#unknown fate of another character

[little-peril-stories]

Whumptober 2023, Day 24: "I thought they were with you."

Whumptober 2023 Masterlist

Read at your own risk! They're only snippets of a larger story, with no resolution that will be posted online anytime soon; they are being posted out of order; and the characters don't have names. Enjoy!

Contents: angst, unknown fate of another character

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Word count: 880 || Approx reading time: 4 mins

"Watch out!"

Teaser: The plan, meticulously thought out: he would go to her, read the letter, give to her every carefully composed word.

“How will they tell my story? / How will they tell my tale?”

Chasing sleep proved to be a futile effort, and so the scholar passed the night at his desk, staining his skin as he had so many times before with ink—splatters and whorls of black sinking into his fingerprints and burrowing beneath his nails.

He didn’t mind the ink stains. He barely noticed them. It was no different, he told himself, from writing a thesis or preparing for an examination.

Except, of course, that it was different in every possible way, save for the scratch of his pen against the page.

As he rose from his chair when sunlight crept across the sky, he knew he’d neglected to sleep at all, and yet he didn’t feel tired. He did feel strange, though—dizzy, far away, distant from the walls and floors of the palace as he passed unsteadily through the halls like a half-drunk hooligan.

He clung to the letter he’d sunk deep into his pocket, wondering if the dampness on his palms would smudge the ink and imprint the words themselves right onto his skin.

The plan, meticulously thought out: he would go to her, read the letter, give to her every carefully composed word. He wouldn’t stumble or lose his place when he looked up and their eyes met. Well, he might. But he’d get through it. Brimming with courage, he would read it and tell her and then the truth would be between them, free for her to take or not as she wished.

He could do it. He wasn’t such a coward.

The rap of his knuckles against the door was the loudest thing he’d ever heard, rattling his bones and aching through his flesh.  When it was answered, he asked to see her, stammering on the lyrical syllables of her name.

He recognized the girl who opened the door—one of her colleagues, a friend, a girl with cool, appraising eyes. They usually regarded him with little more than curiosity and vaguely confused acknowledgement that her friend might choose to while away her hours of freedom with a lanky, bespectacled former royal tutor who staggered through most social situations with the grace of a baby elephant.

Now, those cool eyes were puzzled, but it was a harsh, snappish confusion. “She’s not here.”

He glanced around, doubting his navigation abilities for an instant before his surroundings confirmed that he was in the correct place. “She’s gone out already?”

“I thought she was with you,” the girl said, her gaze hardening. 

“What?” He frowned, prickles rising along his skin even though the morning sun was beating through the glass windowpane with vicious strength. “Why would she be with me?”

“She didn’t come back last night,” she said. “And since you were the one who spirited her away into the gardens for a…walk…” The scholar noticed then how stiff the girl held herself, how tightly she bit out every word. “We figured she was with you.”

Suspicion, he realized. Suspicion was what lurked within that glare.

“I didn’t spirit anyone anywhere,” he said. “I went back in and she was still…”

It struck him fully then—what he was saying and what her friend was saying, burrowing in like something sharp-toothed and ravenous, eating away at his skin.

“Wait,” he said, his thoughts spinning backwards, “she didn’t come back at all?”

The girl shook her head, swallowing as if it pained her.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” she snapped. “Why don’t you know? You were the last one to see her.”

Last one…

“No,” he said, “I went back in—she wanted to stay outside—”

“So you left her alone?”

The sheer negligence of that choice, the stabbing realization of how abysmally he had erred in his judgment—they both clanged toward him, harsh and accusing and true.

“The gardens,” he said, “did anyone look—do you suppose she—I don’t—“ He backed away from the door. “I’ll look for her.”

“I’m coming with you,” her friend said, disappearing for a moment while she shouted back, “Don’t go anywhere!” When she reappeared, she was yanking a pair of shoes onto her feet.

But they had to hurry, he thought. “What if she…” If she was hurt? If a strange illness had befallen her after he walked away? “I just don’t understand.”

“Is there something you’re not saying?” her friend asked. “Was she sick last night? Upset? At y… About something?”

“No,” he said, trying to keep his voice from clipping too sharply. “She was watching the fireworks.”

“I can’t believe you just left her alone there,” the girl said. “What’s wrong with you?”

She’d insisted. She’d been fine. She’d been content.

“Are you telling the truth?”

He stumbled to a stop, just for an instant, as the earth shivered and shifted beneath him. “Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know,” her friend said. “I’m just asking.”

He banished her question from his mind. Perhaps there was more she wasn’t saying. It didn’t matter, not at the moment.

All that mattered: making it to the gardens—to the last place he saw the girl for whom he’d written the love letter in his pocket—and what they would find when they got there.

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[fellhellion]

It’s time for your hourly tunes thoughts on miguel but like. So interesting to me that there’s an element of self-centredness to his empathy regarding people and situations that hit too close to his guilt and anger at himself.

It’s not as if he’s utterly emotionally distanced from the average person simply by fact of the multiverse; he cries out when the renaissance Vulture strikes the helicopter and sounds genuinely distressed.

But I think the reason he at first denies Jess recruiting Gwen is strictly because of her relation to Miles, since there’s other Spiders around the same age in the society. But I also think the reason he finally relents is because she reminds him of himself when she says in that small unsure voice that she has no idea how to fix this. That’s what his weary response about joining the club says to me at least. And he sends her home because she voices a doubt I think he has himself.

His “Do you want to find out?” response to Gwen’s question of if he’s certain Miles will cause harm by changing canon doesn’t exactly ring of certain knowledge to me, only fear and anger at the possibility of it all happening again.

Regarding Miles as well, I think both the anger and eventual empathy regarding Miles losing his father are both tainted by Miguel seeing himself in each aspect. He’s utterly unable to evaluate Miles’s actions separately his own trauma.

[cherryblossom-heart]

Responsibilities (6.5/8)

bestfriend!Nanami x Reader

What happened at the birthday party?

Content warning: ANGST, Toji Fushiguro is his own warning, Kento having something with an unknown female character.

A/N: I am soooo sorry for this angst but is necesary so we understand everything that happened at the party. Don't worry, part 7 will be fully smau and its coming soon. If this is the first you see of this series please go to the previous parts to catch on. You're welcomed to send me an ask with any comments, questions, etc., you have on this. Also if I missed anyone in the taglist let me know 😊

Word count: 3.2 K

<Previous Chapter Next Chapter>

“Shot, shot, shot.”

A small smile spread across Kento’s lips, his eyes focused on your display. Glass after glass, you emptied all six of them in front of you with a grin on your face. The small group of people that surrounded you cheered, the echo of their acclamations competing with the bass of the tacky house party playlist Gojo had put on.

Nanami stayed by the sidelines as always, never a fan of crowds or even reunions like this one. But every rule has an exception and to Nanami’s life you were the exception for everything.

He hadn’t noticed when it had begun. Maybe it had been when you were kids, your hand covered in dirt touching his clean and polished one to drag him out to play with the other kids. Or in your teenage years, your fingers entwined with his as you dragged him to another house party he hadn’t intended to go. Perhaps it was in college when he let you sleep at his place when you had been assigned a roommate from hell and every now and then you would end up falling asleep on his shoulder as you tried to finish whatever assignments you had.

The truth was, no matter how much he tried to explain it, there wasn’t an exact logic to his actions. He hated parties but he enjoyed going with you, your carefree dancing always igniting something deep in his chest. He hated loud music, but he loved the way your eyes would close as you sang to the top of your lungs as he drove you around.

He hated immature personalities, Gojo’s antics only being tolerable for minutes. And yet he found himself amused by your quips and shenanigans you would drag him along with, his heart beating out of his chest as the mischievous grin you wore tore his defenses away.

Nanami couldn’t say when everything had begun, but he knew exactly when he first noticed it. The harsh, undeserving words that had drifted you apart for weeks had been enough of a wakeup call, the pain in his chest had left him in a panic at the moment. Once you had given him a second chance his lungs could finally take a deep breath, free from the strange constriction your apathy gave him.

He had tried getting you out of his head to the point he had downloaded a few dating apps hoping he could find someone else to occupy his thoughts. The second he had matched with someone his fingers quickly deleted the app leaving him with the realization he tried to avoid.

He was in love.

No, it was more than that. Your name was carved in his heart, his soul belonging to the set of bright eyes that laughed at his dry humor as if he was the funniest man on earth. It belonged to the smile that would always welcome him whenever he entered a room or the soft fingers that would run through his hair as his head laid on top of your lap

Nanami had never been a man to believe in soulmates, but if fate would have it and they turned out to be true he believed you were his. And not even then he could explain the extent of his emotions, the crushing weight of his love for you could simply not be measured.

Loving your best friends carried its consequences as Nanami would find out sooner than later.

Green eyes and a scar had become an instant sign of anger for him. The broad, tall, muscular man always carried his characteristic smirk, a trait that also bothered Kento to his bones. But perhaps the thing that he hated the most was the way his hands would wander along your body, fingers always finding a patch of uncovered skin where he could trace senseless figures. Your lack of a negative reaction was enough to tick him off.

He saw it the night he had ended up intoxicated and crashing at your place, the almost too insignificant glint in your eyes as you looked at the blacked haired man. Your smile was almost as bright as the one you always wore when you talked to him.

Kento hated the pit that formed in the bottom of his stomach every time you would mention him.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Beautiful, Kento’s mind recited as his eyes met yours

Your breath was raggedy, beads of sweat trailing down your cheeks. Your makeup was no longer intact, a couple of smudges trailed down your eyes, mascara specs darkening your eyes. The lipstick shade you wore was almost gone, a faint tone left behind.

“Keep your penny, it’s nothing too interesting.” Nanami’s answer came as you scooted over next to him, his right arm surrounding your frame.

“I highly doubt that. Everything about you is interesting, Nanamin.”

Kento’s breath got kicked out of his lungs. How was it possible for you to make him feel this way without even trying?

Were you aware of the effect your words, your soft touch, your sweet glances had on him?

Were you aware of his love for you?

“I believe I owe you a dance.” You extended your hand gesturing for him to take it.

“If I remember correctly, you owe me as many as I want.” Kento said, fingers entwining with yours.

You smiled, a bright beautiful smile that made his world stop.

“Well, let me start paying my debts.”

Minutes later Kento found himself in the middle of Gojo’s house, surrounded by the same crowd he had been trying to avoid as he held your body against his. You had guided him through the crowd of people, several of them stopping you along the way to congratulate you on your birthday. You would acknowledge them, perhaps exchanging a couple of words with them along the way, but your attention remained on him, your hand squeezing his every now and then to make sure he was alright.

Your hips moved to the rhythm of the music, the tune belonging to a song he hadn’t heard before, your arms were up in the air, fingers dancing along the air as if somehow you were making the most beautiful painting with them. Watching you dance was like staring at a work of art, every little movement you made was a sight to be seen.

Nanami’s body wasn’t sure how to move, his feet didn’t seem to want to follow the beat of the music, his arms felt uncomfortable as he tried to move them around. His body had begun to tense up the more he analyzed his own movements. You must’ve noticed it as well as you had stopped your movements only to get closer to him, your hand finding his again.

Cold fingeres reached to caress his face, carefully putting back in place a strand of his hair out of place. With a tenderness so foreign to him yet so familiar when it came to you, your hand cupped his cheek.

You looked at him and suddenly everything was alright.

“Relax, Kento. Just grab my hand and follow the music.”

Nanami’s left hand held onto yours while the right one fell on your waist, pushing you against his chest. If someone else would’ve seen, you two it wouldn’t have made sense to them. You two weren’t following the music, your pace not even close to what the rest of the people around were dancing to. Yet it didn’t matter, it was as if a bubble had appeared, separating you from the rest. Kento and you were following music that no one else around could hear, your head falling to his chest as the song changed.

For a moment, Nanami felt braver than ever. Maybe it was the intimacy of the moment what fueled him as he was convinced you had never looked at someone else the way you looked at him. Or maybe it was the fact that, as he pushed you closer to him, the more you seemed to nestle on his chest having caught you smelling his favorite cologne that you had gifted him.

Whatever it was, it made Kento brave enough to make you look at him. The hand that held onto yours lifted your chin, his touch leaving goose bumps on your skin. He stared into your eyes, for the first time not being shy of appreciating your beauty. Your eyes held galaxies of thoughts and emotions, and he was more than happy to explore all of them.

“Thank you for this, Ken.”

Ken.

A nickname he hated but he loved the rare times you’d say it.

He wanted you to say it forever.

“Don’t thank me, it’s the least you deserve.”

Your arms surrounded his neck.

“Be careful, Ken or I might start thinking you like me.”

Your name left his lips in a whisper, his eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes. He was surprised when he found you doing the same, your eyes lingering longer on his lips.

“Kento…” you whispered, inches away from his lips. “I— “

“Happy birthday, party girl!”

Gojo’s words rumbled across the room, bringing attention to you. Nanami’s hands fell to his side as you jumped away from him looking like a deer caught in headlights. Satoru made his way to you along with Shoko and a cake he wasn’t sure was enough for everyone in the room.

Nanami made a mental note on researching what the easiest way was to get rid of a 6’3 body.

The crowd pushed you away from him, guiding you to the table where Satoru had placed the cake. You tried talking to them, your eyes searching for his in the sea of people. When you finally found him, Nanami just gave you a small smile and a nod, gesturing you to enjoy your celebration.

You mouthed a small “I’m sorry” to him as you turned your attention to the cake.

Kento let out a sigh as he made his way back to the kitchen bar, leaning against it. A gigantic sparkling candle decorated the middle of the cake making your eyes open wide in surprise. The tune of Happy Birthday started playing, everyone around joining in the celebration making you cover your face in embarrassment.

Adorable.

“How long have you been in love with her?” A deep voice asked next to him.

Kento looked at the green-eyed man that had silently slithered his way next to him.  Fushiguro carried a solo red cup in his hand, his face still carrying that same awful smirk that irked Kento. Toji’s eyes were focused on you, but Nanami could tell his attention was on him, expecting a response.

“I– “

“Don’t try to lie, it’s written all over your face.”

Kento sighed, he was right. There was no point in lying, yet he couldn’t bring himself to say it, not to him. Not before he could tell you.

“It’s none of your business.”

Fushiguro laughed as he took another sip from his drink

“It is when you’re trying to get with my girl.”

The flames of anger began rising in Kento’s chest, a bitter taste settling in the back of his tongue.

“I believe she isn’t aware she is ‘your girl’.” He quipped. “I don’t think she wants the title, or else she wouldn’t keep insisting your relationship is casual.”

Toji’s grip tightened around his cup, the sides of it cracking slightly at the pressure. Now it was Nanami’s turn to sport that idiotic smirk.

“Well, you certainly got me there.” Fushiguro conceded. “But it has to hurt still, doesn’t it?”

“You– “

“I mean, you guys have known each other for how long? Over fifteen years and nothing has ever happened. Not a single kiss, nothing even close. I’ve known her for less than two months and I’ve already fucked her all over her apartment.”

Nanami could count with a single hand the number of times he had restored to violence; the last time he had gotten into a petty fistfight being when he was still in high school. Afterwards he would compose himself and regret his actions, embarrassed of such a public display of his anger.

None of those times Nanami had ever felt such rage, the only thing holding him back being your birthday celebration. As much as he hated the man, he would hate it even more to ruin the night for you.

“You should learn to keep your mouth shut about her private life.”

Toji snorted. “What? You’re going to play the “best friend” role again? Come in your white horse and defend her honor? Try to woo her with your gifts and hope she fucks you?”

“Better than playing the role of a man with two kids who can’t seem to find a stable relationship at his age or keep himself out of jail. Are you trying to get her to play the stepmother role as well?”

“Well, it seems that’s what gets her going, isn’t it?”

Finally, the two men faced each other, both scrutinizing each other under their gaze. Kento knew as much anger as he held inside, he could see his feelings reflected on the other man. He couldn’t blame him, any man would be lucky to get your attention, let alone a man like him.

The crowd cheering drifted away the men’s attention, your wide smile as you blew out the candles reminded Kento the reason why he was there, the flames of anger beginning to dwell as the warmth of his chest expanded through his body. He had already wasted enough time with Fushiguro.

“I don’t intend to ‘steal your girl’ Fushiguro, I cannot steal something that isn’t yours to own. She’s grown enough to know what she wants and that’s not for us to decide. Whether it is you or whoever else she is with I will always respect her choices.” Kento looked back at the man next to him, his eyes darkening with his last words. “But I will tell you that if you hurt her, I’ll make sure your stay at prison will feel like a spa visit, do I make myself clear?”

A moment went by without an answer and Kento thought the conversation was over, but as it is with a man with Toji’s personality, he always had to have the last word.

“Understood, boss.” He crashed his cup in his hands, throwing it away in the can behind the kitchen bar. “You know, I asked her once if anything had happened between you two. I mean, I had to make sure you weren’t an ex or something, especially with all the gifts and how close you guys are. You know what she said?” Kento didn’t give an answer, knowing well he was going to talk anyways. “She laughed. You should’ve seen her, it was as if I had asked the funniest question ever. I swear I saw tears in her eyes.” He chuckled. “She said there wasn’t and there never would be anything between you. That you were like the brother she didn’t have and dating you would almost feel incestuous.”

