not think this is so bad." He looked down at you. "Do you not miss home?" You questioned. "I believe home is where you make it." His purple eyes, darker than any of his siblings. His gaze was so intense you might evaporate on the spot. You knew his feelings by now. There was no need to put them in words as his actions were so clear. What you did not know was how to proceed. The other great mystery was your own feeling. What did you feel for him? What you did know was that breaking his heart was out of the question. Maybe if you had never given you heart to Prince Aemond things might have been different. Had you returned Jaecerion's feelings at an earlier date this whole mess might have been avoided. You imagine that in another lifetime the two of you could have been happy.

"I think ones home is whom they devote themselves." His cold hands took yours. You looked into his eyes and tried to find the courage to respond. "Where is your home Y/n?" That was yet another question you could not answer. Who could you call your home? Once you would have said Prince Aemond or Elinor. But they were long gone. And you felt that if you said it was Jaecerion you would be lying. His silver hair had reached past his shoulders now. Its likeness was his mothers, wavy. "In truth I do not know. I have been so confused lately I can hardly label any of my emotions." You squeezed his hands in a plea that he would not be hurt. You remembered the young body who was so emotional. It was quite unlike his brother King Aegon and Prince Aemond. King Aegon's emotions always felt muted, like something left to fester that no longer had the same bite it once did. Prince Aemond's was cold as ice, shielding himself from all. But Jaecerion was open. That was what you liked about him. You never had to guess. "Do you see yourself making a home, just for you?" He brought your hands in so that they rested on his chest. "It is just....well I am married." You prayed this would be enough for him, that Jaecerion understand. If you gave yourself to him the consequences could be dire. Then worse, people could speculate whether your child was truly a Lannister. You had seen how they regarded Rhaenyra and knew the trouble it could lead to. Jaecerion would also likely not fare any better. Jason Lannister may wish to take his revenge in some way. You heard the story of how Harwin Strong, the true son to Rhaenyra's first three sons, had been burned alive in his fathers keep. Some said it was the ghosts of Harrenhal. Others that is was Daemon Targaryen in all his jealousy. You did not wish for such a fate to befall Jaecerion. But there was one small thing you did. Before anyone could come upon you Jaecerion was pulled into a hug. He sighed and wrapped his arms around you. "Take you time Y/n, take you time."

Jaecerion had snuck out that night and come back in the morning. When you asked him where he had been he told you air was desired. You understood, although you did lecture him about safety. He just smiled and took your hand in his. Days passed in a peaceful lull. No longer were you sitting around glumly. Being away from your husband and all the rest of them had done wonders. Each morning was a bright new day to be enjoyed. Lady Casterly was just as hands on as her daughter. In fact she knew how to cook and you had the delight of tasting some of it. She taught you to make bread and which spices to use. You had never viewed baking as an art but now you realized that it was not so easy. You had half a mind to just stay here forever. Let the war rage outside, here was your paradise.

It did not last long.

Your dreams had quieted themselves as of late. But one night they came back. There was a great battlefield, blood pooling up to your knees. Men lay dying or dead. Crows feasted on the dead in a great feast. Everything was a mess of brown and red, except the little butterflies which lay drowned. You picked one up only for its winds to disintegrate in your fingertips. Eyes following its decent, they lay on Jason Lannister, pale, opened eyed, and dead. You reached down but he too sunk into the bloody depths. Blood rushed like water past your knees as something took form behind you. Turning, you were met with a monstrous looking Weirwood tree, its many faces crying out in agony. Only it morphed into something else. Two people there stood. One with purple eyes and the other a bright green.

You felt strange waking up that morning. Not solely from the dream, but the feeling that something bad had happened. Some dreadful event had taken place. When you inquired upon Lady Casterly if she had reviced new the answer was no. So why did you feel so dreadful? The answer came in the form of a great black stallion. Then you exited the fortress he knelt and gave you grave news. Jason Lannister was dead, knifed from behind by some unknown individual. Although the day was won for King Aegon the Lord of Casterly Rock was gone. A heavy wheeze left your lips as reality came crashing down. If he was dead then what was your fate? This babe in your belly might very well be the next heir. They would never know their father, just as you were fatherless. You had never particularly liked your husband. But to wish dead had never occurred to you.

Jaecerion lead you inside. Just you and him. The knight and Lady Casterly went into her solar. You collapsed onto your bed and let out a sob. This was terrifying. What would happen to you now? What could fate possibly have in store for you now? Jaecerion hushed you and stroked your hair. You leaned into him for any form of comfort. You were a widow with an unborn child. Could any God be so cruel! Any time you found happiness in some form it was snatched. After a short reprieve from your agony it all started over again.

Jaecerion laid beside you on the bed. One of his hands found purchase in your head. His head leaned against yours letting you hear his slow breath. His other hand caressed you right hand. His thumb gently tracing every crease in your palm. It reminded you of old times when Prince Aemond would be busy and his twin would find you. In those days you sneaked him sweets. He had been such a cute boy back then and you would be a fool to not realize how handsome he had become. You inched closer to him. The lack of distance no longer bothered you. Jason Lannister was dead leaving you free. Although the sudden excitement over you sudden freedom made you feel guilty. Jason Lannister had not been the worst husband. He never laid a hand on you. If the Seven truly did exist then you were damned in their eyes. Every wife was meant to serve and obey her lord. Even a Queen must follow that path.

"Did you love him?" Jaecerion asked. "Never." Crudely put, but true. Either way, you doubted he had loved you either. Jaecerion let go of your hand in favour of placing it on your belly. You suddenly gasped as a sensation you'd never felt before caused you to tense. "Oh!" Jaecerion sat up. "Are you alright!" He looked worried. "Yes...I think the baby just moved." In wonder your hands went to the belly. For most of the pregnancy the baby had been still. But suddenly it wanted to move. You and Jaecerion sat there for a few moments until it happened again. A watery laugh escaped you as tears formed. It was a most mystifying and amazing sensation. This was your baby. The child you could give all your love to. You swore that whatever happened you would protect him or her till the end. No matter the cost. "It is not hurting you?" Jaecerion observed your belly. It occurred to you that Jaecerion might not be totally happy about this. Given his feelings for you the baby might not bring him joy. This was the remnant of another mans seed within you. Many men would not tolerate that. But Jaecerion leaned down, and to your shock, pressed the softest of kisses on the bump.

"I have to leave? Already?" All of a sudden Lady Casterly informed you of your departure. When pressing for more information anxiety broke over and she plead with you to get ready. What was even more concerning was when you were informed that no one was coming with you. All your ladies were to catch up weeks later. What you did not understand was why. Something had happened and you were not being told. But no one yielded up information. Not even Jaecerion. What you did notice was the sudden sour mode that had overcome him. He glumly clung to your side, one arm around the waist. Lady Casterly shot looks every now and then. Even the three ladies who attended you shared looks of concern. Lady Mari was quick to lecture you on it, only for Jaecerion to shoot her a withering glare. For the rest of the time Lady Mari avoided you. Not that this was any cause for grief.

You would be departing at nightfall for your destination. It was cold out so this was not a journey you looked forward to. "I will not leave you for long." Jaecerion said as he fastened your cloak buckle. He made sure you were warm before giving you his leather gloves. "You are giving me these? But will you not need them for your dragon?" Jaecerion had a special pair of gloves for when riding his dragon. They were sturdy, warm and had a good grip. Why he was giving them to you when any pair would have been fine was a mystery. Although perhaps it was the sentiment of it. It made you feel warm that someone cared so much for you. "I will be fine." Jaecerion soothed. He looked over your body. A deep rumble sounded from above. The familiar vibration seeped into your bones as you realized who had just arrived.

Everyone ran outside to see Vhaegar land. Her mouth stretched out showing enormous deadly death. On top was Prince Aemond astride the great beast. You felt Jaecerion's hand tighten on your hip, fingertips digging in. Prince Aemond descended and it struck you how familiar he looked. A wave of nostalgia came over you as the boy who had been a friend for so long came closer. The past few months had helped block his memory to an extent. But now with him so close everything else seemed to fall away.

"Brother." Prince Aemond regarded his brother. You felt an intense tension between the two Princes. While the bond of brother-ship had never been close never before had you felt this level of animosity. A tick in Prince Aemond's jaw was prominent. Jaecerion's hand was heavy on you. "Am I traveling on Vhaegar." As the realization dawned on you terror started to settle. You had never been on Vhaegar and frankly enough there was no desire to do so. Sensing you fear, Jaecerion turned you to him. "You need not worry Y/n. There is a harness for you and my brother is capable of getting you to Harrenhal." Alarmed, you looked between both brothers.

"Harrenhal?" Did they truly mean to keep you in that dreaded fortress? The one where thousands of slaves toiled and died for Harren the Black. The place where ghosts haunted and wiped out family lines. Your hand went to the baby. "I will make sure you are safe. Nothing will happen to you whilst under my protection." "Though technically she is under mine, Jaecerion." A sneer curled over the Prince's handsome face. "I believe such a statement is more comforting coming from me." "I am not sure what you are implying." Prince Aemond's voice was deeper and upon further inspection you realized there was a difference. There were lines upon his brow that were not there before. His eyes looked like pools of icy pools, unfeeling, cold, emotionless. You opened your mouth to make sure he was alright. But such familiarities would be inappropriate and so you kept silent. But your eyes did not leave his face.

"Shall we?" Prince Aemond gestured to his dragon. You would have said no. But you knew there was not much of a choice. Trying not to shake you allowed Prince Aemond to assist you in climbing up. Each breath Vhaegar took caused you to jolt. How any Targaryen could willingly ride such a beast was beyond you. Majestic from the outside but bloody terrifying up close. Prince Aemond secured a harness around your waist before his own. His right arm secured itself around your waist with the left taking the reins. Vhaegar's wings spread out, the sheer force bent the trees. You gave Jaecerion one last petrified look before Vhaegar took to the skies.

he initial take-off was terrifying. You closed your eyes and tried to block out Vhaegar's climb into the sky. If you had your wits about you Prince Aemond's close proximity would have been disconcerting. Only your fear was so intense nothing else mattered. After some time you forced you eyes to open. The first sight was the moon in its full splendor. Speechless, this time from wonder instead of fear. Daring to look to the side you saw the forest was simply a great stretch of black. For the first time you felt a thrill of elation instead of fear. Now you knew why the Targaryens loved their dragons. Although your hands were gloved you felt the dragons powerful muscles work underneath. Resisting the urge to take off your gloves and feel the scales, hands busied themselves on the reins. You remembered the first time Prince Aemond introduced you to Vhaegar. Her scales had dumps but was smooth.

For the rest of the ride you remained carefully seeing what was bellow. You were lulled into a sense of relaxation. Completely forgetting you were thousands of feet from the ground. Eventually you felt the course change and Vhaegar's great head angled down. "We will see Harrenhal soon." Prince Aemond's mouth was by your ear. Soon enough the twisted, blackened towers of Harrenhal came into view. You felt a chill that was not from the wind.

Suddenly all the breath left your body. Someone had ahold of your neck and they were squeezing. Green eyes peered down at you, looking into your very soul. You were so cold, all surrounding forgotten. A silky, seductive voice crooned into you ears. Locks of black hair licked your shoulders. Her white fingertips bruising your arms. Far in the distance someone called to you. It got louder and then as suddenly as it began you were pulled back to reality. Vhaegar was descending and Prince Aemond was calling out. His arm was painfully tight around your ribs. Vhaegar landed with an almighty thud, shaking the ground. Prince Aemond undid your harness and got you off Vhaegar. "Y/n!" Disoriented, you looked up at your one time friend. He sat settled you on the ground with his knee supporting your back. "I....I am fine. Just dizzy." Your voice was hoarse from the cold air. It was best not to tell him the truth. Having Prince Aemond know of your visions was a ludicrous idea. You would not be dragged to the stake or witchcraft. Prince Aemond picked you up. He brought you into the castle and suddenly the air went stale. The air made the place feel like a tomb. Even in your state the very essence of this place felt foreboding. He placed you gently onto the ground with care. "Are you sure a maester is not required?" Prince Aemond's hand was still on your shoulder. "Yes I am fine." You insisted. Finally relenting, Prince Aemond called over two maids and ordered them to prepare you for dinner. "We will have dinner shortly. If there is anything you require, only ask." Prince Aemond then immediately turned on his heel and left. "My Lady, this way."

Your room was at the top of one of Harrenhal's towers. Looking out you saw a vast forest cast in shadow. You bed had an oak frame with a luxurious red cover. A fire crackled in the large fireplace, the only source of light. A bronze basin came in making you miss the marble tub at Casterly Rock. They bathed you and afterwards a deep green dress was placed on the bed. Brown fur graced the sleeves and neckline. They helped you into it, black lace up the back. In the mirror you realized it was slightly more low cut than what was usually worn by ladies. A style in the Riverlands by any chance. They did a simple half updo leaving the rest cascading down. The was a beautiful simplicity to the outfit. You gazed at yourself in the mirror, indulging in you vanity. Another maid came in saying dinner was ready.

It was a long walk to the dinning hall. You noticed a surprising amount of rooms were vacant. From those dark empty spaces came a low groan. The darkness was a living, breathing thing in this place. And all the while you felt strange eyes on you. Dinner would not be taken in the great hall. Walking by you dared to take a quick look. Dilapidated, it looked to be on the verge of utter ruin. In its day it must have been a great place. You imagined the Ironborn having long banquets in here when Harrenhal was in splendor. A pity, so much was lost for a castle whos heydays were less than a year. Now look at this place, full of death and ruin. A smaller room was used. Guards stood by the iron door. A strange creature was carved into the iron. It had many arms and a strange face. It was definitely a sea dweller. You had seen it in books. They opened and a warm room greeted you. Torches lined the walls along with a roaring fireplace. What made it considerably less inviting was Prince Aemond and Ellyn. It had been months since your last encounter when she had mocked you for Jason Lannister's infidelity and possible barrenness. It occurred to you that Ellyn may be unaware of your state. She turned to you with a look as poisonous as ever. At least there was no smirk to be seen. "Lady Y/n. Welcome." Prince Aemond greeted. You gave a shallow curtsy before taking a seat. It was just the three of you.

You were sitting right across from Ellyn. Her blue eyes were rife with poisonous intent. Her long nails taped on the table and you remembered how she once used those on Elinor. "I hope your journey went well." Choosing to ignore you Ellyn turned to her husband. On her face was something more nauseating than a sneer. A fake smile, which was truly an accomplishment as her sneers were absolutely horrid. She batted her eyelashes as Ellyn played the role of perfect lady. "All went well." Prince Aemond replied stiffly. Something faltered in Ellyn's face. In truth you were also disconcerted. Not that you cared for that woman but Prince Aemond was......off. Of course it could just be chalked up to exhaustion. You focused on the meal before you. The sooner this was over the sooner you could leave. Only it seemed Ellyn was unwilling to let you leave unscathed. She turned predatory eyes to you. Your fingers closed over the cutlery. "I am so sorry to hear of your husbands demise. Of course despite everything I am sure you miss them all." Mockery was dripping from her voice. Prince Aemond turned to his wife. "What do you mean by that." Ellyn remained unfazed. "We all heard of the difficulties Y/n had with her step daughter. I was just saying that despite the difficulties Y/n must have faced I am sure she loved her husband very much." "Of course I did. Although I am unsure why you felt the need to bring up my step daughter." You replied cooly. Ellyn's lip twitched and she flipped her hair behind. "I only meant it out of concern. And with no heir your place in rather unstable. And pardon me but you do look different then when I last saw you. Why your waist has noticeable thickened-" "Ellyn!" Prince Aemond looked mortified. He turned to you and to your surprise he apologized her her behavior. "It is quite alright. Although you wife is worried for the wrong reasons." Ellyn looked both angry and confused. You gave Ellyn a sneer that could rivaled hers on her best day.

"You need not worry about my position. But I see the news has not yet reached you." Ellyn looked back between you and a curious Prince Aemond. You placed you hand on your belly and only then did Ellyn properly see the expansion of your belly. All the colour went from her face. No longer able to breath properly, her mouth fell open. "So you see, there is no need to worry about me. And the maesters say it will be a boy." Even Prince Aemond looked stunned, although unlike Ellyn there was no rage. "To Lady Y/n and her unborn son." Prince Aemond picked up a glass. You followed suit and looked at the still stunned Ellyn. There was no trace of beauty in her face. She looked ready to be sick. Her hands were fists on the table. "Are you not going to raise a glass to Lady Y/n and her heir?" Out of the shadows came a woman. She was tall, terrible and yet so beautiful at the same time. Her black hair hung in waves, moved like silk in the air. A blood red dress hung from her curves. Lastly, you saw those green eyes. At that moment you recognized her. She glided over to the table and poured herself a glass. She picked it up and turned her attention onto you. Her eyes were solely focused on you, as if you were the only thing that mattered. "We have been waiting for you, My Lady. My Name is Alys Rivers."

Note: Ahhhhh! I've been waiting to get this part out since the chapter three! Anyway, here is the long awaited chapter.