Toji’s attention went back to you, as everyone started to clear off from you as they got a slice of cake. His hand brushed his hair in place as he passed in front of Kento. “I think you have more of a shot with her.” He nodded to a girl Nanami hadn’t noticed before, her gaze turning as his hazel eyes connected with hers. Toji patted him in the shoulder before he left, not before getting his last lick. “I’d take it if I were you champ, it’s not like she’s going to care if you sleep around with other people.”

The green-eyed man made his way to you, his hand falling to your hips as he brought you in for a kiss.

For the first time in his life, Nanami felt his heart breaking. The longer your kiss lasted the more he felt a wave of unknown emotions drowning him, tearing every part of his heart that you ignited.

Fushiguro might’ve been a bastard, but he was right. There was never a time you had looked at him in any other way other than a best friend, let alone a romantic partner. He was an idiot for thinking your words meant anything, that your flirting was anything more than friendly, as it was you had always been a flirtations person. He wasn’t especial.

In an attempt of self-preservation for what remained of his heart he took a shot of vodka, hoping the burn would be enough to make him forget for a little while. He looked around the room, looking for anything that could help him, an easy way of distracting. That’s when he saw her again, the unknown girl he had never seen before.

Nanami didn’t remember how he had gotten himself in a bedroom in Gojo’s house, or when he had taken his shirt off as a girl whose name couldn’t even remember straddled him. He didn’t remember how her lips tasted or the tone of her voice as she had introduced herself to him. He couldn’t even remember the color of the girls’ eyes as she kissed him.

Her hands traveled along his body until they found his crotch making his head roll back. He allowed his hands to explore the girl’s body, slowing cupping her ass as she tried to undo his pants. This situation should’ve brought him some comfort, the sensations of every kiss, every touch should’ve been enough to help him in some capacity. Yet the only thing on his mind was you and the guilt building up in the back of his throat.

Everything about this felt wrong and he couldn’t explain why until he opened his eyes and the person in front of him wasn’t you.

Every time he kissed her, he pictured your lips, soft and delicate against his. Every time he touched her, he pictured your tender skin against his expecting the smell of your body wash to linger on his nose, instead a foreign scent invaded his nostrils. He expected to hear your voice with every pant of his name, but the unfamiliarity of the girl’s tone made his muscles tense up. This wasn’t what he wanted, he couldn’t fool himself into do it.

Then, the unthinkable happened—the very thing he had feared all along.

The light and commotion from the hallway caught his attention as he realized someone had opened the door. He pulled himself apart from the girl, moving his face to the side so he could see the uninvited guest. He only had a second to react before you shut the door with a slam, it’s echo filling the room.

He pushed her away, not caring for pleasantries as he scrambled to get his things together. He could hear the girls angry tone complaining, undoubtedly labeling him as an asshole. None of it mattered though. Not when he had seen the pain in your eyes as you saw the scene in front of you.

When he finally found his phone, he saw the plethora of messages you had sent him, all of them relating your trial until you finally found him. Before he could start typing, two new messages popped up.

Oh

I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.

Vile rose to his throat as he pleaded you to come back.

It’s ok Nanami, I’ll catch you later.

Have fun

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[krikunjayvoice]

Another kid in the chat finished watching the series and we remembered, that I had a fucking theory and it fits the lore of the universe very well. And it concerns two of the most mysterious characters that we were not shown — Oswald the Agreeable (Dagur and Heather's father) and Viggo's grandfather (whom we named Ulric, and took the nickname from the book). I called it the Dragon Eye Saga and I would like to see a spinoff about this couple. The grandfather's fate is unknown, but I remember the moment with the discovery of the Dragon Eye. It was the Grimborn ship where in the captain's cabin there was a skeleton of a large man clutching the device. And also Viggo's words that the DE had been in their family for centuries (so he saw it, trivially in childhood or youth, and he knows how it works.) But why was it lost and he was looking for it? And Oswald hid the most important lenses for the DE in his family. That's why it seems like there's a connection between the two. The theory is that the two of them were able to decipher the lenses of the device, and perhaps they were not just allies, but friends.

And apparently they both understood the danger of this thing in the wrong hands. Which is why they decided to hide it, and the lenses. Some lenses were hidden in the Grimborns style — with traps and riddles, others in unusual places. The lenses were hidden, Oswald decided to keep one for himself, and give the other two to his children. Ulric kept the device itself with him. Apparently, towards the end of his life, he went on a voyage, leaving Viggo as his successor. But he did not return. The Reaper ran aground and Ulric died there, holding the Dragon Eye even after his death.

Oswald went to hide the most important lens, which belonged to him, and eventually suffered a shipwreck, after which he got stuck on Vanaheim and ended his life there far from his beloved children.

Perhaps a compelling reason to urgently hide DE and the lenses was the appearance of Drago Bludvist and his idea of an army of dragons. After all, an army needs a dragon king, and DE leads to him.

[aureatchi]

ᝰ𓂃⊹ ִֶָ SHE PAINTED THE HIGH RENAISSANCE ONTO HER BLANK CANVAS. . .ft. fyodor dostoevsky & dazai osamu

৻ꪆ RIASSUNTO. fata viam invenient...you attend a ball, fated to stumble upon two demons in disguise. you don't know whether it is for better or worse that you somehow already know them, all masqueraded as angels, regardless of how laughably far off that would be.

◞ OR ROME WAS TRULY THE PROMISED LAND, and you sought the art of chaos, rivalry, and seduction.

SERIES MASTERLIST. → ii. | PLAYLIST ♫. | wc. 9.6k+

৻ꪆ a/n. it’s FINALLY HERE !! get ready because there’s A LOT. i’ve poured sm heart into this so i hope you enjoy it as much as i do :) THANK YOU TO EVERYONE who was patient + reached out telling me how excited they are for this. this series is also my entry for @kentopedia’s love through the ages historical!au collab. thank u sm for putting this together <3

৻ꪆ info. fem!reader. renaissance!au. drama & romance. cursing. some suggestive parts. love triangle. arranged engagement. slowburn. lowk touch-starved. a lot of story buildup/complex character. suicide attempt from dazai. historical inaccuracies. bad poetry. religious imagery/symbolism.

— THE MONA LISA WASN’T REAL. And Vincenzo Peruggia was not, in fact, the person who stole the piece, contributing to the boom of its fame to the general public, but was planned in a way to frame him so that the origins of the painting would be a secret gossip only a group of the most successful artists knew about. 

The gendarmes were close. They were correct in assuming that another artist could’ve stolen the painting during the investigation. But they never suspected it could be the person the portrait was painted of herself—no, obviously not Francesco del Giocondo’s wife—but the original face who remained under the cover-up. 

An artist’s face, who later went under the alias of “Raphael” to conceal her contentious image and entanglements from the public eye—you. 

The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin amidst the summer air. The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders, and an unknown heart who vowed to drown you…

“My, miss, you’re already stirring up tons of drama, and you’ve only been here three days!” 

The past couple of months had felt like a dream. It almost seemed like yesterday when you packed your things into suitcases and moved to one of the most famous centers of the art world, Florence. 

Yet now, you entered through the gates of the ‘eternal city’ itself—Rome, a great privilege granted to you by the Pope himself. You almost cried when you received his invitation, commissioning you to paint the frescos in his private library. Of course, there were some strings pulled, like the person who recommended you…

“It’s all thanks to you, Ranpo,” you giggled mischievously. As the lead architect of the Vatican (but before that, your friend), he had told the Pope, “...she might as well become the best painter in all history. She may not be well known here in Rome, but say her name in Florence, and you’ll awaken the whole city. You’ll realize you’ve found a diamond among all the rubble. Trust me on this one; I’m never wrong.” 

“It was nothing,” Ranpo replied with a smug smile. “His Holiness, Fukuzawa never doubts my word.” He tapped his head with his forefinger and winked. “Not only does he recognize my talent in the arts, he also acknowledges my outstanding intellect! I’d be a detective in another life.” 

You chuckled before he continued. “The rest is all on you, princess. Again, you’re progressing quickly-” he pulled out a letter to summarize out loud. 

“-His Holiness was so impressed that he’s giving you the rest of the rooms to paint,” Ranpo said while you stared at him with widened eyes. “He…fired everyone else who was working on them. On top of that, he invites you to a ball happening in a couple of days to make an announcement on new projects. Other than you, he’s invited only the most influential artisans to attend alongside the aristocrats.” 

“No way!” You grabbed Ranpo’s hands in excitement. 

“Yes, way.” He let you spin him around on the pavement in eagerness, your long dress following along. “Though, I feel like you’re going to have to explain to him how you painted the library’s frescos so quickly.” 

Your turbulence of elation calmed. “Hm, you’re right. 

“I hope the question slips his mind.”

You hadn’t actually told Ranpo, but it always seemed like he would figure out everything about you anyway. There was one reason why you had become so famous in Florence. You created masterpieces in what felt like seconds—it was almost like you were granted the touch of creation itself. No one had ever seen you paint, so the mystery of how you were able to produce your portraits in mere weeks—sometimes days remained a mystery to the entire world, no matter how fast science progressed. 

You called it an ability. To be able to visualize—a mental image in your head you wanted to come to life in the form of a still painting on a canvas was what you did. You conjured the concept yourself, freezing daydream into textile. 

You weren’t sure why you possessed something supernatural, or perhaps there were other artists you didn’t know who could also do the same thing, but firstly, you kept it a secret—it seemed almost inhuman to hold such a power. Yet secondly, it was even more the reason to follow in your father’s footsteps. 

He, too, was a painter in the courts of Urbino and would’ve liked to become a famous artist as well. Now, that dream lived on through you—you had studied and trained under his teachers and other artists until you mastered their techniques from the foundations to geometry. Your father was no longer alive, but you were sure he’d be proud of you for getting this far. 

“Oh, one more thing,” Ranpo said.

“The two angels of art are going to be there.” The brunette closed his eyes and rested his arms behind his head as if he already knew the shocked expression awaiting your face. “Your inspirations. Osamu Dazai of Milan and your fiancé, Fyodor Dostoevsky of Florence.” 

“Pardon me, Fyodor?” 

…

A long time ago, your uncle—your now legal guardian—arranged your marriage to Fyodor Dostoevsky. However, the same would’ve happened even if your father had been in charge due to his family’s good societal position. 

It was just meant to be, you guessed. 

Coincidentally, Fyodor had also taken an interest in art the few times you two saw each other when you were younger, and you eventually saw him go on to become the most talented sculptor in Florence. 

However, your path of similarities ran cold after that. You hadn’t seen him in years, and you weren’t even close. You were obligated to write to each other once a month, but each message almost seemed like business transactions rather than love letters. Fyodor was too aloof a person despite being well-educated and polite—though he checked off every other box (and you were sure any other woman would want him), you realized you would never be able to connect with him. He was just not interested. 

You couldn’t do anything to change the engagement, but as long as there was no set wedding date to look (dread) forward to, you were content with life for now. 

You didn’t necessarily like Fyodor, nor did you go to Rome to finally pursue him, but you admired him from a different standpoint. 

He and Osamu Dazai were truly angels of art; even gods, if the Church was not one’s forte. Everyone across the country knew their names—patrons and civilians alike worshipped them at the feet. Even the powerful Medici family, sought by every artist to be commissioned, held close ties with both. 

Clientages saved their money to have the two paint for them, upcoming artists aspired and envied their success, ladies came with their names rolling off their tongues to the horror of their husbands’ faces—they were rumored to be devilishly handsome, too. Self-portraits of the prodigies were yet to be made, but you didn’t doubt it one bit. If Dazai was anything like Fyodor, he had to be fanciable too. 

They had the world and heavens as masterpieces in their hands; one could say their names traveled as far as the badlands. You arrived in Florence right after they departed for Rome, and you studied the creations left behind to figure out how they made crowds swoon and create such huge impressions on people.

And you found their pieces were indeed the pinnacle of the renascene summer. You silently made them your mentors, incorporating what was successful for them into your own works. 

…

“And you’ll be there, right, Ranpo?” 

“Of course, so don’t you worry your pretty head about a thing,” he tapped his head with a smile. “Though, I have some work to finish first, so I’ll leave thee to explore Rome.” 

“Don’t take the wrong wagon this time,” you giggled. Ranpo was late to meet you on your first day because he kept taking the wrong passenger coach to get to you. For some reason, he was knowledgeable at everything but navigating transportation. 

“I’m taking a horse this time,” Ranpo replied. 

“Even worse! You better not fall off!” 

There was a tailor you had been recommended to by your aunt before you departed. You decided to head to his shop first to find a dress to wear for the evening. 

“Good day, my lady,” the couturier said with a kind smile. “I have multiple options of gowns for you tonight. Please do take your time selecting.”

“Gramercy,” you replied with a smile in turn. Your measurements had been sent to him a few weeks ago, so that you wouldn’t have to wait for your garments to be made. 

He brought out at least four cioppas. You didn’t even care to figure out how many in total because among all the regal reds, greens, and royal blues stood out a silk, off-white dress with gold accents. Your eyes were immediately drawn in, though you couldn’t put your finger on why. It wasn’t the most showy in the bunch, but that didn’t matter to you. It was like a rare gem among common stones—though you would need a good eye to really appreciate its uniqueness. 

You ran your fingertips across the fabric, closely observing its craftsmanship. You became fascinated with the opulent designs on the flowy skirt and the long sleeves. You guessed that if you didn’t take it, you’d instead dream of it for the rest of your days in regret and freeze it in one of your paintings for eternity.

“I think I’ll try this one first.” 

Your first choice proved worthwhile when you tried on the gown in the separate dressing room. You exchanged the simple front-laced bodice and plain cotton attire for the new, elegant piece sewn just for you. The fabric hugged and complimented your curves in all the right places, creating the most flattering look as you turned in front of the mirror. 

You imagined yourself with your hair styled and matching jewelry to accompany it—you felt like a princess. Perhaps this confidence was the only thing that would help you get through the ball this evening and perhaps your entire time here. You hadn’t been around so much aristocracy in years—though you grew up privileged, you preferred to live humbly and simply focus on your hobby (and you spared your change on those in need). You were lovely yourself, no doubt, and maybe that’s why you charmed many people of different social classes as you grew more popular. 

You studied yourself through the mirror again, and it was like the polarity of your dresses reflected the fate of this new chapter of life set against the one you left behind.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and an unknown heart that vowed to drown you…you suddenly felt cold. You rushed to get out of the room. 

“It’s perfect on you,” the tailor said, unable to disguise his awe when you asked him for his opinion and to ensure all the sizing was correct. You nodded in curiosity when he asked, “Now, would you like to know the inspiration behind the dress?” You always looked forward to seeing how your tailors incorporated your personality and family style into their design. 

“It’s a play on a singular topic,” he said. 

“Angels. A dual purpose signifying both the type of art you create and how you give off an entrancing allure—they will be curious about your enigmatic yet enchanting importance. That will be your statement tonight among the darker colors.” 

The earlier thought of comparing your two inspirations to angels came to mind. You decided right then—you found no need to try on any of the others. 

“I’ll have this one sent for me tonight,” you said. “Thank you again.”

Rome was alive and busy with action at every corner you turned. You strolled down the streets with no set destination, admiring the liveliness of the city. There were markets and shops everywhere and merchants with all sorts of foreign goods. 

You discovered a ruella at the corner of one street, and the door was widely opened. You peered in to see a group of women inside, probably discussing various intellectual topics. 

You decided to go inside and socialize, having nothing better to do. As you stepped into the salon, they all turned to greet you. 

“Good day, miss,” a few of them said. 

“Oh, aren’t you the Florentine artist?” one of them asked. She moved to the side so you’d have a spot to sit.

I got recognized, you thought, and you couldn’t hide your smile. 

“My husband was there awhile back,” she continued as you sat beside her. “He couldn’t stop talking about how enamored he was with your style and was sure you’d make it here next. Looks like he was correct!” 

“I’m very flattered,” you responded, a warm tint in your cheeks. 

“Did you recently arrive?” she asked. “I hope your journey here went smoothly.” 

“Yes, it went alright!” you said. “The weather wasn’t too bad, and I enjoyed the views on the way. I even passed by some lakes…” 

You felt it again. A shiver ran down your spine. The crashing of ice-cold water on your skin that stood perpendicular to summer’s balmy weather. The intense feeling to stay alive—to save yourself and the soul you did not know…

Your journey had gone smoothly up until you passed by one of the lakes near Rome. It had been a peaceful day, and your coach driver suggested that you look outside. You lifted the curtain and were received with one of nature’s blessings—verdant grass and plants that thrived around clear blue waters. 

You could’ve painted it if you remembered the sight. You truly could have if the memory of the scene wasn’t tainted by what you saw seconds after. 

“Hey, is that a person?” you asked your driver, squinting your eyes—unblemished, untouched picture shattering in your head. The land on one side of the lake was vastly elevated, creating a cliff on that end, and a figure stood in the distance.