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[deadsetromance]

any jet star or fun ghoul content 🙏 i adore your writing

A ROSE BY ANY OTHER NAME

not my gif!

fun ghoul x gn!reader

summary: you didn’t know loving someone could hurt this much. but god, you love him so much, you’re dying

warnings: angst, hanahaki, body horror, illness, blood, gore, mentions and graphic depictions of death/dying, no use of y/n, not proofread

note: thank you so much anon ! that made my day <3 i combined two prompts here! i had sososo much fun figuring out a way to work hanahaki into the killjoy universe. hope you all enjoy :))

there was no room for love in the cruel world you lived in. if your heart hadn’t been hardened by the drugs bli pumped into you, or the fear alone, the desert sun would wither it for you.

partnerships–if they were formed at all–were purely beneficial. you’d seen  it countless times. shell-shocked, desert hardened duos, with nothing left to cling onto but each other. 

you were part of the unlucky bunch. by some cruel joke the phoenix witch played, you found yourself tumbling head over heels for one of the fabulously famous killjoys. you’d met fun ghoul during a supply run which had gone costa rica. he’d saved your life, taken you under his wing, and somehow managed to run laps around your heart.

you weren’t entirely sure when you’d fallen in love with him. maybe it was when he patched you up after a run-in with a drac, scolding you for not being careful, his fingers leaving trails of goosebumps on your bare skin. it could have been one of the times you sat together on the roof of the diner, where you both mapped out made up constellations. if you had to guess, it would have been the time he’d shown you how to fix up a part of the trans am, his chest pressed up against your back as he whispered instructions to you. 

you would have been perfectly content running with your adopted crew of killjoys, denying the extent of your feelings for a certain black haired renegade. 

but fate was cruel, and reserved no mercy for you.  

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

you had heard of it in rumors, whispers floating around in the sand until the origin was as lost as you were. they called them desert roses, blooming after unrequited love. no one knew where it came from. some suspected it was the work of bli. others pointed to otherworldly forces, or even some twisted form of survival of the fittest. there was only one thing about it that was certain. it was fatal. 

no one really talks about how painful it is. 

it starts with shortness of breath, deathly rattling coming from deep inside your chest as roses sprout in your lungs. it’s supposed to progress rapidly. one day you start coughing up rose petals, and within a week your throat is torn to shreds. when you die, roses sprout from your throat. whether you suffocate before or after is unknown.

 after all, no one has lived to tell.

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

you hadn’t thought much of it at first. shortness of breath and rattling wheezes go hand in hand with the coarse sand of the desert. everyone gets static-throat at least once, but it goes away after a few days. 

after the third day you began to worry. the pain working its way up your chest paired with an unfamiliar tightness was concerning. and then came the coughing. it sounded like death, shaking you violently, to the point where fun ghoul would shoot you worried looks. 

“hey, you alright?” he’d asked you after one particularly bad coughing fit, arm draped around your shoulders. 

“‘m fine.” the hacking noise you made said otherwise. you coughed into your palm, surprised when you felt something wet. blood. 

it trickled down your arm, but what scared you most was the blood spattered rose petal lying in your palm. 

“what’s that?” you were quick to hide your hand, assuring him that it was nothing. “honey…you’re coughin’ blood.” 

you couldn’t say anything more after that, the sound of the pet name leaving his lips made your chest constrict so tight you could hardly breathe. 

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

you’d never told anyone before, but you’d seen a body once. it was in one of the villages in the outskirts of zone four. it was just…lying there, the roses spouting from the poor soul’s mouth beginning to wilt under the scorching desert sun. someone was digging a grave.

that was you, in your nightmare. your decaying body replaced the one you had seen, bloody roses sprouting from your mouth. someone…fun ghoul, was digging your grave. he turned, locking eyes with you and…

you woke up screaming. your stomach flipped, and you ran out into the sand, spitting up a mix of stems and thorns. fun had followed you out, waking at the sound of your screams. you kicked sand over the blood before he could see anything. 

“sweetheart…” at the sound of his voice you turned around again, watching in horror as rosebuds fell from your mouth. “hey. hey you’re not okay.” he was worried. you could hear it in his voice, but you couldn’t look at him. 

“i told you, i’m fine.” wiping the blood from your chin, you turned to face him. “i promise. ’s just sand in my throat…promise.” you could feel the stems creeping up your throat.

☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎ ☠︎

you were dying. you knew you were. you couldn’t eat or drink because of the roses in your throat. you were withering away, and no matter how hard you tried to hide it from everyone, they still noticed. 

fun ghoul was ever so worried about you. by the time you realized his connection to the roses growing in your chest, you feared it would be too late. 

the sound of someone saying your name woke you up. “hi.”

“hi,” you whispered back. you couldn’t do much more than whisper at this point, your throat slowly being shredded by the thorns you would spit up. 

“i’m worried about you.” he pet your forehead, wiping away the sweat from your face.

“fun…” you could feel the tightness of your chest grow. you held in your cough. he couldn’t know. if he knew…

“you haven’t eaten, or drank, or…” his voice was shaking. or maybe you were just hallucinating. “you’re running a fever, and i know you’ve been coughin’ blood…just….talk to me. let me help you…please.”

he was pleading now, and it made you feel sick. you loved him, god you loved him so much, and he didn’t love you back, and now you were dying. that was it then. you would die, and he would never know how you felt. at least, not until it was too late.

you coughed so hard you saw spots. fun ghoul must have left the room at some point, but you didn’t notice.

you knew you were going to die tonight.

you didn’t know dying hurt so bad. you would feel yourself slip closer to death with each rattling gasp you took. you were dizzy and you couldn’t breathe, stuck in some sick limbo between alive and dead.

they say the phoenix witch grants you peace with happy memories before you die. maybe they were right, because in your not quite dead state, you saw it all. the bad jokes, and the nor so subtle flirting, and hell even the longing glances shared between you and fun ghoul. you saw the time he saved you all those years ago, and the time you scared him while he was working on the trans am. you saw yourself sparring with him, and the other killjoys laughing in the sunlight. you saw the time the both of you had got caught in the garage during an acid storm, all the times he had kissed you forehead, and the way you slept wrapped up in his arms.

you were going to die, but he had to know how you felt. 

your legs felt like jelly and you almost didn’t make it to the door. the walls spun and your body slammed into the doorframe of fun’s room. the handle wouldn’t twist bo matter how hard you tried, you were going to die outside his room and he would never know. 

you couldn’t even call his name, your voice gurgling behind blood and roses. vision going dark, you heaved one last time, your chest caving alongside the door.

it was dark, but you could still see him sitting up. he looked so…comforting, and you all but collapsed into him gasping as he stroked your face.

“hey, what’s goin’ on? wh-“

“i love you.” you were choking on the words as the tumbled out of your mouth, flowers blooming in the back of your throat. you couldn’t breathe but you had to tell him. “i love you and i’m going to die”

he didn’t say anything and you gasped, fighting to stay alive for just a little longer.

“please. i just…the flowers….say something…” your words died in your throat as a rose bloomed in your mouth, silencing you. it was over.

his panicked face would be the last thing you would see, and it would all be over…..except….“you love me…?” his voice was warm, and sweet, and tired, and it sounded like heaven. you couldn’t do anything but nod, choking on your last breath. “you love me…”

*** 

the sun was always warm in the desert. but it felt different today, kissing your skin as you curled up against fun ghoul, who had been whispering love letters to you all night. he had told you he loved you with everything he had, he had held you close as you both thought that you were going to die. but death never came. 

he had been oblivious to the way you felt…just as oblivious as you had been to him. it all meant something, the touches, and the jokes…it was all there. it didn’t matter much, you had each other now…and while your throat still burned from the rose that had bloomed over the week, the way he kissed you made you forget about it all…

he took you out to the roof that night, careful and slow and you coughed, watching as a great red rose fell from your lips, before it shriveled and turned into star dust, joining the rest of the sand that you called home.

“i love you…” his voice was soft, his fingers trailing over your skin and you couldn’t help but smile. 

you were tired, worn to the bone but you were alive. alive and perfectly in love.

[achaotichuman]

What You Might Have Been

For Day 3 of @sjmvillainweek, sorry I am a little late to this day!!! I had an idea for Amarantha and Tamlin months and months ago, and decided I really wanted to fit it in for this event. I am very loosely using today's prompt Deception.

Summary-

He's something she could never be. Somehow, everything she hates and wants woven into one being. Soft, kind, loving. Everything a leader shouldn't be. Everything she's spent her life cutting from her being. Yet, when she sees it in him, she cannot help but want it more than anything.

A short story of Amarantha and Tamlin, two polar opposites locked in eternal orbit of each other.

Read on AO3 or below the cut!

“You learned to mask it all, finally, it made you a stronger leader.” She said, edging closer, step by step. 

“Get out.” He knew he couldn’t order her down here, this was her territory now. He tried all the same. 

“You used to cry in the beginning, when you still felt everything, when it was all new and unknown. You were used to being silent, but you weren’t used to hiding your emotions.” She said, her voice no longer the seductive pur, but simply stating facts. The General in her was showing its face. 