A moment passed. 

“…Yes, my lady.” 

Your eyes weren’t betraying you—there was a man dangerously close to the cliff’s ledge, and you weren’t born yesterday to not know what he was thinking of doing. 

“Stop the wagon,” you said, a slip of panic in your tone. Your driver looked back at you hesitantly, but you ordered once again. 

“Please stop the wagon. Don’t come after me. And don’t tell anyone about this.” 

The horses carrying you came to a halt, and you rushed out of the chaise. You weren’t sure what had gotten into you at that moment—there was a random person you happened to catch making more than a terrible decision, why get involved—but you couldn’t stop now as it was like your legs were carrying you themselves. You immediately took off east towards the cliff. It would take you a few minutes until you got to the man. 

What would you even tell him? Would you try to talk him out of it? Gaslight him into stepping away from the edge? Offer to paint him a custom piece for free?—“Oh, I’m actually a famous artist in the country, I can paint you whatever you wish. But I can’t really do that if you kill yourself.” You dashed past grass and rocks as you hurried up the hill.

You would definitely have to change once you got back—the bottom of your dress was already soiled, and you were sweating.

Splash!

Your face was struck in complete horror at the loud sound. You peered over the edge to see huge ripples cascading across the surface of the lake. 

Oh shit! 

You ran back down and then towards the shore. You thanked God that you weren’t using any heavy layers under your dress that day and prayed you weren’t going to end up killing yourself as well. You knew how to swim, but the man was far from the bank. 

Am I really going to do this? 

This might’ve been the most spontaneous thing I’ve done. And the worst.

You liked to think that if you saved him, you would be rewarded in some other way. A good Samaritan—you thought. It had to be worth it. You couldn’t die before your new life even began. 

You submerged yourself into what felt like frozen water, your clothing suddenly feeling uncomfortable around you. Still, you wasted no time swimming toward the man who jumped in. 

He was already sinking—of course, this lake has to be deep. You immediately grabbed onto his waist when you got to him, but not before you took a good look at his face. He was probably of the working class because he only wore a simple white shirt. You also noticed he was covered by an absurd amount of bandages. Soft waves of brunette hair framed the man’s profile, and he looked far more content and at peace than he should’ve been. In any other situation, you would’ve thought he was taking a pleasant nap by the way his eyes were closed, and his lips were slightly parted. 

You’d never seen anyone so pretty underwater. If you hadn’t seen him as a human above land, you would’ve thought he was a mermaid or some other foreign creature. 

Your thoughts and observations were interrupted when you realized you couldn’t hold your breath any longer. Trying not to panic anymore, you first tried to drag the two of you up above the water, but you weren’t strong enough to battle the weight of it against the two of you. 

You would have to swim to shore and didn’t know if you had enough air to return. 

Well, I need to make it work anyway, you thought. You wouldn’t let this mysterious guy you didn’t know cut off everything you wanted to pursue. 

You took ahold of one of the man’s loose arms and, with determination, tried to propel yourself the way you came from, kicking your legs through the water. You were more than correct in assuming it would be complicated—the energy in your body drained quickly. 

You were only halfway from where you started when you accidentally choked. But that caused you to completely seize up—water poured into your lungs like open floodgates, and you were unable to breathe. You tried to push yourself up to get air, but you were already too weak to carry even yourself.

The weight of your aspirations on your shoulders and trying to save an unknown heart that had led to you drown—you wondered if he was still alive. He would have to be resuscitated at this point, and you realized, you too. If anyone came in time to save you, that was. You shouldn’t have had ordered your driver to not follow after you. Or rushed into the lake unprepared. 

Or involve yourself with this man. It was his decision to jump off the cliff…and now you had tied his own weight onto your life. Maybe it was all too heavy to carr—

“I’m happy to hear,” the woman replied, oblivious to and interrupting the encounter you were replaying in your head. “I wish you the most success here.” 

“Thank you,” you replied. “You are very kind.” 

“I am a bit nervous,” you whispered. “I’ll be meeting His Holiness for the first time and other artists. Do I even compare to them?” 

It was evening now. You had spent the last couple of hours preparing for the ball after exploring town—you had on the classy cream-colored dress you selected earlier from the tailor, accompanied by a couple of necklaces. Your hair was put up in a complex style and fastened by a few pieces of jewelry. 

Your mind utterly conflicted with your appearance, though. Your thoughts were in chaotic peril—you tried to hide the fact that you had been pacing around your room in anxiousness right up until Ranpo picked you up. 

“Thou art second to none, miss,” Ranpo replied with a wink and a tight squeeze of your hand. It had only half the same effect as his bear hugs the viridescent-eyed would give you when you weren’t in public, but it was enough. “There’s no reason to be nervous. You fascinated him long ago—you might’ve even been his favorite if I wasn’t here!” 

“Maybe so.” You giggled at his lighthearted smugness. “Well then, let’s get going.”

Ranpo nodded and led you through the large doors of the ballroom. Immediately, you were greeted with the celestial light from the chandeliers contrasting the dark evening sky outside. 

Your eyes drifted in awe among the artigiani and aristocratici of Rome. It was almost chimerical—you hardly remembered you were still holding Ranpo’s hand. The scene looked like it came straight out of a painting. 

“Appealing so far?” Ranpo asked, guiding you down the stairwell. “Can it stand against the Florentine carnivals?” 

You slowly nodded, still focused on the liveliness surrounding you. “It feels divine.” It was more prestigious than any event you’d been to so far—most likely because this was held in one of the Pope’s courts itself. 

“You haven’t even experienced it yet,” Ranpo laughed before leading you into the waltzing crowd. “Shall we dance?”

You and Ranpo followed the movements of the other couples. When you were sure of the pattern of the steps, your eyes wandered again to admire the setting. Everyone was dressed to the nines—although, as your tailor said, they all wore darker colors. You pretended to not notice the looks you received from strangers—however, they were not insulting. They were out of captivation and marvel.

Multiple pieces of artwork were hung around the hall, too, and you wondered if the chosen artists who created them were here now. You considered if they knew of your name too, just as you recognized theirs. 

However, your heart almost stopped when you were reminded of a completely different topic. Ranpo noticed a moment of shock flash through your eyes but did not proceed to question you. (Thankfully, he knew when you would prefer him not to be nosy.) 

You saw the back of a man’s head dressed in pure white—his brunette hair in slightly messy, soft waves. 

There is no way. 

However, you could not confirm your suspicions because he approached a lady in a beautiful, deep red gown to ask for a dance. His face and figure became completely hidden as he waltzed with her at the opposite side of the room. 

“See someone you know?” you heard Ranpo ask. 

Of course he didn’t need to be nosy, because he figured out everything about you anyway. 

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” you responded quietly, still trying to get a glimpse of him, but before you could say anything more, a guard standing next to the entrance silenced the entire crowd. 

“Enter, His Holiness, Fukuzawa!” 

You immediately turned around, and once more was someone dressed in white—the Pope, Yukichi Fukuzawa. You glanced at Ranpo, who gave you a nod of reassurance before politely applauding with everyone else. 

“Thank you for attending this event today,” Fukuzawa started. “Our city has made much progress due to the collaboration and contribution of our artists, so I would like to take tonight to celebrate all of them. Ultimately, I want to reveal the next upcoming project.” 

After a few more words, everyone applauded again, and the party resumed activity. You and Ranpo moved away from the dance, him deciding it was finally time to do the thing you were dreading. 

“Look over there.” Ranpo urged his head towards two men in conversation standing a few feet away. 

If the ballroom really represented the heavens, surely these two were the angels. Even without Ranpo telling you, you knew them to be Osamu Dazai and Fyodor Dostoevsky, standing side by side, white suits further proving their empyreal position.

But your eyes widened, and if you hadn’t been careful, your jaw would’ve dropped, too. Obviously, you recognized Fyodor—tall, jet-black hair—handsome and intimidating as ever, but you didn’t dwell on him for too long. Your eyes quickly scanned the room in search of a woman from earlier with dark curls, dressed in deep red, and when you found her, she was no longer dancing with the brunette dressed in white. 

You looked back at the man beside Fyodor.

It’s him. 

And as if hell—fate, whatever wanted to taunt you further, Osamu Dazai noticed you and Ranpo first, pausing his share of thoughts with the ravenette. You locked eyes with him, and you immediately became embarrassed. 

What the hell? First, one of them is my fiancé, whom I don’t even say a word to, and then the second is…him? 

Perhaps we shall meet again, were the brunette’s words to you by that lake. You truly didn’t believe him then, but it wasn’t the first time you choked on your assumptions. 

In a split second, you pulled Ranpo out of sight. “Ranpo,” you pleaded. “I can’t meet them now!” Your fingers hastily ran through your hair, making sure everything was in place. “I’m not even sure what to say-”

“You’ll have to rip off the bandage sooner or later,” he said, tugging on you. “And I say the sooner, the better! I’ll introduce you to them!” You felt even more displaced at the fact that he offered to introduce you to your own fiancé. However, before you could even object (or say, “Ranpo, somehow I already fucking know both of them!”), he dragged you back—toward the two painters. 

“Good evening, my lords,” Ranpo said as you approached them. 

You didn’t miss how Dazai’s face lit up in a curt smile. Meanwhile, Fyodor had on a neutral expression—probably the only appearance you ever saw him wear. 

“Good evening, Edogawa, the darling of His Holiness,” Fyodor said, the slightest spite in his tone. He did not glance at you at all. 

“Still as cold-hearted as ever, Il Divino-Painter,” Ranpo replied with a chuckle, but it was apparent that he did not like the man.

“I am a sculptor,” Fyodor corrected, a bogus smile still plastered on his face. 

“Don’t mind him,” Dazai said, patting your friend’s shoulder. “He’s just jealous you’re in charge of planning out the entire Vatican palace. And also at the fact His Holiness had to force him into a suit!” When Fyodor gave him a look, Dazai turned to you. 

He had eyes of the sunset, paving the way of something between hell and earth—though in a perfect world, it should’ve been the other way around because he looked as if he had just come down from heaven. You felt your cheeks warm and an uncertain feeling in your stomach. 

“Good evening, my lady,” Dazai said, knocking you out of your reverie. You blushed again as he knelt to take your hand and kiss it, bowing before you—the single minute felt longer than nox itself.

Was this the same man you met at the lake a few days ago? 

He was the artist you admired all along? 

“Apologies for not greeting you first,” he continued as he stood up. “I did see you earlier. How could anyone not notice the angel of Florence who creates masterpieces in days, especially when she looks like one tonight?” You became even more flustered by his sweet words. 

He was familiar with my name all along.

“Ah, so you already recognize her?” Ranpo asked. 

“Of course I do!” You suddenly tensed—half expecting him to reveal your previous encounter with him that you did not want anyone else to know. (If Ranpo knew, you hoped he would keep his mouth shut for your sake.) It would cause too much trouble if someone decided to spread it, and even worse if your uncle found out. He was very strict on image.

But to your relief, he did not. 

“I am very fond of your style, my lady,” Dazai said, resting his hand under his chin. “Madonna del Granduca,” one of your paintings. “You capture human sentiment and emotion so well, even in the most simplistic pieces.” 

Finally, you were able to respond to one of his compliments without becoming a mess. “Thank you.” 

“...And sfumato, your technique,” Fyodor added. “Perhaps you like her style so much because she takes it from you.” 

It was only now Fyodor finally acknowledged you. 

He may just be the son of Nyx. His intentions were tucked away behind amethyst eyes, slumbering in the peaceful twilight he allowed mercy to while all else was caught up in chaotic darkness. Maybe no one else noticed that—if anyone did, Fyodor would not be as beloved as he was now—but you did. You saw through the three strands of malice that laced his following words. 

“Good evening,” he said softly. He kneeled in front of you with your hand, tormenting you with eye contact.

“It’s an honor to see you again, miss. Though I must ask, was Florence not enough? 

“Is grasping originality so tough?

“Are you here to copy more artistic concepts to boost your own depictions of seraph?” 

He delivered a deadly kiss to your hand before you could respond, and before he could see the puzzlement on your face. 

“Excuse me?” 

But you did not falter before him as he stood back up. He did not intimidate you. 

“I’m flattered.” 

For once, the slightest sign of curiosity seeped onto Fyodor’s face.

You gave him a poisonous smile of your own. 

“Sfumato—the blending of colors to create smooth transitions between them,” you explained, giving a nod toward Dazai. “I’m honored that you immersed yourself so much with my painting that you could observe such a detail.”

Ranpo pretended to look around the hall as if he wasn’t paying attention to what was happening, while Dazai couldn’t keep a snort from escaping his throat. 

You kept your eyes fixed on your fiancé’s violet gaze, trying to figure out whether or not you’d be dead after the night was over. Actually—he seemed like the type that could seduce someone into death. Stygian black hair framed against his pallid complexion—ethereal, no doubt, yet you would not be surprised if he turned out to be the Grim Reaper’s right-hand man. (And you were supposed to marry him!)

“I’m here because His Holiness summoned me to paint the frescos in his house. I feel that if he sensed plagiarism in my work, he would’ve not trusted me with this project. 

“What about you, my lord?” 

There was a pause; he was thinking. 

“I am simply searching for something important,” he replied. “An inspiration, if you want to call it. I need it to complete a piece I have been working on.”

“And you’re sure you can find it here?” 

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

The foreign word rolled off of his tongue like honey. He dressed his voice to sound like a lullaby, and you remembered why you thought of him as an angel before he decided to insult you. 

What a juxtaposition. 

“What did you say?” 

“Did you not hear me?” 

He wasn’t going to tell you what he said, nor what he meant in entirety. “Nevermind. I did. Good luck trying to find it.” 

…

“May I have this next dance, my lady?” 

The charming brunette extended his left hand out to you. You had become irritated with Fyodor after his apparent distaste for you—So this is how you treat me after years of not seeing each other? You thought you could at least try becoming acquainted with him to make your inevitable fate a bit easier for both of you, but it seemed like that wasn’t happening anytime soon. You left the conversation at the nearest opportunity and moved to the other side of the room, unaware that your other dilemma was following you. 

“Lord Dazai?” 

You noticed something new about him as he stood in front of you. Those sunset orbs also harbored a concept as far as the sun. There was something distant in them that felt like half of his mind was immersed somewhere else. You wondered where. 

“I don’t like Dostoevsky at all either,” Dazai chuckled. “Even though tonight’s given me another rival on my list, I like you way more.” 

“Don’t speak so soon,” you scoffed. “You’re going to hate me when I take all your customers.” 

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, bella.” You frowned at his attempt to flirt. “And besides, many of them are very loyal to me.” 

You hesitantly took Dazai’s hand as he led you to the floor, joining the circle of couples who had already lined up to dance the almaine. 

“I’m still annoyed with you,” you said quietly as the two of you lightly skipped across the floor on your toes, never breaking eye contact with his tawny eyes. That same look was there—it was like he was thinking of everything and nothing all at once. “I’m only agreeing to this so I could boost my status. You just caught me off guard back there. That’s why I acted nice.”

He dramatically pretended he was offended. 

“Why, tesora?” Dazai took both of your hands. You circled around each other gracefully before reversing to step in the other direction. “I saved you! If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be dancing here tonight and finally knowing the name of the poor soul who jumped into the lake!” 

“If it weren’t for you, I also wouldn’t have nearly drowned, idiota,” you glared. 

“Keyword: nearly!” 

You continued sulking at him while the dance went on, ignoring the rest of his defensive sentences and the friendly endearments he added to the end of them. 

“Ow!” 

Dazai had stepped on your foot during another turn. 

“What was that for?” you asked, silently observing how he made sure he did not catch your dress along too, so it would not ruin. 

“Hm? What do you mean?” Dazai spun you again; this time, he stepped on your other foot. 

“Lor- Dazai!” You disliked how much fun he was having with this. Now, he wore a mischievous gleam in his eyes that coupled an unmistakable, playful grin. 

He spun you one last time, and this time, you purposely stepped on his foot. 

“Hey—why did you do that!?” he pouted. 

“Thou did it first,” you replied dryly. “You’re a bad dancer, my lord. You can’t even keep up with the slow ballroom almain.” 

He smirked as the number concluded, and then he brought you to the center of the floor. 

You looked around to see at least half of the couples moving off, either to watch or go elsewhere. 

“Let’s see if you can keep up with this one,” he chuckled lowly. 

“What dance is this?” you asked.

“A galliard. The La Volta.” 

Your lips slightly parted to say something, but you didn’t know what. 

It made sense now why so many chose not to participate in this one. The La Volta was a bit obscene—first, the women were lifted up in springs and jumps, even though that was usually improper. It was also very fast—it would require skill to do it comfortably, especially with the long, heavy gowns you wore. 

Finally, it required close contact between the couples, which was…scandalous. Like a forbidden fruit. 

You had never danced it before. Nor had you planned to. You were engaged, after all.

I bet noone in this room, but Fyodor himself and Ranpo even know we’re to marry, though, you thought to yourself, even though you shouldn’t even be considering excuses. …And he probably couldn’t even care less.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Dazai said, a bit more seriously, leaving it up to your decision, but his eyes alleged something else. Like he was pleading to let you indulge. 

The forbidden fruit and its serpent. Why was this man always tempting you to things that could sabotage your name? It was as if his heart vowed to drown you to doom…

“No, I’ll do it,” you decided. 

…yet you had let him, again and again. The descendants of Eve never learned. 

“They call you the Renaissance Man, my lord? I’ll steal your title when I show everyone I can do more than paint…and outdo you in dance.” 

“Dance is a form of art, too, y’know,” Dazai smiled before he parted from you. “How about instead, you think of it like we’re creating our own special piece together.” 

“Competition,” you disagreed in one word, curtsying before him as the drums cued.

“Collaboration,” he bowed. 

You two rose, and a new tension was ignited in the room. Your eyes locked with his again, but this time more determined—more passionate, as you gracefully swept to the left while the brunette the opposite way. You continued that movement while also gravitating closer. 

Closer, until he was finally able to lay hands on your waist. 

“Look up, miss,” Dazai softly reminded you. “Too flustered that you’ve forgotten etiquette?” 

You didn’t even realize your eyes chased down to where he was holding you—no man had touched anywhere near your corset before. You felt nervous; it was supposed to be so wrong, so why did his hold feel so right? As if his fingers were always supposed to be wrapped around you, the final touches to a masterpiece of intimacy. 

You were falling for it—the serpent’s art of seduction. This wasn’t supposed to be a collaboration. 

“What happened to your confidence?” Dazai teased, whispering in your ear; you felt his breath tickling your skin.

Your eyes drifted back to his in embarrassment, but you couldn’t give your rival the entertainment of winning against you in something you proposed. Fighting against your nerves, you wrapped one of your arms around Dazai’s broad shoulder.

“Shut up.”

He lifted you by the hips to aid as you lept and turned around him, his left thigh pushing you upward, and that same nervous excitement returned to your stomach. It was as if pools conjoining both everything and oblivion at once lay physically on you. His gaze resembled hands—he caressed your shoulders; he traced your face like he wanted to paint every angle of you. 

He was gentle with his actual hold on you, too; Dazai carried you as delicately as the brush strokes he made on canvas. He carefully set you down with ease after every jump while still treating you like a porcelain doll, and there you made the mistake of wandering your eyes down to his lips, lightly parted—you realized this was the second closest time this man had come near enough to kiss you. 

His body was so warm, he could pull you flush against him if he wanted to. His breath was minty, the coolness of his mouth addicting, and if Eden smelled heavenly too, he had truly just slithered down, carrying the sweet, earthly scent along with him. All your senses were overloaded by the man standing before you like alcohol; you wondered if you’d even end up home by the end of the night. 

“You’re enjoying this way more than to simply boost thy status.” 

In that moment, you snapped out of your haze of dopamine, and the music faded into a new routine. You also realized that an entire audience had been watching you. That was not ideal. 

You scooted back right after Dazai released his hold on you, looking down in coyness. “Maybe I’m just a good actor.” 

“You’re a terrible one,” he chuckled, following you out of the crowd. “You can’t even look at me to sell your lie!” 

You glared at the brunette once more. “I don’t have to look at you to tell you the truth.” 

“So cold-hearted,” he sighed. “Even after a dance to loosen you up. Guess I need to work harder to ask you out.”

“For what, a double suicide?” You once again recalled some other things he had said during your weird, fated meet at the lake. 

“Exactly! You remember!” 

“Well, sorry, that’s not happening,” you responded. “Go find some other lady to ask. I’m sure you do this all the time anyway.”

Because how did he touch you so perfectly? How did he dim out every other person in the room to make it seem like it was just you two?

He paused. “No, I don’t. You’re the first person I danced this galliard with. You realize we were even in skill, right?” 

“Didn’t seem like it. And I don’t understand why you chose me.”

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence,” Dazai said. “You did save me in a way. Sure, we’re rivals. But one day, I’ll paint you myself. 

“You’re too beautiful to not.” 

…

“I hope you all have had a lovely night,” Fukuzawa spoke over the room. “To conclude the gathering, I would like to announce what the Vatican’s next project will be.” 

Artists all around you waited in anticipation, for good reason. You and Dazai looked at each other too. You’d already experienced it for yourself—a commission from the Pope himself guaranteed immediate, enormous success (and money; your job from him was your biggest pay so far). Whatever he proposed required another artist, and it could be anyone in the room. 

“The Sistine Chapel,” Fukuzawa said. “The large crack that has formed along the ceiling is to be repaired in the upcoming year.” 

There were a few chatters after that. The chapel was insanely impressive—the interior of the large building was covered in stunning frescos by some of the great artists who had come before you. Even though the Pope hadn’t even said what the job was to be, anyone working on things concerning it would have to be just as good as its predecessors. 

“Along with reparations, its panels shall be painted.” 

There were a few gasps from the patrons. Was that even possible? How could someone even paint the ceiling without it being taken off of the roof? And it was so large, too, like a mega-sized canvas. 

It was unheard of. 

“I have already selected the person I would like to work on this,” Fukuzawa continued. There was silence again. 

“It’s probably Dostoevsky,” Dazai said to you. 

Fyodor? “Why do you think so?” you asked. 

“He completely stole the spotlight with that statue of David he finished this year,” he dryly chuckled. “Well deserved, I’m afraid. You saw it too when you were in Florence, did you?” 

“Yeah,” you replied. You had to acknowledge how impressive it was for yourself. It was like the man turned hard stone into pliable clay. 

“But that’s sculpting, not painting.” 

“Oh? Do you think you’d be a better candidate?” 

He was smiling again. “No, I never said that,” you scoffed. “I was going to say maybe you’d have a chance-”

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” Fukuzawa said.

Oh.

You paused, scanning the room to see where he was. 

He was on the other side, intently making his way to the Pope. 

“I request you to paint the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.” 

Fyodor stood in front of him and then bowed. 

“...I offer my sincerest gramercy for this opportunity, Your Holiness,” the artist said.

There was a pause.

“…I would like to discuss the rest of what this entails in private.” 

Your brows furrowed. That was almost a bit…rude. Sure, he hadn’t declined the offer, but for whatever reason, he also didn’t accept it. 

“Very well,” Fukuzawa replied without a change in his tone. “I adjourn this party. Bonam noctem.”

There was a final applause for him and the city’s next project, and then everyone began filing out. 

However, you and Dazai stayed in place until Ranpo suddenly tugged on your arm. 

“There you are! Let’s go!” 

“W-Where?” you asked as he started to drag you away. 

“Goodnight!” you heard Dazai say before disappearing into the crowd. His small smile remained in your memory, and a part of you wished you could give him a proper goodbye.

“To eavesdrop, duh,” Ranpo replied as he sifted you through everyone moving the opposite way. “Don’t you also want to hear what Fyodor has to say?” 

“I don’t understand why he didn’t just accept the proposal,” you said. “Anyone else would do it in a heartbeat!” You were sort of jealous; that job was given to someone so ungrateful! If you were the one who recieved it, you would’ve put your entire effort into transforming the ceilings right away. 

“I don’t know how he’s so beloved,” Ranpo continued. “Not even His Holiness likes him that much; he just doesn’t show bias when choosing people to paint his architecture. Did you know Fyodor was supposed to produce his tomb?” 

“What happened with that? I thought it was being worked on by a few other artists.” 

“He kept clashing with His Holiness about it,” he said. “Until the plans got so messed up, Fyodor called it a ‘tragedy’ and left Rome for a while. Quite literally abandoned it.” 

What an asshole! Especially in front of His Holiness!

“I don’t like him at all,” Ranpo squeezed your arm. It had become quite apparent to you that Ranpo admired Fukuzawa—not just because he was his so-called favorite or because he was the Pope, but something else. You had seen them together during the party earlier, and you were reminded of father and son. “He has a nasty ego, and I can’t figure out his intentions. I feel off every time I meet with him.” 

“Intentions? For what?” 

“Don’t be stupid, miss,” Ranpo said. “He told you himself, he’s here for something. It’s just so annoying! He hides it all behind those stupid, purple eyes…” 

You approached the entrance to a hallway at the very back of the room, and you heard two familiar voices outside. 

“...I carve marble, not paint.” 

“You discredit your skill with a brush too much.”

“Your Holiness, we had very different views during the last commission you gave me,” you overheard Fyodor say. “I simply don’t want to cause another commotion with this.” 

You only peeked through the large doorway to hear more clearly, but Ranpo continued walking right in as if they wouldn’t notice. 

“R-Ranpo!” you whispered harshly.

Immediately, Fukuzawa and Fyodor looked at you both, and you scrambled behind Ranpo. 

“I’m so sorry, Your Holiness,” you replied, accidentally locking eyes with Fyodor, who looked at you unfazed as if he had already noticed you two a mile away. You couldn’t even think of an excuse to explain what you were doing there, but then Fukuzawa resumed the conversation without a care. 

“I see then,” he replied and then gave it some thought. “I felt you were the only one who was fit for the matter, but perhaps I could just hand it to-” 

Fukuzawa looked at you, and Fyodor looked at him before looking at you. 

“Ah, what I said was just a concern,” Fyodor interrupted to your dismay. “I’ll accept your commission on one condition.” 

The three of you waited. 

“On the contract, it shall be stated that noone shall view the inside of the Chapel until it is completed,” Fyodor stated. “Including yourself, Your Highness.” 

He thought for another moment. 

“Very well, Fyodor. It will be arranged.” 

What a rat!

It had been a few weeks since that eventful ball. You had started work on painting the rooms in the Pope’s chambers—there were sketches of concepts scattered all over your desk. Coupled with your thoughts—thoughts reliving all the situations you were thrown into that night. 

You hadn’t seen the two angels since then. Well…would you even call them that anymore?

Knock, knock, knock!

“Hey! Let me in!” You heard Ranpo’s voice from outside your house. You were still half-asleep, trying to make breakfast, but you immediately rushed to open the door. 

“Ranpo!” You were startled. “What are you doing here so early?” 

“Stop complaining. You’re going to love this.” 

He stuck his hand into his pocket and then revealed a set of shiny keys. 

“Sitting in my palm are the keys to the Sistine Chapel.”

“No way.” It was like the sight fully awakened you, like caffeine. “Ranpo…how?!” 

“Hmph!” He shook his head. “You underestimate me so much when you quite literally depend on me!” When you laughed, he continued. “Lord Fyodor’s on a business trip until next week. Do with that info as you wish.” 

“You’re a genius,” you replied with a mischievous grin as he threw you the keys. 

“Of course I am! I despise him, but I’m too lazy to mess with him right now, so I’ll just leave it up to you. After all, he didn’t want to do it initially because he thought you set it up.” 

“By me?” you asked, shocked. “He hates painting so much that he thought I had a hand in it? Imagine giving away the Sistine Chapel.”

He was really something else. Was dead set on declining the offer right until His Holiness debated giving it to me…

…

Ranpo sat at the dining table eating the remaining tarts left over while you finished washing the dishes in the kitchen after your meal. Your move had gone smoothly, and you were pleased with the home you created for yourself—the windows in front of the sink were opened, letting air and the sounds of nature in as you looked outside. 

“His Holiness instructed me to paint over the previous works in the Palace when I first walked inside because he deemed what I could produce more important than what was already up there,” you told him with your own dash of pride. You couldn’t contain the bright smile that flashed on your face. 

“Just as I suspected,” he replied, pleased. 

“...But social-wise, I think I dug a hole for myself.” 

“Definitely!” Ranpo said with no hesitation, popping another dessert into his mouth. He already knew what you were going to talk about. You gave him a look before sighing, realizing that he probably was right.

“A few days ago, I overheard people in the salons saying that…I have a special thing going on with Lord Dazai. It’s not true! I don’t know why he was being so friendly with me!” 

You hadn’t even seen him after that night. Maybe you were a little disappointed, but you should’ve seen that coming anyway. He was known as a charmer, but he hadn’t committed to anyone. And regardless, you were to marry Fyodor one day. 

Ugh, Fyodor.

“And you were friendly to him in return,” Ranpo replied. “You could’ve shrugged him off like normal rivals do. But it looked like you were completely enraptured with him.” 

Enraptured?! He was completely enraptured with me! However, you couldn’t describe to Ranpo how exactly he was—how the brunette’s eyes pleaded with yours to follow him into the eventide, how he made you feel like the only person that existed in the large crowd of people…maybe Ranpo would have his point proven.

“Well, other than that, I’ve got thee settled in Rome well enough. I’ll be here for the rest of the unwise decisions you’re going to make, but from here on out is on you, princess.” 

“Thanks, Ranpo,” you sarcastically replied. “Seriously? Unwise decisions? Rome is just different from everywhere I’ve been to before. I’m learning.” 

“Exactly, there are arts of everything,” he said. “Thou better grasp them quick or fall behind.” 

Dance. 

Deceit.

Dreams. 

Only a few you had discovered so far. 

“You fascinate me, angel of Florence. You did save me in a way.”

You couldn’t even grasp,

Dazai.

You didn’t know how long you were out. All sense of time was lost when you gained consciousness again, and you realized you had been washed up on land. 

Did God stay true to your pleas? Did an angel really come down to rescue you?

That was certainly what it seemed like in the first few seconds because you were blinded by light when you opened your eyes. You heard insects buzzing off in the distance and maybe even a bird chirping as you lay on lush grass. Perhaps you were in heaven instead, and this was your first taste of peaceful paradise. 

But all was ruined when your eyes finally focused, and a face obstructed your view. (Why was he always ruining your flawless moments?) He hovered on top of you, and the first thing you became aware of was that his mouth was dangerously close to yours. 

You immediately coughed—out of both shock and the need to. Lake water gushed out of your mouth, causing you to sit up without warning. The brunette was flung off of you, landing harshly on his bottom.

“Ow!”

You paid no mind to him as you coughed again. And again. 

When all the water was finally out of your lungs, you looked at him in utter confusion.

“Why the puzzled look?” he asked as if he wasn’t the one who was drowning and you weren’t the one saving him (and less importantly, it hadn’t looked like he was about to kiss you).

Now he sat beside you, almost perfectly fine if it weren’t for his clothes that were soaked. 

“But…you—we were drowning?” You turned to see if anyone else was in the distance because who was it that saved both of you? 

“Yeah, I was drowning,” the man replied, and you now noticed the honey color of his eyes that had been shielded behind closed eyelids and pretty eyelashes earlier. “And this time, it almost worked! Until you decided to rescue me!” 

“Um, what?” You asked sharply, even more bewildered at the way he tried to make your efforts sound negative. 

“At first, I thought maybe thou were a lovely lady who wanted to commit double suicide with me! But I realized that wasn’t the case when you started fighting to get some air…” 

“Are you crazy?” you asked, not caring whether you were speaking impolitely or not. “Double suicide? Why else would I dive into a cold lake to join a stranger? And you were aware of what was happening all along?” 

“Maybe! Women have done a lot to try to get close to me.” You didn’t believe him. “And, well, yeah! Obviously, I couldn’t continue because of two things. The first was you because I couldn’t let an innocent involved be harmed along with me! I had to save you, of course.” 

You became even more irritated. “You wouldn’t have had to if you didn’t pretend you were drowning! I had to use all my strength to rescue you, y’know! I could’ve died as well!” 

“But you didn’t!” the brunette replied. “There was no way I was going to let someone so beautiful drown.”

You scowled at him before you stood up. “You’re ridiculous. What’s your second reason?” 

“Drowning in a lake ended up becoming uncomfortable.” You wanted to punch him in the face—uncomfortable was an obvious understatement. “I didn’t like the feeling of suffocation that set in, so I just decided to give up.” 

“It didn’t even look like you had any air left in you,” you muttered, facing your back towards him, remembering his placid expression earlier. “How were you conscious if you weren’t even holding your breath?” 

“Party trick,” he responded, and when you dared to glance back, he wore a smug grin. 

“Oh…are you leaving me then?” he asked as you started walking away, saying no more. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” you scoffed, not stopping. “I’m completely soaked, and I don’t know about you, but I have important things to get to.” 

You heard a chuckle from him. “Is that so?” he asked. His voice was getting farther, meaning he was no longer following you. “Where are you headed?” 

“Rome.” 

“I live there. Perhaps we shall meet again. And then, I could ask you—properly—if you would like to commit a double suicide with me.” 

“I doubt it,” you replied, assured you were never going to see this man whose face looked kissed by Aphrodite herself again. Perhaps you would’ve found him handsome if he was in a less disheveled state. 

As if you did not already. 

“Why do you seem so sure? Anything can happen.” He chuckled once again. 

Well, I am a painter, and you don’t look like someone who would even have an eye for art, is what you wanted to say. But you didn’t want to open more doors to curiosity and stay there even longer. 

“Maybe you’re right,” you stopped. “Okay, then.

“If you think you’re going to see me again, can you promise to not kill yourself until then? Until I agree to you?” 

You figured you would just give him some hope so that your efforts to save him would not be in vain. If he would actually keep your word, anyway. 