“You forced me to be silent,” Tamlin stated, trying to keep his composure, trying to not let the burning rage simmering under his skin show. He was facing away from her, eyes locked on the door carved out from the cavernous wall. This place was a temple, it shouldn’t have been touched, ruined, like this. The Spring Lord may not believe in a God, but he knew for certain the Cauldron had ties to places like this, and going against powerful magic entities like the Cauldron was inviting trouble into their lands. Practically begging for trouble in fact. 

“I did, but I didn’t stop you from feeling fear did I? I let you cry, I let you scream at times. I let you get angry, you used to spit curses at me, do you remember that?”

“I am supposed to thank you for that?” Tamlin spat, looking over his shoulder to where Amarantha stood, she was wearing that damning blue dress. Tamlin hated that dress. 

She snapped her fingers, her eyes lighting up with cruel amusement as she pointed to him, “That! That right there. That’s how you used to snap at me. Oh, the fun times, when everything was still so new for you. You got quite boring after a while, when you knew what was going to happen, when you realised you couldn’t fight me.”

Tamlin huffed a laugh, “Sorry for that, should I have made myself more entertaining? Was I, after being told I would be sold to you, supposed to be better at acting the part of personal jester?”

Amarantha just smiled as she stepped closer, “You and I are quite alike you know.”

Those words made sickness twist in his stomach, Tamlin looked away from her again, closing his hands into fists, “I am nothing like you.”

“Well that's not true and you know it. I think you used to think you weren’t like me, but all this… loss has made you realise you are indeed exactly like me. The loss made you stronger. It hardened you, you were too soft before. Too kind.”

Claws shot through his fingertips. Red blood fell from his palms. Tamlin remained silent. Even in anger, he knew he couldn’t lash out at her, it wouldn’t end any of them in a good place. 

“Dear friend, you know as well as I, that after a certain amount of grief, you go numb, you were no exception. You stopped feeling so much after a while.” She was right behind him now, her warm breath fanning against the crook of his neck as she leaned in close. Her hand slipped out and traced the curve of his waist. 

“I know how that feels,” she said, “I know what you feel. You and I are so alike. We would have made the world kneel at our feet.”

“I am nothing like you.” He whispered again. 

At that she breathed a laugh, it was not cruel, and it was not cold, it almost seemed… sad, resigned, “Perhaps not, but perhaps I was like you.”

Tamlin blinked, and anger gave way to confusion, “What?”

“Lovely Tamlin.” She breathed, hitching her chin to rest on his shoulder, “I was once young too, you know. I was once innocent, not cruel. The cruelty came with time. I was hardened in the same way you were.”

She trailed a hand lower, playing with the waistband of his trousers. She wouldn’t touch, she had made a plaything out of the Night Lord, Rhysand was enough to satiate her hunger for now. At least until their loose strings were tied up.

“Though I suppose I cracked into the cold, cruelness sooner than you. Perhaps that makes you stronger than me, that you’ve survived this long without losing your heart.”

Her hand came back up, tracing the outline of his heart, “You know what they used to say about you? Back in Hybern? They used to say you had a heart of pure gold.”

That claw she called a fingernail pressed harder against his chest, pushing into the hard flesh above his racing heart. 

Tamlin felt the quiver of magic that fluttered through his veins as Amarantha seized control of his power. Her hand turned to actual claws. 

“Let’s see if that is true.” She grinned before searing pain consumed him as she plunged her hand into his chest. 

______________________

Hours had passed, he only knew from the tall grandfather clock that stood proudly in the room, ticking with each painful, passing second. 

And in the corner, sprawled across a red velvet chair, she watched him. Picking at her nails as she watched him rouse from slumber. 

“Not gold.” She said, “The rumours were false.”

As she said the words, it was like they awakened the aching pain that throbbed through his chest, sending bolts of screaming electricity through his ribs. Tamlin groaned and tried to remain as still as possible, hoping it would slowly subside if he remained entirely still. 

“Why?” He whispered into the still air, it was a futile question, but what did he have to lose? “Why do all of this?”

She laughed, “You know why.”

“Is it the power? The fame, the fortune, just… didn’t you have all of that in Hybern?” 

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand why anyone would want any of this. To willingly live beneath a mountain, to never taste the rain, to never bathe in sunlight, to never feel the wind on your skin. He didn’t understand why she wanted him, and he didn’t know why she wanted him caged with her. 

“I did have all that in Hybern, but I didn’t have it all.” Amarantha answered. 

“What could you have possibly wanted for?” At this point, Tamlin wasn’t even attempting to stall whatever horrible other things she had planned for him. 

He just…

Needed to know. 

She seemed to think about her answer for a good long while. With every second that passed, the clock ticked and his heart ached, despite it no longer beating. 

“You.” She murmured. 

“You had me.” He said, “All those years ago.”

“Yes, but… I did not have you. Tamlin I-” She sighed, tipping her head back.

This was…

This was different. 

But also the same. 

The woman she had become to the faces of the High lords, sickeningly sweet, putting on a performance that deserved an award. Charming and worming her way into their thoughts and hearts, until she had them wrapped around her finger, and soon their magic. 

But back then. 

Back then, Tamlin remembered a different Amarantha. One that was worn down by battle and settling disputes. One that was stoic, uncaring, unfeeling. 

Raging with grief. 

“After a certain amount of grief, you go numb.”

Was that why it was so easy to put on a performance? Because underneath it all, there was nothing really there.

“You were everything I didn’t have. Everything taken from me.” She murmured, “Pure, kind of heart, soft.”

A serpent’s smile creeped along her face, “I could not have you. So I had to take it from you.”

It was at that moment that she stood, that the lies and faces slid back into place. She leaned over him and grasped his chin. 

“I took it all from you. Drained you of that purity. That innocence.” Her lips brushed his cheek. 

“After all,”

Amarantha spoke against his mouth. 

“That's all beasts like us deserve.”

[vindott]

"Choose your last words wisely"

The rain poured down, drenching the dimly lit alleyway where Max stood, his hand gripping the knife tightly as he pressed it against Charles’s throat. The blade gleamed in the cold, harsh light of the streetlamp above, casting an eerie glow over the scene. Max's face was hardened, lips curling into a sneer, his eyes cold and unyielding as he held Charles against the wall. The tension between them was suffocating, the air thick with something unspoken, something darker than the storm raging around them.

Charles, chest heaving, could barely keep himself upright. His dark hair clung to his forehead, drenched by both the rain and the tears that had welled up in his eyes. His heart pounded against his ribs as the cold edge of the knife pressed closer, the threat all too real. Every breath felt like it could be his last.

"Choose your last words wisely," Max sneered, his voice dripping with venom. The knife’s tip dug just a fraction deeper, enough for Charles to feel the sting of metal against his skin, but not enough to break it—yet. It was a threat, a promise of what was to come if he said the wrong thing.

Charles’s breath hitched, his body trembling not just from fear but from something deeper. He lifted his head slowly, eyes meeting Max's, and for the first time in a long while, Max saw the raw emotion in them, the vulnerability that Charles had always tried to hide. He saw the tears, not just of fear but of something more—something that made Max's grip falter ever so slightly.

"I love you."

The words left Charles’s lips in a whisper, fragile and soft, yet they hit Max harder than any punch ever could. His sneer faltered, and his grip on the knife loosened just enough for the sharp edge to slip away from Charles’s throat. For a moment, the world seemed to freeze around them, the rain forgotten, the alley around them fading into the background. All that existed was the space between them and those three words, hanging heavy in the air.

Max blinked, his breath catching in his throat. His mind raced, searching for any trace of anger, of betrayal, of the hatred that had fueled him up until this point. But those words—those cursed, beautiful words—shattered something inside of him. The sneer vanished, replaced by a look of confusion, hurt, and something far more dangerous: regret.

“You…” Max began, but the words died in his throat. His hand dropped to his side, the knife slipping from his fingers and clattering to the ground with a metallic thud.

Charles didn’t move, still pressed against the wall, his body trembling from more than just fear now. He looked up at Max, his eyes filled with so much pain, so much love, it was unbearable. How had it come to this? How had two people who had once shared everything—shared dreams, victories, and quiet moments under the stars—ended up like this? Enemies. Strangers.

Charles’s chest tightened as he watched Max struggle to process what he had just said. The villain. The man who had held a knife to his throat, threatening to take his life in a heartbeat, now stood before him as the man he had loved. The man he still loved, despite everything.

"Charles, stop," Max said, his voice a desperate whisper now, not the commanding, cruel tone it had been moments before. "Don’t say that. Don’t make this harder."

But Charles shook his head, his tears mingling with the rain. "It’s the truth, Max. I love you. I always have. Even now, after everything." His voice cracked, the weight of his emotions almost too much to bear.

Max took a step back, running a hand through his soaked hair, his face twisted in agony. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to deny everything Charles had just said. But he couldn’t. Because somewhere deep down, beneath the layers of anger and resentment, he knew. He had always known.