When you turned around, the brunette was still standing on the shore, and he had a smile on his face. 

He really did carry the setting sun in his gaze. It was still midday, but the man’s soul seemed to prefer the softer shades of light that appeared just before the cool shades of night. 

And you felt his eyes tenderly cupping your face, even though you were feet away from each other. You weren’t sure if you were so lost that you were imagining things—but he looked at you as if he’d known you a hundred lifetimes, longing to touch your soul once again. 

“I pinkie promise,” he said. 

You thought that finally ended the conversation, but he asked one more thing. 

“Your name?” he asked. 

“Do you really need it?” It was unlikely, but you didn’t know if he would recognize your name. You didn’t want to risk anyone knowing about this encounter. 

“I saved you,” he said. “I almost thought you were done for. You still weren’t breathing when I performed chest compressions, so I had to—” 

“Okay, stop right there!” you interrupted, becoming flustered. You didn’t need to hear the rest. You imagined the stranger’s mouth on yours—trying to give you oxygen, of course, but his mouth on yours regardless. 

You told him your name. “Don’t bother with yours. I’ll figure it out if we run into each other again.” 

His grin was smug. “Fare thee well, mia belladonna.

“Until we meet again.” 

…

“You can find anything in the promised land, solnyshka.”

ur man of choice (or both if u’d like) dances with u during the ball if u rb; reblogs are incredibly cherished; they are what support me the most. <3

WE DID ITT !! i hope this was decent, tbh i’m rly nervous HAHA ᡣ𐭩 dazai rly got most of the love here, but i promise there’s waay more to come.

+ check THIS FOR EXTRA INFO/LORE, it’s cool ;) comment on the masterlist to be added to the tagslist !! & ilu if you made it this far, thank you so so much for reading ᰔ

TERMS & DEFINITIONS:

CIOPPA - outermost layer of a dress

RUELLA - salons/social gatherings

ALMAINE - slow court dance; GALLIARD - fast court dance (in the renaissance)

TRANSLATIONS: (not all bcz they wanna be mysterious)

gramercy - “thank you”

artigiani; aristocratici - artisans; aristocrats (italian)

bonam noctem - “good night” (latin)

© AUREATCHI 2024. no reposts or translations. do not steal. support banner + animated line divider by cafekitsune. header + series dividers mine; DO NOT SAVE.

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

The Committee of Public Safety being a totally healthy work environment with no issues whatsoever compilation

First, some statistics:

Leaving in the middle of a session due to fighting: Collot (1 time), Robespierre (3 times), Saint-Just (4 times), Lindet (1 time)

Starting to cry during a session: Carnot (1 time), Robespierre (1 time)

Threatening your co-workers: Robespierre (2 times), Saint-Just (2 times, one of them a death threat), Couthon (1 time)

Calling your co-workers traitors/scroundrels/ counter-revolutionaries/aristocrats/conspirators/foreign agents: Billaud (1 time), Saint-Just (3 times), Robespierre (5 times), Collot (2 times), Barère (1 time)

Accusing your co-workers of aspiring towards dictatorship: Carnot, Billaud, Barère, Collot, Lindet (1 time)

Accusing your co-workers of wishing to destroy patriots: Robespierre, Collot (1 time)

Using physical violence against your co-workers: Collot (2 times?)

Defending your co-worker against another co-worker in a way that doesn’t at all make it seem like you’re into him: Saint-Just (3 times) Barère (1 time)

Saint-Just had such indifference that, about this time (return from Fleurus), he came one evening to propose to the committee a strange means of promptly ending the struggle of the revolution against the suspected and imprisoned nobles. These were his words: ”For a thousand years the nobility have been oppressing the French nation with exactions and feudal vexations of every kind, feudalism and nobihty exist no longer, if you want to repair all the frontier roads for the passage of the artillery, convoys, and transports of our army, order the imprisoned nobles to go to work daily and mend the highways.” […] When Saint-Just had finished there was a movement of silent indignation amongst us all, succeeded by a unanimous demand for the order of the day. I thought I ought to stipulate for the national character by saying to Samt-Just and the committee that we should be opposed to such a kind of punishment for prisoners even if the law pronounced it, that the nobility could be abolished by wise laws, but that the nobles always preserved in the mass of the people a rank, a distinction due to education, which prevented us from acting at Paris as Manus did at Rome. ”Ah,” exclaimed Samt-Just, “Marius was more politic and a greater statesman than you will ever be. I wished to try the strength, the temperament, and the opinion of the Committee of Pubhc Safety. You are not fit to combat nobility, since you cannot destroy it, it will devour the Revolution and the revolutionists. I retire from the committee.” He quickly withdrew, and set out for the army, until the moment when he thought himself capable of executing vaster projects with Robespierre, Couthon, and Lebas, his associates. Memoirs of Bertrand Barère, volume 2, page 139-140.

It is the inherent vice of bad laws, and, above all, of penal laws devoid of motive, which attack a great number of innocent people, to nullify themselves. Saint-Just did not understand that. He attacked me, and accused me of having put under requisition the relatives of several emigrants whilst the law punished them in their property. The committee appeared struck by this accusation, and asked him to explain himself and name some of the relations. He named several, but they were all unknown to us. He afterwards named Mademoiselle d’Avisard, of Toulouse, whose father was abroad. Here I replied that the fate of this innocent girl, who was but sixteen years of age, and obliged by the terrible laws against emigrants to subsist at Paris by manual labour, for she was then engaged in making gaiters for our soldiers, was in the highest degree worthy of compassion and interest. […] The Committee of Public Safety thought this explanation sufficient. It saw that it was only a wicked recrimination by Saint-Just, supported by the presence of Robespierre. Memoirs Of Bertrand Barère, volume 2, page 147-148.

Robespierre murmured a lot about the forms that we had established in Lyon for the execution of decrees: he constantly repeated that there was no reason to judge the guilty when they are outlawed. He exclaimed that we had let the families of the condemned go free; and when the commission sent the Convention and the committee the list of its judgments, he was not in control of his anger as he cast his eyes on the column where the names of the citizens who had been acquitted were written. Unable to change anything in the forms of judgment, regulated according to the decrees and approved by the committee, he imagined another system; he questioned whether the patriots of Commune-Affranchie were not vexed and under oppression. They were, he said, because the property of the condemned being specially intended, by article IV of the decree of July 12, to become their patrimony, we had greatly reduced their claims, not only by not judging only a quarter of the number of conspirators identified by Dubois-Crancé on 23 Vendémiare, or designated by previous decrees, but also by establishing a commission which appeared willing to acquit two thirds, as it happened. Through these declamations Robespierre wanted to entertain the patriots of whom he spoke, with the most violent ideas, to throw into their minds a framework of extraordinary measures, and to put them in opposition with the representatives of the people and their closest cooperators: he made them understand that they could count on him, he emboldened them to form all kinds of obstacles, to only follow his indications which he presented as being the intentions of the Committee of Public Safety.   Défense de J-M. Collot, répresentant du peuple. Éclaircissemens nécessaires sur ce qui s’est passé à Lyon (alors Commune-Affranchie), l’année dernière; pour faire suite aux rapports des Répresentants du peuple, envoyés vers cette commune, avant, pendant et après le siège (1794)

Billaud Varennes: […] The first time I denounced Danton to the committee, Robespierre rose like a madman and declared that he saw my intentions, that I wanted to lose the best patriots. Billaud-Varennes accuses Robespierre during the session of 9 Thermidor

Why should I not say that [the dantonist purge] was a meditated assassination, prepared for a long time, when two days after this session where the crime was taking place (March 30 1794), the representative Vadier told me that Saint-Just, through his stubbornness, had almost caused the downfall of the members of the two committees, because he had wanted the accused be present when he read the report at the National Convention; and such was his obstinacy that, seeing our formal opposition, he threw his hat into the fire in rage, and left us there. Robespierre was also of this opinion; he believed that by having these deputies arrested beforehand, this approach would sooner or later be reprehensible; but, as fear was an irresistible argument with him, I used this weapon to fight him: You can take the chance of being guillotined, if that is what you want; For my part, I want to avoid this danger by having them arrested immediately, because we must not have any illusions about the course we must take; everything is reduced to these bits: If we do not have them guillotined, we will be that ourselves.  À Maximilien Robespierre aux enfers (1794) by Taschereau de Fargues and Paul-Auguste-Jacques.

In the beginning of floréal (somewhere between April 20 and 30) during an evening session (at the Committee of Public Safety), a brusque fight erupted between Saint-Just and Carnot, on the subject of the administration of portable weapons, of which it wasn’t Carnot, but Prieur de la Côte-d’Or, who was in charge. Saint-Just put big interest in the brother-in-law of Sijas, Luxembourg workshop accounting officer, that one thought had been oppressed and threatened with arbitrary arrest, because he had experienced some difficulties for the purpose of his service with the weapon administration. In this quarrel caused unexpectedly by Saint-Just, one saw clearly his goal, which was to attack the members of the committee who occupied themselves with arms, and to lose their cooperators. He also tried to include our colleague Prieur in the inculpation, by accusing him of wanting to lose and imprison this agent. But Prieur denied these malicious claims so well, that Saint-Just didn’t dare to insist on it more. Instead, he turned again towards Carnot, whom he attacked with cruelty; several members of the Committee of General Security assisted. Niou was present for this scandalous scene: dismayed, he retired and feared to accept a pouder mission, a mission that could become, he said, a subject of accusation, since the patriots were busy destroying themselves in this way. We undoubtedly complained about this indecent attack, but was it necessary, at a time when there was not a grain of powder manufactured in Paris, to proclaim a division within the Committee of Public Safety, rather than to make known this fatal secret? In the midst of the most vague indictments and the most atrocious expressions uttered by Saint-Just, Carnot was obliged to repel them by treating him and his friends as aspiring to dictatorship and successively attacking all patriots to remain alone and gain supreme power with his supporters. It was then that Saint-Just showed an excessive fury; he cried out that the Republic was lost if the men in charge of defending it were treated like dictators; that yesterday he saw the project to attack him but that he defended himself.

”It’s you,” he added, ”who is allied with the enemies of the patriots. And understand that I only need a few lines to write for an act of accusation and have you guillotined in two days.”   ”I invite you, said Carnot with the firmness that only appartient to virtue: I provoke all your severity against me, I do not fear you, you are ridiculous dictators.” The other members of the Committee insisted in vain several times to extinguish this ferment of disorder in the committee, to remind Saint-Just of the fairer ideas of his colleague and of more decency in the committee; they wanted to call people back to public affairs, but everything was useless: Saint-Just went out as if enraged, flying into a rage and threatening his colleagues. Saint-Just probably had nothing more urgent than to go and warn Robespierre the next day of the scene that had just happened, because we saw them return together the next day to the committee, around one o'clock: barely had they entered when Saint-Just, taking Robespierre by the hand, addressed Carnot saying:

”Well, here you have my friends, here are the ones you attacked yesterday!”

Robespierre tried to speak of the respective wrongs with a very hypocritical tone: Saint-Just wanted to speak again and excite his colleagues to take his side. The coldness which reigned in this session, disheartened them, and they left the committee very early and in a good mood. It was at this time that the division became pronounced in a very noticeable manner, and soon after we saw it claimed in the English papers that the Committee of Public Safety was divided. For some time now we had been distrusting each other, we were observing each other, we were no longer deliberating with them with this abandonment of trust. Until then Robespierre had done little; he constantly brought us his concerns, his suspicions, his shady expressions and his political bile; he only concerned himself with personal measures; he only drafted arrest warrants, he only dealt with factions, newspapers, the revolutionary tribunal. Nothing about the Government, nothing about the war, never having either views to propose or a report to make, he spent his time destroying our courage, despairing of the salvation of the country and speaking of its slanderers and its assassins; his favorite expressions were, everything is lost, there are no more resources. I no longer see anyone to save it, he always cried. When news of victory were brought by a courier, he spoke of upcoming betrayals, he tarnished our joy or attacked the representatives of the people near the victorious army. The more triumphant the Northern army was, the more strongly he denounced Richard and Choudieu; when the troops besieged Ypres, a stronghold and the key to West Flanders, a capture which, according to the decrees of the committee, was to open and ensure the campaign; Robespierre shouted against the representatives of the People near this army and had complaints written that the troops had not taken Ostend sooner. He seemed to us to be pursued by victories as well as by furies, and he often reproached the committee's rapporteur for the length and exaltation of his reports on the triumphs of the armies. Réponse des membres des deux anciens Comités de salut public et de sûreté générale (Barère, Collot, Billaud, Vadier), aux imputations renouvellées contre eux, par Laurent Lecointre et declarées calomnieuses par décret du 13 fructidor dernier; à la Convention Nationale (1795), page 103-105.

Robespierre, supported by the Jacobins, was the most influential member of the Committees without being the most wicked. His supporters were, however, in the minority; the plan to adjourn the sessions of the Convention had not obtained theor approval. One thought it necessary to oppose Robespierre with the masculine structure of Collot d’Herbois. A quarrel caused by the proposal of a proscription list to which Robespierre was precisely opposed (it involved the arrest of 14 deputies and citizens); this list, put up for discussion by the majority, passed to each member who added names to it, when it reached Robespierre, it had 32 deputies on it. Robespierre said: “I see five or six deputies unworthy of the character with which they are invested: it will be easy to induce them to resign: but I will lend neither my vote nor my signature to the revenge that you want to exercise.” Two friends of Robespierre were of his opinion: heads became heated, quarrels ensued: Robespierre was reminded of the fact he had voted against the Danton faction. The three opponents were treated as moderates. Robespierre, getting up angrily, said to them: “You are killing the Republic, you are the faithful agents of the foreigner who fears the system of moderation that we should adopt.” The session became so stormy that Collot used acts of violence against Robespierre. He threw himself at him and seized him by the flanks. He was about to throw Robespierre through the window when the latter's friends rescued him. Robespierre then declared that he was leaving the committee, that he could not honorably sit with executioners, that he would report this to the Convention. One saw the danger of publicizing this scene, blamed Collot's patriotic anger, and begged Robespierre, after having torn up the disastrous list, not to give the enemies of the Republic new means of attacking it. Robespierre seemed to calm down, but when Collot approached him to embrace him he refused and despite being urged not to he left.  Mémoires de Barras, membre du Directoire (1895) page 349-350. In a footnote, there is to read: This argument between Robespierre and Collot is recounted in more detail in another autobiographic note by Barras: Robespierre having opposed a new measure of proscription, saying: “You are decimating the National Convention, you are arresting citizens whose republican energy you fear,” the boor Collot d'Herbois threw himself at him and, having seized him by the flanks, he was about to throw Robespierre through the window when the latter's friends freed him. This scene was followed by explanations. Robespierre observed that he could no longer sit with executioners, that he was withdrawing and that he would report to the Convention. The Committee which predicted his fall then opposed Robespierre's exit. The proscription list was torn up in his presence. The hypocrite Carnot and the honeyed Couthon told him that Collot's angry outburst was disavowed by the Committee, that the publicity of what had just happened would ruin the Government Committees and the Republic. He was implored to make the sacrifice of all resentment, and that this proof of patriotism was expected of him. Collot furiously addressed the two mediators, complained about the weakness of his colleagues and left the session. Robespierre, very affected, alternately observed his adversaries. He said to them as he left: “You would have made me look crazy if the abortive plan to throw me through the window had taken place. I see here beings more atrocious than the one who tried to execute that plan. He left ashamed of having accepted this assassination.” Robespierre withdrew and did not appear again for two months at the Committee.

At a time when the Convention was already in a high state of alarm [Robespierre] had circulated a list of five or six deputies. It was rumored that Robespierre intended to have them arrested as a little treat to himself, alleging their immortality as the motive of this proposed act of severity. Robespierre, informed of what was being imputed to him, asserted that such an idea was foreign to him, and, desirous of hurling it back at its authors, he maintained that it had originated with the majority of the committee, which, he alleged, had pushed its cruelty so far as to seek to include 32 deputies in its latest proscription-list. In vain did those who spoke in defence of Robespierre’s innocence of the idea and his humanity protest that it was he who had opposed this more than rigorous measure, that he had torn up the list with his own hands, and apostrophizing the Committee, had said: ”You are seeking to still further decimate the Convention; I will not give my support to such action.” Robespierre had indeed spoken these words just as, making an attempt to leave the committee, he had opened the door with the intention of being heard by the deputies and a large number of citizens who, attracted by the noise of a quarrel in the bosom of the committee, were waiting in the antechamber for the purpose of gratifying their curiosity thus aroused. Collot d’Herbois, furious at such hypocrisy, had sprung after Robespierre, seized him by his coat, and, dragging him towards him in order to bring him back into the room, exclaimed in his resounding voice, which, the door remaining ajar, was heard by all, both the committee and the people outside: ”Robespierre is an infamous scroundrel, a hypocrite; he seeks to impute us that of which he alone is capable. We love all our colleagues; we carry all patriots in our hearts. There stands the man who seeks to butcher them one and all!” Thus vociferating, Collot d’Herbois still remained his hold on Robespierre’s coat-collar. As I had at that very moment left the Convention on my way to the committee, I became a chance spectator of this fearful scene, whose violence was still not the greatest crime in my eyes. Behind it stood revealed the plot of premeditated vengeance, far worse than a mere outburst of anger. I was among those who compelled Collot d’Herbois to release his hold on Robespierre, who thereupon declared that he could no longer sit with his enemies, styling them a party of septemvirs, whom he would unmask and fight in the body of the Convention. He then took his departure, in spite of the entreaties of the entreaties of the committee, which, having been unable to conquer, sought to retain him in its midst. ”Let him go his way,” I said to those surrounding him. All my interest in him lay in the fact that I did not wish to see him strangled on the spot by a stronger man, and one perhaps as wicked as himself. I followed him for a short distance in order to see him safely home; he was trembling as he walked alone. Memoirs of Barras, Member of the Directorate (1895), volume 1, page 196-198. A variation of the anecdote found in the French memoirs?

Lindet has recounted that Collot d'Herbois had thrown himself on Robespierre and that he, helped by Carnot and Prieur de la Côte-d'Or, had to separate them. Councilor Carnot affirms that one day his brother threw a writing case at Robespierre’s head. Le Grand Carnot (1952) by Marcel Reinhard, volume 2, page 145. Reinhard cites ”family archives” as the source for this anecdote. Thank you for sharing @aedesluminis !

On 19 Prairial (June 7 1794), I was in the council chamber with Dumas and several jurors. I heard the president speak of a new law which was being prepared and which was to reduce the number of jurors to seven and nine per sitting. That evening I went to the Committee of Public Safety. There I found Robespierre, Billaud, Collot, Barère and Carnot. I told them that the Tribunal having hitherto enjoyed public confidence, this reduction, if it took place, would infallibly cause it to lose it. Robespierre, who was standing in front of the fireplace, answered me with sudden rage, and ended by saying that only aristocrats could talk like that. None of the other members present said a word. So I withdrew.  Réponse d'Antoine-Quentin Fouquier, ex-accusateur-public près le Tribunal révolutionnaire de Paris (1795) page 52-53.

The day after the one on which the [law of 22 prairial] was issued, (June 11 1794) […] there was such a stormy scene at the Committee of Public Safety that Robespierre cried out of rage, since that time he only came two times to the Committee of Public Safety, and it was agreed that the Committee of Public Safety would hold its sessions one floor higher so that the people would not witness the storms that were agitating us. Billaud-Varennes at the Convention, August 30 1794. In fact, Robespierre is proven to have continuously signed CPS decrees up until June 30 1794.

At the morning session of 22 floréal [sic, prairial] (June 10 1794), Billaud-Varennes openly accused Robespierre, as soon as he entered the committee, and reproached him and Couthon for alone having brought to the Convention the abominable decree which frightened the patriots. It is contrary, he said, to all the principles and to the constant progress of the committee to present a draft of a decree without first communicating it to the committee. Robespierre replied coldly that, having trusted each other up to this point in the committee, he had thought he could act alone with Couthon. The members of the committee replied that we have never acted in isolation, especially for serious matters, and that this decree was too important to be passed in this way without the will of the committee. ”The day when a member of the committee,” added Billaud, ”allows himself to present a decree to the Convention alone, there is no longer any liberty, but the will of a single person to propose legislation.” ”I see well that I am alone and that no one supports me,” said Robespierre, and immediately he flies into a rage, he declaims violently against the members of the committee who have conspired, he says, against him. His cries were so loud that on the terraces of the Tuileries several citizens gathered, the window was closed and the discussion continued with the same passion. ”I know,” said Robespierre, ”that there exists within the Convention a faction that wants to lose me, and you’re defending Ruamps here.” ”It must be said,” Billaud rebutted, ”that with this decree you wish to guillotine the National Convention.” Robespierre responds with agitation, ”you are all witnesses that I am not saying that I want to have the National Convention guillotined.” He added, “I know you now,” addressing Billaud. ”And I too, know you as a counter-revolutionary,” responded the latter. Robespierre became agitated as he paced around the committee; and then speaking again with more calm, he carried his hypocrisy to the point of shedding tears. Réponse des membres des deux anciens comités de salut public et de sûreté générale… (1795), page 108-109. This very much sounds like the same session Billaud is describing above, that here got wrongly dated twice.

When Robespierre, dissatisfied with his colleagues, left the Committee – four décades before 9 Thermidor – he exclaimed while leaving: “Save the homeland without me!” ”The homeland is not a man!” R. Lindet would have replied. R. Lindet would also have energetically opposed the proposal of Saint-Just and Le Bas trying to have dictatorship given to Robespierre. He would have replied: “We did not make the Revolution for the benefit of just one person. Tell your master that I oppose this decree,” and he would have left. (Papers of R. Lindet kept in his family). Robert Lindet, député à l'Assemblée législative et à la Convention, membre du Comité de salut public, ministre des finances : notice biographique (1899). Thank you for sharing @saintjustitude !

It was agreed that the reform of the law of 22 Floréal [sic, prairial] was to be proposed in consultation with the Committee of General Security and that the internal divisions would be kept a secret as they were seen as capable of serving the enemies of the Convention and the revolutionary government. Robespierre became more of an enemy of his colleagues, isolated himself from the committee and took refuge with the Jacobins where he prepared to sharpen public opinion against what he called the known conspirators and against the operations of the committee. Only a few days he was seen reappearing at the committee, one evening it was to accuse Richard and Choudieu of the slow and uneven march of the Northern army, and of allowing Ostend to be evacuated during the siege of Ypres. He was told that Choudieu was very ill, that Richard’s conduct had always been good, that they had the confidence of the committee and that the general was carrying out the orders of the committee by securing Ypres. Robespierre affected great concerns about the operations of the armies of the North, he announced to us upcoming betrayals or even double inertia, he proposed to Billaud-Varennes to go to the North, to excite the energy and activity of the operations, but the members of the committee, being few in number and feeling the need to be reunited, opposed this dangerous measure, and Billaud remained. He had done the same thing some time earlier after a big fight (une alteration très-vive) with Collot d'Herbois, who reproached him with the fact he seemed to want to destroy the patriots, in his way of constantly denouncing them. The next day, Robespierre suggested that he go to Commune-Affranchie where royalism was regaining, he said, a frightening consistency. But this tactic of Robespierre was foiled both these two times by the very strong wish of the Committee of General Security which saw itself just as threatened as us by the maneuvers and denunciations of Robespierre. Réponse des membres des deux anciens comités de salut public et de sûreté générale… (1795), page 109-110. Note that on July 3 1794 we also find a CPS decree signed by Collot, Carnot, Saint-Just, Barère, Billaud and C-A Prieur ordering Couthon to go to the army of the Midi, an order that he never followed through with, indicating Robespierre might not have been the only one to try this tactic…

How many nights have not been fruitfully devoted to preparing everything that could strengthen the brilliant destiny of the Republic? How many battles have not been fought against the despotism of Robespierre? He had come to reject, either out of jealousy or malice, the most obviously salutary ideas. He once wanted to declare me a traitor and conspirator, because I had strongly supported the useful and wise proposal that Lindet made, to require horses and carriages in each section of Paris, in order to provide for the supplies of the armies. Défense particulière de J-M. Collot, représentant du peuple (March 1 1795) 

At several times, we had seen from afar the plan to attack the National Representation, intending to resect it; sometimes Couthon, and more often Robespierre, denounced deputies to the Jacobins. One day, we read letters and information sent to the Committee of General Security: Robespierre demanded immediate arrest for the two deputies denounced in these letters: the arrest of Dubois-Crancé was discussed and rejected: that of Alquier was strongly advocated by Robespierre who accused us of softening against the culprits and thus losing the public sake; but that he would denounce these facts to the Jacobins. An arrest warrent was drafted against this Representative; but by a unanimous wish of the two Committees, without hearing Robespierre, the execution was postponed indefinitely and was never carried out. Robespierre returned to the Committee a few days later to denounce new conspiracies in the Convention, saying that, within a short time, these conspirators who had lined up and frequently dined together would succeed in destroying public liberty, if their maneuvers were allowed to continue unpunished. The committee refused to take any further measures, citing the necessity of not weakening and attacking the Convention, which was the target of all the enemies of the Republic. Robespierre did not lose sight of his project: he only saw conspiracies and plots: he asked that Saint-Just returned from the Army of the North and that one write to him so that he may come and strengthen the committee. Having arrived, Saint-Just asked Robespierre one day the purpose of his return in the presence of the other members of the Committee; Robespierre told him that he was to make a report on the new factions which threatened to destroy the National Convention; Robespierre was the only speaker during this session. He was met by the deepest silence from the Committee, and he left with horrible anger. Soon after, Saint-Just returned to the Army of the North, since called Sambre-et-Mouse. Some time passes; Robespierre calls for Saint-Just to return in vain: finally, he returns, no doubt after his instigations; he returned at the moment when he was most needed by the army and when he was least expected: he returned the day after the battle of Fleurus. From that moment, it was no longer possible to get him to leave, although Gillet, representative of the people to the army, continued to ask for him. Saint-Just awaited in Paris the determination that matters would take. In the morning he took care of the police bureau, and decided on arrests or correspondence to be signed; in the evening, he dealt with the detained persons to be judged, together with the public prosecutor, or made violent motions to the committee; he would often speak twenty times in an evening session, and would only speak out of sentence or out of anger when he was not subjecting himself to an affected and painful silence, or rather he would spy on the committee. Most often, he spoke to us about the conspiracies that were being formed in the prisons, he insinuated ideas on this point to the committee's rapporteur, and above all wanted us to refuse the help requested in the prisons. One day he wanted to reduce it to 15 sousand called us defenders of counter-revolutionaries, because we were arguing for the rights of humanity. Réponse de Barère, Billaud-Varennes, Collot d’Herbois et Vadier aux imputations de Laurent Lecointre (1795) page 101-103.

Finally one day during the meeting of the Convention [sic, Committee?], Robespierre asked if one wanted to decide to attack the new factions or to perish by their maneuvers; he attacks and indicts several deputies in turn. An impatient member of the committee, oppressed by this ever-reviving project, stood up and said to him with violent severity: “Robespierre, for a long time you have been trying to lure us with terror into the project of striking our colleagues. You keep complaining about them, attacking them, gathering grievances and denouncing them. This is what the Hébertists and other punished counter-revolutionaries did. There are six of us here who profess the dogma of the integrity of national representation: if you want more, I declare to you, in my own name and in that of my colleagues who work with me and whose feelings I know, that you will only achieve national representation through our bloody corpses. These are the obstacles that we oppose to every ambitious person.” The same member of the committee has since repeated these words to the National Convention while speaking to Robespierre himself on 8 Thermidor. (Billaud) Robespierre felt the force of this unanimous response, bit his brakes, accused us of being defenders of the factions and threatened us with denunciation to the People and to the Convention, he moved away from the committee for some time and never stopped accusing us at the Jacobins, while he was preparing the speech he read on 8 thermidor. Réponse de Barère, Billaud-Varennes, Collot d’Herbois et Vadier aux imputations de Laurent Lecointre (1795) page 103

On 10 messidor (June 28) I was at the Committee of Public Safety. There, I witnessed those who one accuses today (Billaud-Varenne, Barère, Collot-d'Herbois, Vadier, Vouland, Amar and David) treat Robespierre like a dictator. Robespierre flew into an incredible fury. The other members of the Committee looked on with contempt. Saint-Just went out with him.  Levasseur at the Convention, August 30 1794. If this scene actually took place, it must have done so one day later, 11 messidor (June 29), considering Saint-Just was still away on a mission on the tenth.

In several evening sittings the two committees united to devise a means of revoking the law of 22 Prairial. After several conferences during the month of Messidor, they called Robespierre and Saint-Just into their midst to force them to revoke this law, which was the result of a combination unknown to all the members of the government. The meeting was very stormy. Vadier and Moise Bayle were the members of the Committee of General Surety who attacked the law and its authors with the greatest force and indignation. As to the Committee of Public Safety, it declared that it had no part in it, and plainly disowned it. All were agreed to repeal it next day. After this decision Robespierre and Saint-Just declared that they would appeal to public opinion, that they saw that a party was formed to assure immunity to the enemies of the people, and thus to destroy the most ardent friends of liberty , but they could warn good citizens against the united manoeuvres of the governing committees. They retired uttering threats against the members of the committees. Saint-Just called Carnot, amongst others, an aristocrat, and threatened to denounce him to the Assembly. This was like a declaration of war between the two committees and the triumvirate. Seeing Carnot, the most indispensable worker in the committee, thus attacked on account of his courageous honesty and great military talent, I rose up against Saint-Just. Carnot seemed astonished at these threats of denunciation — terrible indeed from a man who two months before had denounced and destroyed Danton. On behalf of my attacked colleague, I said to this little dictator: ”I do not fear you, I have always defended our country openly and without personal interest I will answer you in the tribune if you lay the blame on Carnot. You know that I make reports that are favourably heard by the Assembly, I will make one of those reports in favour of Carnot and against you.” From this moment Robespierre and his friends acted with hostility against us, and especially against me. One day they even sent Robespierre the younger to me, whom they had recalled from the Basses Alpes. This lunatic entered the committee under pretext of giving an account of his mission to Nice; but instead of fulfilling this duty, he addressed me in a furious tone: ”You have maltreated my brother. We missed you on the 31st of May, 1793, but we shall not miss you on the 31st of May, 1794.” He left still threatening us. Memoirs of Bertrand Barère, volume 2, page 167-169.

I obtained from Barère the following fact: During a session of the Committee of Public Safety, Saint-Just and Robespierre reproached Carnot for being an aristocrat (the latter was frightened and shed tears, Barère said) and threatened to denounce him as such at the Convention. Then Barère said: In that case I will make public that you are angry with the man who organized the victory. Testimony of Filippo Buonarroti, cited in Études robespierristes; La corruption parlementaire sous la Terreur (1917) by Albert Mathiez. This sounds very much like the same incident Barère is describing above.

Having come to the Committee of General Security three or four days before 9 Thermidor (July 23), I was told that the two committees of public safety and general security would meet between noon and one o'clock in the place where the first held its sessions, and that I had to go there. Having asked what the reason for this meeting was, I was further told that it was to mutually explain the division which, according to what Robespierre had claimed on different occasions to the Jacobins, existed between the government committees. As I did not have the slightest knowledge of this alleged division, and as I was completely ignorant of what Robespierre had said to the Jacobins, I went to the Committee of Public Safety where I found several of my colleagues who had preceded me, and above all Robespierre, walking with long strides, glasses on his nose and throwing at everyone, from the height of his grandeur, looks which marked the deepest contempt. After a few minutes of silence, Saint-Just spoke and said in his exordium that although the youngest among us, he spoke first since we had often seen young people open opinions which enlightened those who were older; he then spoke on the necessity of organizing a constitution and ended up making a pompous eulogy of Robespierre, calling him the martyr of the liberty of his country and assuring him of all his esteem. This praise having been applauded and confirmed by Le Bas, Robespierre believed that it was time to burst out and first complained in general about his numerous enemies, whom he said were too cowardly to ever allow themselves to persecute him; he then indicted Amar, Vadier, Jagot, Carnot, Collot and Billaud, reproaching them for the fierceness with which they tore each other apart, which, having given rise to explanations, was the cause of Carnot telling him to his face that he did not like him, and Billaud and Collot repulsed his attacks with so much vehemence, energy and noise, that I more than once invited Collot to speak more quietly. Now, in the heat of this explanation, I heard for the first time that Robespierre was also criticized for having intended to put on trial the 72 of our colleagues who were still incarcerated; I also heard him being told that he had complained that one had not yet made use of this infinity of denunciations which were in the Committee of General Security against others of our colleagues, that nothing had been done so as not to provoke new troubles and to maintain concord and peace between us. This storm having passed and Robespierre having seemed to calm down, one agreed on ending the session, and that Saint-Just would make a report on behalf of the two Committees to inform the National Convention that they were not divided. Philippe Rühl in a speech held March 23 1795

Robespierre bitterly reproached us, at the committee, on 5 Thermidor (July 23), for having had the statue of superstition, erected on the Tuileries basin, brought down during the night. Réponse des membres des deux anciens comités de salut public et de sûreté générale… (1795), page 96.