"I… I never wanted it to be like this," Max admitted, his voice barely audible above the rain. His hands were shaking, his heart racing, torn between the man he had become and the man he used to be—the man Charles had loved. The man who had loved Charles.

Charles’s breath hitched, his body aching from the tension and the cold. “Then why did you?” His voice was a broken whisper, pleading for answers that maybe neither of them could give.

Max stared at him, his jaw clenched, his mind a whirlwind of regret, guilt, and longing. He wanted to reach out, to take Charles in his arms and tell him that everything would be okay, that they could go back to the way things were. But they couldn’t. They both knew that.

“I thought… I thought it was the only way,” Max said, his voice hoarse, as though the admission itself pained him. “I thought if I pushed you away, it would hurt less. That if I became the villain, you’d stop loving me. But I was wrong. I was so wrong.”

Charles took a step forward, his heart pounding. “Max…”

Max’s breath hitched as he met Charles’s gaze, the raw emotion in his eyes undoing him completely. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, the words trembling as they left his lips. “I’m so sorry, Charles.”

Charles closed the distance between them, his hand reaching up to cup Max’s cheek. Max flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. The weight of Charles’s love, even now, was too much to bear, and yet he couldn’t live without it.

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Max whispered, his voice barely audible as Charles’s thumb brushed against his skin, wiping away the tears he hadn’t realized he was shedding.

“Then don’t,” Charles said softly, his voice filled with a tenderness that made Max’s heart ache. “Just… stay.”

Max’s breath hitched as Charles pulled him closer, their foreheads touching, the world around them falling away. For a moment, there was no villain and no hero—just two broken people who had once loved each other more than anything.

[hajimeshoe]

AIGHT SO!

This one is a special one!

So, if you've seen the lion king, you've seen how the lionesses stood up to Scar.

Especially Sarabi (shout out to my queen bro!)

So I had a thought.

Leona's overblot dealing with a female prefect who hadn't been afraid of him from the very beginning.

Stepped on his tail and was not fazed when he threatened her after thinking she was a boy (cause she hid her gender for precautionary reasons)

Stood up to him when he forced the little magical shift game upon Ace, Deuce, Grim, and Cater.

Basically, she was very outspoken when dealing with him and made her presence known.

Even when he overblotted, she showed no fear and stood her ground, still voicing her thoughts.

As she should 💅🏾✨️

OOOH!! YES! An outspoken MC would be one that Leona genuinely likes (Either romantically or platonically) because it's unusual for people to actually talk back to him. Ao3 has been going down a lot this past week and I'm ready to cry. I have stories to write on there. Also! Octopuses have no spines...or any other bones.

Leona with Outspoken Fem!MC

Leona's worst nightmare has come to life (Or just come to Twisted Wonderland)

He wants peace and quiet? Not if the Prefect is around

He was expecting the sole magicless student to be quiet and to know their place in this school, but that was quickly disproved on that fated day in the Botanical Garden

"Don't just leave your tail on the path, then!" the prefect had snapped. "While you're at it, go to YOUR room to sleep instead of sleeping in a place where all students are allowed to go!"

Aaaand, he grew an immediate dislike for her

The magical shift game against the Heartslabyul kids? Only hardened his dislike of her

"HARD pass," she had said. "Seeing as you're incapable of winning anything without cheating, or you wouldn't be letting one of your students injure other players."

And then she had the audacity to stand up to him during his Overblot, yelling about how he can't commit murder just because of a family argument.

"Not happening!" He had growled when Jack brought her to Savannaclaw, asking for her and her pet to stay there.

His greatest mistake? Letting Ruggie guilt him into letting them stay in his room.

Those two could not stay quiet for the life of them, managing to whine about everything and even dragging him headfirst into their squabble with Azul.

"You're a girl!?" He growled upon walking in without thinking to find her changing

She threw a dagger at him...how she got one? He had no clue

But finding out she was a girl changed a lot. After all, Leona couldn't throw hands with a girl, that went against everything he had learnt growing up

Does not give the Prefect his bed, even after finding out she's a girl...just wakes up to find her having trouble sleeping and tosses her in the bed while he takes the couch so he can sleep peacefully

Aaaand that just leads to teasing (Cue Leona google searching "How to get a human to filter their words")

Don't be fooled. He does enjoy having an herbivore that actually speaks up and argues back, no matter how annoying it can be at times. After all, he gets to argue for once when he's normally given his way on principle.

Octopunk overblotted. Did MC get some self-preservation instincts and keep her mouth quiet for once? Of course not.

"Get over it, Azul! Bullying is cruel, but it isn't a damned reason to repeat the cycle! Grow a spine- do octopuses have spines? Oh well, grow one and stop fucking whining!"

...Leona is ready to wrap this suicidal prefect in bubble wrap and lock them in a spare room. Savannaclaw dorm has plenty of empty dorm rooms.

Yes, she's grown on him like a leech

By time Winter Break rolls around, he's just glad to have the prefect out of his dorm and have a reason to get away from her for a couple of weeks.

After all he really needs a nap

And if he "dropped" a better phone than the one Crowley got her in Ramshackle before taking off, well, it's definitely not because he doesn't trust Jamil or Azul

Not at all

[asterkiss]

Random MaBill set in Reverse Falls - a freeform drabble with a twist on reverse!Bill. I really wanna write something substantial for this AU verrsion:-

-SUPERNOVA

Mabel Gleeful was a Supernova. A beautiful star exploding with a brightness a billion times stronger than the sun, and with enough energy to outlast the entire galaxy. One couldn't help but be captivated by the beauty even as the force of the explosion caused only burning pain and destruction.

Bill had been unable to look away from the moment they first met.

"I'm Mabel, but you can just call me the girl of your dreams~ Everyone else does."

He was utterly enraptured. The demon would do anything for her.

And he did. No matter how cruel or vindictive. No matter how many people were caught and hurt in the tide of his supernova.

It was all for the beautiful awaited end.

>

'Hey, is there anything you would say "no" to, if I asked?'

Bill glanced down at the girl sat before him. They were in her dressing room prepping for a show, the brunette seated at a dresser as he ran a brush through long locks of hair.

He met the reflection of her gaze in the mirror, her piercing blue eyes drilling through him, face impassive. She often said things out of the blue with the intention of catching others off guard.

His grip on the hairbrush tightened as he pressed his lips tightly together.

'There is.'

She tilted her head, gaze burning with the intensity of an exploding star. His skin prickled beneath the crushing weight of it.

'Oooh?' she asked, lips twitching into a wry grin. Tell me.

'I won't leave you,' he said, expression stone-faced. 'If you ask me to, I'll refuse.'

She giggled, amusement dancing in her eyes. 'That's it? You'd do anything else, though? What if I asked you to, I dunno, kill yourself?'

'If it was your wish, then gladly.'

Her smile wilted slightly. She didn't look amused anymore. After a moment the teenager abruptly stood upright, turning on high heels to peer down at him. Ice-like eyes scrutnised his face.

'And what if I asked you to kill me? Would you do it?'

Bill regarded her with a neutral face for several tense seconds before something shifted in his gaze, and his lips twitched slightly. 'Do you know what supernovas are?'

Mabel frowned, sensing the change in atmosphere as a wariness entered her vision. 'Yeah, of course I do,' she replied curtly. 'They're stars.'

'Dying stars,' Bill corrected, twirling the hairbrush in his hands. 'They happen when a star reaches its last stages of life, whose dramatic and catastrophic destruction is marked by one final explosion as it collapses in on itself.'

Her gaze hardened, the temperature in the room dropping several degrees as the gem in her hair piece began to glow.

'What are you trying to say, Bill?' she asked, voice laced with a dangerous warning tone.

He smiled brightly, amber eyes burning to combat her frigid gaze. 'I've been around a long time, and have seen the collapse of millions of stars in my time. But I think you will be the greatest and most beautiful of all, and I fully intend on keeping a front row seat until that time.'

Mabel's face twisted into one of disgust and shock. That made sense, he usually acted much more docile.

The demon narrowly avoided a knife embedding itself in his skull as it flew across the room with impressive speed. He chuckled when she grabbed him, fist twisting in the material of his shirt as she swung at at him in aggravation. Then she began to yell. 'Dipper! Come here-!'

Ah, ah, that wouldn't do.

He snapped his fingers, sighing as he regarded the frozen form of Mabel Gleeful glowering down at him. Oops. He'd gotten a bit too chatty, hadn't he? How was this going to work out if he laid all his cards on the table so early?

'Welp, time to rewind a bit.'

Then:

'Hey, is there anything you would say "no" to, if I asked?' Mabel regarded him through the mirror reflection, seated at the dresser once again.

Bill returned her gaze with a smile. 'If you were to ask if I thought of you as anything other than drop-dead gorgeous, I would have to say absolutely not.'

Her face split into a coy smile. 'Well, duh. I'm the most beautiful girl in town.'

'I would argue the world.'

'Flattery won't get you out of chores.'

[rosemaidenvixen]

Witch Hunter

Chapter 11

<Previous Next>

Ao3

Claire often thought of wasps as bees’ cruel cousins. Producing no sweet honey, capable of using their stingers again and again. Her mother had told her that god crafted all creatures with a purpose, and wasps were no exception, but whenever Claire asked what purpose wasps, locusts, stinging ants, and other foul insects were crafted for her mother went red in the face and told her not to be saucy.

The memory brought a smile to Claire’s face as she gingerly adjusted the canvas sack in her arms, mindful of the delicate paper nest and the furious buzzing within.

Perhaps this, right here today, was the purpose god created wasps for. They had been set loose in the garden of paradise with the intention that thousands of years later Claire would be holding this nest in her hands.

True? Doubtful. Prideful? Most certainly. But the thought of sharing this interpretation of scripture with Reverend Greystone, even if she would never dare, made her want to cackle.

As she got close to the meetinghouse she swallowed her laughter and slowed her pace. Carefully glancing from side to side to make sure no one was around to spot her, a task not made easy by this accursed cap. Creepingup close to the building, taking care that her footsteps made no sound. From within she could hear several men speaking in low voices.

“But what if one of our kinsmen is accused?” Goodman Hughes voice “I know all the women in my family are proper and devout,”

“You must harden your heart and do what must be done.” Hopkins this time “Witches are cunning and vicious, they will target your empathy, twist your god given kindness to suit their needs….”

Tuning out his words, Claire snuck around the side of the building as silently as possible. The fact that she could hear them so clearly meant there must be an open window somewhere. One more turn around the corner– yes there it was.

Crouching down low, Claire padded up directly underneath the open window. she allowed herself a wry grin as she started swinging the canvas around. The wasps buzzing louder and angrier as their home was rattled. Once she’d built up sufficient momentum Claire pitched the sack through the open window and ran away as fast as she could. Before she was out of earshot she managed to hear the angry drone of the wasps and the indignant shouts from within.

Laughter bubbled up her chest and throat but she bit it back as she continued racing to her destination.

When she reached the crossroads Jim was already there “Did you–”

“Yes,” she slowed to a stop, dust kicking up “They’re all distracted for now, but we’ll still have to be quick,”

Jim gave her a curt nod and the two of them were off again. Soon they reached his house, vacant with Barbara off assisting Goody Williams with the young Mercy, and swiftly headed inside. 

Jim pulled up one of the stones from the hearth while Claire pulled out the second large canvas sack she’d managed to snag from the Greystone’s storeroom. The two of them began loading the contents of the hollow into the bag. Claire couldn’t help but wince at their rough handling of the bones and herbs that had been dried and preserved with such care, but didn’t slow her pace. They didn’t have the luxury of time. Her distraction with the wasps would only last so long, and they couldn’t risk anyone spotting them with Barbara’s supplies.

Once the hollow was empty and the sack was full they replaced the stone and headed back out. Claire keeping watch while Jim dragged the sack behind him.

After the most anxiety riddled walk of Claire’s life, they reached the graveyard, strange to visit during the day, rushing past the scant stone markers and single wooden cross to head into the woods towards their oak. 

Getting the sack inside was a challenge, the sack was filled to bursting and the hollow beneath the tree was already crowded with Ophelia’s treasures. Claire winced at the crackle of something delicate breaking as she shoved at the bag with her shoulder, promising herself that she’d come back and sort the contents of the tree with more care as soon as she was able. But for now they had greater priorities.

Finally they managed to stuff the entirety of the sack under the tree. Not wasting time dalying they stood and made their way out of the woods.

Jim let out a gusty sigh as they broke through the tree line “That’s it, my mother may actually kill me for this,”

Claire let out a giggle “Oh let her be mad, we’ll see how cross she is in Spain when she has a house with her own lemon tree,”

Jim smiled back at her “Two…three weeks at the most, that’s when your father will return, right?”

“Correct,”

Feeling bold, Claire placed both hands on Jim’s shoulders and spun him around to face her “Soon enough we’ll be on a ship headed towards a new life, for all of us,”

Jim flushed deep red “R– right,” he stammered out.

Feeling nearly drunk on their triumph, Claire leaned forward and pressed her lips against his cheek.

“You’ve been a good friend to me Jim, you’ve shown me great kindness in a place with precious little of that and I’ll not forget the good turns you’ve done me,”

Jim’s entire face and neck burned scarlet “I– you– I should be the one thanking you. You helped me and my mother dearly at great risk to yourself with no reward,”

He pulled in a deep breath “I’m in your debt Claire, and I’ll not forget that,”

She released his shoulders to wave him off “Speak not to me of debts, when me and my mother first arrived here you were the only one who didn’t look at us like garbage for praying with beads, you brought my mother her raspberry leaf tea. And when she…”

Claire blinked to dispel the sudden wetness in her eyes “You were there for me after. You stayed with me while I cried for hours, for every flower I had for her grave you were there with a carving or totem. Speak not to me of debts, we do each other good turns without any notion of payment or debt because we are friends,”

If Jim’s flush was any deeper he’d be as purple was a plum “Th– thank you Claire. That was very profound. Have you considered writing poetry? Because you would be very good at it,” 

She smiled at him as the bumpy ground gave way to smooth path under her feet “Let’s hurry back, they’ll probably have cleared out the wasps by now,”

“Right we should– wasps!?”

“I tossed a nest into the meeting house,”

Jim blinked at her, expression holding equal measures of fear and awe “Remind me never to make an enemy of you,”

Claire laughed “You? My enemy? Never,” she walked alongside Jim down the path heading back towards town. Feeling giddy to the point of drunkenness on the success of their scheme and her father’s impending arrival.

Which was why she missed the narrowed pair of eyes following them as they headed away from the graveyard.

Ahead of her, Jim poked his head out of the trees and glanced either way “I don’t see anyone, let’s hurry,”

The two of them quickly raced from the trees into the yard. Claire taking her place by the laundry tub and Jim by the bedding hanging from the tree. Jim picked up the dust beater and Claire the washboard, and  they resumed their tasks like they’d never stopped. Neither one of them stopped to rest, single minded and desperate to look as though they’d been at it for the whole day. Suddenly raised voices came from the side of the house, Claire instantly going still, heart racing.

“--can’t keep running off and abandoning your chores to meet with Thomas!”

“Mind your business, I don’t need my younger sister acting as my nanny!”

“You aren’t nearly as clever as you think you are Sarah! And one of these days you’re going to land yourself in trouble that I can’t pull you out of!”

Claire let out a soft sigh of relief and resumed her washing. Voices and footsteps growing louder steadily louder until Abbie stepped around the side of the house, dragging a petulant looking Sarah behind her. 

As soon as she spotted Claire Abbie’s worry wrinkled brown went smooth with relief “Thank you for covering for our chores, while I hunt down my wayward sister,”

Sarah scoffed and rolled her eyes. Abbie fixed her with a look before turning back towards Claire and Jim with a grateful smile.

“You’ve done us both a great kindness. I know I have no right to ask more of you. But I plead for you to tell anyone who asks that Sarah and I were with you all morning,”

“Think nothing of it,” Jim hauled a freshly cleaned rug off the line “Your secret’s safe with us,”

[heavensheal]

DAY 07 — PERSONALITY.

so i! could not think of what to draw today... so i made a reference for a character i've been meaning to make one for anyway! and instead, i wrote something. here is the creature though; my writing is below him and the cut. Please read it i just spent an hour straight on it

the room is dimly lit; several small and scentless candles struggle to illuminate the canvas and small glass jars of paint on the floor. in the faint glow, a figure leans over it, paint brush resting in his hand just above the white surface. there is a small number of strokes present, diluted down to be faint and translucent, almost outlining and planning out what he'd paint today.

his scarlet eyes stare so intensely at the work that it could almost burn a whole through it, soon igniting the whole thing. the more he looks at it, the worse it seems to be, almost as if the brush strokes are performing a sick and twisted dance, mutilating themselves to become something horrific. depriving themselves of the beauty he so desperately wishes he could bless unto them. he hates it. He hates it. He hates it. He hates it. HE HATES IT.

it sees red. its vision is blurred, chest is tight and thoughts suddenly jumbled, it grimaces as it growls in pure anger and frustration.

the back end of its brush is suddenly stabbed through the canvas, and quickly thrown aside to make way for hands, clawing through the canvas, breaking the wood of the back as best it can. it throws the mangled thing at the wall, and allows several of the glass jars to join it. thinned paint splatters onto the surrounding area, the colors unknown to it.

its hands meet its head, nails digging into its flesh and suddenly clawing at an attempt to rip out silver strands of hair as it fights back frustrated screams.