You (Dubois-Crancé) say that Robespierre being absent the other members of the committee therefore agreed to lose you. It was rather to save you. Twice at the end of Messidor and on 7 Thermidor (July 25 1794) Couthon wanted to have the committee adopt the draft of the act of accusation against you; twice he was rejected. The last time especially, seeing himself rejected by us with a sort of cold and firm indignation, he went so far as to request from the committee the refusal that we made to deliberate on these serious denunciations which he brought against Dubois-Crancé. We opposed him in political principle the integrity of the legislative body and the danger of supporting the liberticidal projects of the aristocrats and tyrants in coalition; in public consideration, his reconciliation with you at the Jacobins, and in principle of justice the lack of legitimate evidence. Couthon left the committee furious, and threatened to denounce or silence our refusal to the people and the Convention. B. Barère à Dubois Crancé: Réponse (1795), page 29

This decisive scene, to unmask the conspirators, happened at half past midnight, from the 8th to the 9th of Thermidor (July 26 to 27). Several members of the two committees were gathered. We worked on the ordinary operations of the committees, but we worked with that sad impatience accompanies a terrible outcome, which all circumstances told us would be imminent. Saint-Just kept a profound silence, observed from time to time the members of the committees, and showed neither concern nor rest. He had just sent to Tuilier, his creature, the first 18 pages of the report he was to make the next day; and he then told us that he could not read the report to the committee, of which he only had the last pages. Collot d'Herbois come over from the Jacobins, where he had just been insulted, threatened, proscribed, so to speak, he seemed very agitated. Collot-d'Herbois had barely entered when his colleagues ask him why people left the Jacobins so late? Saint-Just asks him coldly, ”what's new at the Jacobins?”

”You’re asking me what's new? Are you the one who ignores it? You, who are in league with the main author of all these political quarrels, and who only wants to lead us to civil war: you are a coward and a traitor: it is you who deceives us, with your hypocritical air; you're just a box of apothegms, and you're spying on us in the committee. I have just convinced myself of this by everything I have heard; you are three scoundrels, who believe you are blindly leading us to the loss of our homeland, but liberty will survive your horrible plots.”

Here Elie Lacoste rose in fury and said: “there is a triumvirate of knaves, it is Robespierre, Couthon and Saint-Just, who are plotting against the homeland.”

Barère adds: ”who are you then? Insolent Pygines? Who wants to see the spoils of the homeland split between a cripple, a child and a scoundrel; I wouldn’t give you a barnyard to govern.”

Collot-d’Herbois continues: “I know that perhaps you will have us assassinated this night, perhaps we will be hit, by your plots, tomorrow morning, but we are determined to perish at our posts; and before then, perhaps, we will be able to unmask you. Among us, you are making plans against the committees. You have, I am sure, in your pockets calumnies leveled against us; you are a domestic enemy and a conspirator.” 

Saint-Just was struck by this speech; he turned pale, and he did not know what to answer. He opened one of his pockets, stammering, and placed some papers on the table; no one came to read them.

Collot-d’Herbois continues and says to him: “You are preparing a report; but from the way I know you, you have undoubtedly written our act of accusation? So what hope do you have? What lasting success can you expect from these horrible betrayals? You can, perhaps take our lives, have us murdered, but you will not deceive the virtue of the people. Do you believe that when it sees itself deprived of its defenders, of men who sacrificed themselves for it, it will not tear you to pieces? Do you believe that it will sit tight tomorrow, a quiet spectator of your crimes? No, there will be no unpunished usurpation when it comes to the rights of the people.”

Saint-Just then fell back on his report, and said that he would join the committee the next day and that if it did not approve it, he would not read it. Collot continued to unmask Saint-Just; but as he focused more on depicting the dangers praying on the fatherland than on attacking the perfesy of Saint-Just and his accomplices, he gradually reassured himself of his confusion; he listened with composure, returning to his honeyed and hypocritical tone. Some time later, he told Collot d'Herbois that he could be reproached for having made some remarks against Robespierre in a café, and establishing this assertion as a positive fact, he admitted that he had made it the basis of an indictment against Collot, in the speech he had prepared. Saint-Just, during that night, prolonged his allegations and his remarks so much, that it was quite obvious that he only dragged on in this way, in order to prevent us from taking measures against their conspiracy. Several members of the committees, impatient to so much falsehood, went into the next room and deliberated whether they would have him arrested immediately, but they thought it was wiser to refer it the next day to the National Convention, after having known the intentions of Saint-Just, in the report he was to make. It is even worth noting that when we drew up a picture of the unfortunate circumstances in which public affairs found itself, each of us looked for measures and proposed means; Saint-Just stopped us, acting astonished, as if not being in the confidence of these dangers, and complained that all hearts were closed, that he knew nothing, that he could not conceive this quick way of improvising lightning at every moment, and he conjured us, in the name of the republic, to return to fairer ideas, to wiser measures. This was how the traitor kept us in check, paralyzed all our measures and cooled our zeal. At five o'clock in the morning, Saint-Just fled and the members of the committee sought means to paralyze the armed force of Paris, which the scoundrels had in their hands. Réponse des membres des deux anciens Comités de salut public et de sûrété générale… (1795) page 105-107.

[myimaginedcorner]

SCALES OF JUSTICE - GAME AVAILABLE ON HG AND STEAM!!

Hello my dear readers,

WE DID IT! I wrote a book. A full book! It's now available on the Hosted Games app, with 600k words waiting to entertain you on a morning, afternoon, evening, or night when you decide to submerge yourself into a world of fantasy and adventure!

You also can play the game on Steam! Here's the link -> https://store.steampowered.com/app/3089710/Scales_of_Justice/

I am so, so grateful to everyone who has been here for me during these past 3 years. What began as a shy attempt at dreaming has grown into a marvelous project that taught me so much, brought me so many new experiences and skills, and is going to end with my first publication as an author. I cannot be more grateful and excited. I hope this is only the beginning of an amazing journey.

Rather, I know this is one. This is not the end!

DESCRIPTION:

Journey into the magical world of Therania, a place where heroism and villainy are paths of Fate that can be foreseen in one’s destiny. Join forces with four eccentric individuals with puzzling goals and fight, plan, persuade or run, as you attempt to get a grip on your own legacy!

Scales of Justice is a 600,000-word interactive novel, the first volume in a planned series by Julia Owl. It's entirely text-based–without graphics or sound effects–and fueled by the vast, unstoppable power of your imagination.

Rumours circulate the streets of Capital. Rumours of an artefact, as dangerous and powerful as one can only fear. Some claim it’s capable of twisting one’s true nature, shaping it much to the owner’s whim; others say that it can identify a soul’s essence, putting the Ritual of Fate in a tight spot for the first time in centuries. The mage who made it is unknown; whispers in shadows only talk about a labyrinth, set somewhere hidden to protect its power. Many want to get it; many others, to destroy it. You? You are none of those–you just want to live.

And yet, your (almost) safe and peaceful life as a humble adventurer is threatened by a letter with today’s date on it, written in your mother’s hand…

Play as male, female or nonbinary; gay, straight, bisexual, or asexual.

Meet four distinct characters, with stories and ideals that highly differ from one another: a runaway heir, a rogue knight, a lost alien, and a foreign leader. Romance, befriend or doom them, and watch their tales shape your own.

Choose one of the three species available and discover your own worldview and the world's view of you. What is it like to be a human, a half-elf, or a half-satyr in this vast realm?

Fight, conjure, heal, plan, or persuade–choose your path and deal with trouble in your own way.

Buy yourself a horse! You want one, don’t you?

Learn, think, doubt, conclude. This world has a pre-written destiny – will you abide by it or challenge it? Who are you, and who will you become?

Who is worthy of holding the scales?

Content Warning: This piece of interactive fiction was not written with children in mind. The story contains mature themes and scenes of violence, including cult ceremonites, kidnapping, and fighting.

USEFUL LINKS:

If you want to know a little more about this project and read chapters 1-5, I'll leave the link to the game here -> https://dashingdon.com/play/myimaginedcorner/scales-of-justice/mygame/

If you want to discuss anything on CoG's forum, I'll leave the link for SoJ here:

- WIP Thread -> https://forum.choiceofgames.com/t/wip-scales-of-justice-new-project-announcement-and-demo-release/101088/16

- Official Release Thread -> https://forum.choiceofgames.com/t/scales-of-justice-will-you-challenge-fate-or-follow-it/163500

If you want to send me a more extensive feedback, here's my email -> feedbackscalesofjustice@gmail.com

[skay-ali]

The Forgotten Daughter

Well let Troy burn.

Jajaja, I don't speak fluent English, but I can still write in English, even so I try to make my wish of writing about this neglected au yandere character possible.

Don't judge me I'm trying my best.

Prologue

You were born from an adventure, you are a bastard, your father never recognized you, you never knew about him until fate forced you to meet him.

For as long as you can remember, you lived with your mother, they were the happiest days you ever had.

Why the words "those were the happiest days", well your mother died in a car accident one day.

You were left alone when your beloved mother died, you remember being scared at the thought that you were now an orphan and would have to struggle in this cruel world to survive.

That would have been a hundred times better than what actually happened.

No, your destiny was to go live with your unknown father.

The famous Bruce Wayne, a Gotham City millionaire, philanthropist, playboy and owner of Wayne Industries.

Suffice it to say that your welcome was not the best, along with the lack of attention from your new father, to know what awaited you.

You were his first daughter, before he filled the house with many wild children who became vigilantes just like him.

You saw how a new child arrived with the passing years.

He guided them on their path with wisdom and something that could be described as fatherly affection.

You just stood on the sidelines waiting your turn to have a little bit of your father's attention.

That was never possible, there was never time for you, no matter how hard you tried, you were not important, you were not on his list of priorities, not even on the list of pending things.

You only had a butler as a responsible adult figure, no matter how much you want to say that it was enough to have him, it wasn't.

He reminded you that your father didn't even have any interest in you that his butler had to take care of you.

You gave up on this family with the third adopted child.

None of them wanted to hear from you when you tried to build a relationship with them, something that added insult to injury you already had.

You were an adult when the third son Tim appeared, you didn't learn anything from them except for his name, partly because you weren't interested in his past and partly because none of them wanted to share it, because they would do it with a completely unknown and disadvantaged girl.

As soon as you had the opportunity, you fled the mansion, maybe no one would notice, you were very sure.

You had money, your mother had insurance, which would pass into your hands when you came of age.

With that you survived at the university, of course you went to another city, safer and far from your family.

You wouldn't be so stupid to stay in y our already proclaimed city.

Your college years were healing for your broken heart, filled with sadness, hate and pain.

Being neglected, ignored and forgotten was very destructive to your life.

You went to a lot of parties, you drank a lot, you took a lot of substances and powders of dubious origin to numb your feelings, you met a lot of people, you made friends who had problems similar to yours.

Shitty parents who screwed up your life.

If your stay in that house caused you episodes of depression, low self-esteem and constant anxiety that caused you to mutilate your nails.

Over the years away from that place that you had to call home, you recovered from all your self-destructive feelings along with the people you met and had the honor of calling friends, brothers and family.

You graduated without complications, in the career that you always dreamed of following since you were little.

At one of the parties with your friends, when they were celebrating the entry into the hateful but obligatory world of work for you and one of your friends, you met a boy, his appearance caught your attention.

When you started talking to him, you hit it off very well, you danced a lot on the floor together, you drank like there was no tomorrow and you talked until you were hoarse.

In a moment of conversation between the two, he confessed that he was a hero, something that you took as a joke, because who would confess it to a complete stranger.

You didn't take into account that it could be true, a confession that the man said because he was super drunk.

You woke up in an unknown place, as soon as you recovered you fled the place, it was easy because the man you remembered coming to this place with had already left long before you woke up.

You continued your life normally, some stumbles and falls but nothing extreme that you couldn't resolve.

At least that's what you thought, until you saw a dark-skinned boy, with black hair, with green eyes and a terrifying unfriendly face, outside your house knocking on the door.

His appearance was very easy to spot, you had a vague idea of who he was.

If you had known that his presence would turn your world upside down, you would have thought better of it.

[ghoulpiled]

ʟᴏꜱ ᴀɢᴇʟᴇꜱꜱ || Part One

𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞? 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞? 𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘?

❧𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Pre-War!Cooper Howard x fem!Reader

❧𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧g: E / MATURE! Minors, DO NOT interact!

❧ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: Smut with plot, virgin!reader, cheating, lowkey alcoholic reader, oral (female receiving), fingering, penetration

❧𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: ~6k

❧𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: From costars to strangers, it’s like fate keeps bringing the two of you together.

❧ɴᴏᴛᴇ:  Lots of switching from present to past tense as events happen. Also, added new parts from what the teaser had. Realized I wanted to make this a story with more than one part. If I kept just one part... it would be far too long.

You have been in the acting game for far too long. Originally you were advertising royalty. Your mom first put you into commercial gigs at the young age of five. Luckily for your mom, BlamCo Mac & Cheese was looking for the new poster child. Your face was plastered on billboards all around Hollywood. “Nothing says dinner like BlamCo Mac & Cheese. Bring the family together for a dish everyone will enjoy.” This phrase will forever be etched into the grooves of your brain. But as all gigs go, you outgrew BlamCo. Once you hit age ten, you couldn’t be the cutesy little kid telling families to eat the most disgusting mac and cheese known to man. Like many gigs will do, you were dropped from the gig. It paid well. Well, it paid your mom well. 

She would go on lavish vacations without you. Only leaving you with a babysitter. This babysitter ended up raising you. Your mom would also buy herself expensive dresses and handbags. What would you get? Hand Me downs of whatever wardrobe on commercials could give you.  This was a common theme early on in your career. The money you made was promised to you once you hit eighteen. Enough money to go to college and make a name for yourself professionally. After the BlamCo gig, you hit a dry spell. No one wanted a kid going through puberty as the face of their brand. With money getting tight, your mom signed you up for every and any background character role in a film and TV show she could. That’s where Nuka Cola noticed you.

Upon hitting sixteen, Nuka Cola representatives came up to your mom offering you a four year contract to be the face of Nuka Cola. It paid insanely well. So you did it. Another gig with your face plastered everywhere. From highway billboards to full body cut outs of you in Red Rockets across the country, you were back in the limelight. But those four years went by quickly. Once the contract ended, you were eighteen. You were excited to throw your acting career away. Child stardom was too damn much. College was going to be a fresh start for you! To no one’s surprise, you never got your money. To make it worse, your mom kicked you out of the house. She didn’t see you as profitable anymore. Mainly because you are old enough to go your own way. 

Due to all these gigs, you never had time to make friends. So you took to crashing on random old co-star’s couches. You were back to background gigs. Which paid okay but not enough to help pay for college. Sadly, that was a dream you could never catch. It took three years for you to finally get your foot back in the door with big acting gigs. That gig being A Man and His Dog. A film in which you play the main female character who is supposed to seduce the main lead. It wasn’t really a film expected to go anywhere. The lead was a man straight out of the Sino-American War who had never acted a day in his life. This was also your first big gig, you’re not one to talk. Unknown to you, that man would become western movie royalty. A young and disgruntled Cooper Howard. 

First day on set was odd. No one really talked to you. Not even the director. There was no way you were to know if you were doing the role justice. They had you in a wedding dress with white face paint. It was embarrassing. You stand near your trailer, lighting up a cigarette during lunch. Rent was due that night and you had no money to pay it. If this gig didn’t make a lot of money, you’re screwed. With a shaky breath, you look down at the ground. You’re getting cigarette ash all over this dress. Wardrobe is going to kill you. 

“Now what’s a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?”

The southern voice takes you out of your thoughts as you look up. You rub your eyes, messing up the makeup you have on. Now your hand is stained white. Great. Cooper walks over to you  before leaning against your trailer. He takes out a cigarette of his own and begins to smoke with you. This is the first person to speak with you and it's the lead of the film. You try to act natural but you’re smitten. There is some charm he holds. Maybe it’s the fact you’re playing weird lovers in the film or the fact you have never been in contact with such a gorgeous man before. This moment right now makes you realize you’ve never had your first kiss. Your life has been acting gig after acting gig. No time for personal relationships.

“Are ya just gon’ stare at me?” He chuckles, voice smooth like whiskey. 

You clear your throat and shake your head.

“Sorry, I’m not used to small talk.” Is all you can truly muster.

He offers you a kind smile. One that feels like sickly sweet honey on a hot day. It makes your stomach flutter with butterflies. He already has you wrapped around his finger. Maybe it’s the southern drawl that burns like a good bourbon. He is one hell of a charmer. 

“Ain’t small talk unless you want it to be.” He takes a long drag from his cigarette, licking his bottom lip.

“You’re killing it by the way. The director is- pardon my language- a dick.” Cooper scoffs, shaking his head. He flicks his cigarette onto the ground and stomps on it which causes you to do it to your own.

You can’t help but chuckle at that. 

“You can say that again.” You turn to face him, leaning against your own trailer.

Maybe this set wouldn’t be as bad as you thought. 

During set, you would crash at Cooper’s apartment. A tiny place near filming. You ended up getting evicted because you couldn’t afford rent. It was only logical you still find somewhere to crash. You’re lucky you became close with Cooper. He’s a gentleman. Made you feel at home. You opened up about your childhood and he opened up about war. War. It was a scary thing. His stories kept you on the edge of your seat. Here you were, thinking you had a tough past. Almost all of Cooper’s friends are dead because of the war. You could only comfort him. 

It’s not like he didn’t have a support system. He had a beautiful fiancé who would stop by sometimes. You couldn’t help but feel a bit of jealousy when she came by. Of course you and Cooper were just friends but no one had shown you kindness the way he had. Maybe you fell for him out of convenience… or the feelings were real; Yet, the way he held her and the way she made him laugh was something you’ll never have with him. 