... he missed when he could paint. when he could create vivid scenes, with all the colors he used to love working with. with that type of paint he loved so much, from that nice smeargle he used to know; didn't they make that paint themselves? the pigments of them were always so unique and lovely. they'd share art tips with him, and they'd show each other their most recent pieces excitedly. sometimes they'd have lunch together. he was happy then.

...

it doesn't remember the last it saw them. it never saw anybody it cared for again when it was taken. experimented on. forced to be this anger-fueled, wretched creature. to hate everything it used to enjoy. it can't even paint anymore. nothing is ever right. it's never perfect; in a way, that made sense to it. the artist itself is impure and imperfect, so such its creations must be as well. life imitates art, as the saying goes, but it can't help but feel it be a lie. art is beautiful. anything anybody can possibly want it to be, the truest free form of self-expression and peace. life is cruel. death is a certainty, and happiness is not guaranteed, as it seems that whatever higher being there must be much more enjoys the act of taking as opposed to giving.

... his head is pounding, face uncomfortably warm, with tears slowly dripping down it. at some point he'd gone still, arms wrapped around himself as a form of comfort and self-containment. the room has grown dark, one of his hands and sleeves is speckled with white wax, semi-hardened.

he moves his wax free arm to wipe his eyes. he doesn't remember when he started crying, and he guessed that at some point, a fist hit the floor, and the candles... where else could the wax on his other arm had came from? ... it's a miracle nothing caught on fire, even if they were just tea candles.

he huffs; he has to bother someone for help getting the paint and wax off the walls and floor, as well as clean up the scraps of canvas and glass later, but for now? ... he'd rather lay on the floor.

[iamgrape]

A devil in ones heart

Futanari! Mother Superior! Tatsumi Kazehaya. Female pronoun for Tatsumommy and nun! Reader. Contain: Somnophilia. Official part one of the series. Ùwú.

Previous || Part 1 || Next

➽─────shall we all sin?─────❥

Never classify in details in the first part how Tatsumi is head over heels in sinful and adoringly in love with you. When she first seen you as you come from a very bad state of being bullied in your previous church because of the new mother superior in that place, she felt she needed to protect you with all she have yet everytime she spend time with you her heart beat seems to act up. She felt hopeless when she get separate from you, all she think is you when you left after chatting your problem with her before the time she know her feelings. Her thought went wild at some point in those lonely nights she don't understand what gotten to her yet at the next time someone confessed about something about Lust and the idea of them wanting to sinfully mark someone by fucking them so no one would ever take them away from them out of love and obsession yet they ask for forgiveness for such unruly thought of theirs. -- by a follower of the church in the confession room, she suddenly realize what she being feeling for you.

She don't meet up with your daily chat with one another that day as she ask for such forgiveness in her knees all night yet even through she ask for forgiveness and saying prayers for the lord, her thoughts is full of you, she suddenly stop in midway of her sole prayer that night as her face cover with warmth and her thought isn't full of holiness and words of god but sinful and words of a devil's. She gotten hard in such thoughts her mind went blank and stood up from where she was praying to go to your room, saw your sleeping form. She could feel the devil whispering sinful things in her ears: look at her... Sleeping so soundly, yet here you are with a harden dick... Ah the abomination who's born neither and both female and male... Acting up and following the rules and law of your so called God. Because your parents think it's the least you could do for being born such different, a blasphemy to the name of your lord...

She tried to close her ears from such whisper of a devil yet her gaze linger on your sleeping form, so innocent and oblivious of her and the cruel world. the devil saw her gaze and chuckle at her thought: it be so unfortunate if someone unholy would taint such precious gift... Won't it better for you, who's been so good in your whole life to do it instead? Maybe it won't be tainting... Maybe you'll help her more... Oh beloved and adored mother superior of this church, don't you think so too?

Her hand slowly reach out to you, she felt fear yet she wanted to do it. The moment she held your warm hand, she felt so happy! Her head is over the moon! She smile and was about to let go of you when she heard the devil whisper to her ears again: ever wonder how good it felt if her hands pumping and holding your twitching hornie dick? Ahh it would be heavens blessings won't you agree? Her eyes widen but the idea made her dick twitch, it's making dent to her nun outfit-- if someone saw her at that moment, they will know such abomination she is! She can't even hide it with her hands if she try to cover it up! She pulled up her dress up to her Big boostie boobs, revealing her dick that can't be contained by her undergarments. So hard and wanting touch. Your touch!

She felt so drown in sin, she misunderstood the devils hand holding your right hand to held her arching dick but in reality it's only her and she only blame it to the demons as she held over your hand as she start to pump your hand up and down as she suppress her moaning and asking forgiveness in such vile act in your unconscious form! Yet She don't stop, she won't stop! Her mind is so twisted with lust and sins she already cum in your hand yet she reach out to uncover your lower body to repay what you did! It's totally not her wanting to touch you back! Totally not!

Sleeping oblivious soul you are, start squirming as unconscious response to her touches and Cummings from her skillful fingers that sent you in orgasm in your sleep. She won't let any proof of such act as she lick your cum with a deranged smile, she felt so hard again from touching you yet she won't do more vile things anymore for the night! Cleaning up the mess she made, wiping your sweat and kissing you good night to go to her room to fix her own problem as your image, touch and taste linger in her mind. She cum within few minutes, asking forgiveness in a small prayers to the lord, and she finally rest for the night.

The next day, there's a wedding held in the church. She held your hand as she smile to you as you and her stood in the side as the wedding commence. As the two couple in the platform she thought that the priest is asking the two of you instead in her silly thoughts. She would say I do when the groom is ask and look at you as if wanting you to response when The bride is ask, you who think Tatsumi have a small desire to be married in some point ( not with you or something) but she already taken oath as a nun and already the youngest mother superior in the country. So you who don't know what sinful act she did to your unconscious form indulgence her little 'role play' and said I do yet at that moment her smile widen as the two couple on the platform pronounce husband and wife. You two would be too as you taken vows even if you take it as a friendly indulging her silliness. She held your hand as devil whispered to her: now she's yours. It won't be sinning if your bless isn't it~?

And so you unconscious agreed and made her throwing back her holy vows to be pure and holy for the lord. But the lord doesn't say love is a sin, don't he? So it's not a sin if you two are bless~ so the fun days began that moment.

[aleburton]

Alexandra lifted her glass, letting the bold taste of espresso coat her tongue and awaken her senses. Her eyes never left his, peering over the rim like a siren emerging from beneath the waves, alluring and dangerous. He piqued her interest, as he always did. “You have no idea,” he taunted, his voice low and laced with implication. But didn’t she? She was certain they had ventured into uncharted territories of one another, depths she hadn’t even known existed within herself. Some might have deemed their connection depraved. A fusion of passion and chaos, where love and pain intertwined until the lines blurred entirely. In the privacy of their moments, no space had been off-limits, no boundary untouched. She had encouraged him to explore the unthinkable, indulging in each forbidden act with a fervor that left her both battered and exhilarated, as though she had glimpsed pleasures that transcended even Heaven. Her gaze dipped, trailing down the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt to the inked muscles of his forearms, then further still to his fingers, curled with casual precision around his frosted glass. Those hands had their place, twisting in her hair, gripping her hips, or pinning her face into the mattress as she surrendered completely. A subtle flush crept to her cheeks. No doubt, it was the alcohol. Or so she told herself.

She laughed at his joke, her eyes rolling playfully as she smoothed her free hand over the cool surface of the bar. “Wow, those are more intimate than I expected,” she teased, the corners of her lips curling mischievously. “And I had no idea you could braid hair. You’ll have to show me sometime.” Her light tone belied the flicker of memory that surfaced. One of the more tender moments they’d shared. She recalled sitting with him in a bath, the water warm and soothing as his hands worked through her hair with quiet patience. He had combed through every strand, washing it gently until the water turned a vivid red, carrying away the remnants of their night. It was also one of the rare occasions he spoke about his mother. She remembered how his voice softened, tinged with both fondness and pain. The last time Alex had seen the woman, she was trying to fight her way backstage on opening night. Zach had been less than thrilled with the spectacle, his expression hardened even as he tried to hide how deeply it rattled him. He never admitted it, but she knew it lingered, casting a shadow over the rest of the evening and perhaps much longer. Alex cleared her throat softly, trying to shake the image from her mind.

Maybe there would be a chance to talk about it someday, to understand the pieces of him she’d lost over time. Or maybe she had forfeited that privilege long ago. She swirled the chocolate-hued liquor in her glass, her brow arching at his continued taunts. “I don’t know about that,” she countered. “How many years has it been? But I won’t deny it, you know a lot. And I have a certain game of Never Have I Ever to thank for most of that.” She took another sip of her drink, her gaze momentarily dipping to the rich liquid in her glass. “To answer your earlier observation,” she began, circling back to his comment about her anxiety at dinner, “I’ve never liked Luke. And having the man I’m supposed to marry dig up all the parts of my past, especially the ones that were never supposed to happen —” she paused, her lips pressing into a thin line, “is a bit… uncomfortable.” Her words hung in the air between them, and she allowed herself a second of vulnerability. For Zach, the situation was already complicated enough, being forced to work alongside Andrew while having the former love of his life paraded in front of him like a cruel reminder. But for Alex, the layers of tension ran deeper.Their past, carefully concealed by those who held the power to protect them, was at constant risk of exposure. Every single move Andrew made to further his label seemed to tiptoe dangerously close to unraveling it all.

“I’m not a good liar,” she admitted, her voice quieter now, almost as if speaking the truth aloud would somehow summon her fears into existence. “Every time something happens, I’m just wondering how much longer until I fuck up or until I’m found out.”

Alex welcomed him, and he sparked to see it. The tension in her shoulders melted off her body like dripped candle wax as she slipped through the parted crowd of older women to his side. Her eyes widened, mouthing expletives at him, and he shouldered a snigger and turned his face away subtly. Perhaps he needn’t be so indignant in his acting coy. Especially not after his display at dinner. But, he couldn’t deny it was fun. This was another life in which their meeting was slow, charged, undeniable. Secret. Their second chance. The bartender nodded politely at Alex and busied themselves, allowing her the reprieve of leaning into the bar, her spine forming a deft curve for his eye to chase. They spoke low, privately. Quick, she caught him mid-step, answering his taunt with a wicked smirk. He inhaled through his nose and bit down on his grin until it was naught more than a shiver upon his face. As she needled him, his tongue turned over in his mouth, folding as he ran it between his teeth. The subtle upturn of his lips evergreen as they played with one another.

A part of him was surprised over and over again when she met him on his level, but he shouldn’t have been. Under their pristine surfaces, they were both a little depraved. They both craved the same darkness, the same thrills. Perhaps the surprise was borne from the disbelief that a good-for-nothing, rags to riches asshole like himself could ever find himself tangled up with the likes of Alexandra Burton. Maybe that had never really gotten old. But, she was right to chastise; his staring had been both belligerent and disruptive. He could claim he couldn’t help it, but it wasn’t entirely true. He liked looking at her – there wasn’t anything else quite like her, after all – and he liked making her squirm. He’d been deprived of both luxuries for almost three years. He thought his indulgence perfectly warranted. Alex’s volume dipped, and Zach was drawn toward her like a magnet, large shoulder dipping and head turning in. He’d forgotten how deft she could be at it all, when she wanted to. Flirting. Making him work for her.

A small laugh slipped from him, breathy. “Mm,” he mused, faux-thoughtfully. She came undone behind his eyes, flashed before him in a million breathless, sweaty ways. The bartender fetched their drinks, and he wordlessly collected both from the bar top and handed hers off, their fingers brushing. A chill laced up his spine. “You have absolutely no idea,” Zach concluded smoothly, letting the loaded sentiment hang in the air for a moment. He turned his back on the bar and leaned his elbows against it, the rolled cuffs of his shirt plucking up by the mahogany finish. His gaze swilled over the room, absently taking note of any shrouded exits. Dark slip-aways. “Holding hands, braiding your hair, pillow fights. All these sordid fantasies of mine,” he continued easily, his joke delivered as velveteen and hoarse as a libidinous prayer. Turning his chin to her, he was hit with her perfume. Then, worse, her face. “But, fine, keep your secrets,” he continued, wrist folding out to tilt his glass in her direction. “I have a feeling I know them all anyway.” He smirked to himself, biting down on a haughty chuckle, then sank a deep sip of his drink. 

[truckreincarnation]

Head Banging | Bian Le | Trial 3.6 | ATTN: Yuliya, Harriet, Vee | RE: Shin, Esmee, Luz, Frank, Vee

As Bian is faced with criticism and scorn- it doesn't upset her. She knows she messed up, after all. She's keeping an internal list of all the people she needs to apologize to after the fact: Avery, Shin, Germain, Esmee, Harriet- but there's little she can do in the moment.

Theophania's words to Nao invoke something in her. For a moment, she's gripping her desk, seething. She's the first to admit Nao could've handled this better, but how dare she be judged for her outburst by the woman who goes around and does the same. Oh, she wants to call out the hypocrisy- but she knows she's already said too much. She can almost hear a voice in the back of her head speak: A good woman takes it with a smile, because she knows her place among men. She wants to cry, she wants to yell, but she's powerless.

For as long as Bian has lived, her words have been twisted, her confidence has been diminished, and she's been played like a marionette- the only difference was who controlled the strings. It was her mother, it was her ex, and now, it was her dignity, her heart-

Meili's killer is more important than her feelings.

But Bian will remember this.

"I know... I know I shouldn't speak when I was the one who started. I cornered Harriet because I panicked when I saw mirrors to my own life. It was cruel. It was unacceptable.

But I told Esmee this once before... I think this place is designed to make us cruel. It's meant to turn us against each other, and to harden us to the horrors of war.

We can sort everything out after this trial. In private. I have many apologies to give... and my anger... my anger is pointed at this entire place. I've- I've never felt such strong anger. I'm scared. I'm scared we're going to let the killer get away. I'm scared we're going to fall into the same trap we did before... I... 

Please. Let's look everything over, one last time, before we start to point fingers again. I'm so scared."

How true is it? She isn't sure- she's never felt such vitriol. It's a terrifying thing. It'll take time for her to realize what that feeling is.

She hates how her voice cracks at the end. It reminds her of the woman she used to be.

"Unless I'm mistaken, we're down to two suspects: Vee and Harriet. Neither of them have a clear alibi, and it's impossible to vouch for either of them. The only information we have that could help is that two budgies were missing, proving Vee wrote a letter- but that alone isn't enough. With... with what we've discussed so far... this leaves two possible outcomes.

First, if the killer is Vee, then Harriet was in the fountain room when Vee attacked. There was a scramble between Vee, Frank, and Meili, and Frank and Meili were pushed down the stairs at some point. Vee would've had to grab the lance before the fight and managed to return it before.

Second, if the killer is Harriet, then Harriet was... lying about what she said. She attacked Frank, and Meili walked in at an unfortunate time. The struggle started upstairs, made its way downstairs, and eventually ended on the bottom floor."

Bian suddenly looks to the hosts, nodding.

"Is it okay if I search them both for injuries? Just... just so we can rule that out before I continue."

Once she is given the okay, Bian will leave her seat and move to both Vee and Harriet, giving a thorough yet careful search of each. It takes a few moments, but once she's satisfied, she slowly returns to her seat.

"Neither of them have any visible injuries. Vee looks a little pale, but we already know that's from Dark Revival."

With that done, Bian opens up her journal again, and she begins to frantically start writing.

"What we know of the case... the killer had to be the one to smash the wooden bench. Frank didn't do it, and Meili didn't have a weapon. If the guitar wasn't used, then something else was smashed into the...

Into the..."

Bian trails off as her face goes pale. 

"Frank was smashed into the wooden bench. His head, specifically. 

Frank has a concussion, which a fall could trigger, but it's clearly a serious concussion... this level of pain and memory loss after the fact isn't common. However, Frank has wood chips in his hair from the bench. Remember? The bench was specifically left in shattered chunks. Furthermore, a smash that hard would easily cause a serious concussion.

That explains the missing factor- what could've caused all that damage. Frank's head was smashed into the bench."

She's frantically writing, taking notes in her journal and labeling the parts of her sketch. This changed everything for her.

"We- we also have to consider what Shin said. Motive.

Vee and Harriet both had their memories shared already. It would be odd to kill for the motive, now, so they would've needed a secondary motivation. If we assume Frank was attacked, and Meili was just unfortunate to be in the wrong place at the wrong time- we need motivation specifically to attack Frank.

It's... it's hard to assume what that motivation could be. I already made a horrible mistake trying to do that.

We know that Frank and Harriet had some argument that night. Unless I'm mistaken, Vee and Frank never saw crossed paths tonight.

I don't know of any gripes or issues before tonight- if anyone does, please share."

Bian looks at Harriet. She- she has to bite her lip. God, she wants to say something, but she knows she'll be attacked the second she does. She can only keep explaining her thoughts, the words leaving her mouth in rapid succession.

"As for other things to consider:

Both know Hide in Plain Sight, which we can assume was used since Luz stated she felt something hidden when everyone walked into the room. This doesn't eliminate either of them as a possibility- however, Luz said only ONE thing was hidden. This means that either Harriet killed and hid, or Vee killed and ran off while Harriet hid.

The... the only thing that we can't figure out with certainty is the la-"

Bian cuts herself off, turning to look at Yuliya.

"Yuliya? What weapon was Harriet sparring with? This is likely a dead end... but I think it's worth checking, anyways. Or, did Harriet break any weapons during your spar?"

No stone left unturned.

"I think... I think that covers my thoughts... what I've put together so far..."