There were late nights at Cooper’s apartment where he would be on the phone with his fiancé nonstop. But then there were nights just for you. All his attention on you after wrapping. The two of you would share a few drinks and shoot the shit about set. Make fun of the director or one of your costars. There was one night in particular where the both of you got overly excited about drinking.

It was a tough day after set and the two of you were sitting on his couch drinking the stress away. This was after filming an explicit scene with him. The way he was on top of you was burned into your brain. While there was no real sex that had happened, the performance was perfect. Hungry kisses were pressed to your neck and you fake biting his collarbone causing him to hiss in pain… 

While sitting next to him, three rum and Nukas in, you were getting handsy. So was he. He laid a hand on your knee and you have a hand on his chest.

“Never acted out a sex scene before…” You slur, biting your lip.

“It was kind of obvious, darlin’” Cooper takes another sip, causing you to swat at his chest.

“Coop! C’mon. It wasn’t that bad was it?” You whine and lean back against the couch.

“Well… I mean, think of it as if it was real. That should help your performance.”

You look up at Cooper and your cheeks turn red. It took a moment for him to realize what you were getting at. When he did, his own cheeks heated up. 

“You’re not sayin-”

“I am.” You say and he pulls his hand off of your knee. “Never kissed anyone either.”

Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was pent up lust from the set, but he leans in. Against your better judgment, you lean in too. You could taste the rum against his soft lips. Wrapping your arms around him, you don’t question this one bit. Running his tongue over your bottom lip, you invite him inside your mouth. You run your tongue over his, feeling the rough bumps. He bites your tongue softly, sucking on it. It was enough to make you moan. You curl your fingers in his hair, tugging at it. Cooper pushes himself against you where you could feel just how hard you were making him. He bites down on your tongue once more before you realize what is going on. That this wasn’t acting. That you were actually making out with Cooper Howard. The taken actor. One who’s fiancé, Barb, considered you family.

You pull away and only a trail of spit was what was connecting you. You were going to apologize but he got up, leaving the room. No words were shared for the rest of the night. You feel guilty. But you were too damn drunk for this. So was he.

After filming wrapped, you were thrust into the world of press. The both of you seemed to forget about the kiss. The one you shared with him while drunk. Thank god for that. The press tour with Cooper was something else. The director wanted you two to lean into a facade. He wanted the both of you to act like lovers. This was to sell the film, lean into that romance your two characters had. You couldn’t flirt for shit without a script. Cooper, however, was a complete natural.

You followed Cooper’s lead. You know it was all an act but you were falling for him. Hard. He was the first man to ever give you the time of day. You knew it was fake flirting but every blush that he caused was real. The film ended up being big enough to push both Cooper and you into the spotlight. Now you’re landing gigs like crazy as well as him.

One night you called his hotel room, drunk. You had gone to his bar after a press interview with your other cast mates. Cooper stayed in. At a payphone, you rang him. It was right after a man tried to hit on you and take you to his place. It was less romantic and more forceful. He was a balding older man who seemed to hug his cup of on tap beer. Ultimately, you punched the man in the face. He tried to grope you. You had the right to fight back. Maybe you had a tough relationship with alcohol. You’ll address that later in life. But while at that payphone, you whined and cried to Cooper. This night you barely remember other than the fact that he came and got you. He went out of his way to help you. 

You both play lovers again in another western B-film. This one didn’t have the same success as the prior film but it was still another film you did with Cooper. You loved working with him. It was always such a delight. But mid-this film, he got married. That ruined the tabloid rumors of the both of you together that were thrusting you into stardom with him. Hollywood loved rumors. You weren’t even invited to the damn wedding. That had put a rift between the both of you. He never told you why you weren’t invited. He was supposed to be your closest friend. After getting married, things changed. He didn’t act as friendly towards you. Actually, he ignored you. Barb started showing up to set more and more. You did not know at the time it would be the last time you’d be acting with him.

After that film, you two were no longer casted together. He did a lot more solo cowboy films while you still got put into that innocent lover girl stereotype. But Hollywood really started to make you jaded. Any man who approached you only wanted sex. No one liked you for you. Your personal life was shit. You had no one. But Cooper? He seemed to have it all. A wife, a kid on the way, and a successful career.You only had a career. You yearned for love. 

About three years later, you worked on a western film; one with no relation to Cooper. You were the star. Maybe people started to realize that you weren’t as innocent as films made you seem. You played a jaded mayor who took matters into her own hands when the town,  mainly men, started to turn on your character. The director and writer were women which made the set far more comfortable than anything you have ever experienced. 

Once that film wrapped, you were invited to an after party at the director’s home. Not just for your film but the other films that were filming in the lot. It was about time you had fun. For years you were on your own. No parties, just work. When you got there, the place was packed. It felt odd being dressed in a skin tight black dress, you were getting glares from older men and women. You shared hugs with a few cast and crew members before heading for the open bar. You get a vodka cranberry and find a secluded place away from most people. When you thought you were alone, you heard a familiar voice arguing.

“Did you have to invite all your coworkers?” 

Cooper. His voice is as sweet as the first day you met him. You’d recognize it anywhere.

“If we want to settle that commercial deal, you might as well get friendly with them.” 

His wife.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. Maybe she was nice. But it was almost like she knew you liked her husband. The awkward tension soured any companionship that could have happened. But that was for the best when you think about it in hindsight. You were under the influence at the moment, not exactly in the best state to talk to your ex-costar. Besides, his wife was a higher up at Vault-Tec, something a lot of actors and actresses seem to hate. There was a lot of drama going on with that. You better ignore those two like the plague, for your own sanity.

Looking from your hidden spot, you see his wife had walked away from him. She probably went to grab a drink. It made sense. He stood with a cigarette in between his fingers, still as pretty as the last time you saw him. Cooper’s eyes catch yours and you duck back to your secluded spot. You curse to yourself as you hear his footsteps come towards you.

“Ain’t no way that’s Y/N.” His southern accent is strong, causing you to swoon.

You step out of your hiding spot and sigh, offering him a friendly smile. He hugs you, acting like nothing happened. Like it hadn’t been years since you last saw him. He had a charming smile on his lips.

“Oh hey.” You shrug.

“Seen your latest picture, you killed it.” 

“Thanks.”

You didn’t know what else to say to him.

“How have you been?” He asks. It was a question you’ve been dreading.

“Fine.” You shake your head.

“Fine?”

“Mhm.”

You down the rest of your drink, needing the liquid courage. You didn’t need to hear about how great his life was. How he had a beautiful wife and a child. Cooper seemed to take the hint, getting agitated himself.

“I can tell when I’m not wanted, darlin’.” He teases you. That nickname makes you want to vomit.

“You’re not wanted?” You scoff. You were being a bit of a dick but you’ll blame your actions on the alcohol. “Says the man who decided he couldn’t be my friend after getting married.”

“You think that was my choice?”

That shut you up. You look at him, confused. Then he continues, “She knew, you know.”

The kiss. He had to be talking about the kiss. It’s the only thing she could have known.

“How?”

“I told her.” He admitted, shrugging. “How could I not? She’s my partner.”

“Wow, what a gentleman.” 

He shakes his head, sighing. “If you were in a relationship, you’d do the same. Like, if a guy came and kissed you, you’d tell your partner.”

“I didn’t kiss you.” You defend.

“But you kissed back. You could have stopped me.” Cooper shrugs.

You’re about to explode at him until Barb comes up to the two of you with drinks in her hands. She offers you a fake smile, passing a drink to him and wrapping her arm around his arm. 

“Y/N! I haven’t seen you in ages! How are you?” She asks. You must keep things civil.

“Hi. I’ve been just fine, so busy.” You laugh awkwardly. 

“I didn’t know you’d be here. Cooper and I actually have people to talk to but it’s been great seeing you.”

Just like that, she tears him away.

Good riddance.

You spend the rest of the night drinking. People try to talk with you and it's just useless networking. Networking is great until you have to do that for hours on end. You watch Cooper and Barb, seeing them exchange kisses. The living room becomes an impromptu dance floor for couples. He tries to get her to dance with him but it's fruitless. They leave the living room to go somewhere. You hope they leave for a moment until you look at the time.

You’re about to leave when a handsome man approaches you. Hollywood’s newest playboy. Tall, brown slickback hair just like James Dean, and a killer smile. He wears a designer suit, sliding up next to you.

“You come here all alone, pretty thing?” He asks. 

Fuck it. You take his bait.

“Yes. It's been such a bore here all alone.” You pout, jutting your bottom lip out slightly. 

He wraps an arm around your waist, smirking. “Share a dance with me. Promise I don’t bite, baby girl.” 

You sway with him, hips pressed against his. His hands rest on your hips. You are far too drunk for this. All you can think about is Cooper. It’s wrong to think of Cooper when with another man. But when this man’s hand snakes up to cup your cheek and your lips connect, you think of your first kiss. The one you shared with Cooper. This doesn’t help one bit. But now you’re on the dancefloor, kissing this man as if he’s your reason for living. You moan against his lips, whining when he bites your bottom lip. He takes this as an invitation to squeeze your ass with his other hand. You open your eyes, making eye contact with Cooper. No Barb by him. Just him on his own. 

Maybe it was evil to do this, you keep your eyes in focus with Cooper’s as you kiss this stranger. He looks angry. Why should he be angry? In his words, he’s a married man. You close your eyes again, letting your tongue slip into this stranger’s. Staying like this, you’re content. That is until someone pulls the man away from you. You open your eyes and see an angry Cooper standing in front of you. Whining, you cross your arms.

“Hey, listen, I have dibs.” The man says, rolling his eyes.

Cooper looks at you with a certain flame in his eyes you can’t place.

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” He scoffs.

All he can do is drop mister heartthrob on the ground, grabbing your hand. “We are leaving.”

Before you can protest, Cooper has dragged you outside. It’s only the two of you. 

“Why would you do that?” You whine, leaning against the nearest wall. Your head was pounding.

“I can’t watch you whore yourself out for some low-life’s attention. You’re better than that.” “Whore myself out? What the fuck is your problem, Howard? Don’t you have a wife to get back to?”

“She left.” 

Before you can get any other word out, he hungrily presses a kiss against your lips. He tastes like cigarettes and expensive liquor. You don’t protest. His hands grip at your hair, tugging the strands harshly. He pulls your head back so his lips can attach to your neck. 

You can’t deny the feelings you still hold for him. He’s the reason you haven’t been with anyone else since. The reason you’re in your late 20s and still a virgin. He bites down softly on your neck just to cause a reaction. You moan, tugging at his hair. Cooper finally pulls away, smirking. You look at him, face red. It’s easy to tell that the both of you are under the influence. 

“How many men do you fuck when you go to parties?” He asks, moving a hand down to cradle the small of your back.

“None.”

That causes him to snap out of whatever haze he was under.

“None? Nice lie, darlin’.”

Would it be embarrassing to tell him you’re still a virgin? 

“Not a lie, Coop.”

You look at him, eyes innocent in this moment. You’ve been waiting for him, as embarrassing as it may seem. Cooper looks you up and down, a sickly sweet smirk plastered on his face. Maybe his wife doesn’t touch him anymore. That’s the only logical thought on why he’d be acting like this. But nothing is ever logical with Cooper Howard. 

“You’re hopeless.” He chuckles to himself before letting you go. Next thing you know, he’s turning to walk away.

You rest against the wall, not wanting this moment to end. You grab his wrist, pouting.

“Don’t leave me this time.” You beg.

“I gotta get home…”

“Fuck home.” You’re feeling gutsy.

“No. I have to go. If I stay, who knows what I’ll do, doll.” Cooper shakes his head, pulling away from your grip. He walks off to the end of the driveway, signaling a cab. 

Just like that, he’s gone.

A week later and Cooper’s face is already plastered on billboards for Vault-Tec. He’s in a stupid blue and yellow suit. His signature colors. It didn’t matter where you went, Cooper was there. It’s a sick reminder of what you’ve been through. As more time passed, the more jaded you became. You lived in a shitty studio apartment in the hills. At night you’d drink away your sorrows. You had enough money to buy your own place but a big mansion would feel like you were overcompensating for something.

Roles started to stop coming in. No one wanted to hire you. You were this close to going back to ads. No offense to ads but you were over that. You were nearing your thirties. One evening your agent called, you thought he was going to drop you right then and there. Instead, he wanted to introduce you to someone. Being single this long and being in the spotlight makes rumors spread. A single woman? Label her a communist. That’s what started to happen. 

You meet this man your agent wants you to meet. Low and behold, it’s mister James Dean look-alike. His eyes light up, pressing a kiss to your hand when you meet again. Just like that, you were dating him and getting roles. You played his lover in a film about greasers. You were the innocent good girl next door. Tabloids ate that up. You moved in with him in his mansion. A big beautiful place with a hot tub and inground pool. You were arm candy for him. For you, it was almost like you had never aged. The only thing about you that made it noticeable that time passed was that you became more and more jaded.

One night you have to head to your boyfriend’s premiere for a western he was in. You wear a long red dress that hugs your curves and shows off your breasts. From all directions paparazzi called for the both of you. Now your boyfriend never told you what this film was about but you damn near had a heart attack when you saw Cooper Howard on the carpet with his wife in his arms. He was wearing a black velvet suit with his hair slicked back. Just the sight of him made you nearly choke on air. When he catches a glimpse of you, he bites his bottom lip; however, he notices the man who is holding your waist. That smirk of his falls. Who is he one to judge? 

You find a spot in the theater and sit down. Looking around, you see Cooper with his wife. They’re overly flirty together tonight. Something you have never seen throughout your whole time knowing him. Once the lights dim in the theater, you lean over to your boyfriend and whisper something about going to the bathroom. You make it out of the theater and you never realized how jealous you were. Your relationship now? All forced. You didn’t even like the guy. Hell, he kisses like a fish out of water. 

Going to the family bathroom, you nearly kick the trash can in anger. In this moment you are hit by how fake your life is. How much shit you’ve been through and how love is not real. Well not real for you. You grab the sink and look at yourself in the mirror. You’re wearing more makeup than normal. It’s like you put makeup on a goddamn pig. Right now you have to play the role of a loving and loyal girlfriend. But is that you? Do you love him? 

Before you could continue questioning everything, the bathroom door opens. You must have not locked it.

“My bad I-” 

That fucking voice. Just hearing it right now is like the universe is taunting you.

“Darlin’.” 

“Cooper.”

You face him, a frown on your face. He doesn’t look any better. It’s like he’s seen a ghost. He comes into the bathroom, locking the door. Why would he do that? 

“Haven’t seen you in months… glad to see you’re doing well. I’m sorry about that party. What I did was wrong.” He begins to apologize. “If I knew you two were-”

“We weren’t.” You cut him off. “I should be going.”

You’re about to push past him and out of the bathroom until he grabs your wrist.

“Listen, I miss you. You were my best friend for a while an’ I just threw ya out like an old toy.”

You don’t answer.

“You look so pretty tonight. That dress… you look so good, sweetheart.”

“Don’t.”

“I-”

“I don’t get you, Cooper Howard. I don’t understand how you work the way you do. You’ll kiss me and then act like nothing ever happened. You make me feel insane! What is it with you? Do you do this with any woman you act with? If you do, I feel horrible for your wife.”

His soft expression sours. You know what’s to come next.

“You are not one to talk.” He starts, “You know it’s crazy, I used to like you.”

That makes you laugh. Of course he did. “Oh sure you did.” You roll your eyes.

“I did!” He defends.

A part of you wants to believe him but he has been nothing but in love with his wife since day one. What makes him think now it is okay to say this? Is it because you’re with a guy? That you’re not single? At this moment, the tension in the room is too tough. You couldn’t even cut it with a knife. For once, you kiss him. You’re the one pressing your lips against his. Both of you are sober at this moment. Kissing him sober is so much better than before. Your cherry red lipstick is smearing across his lips. Neither of you seem to care. He has you pushed up against the sink, you can feel his arousal in his pants. You push your hips into his, moaning as he bites down on your lip. This time feels different than any time before. It’s like you know you’re going to cross a line. He lifts up your dress, pressing a finger against your soaked panties. He nearly growls at the feeling. 

“Can I?” He asks and you nod.

He instantly drops to his knees leaving you confused. In one swift motion, he pulls down your panties. Before you can look down, his tongue runs over your clit. You twirl your fingers in his hair, tugging at it softly. All the times you’ve almost had him have led up to this moment. Softly, he sucks on your clit. You’re about to moan his name but something else takes your attention. He’s shoving two fingers into you. 

“Coop!” You hiss, grinding your cunt against his face. 

He chuckles, swirling his tongue over your clit. You swear you’ve died and gone to heaven. No one has ever made you feel this good. There’s a fire in your core. He curls his fingers and starts to rock them in and out of you. This just started but you swear you’re going to cum soon. He nips at your clit, playing with it between his teeth.

“Close. Fuck, I’m close.” You moan out.

Without warning, he pulls his fingers out of you. Pressing a kiss to your thigh, he looks up at you. Without his fingers inside of you, you whine. Looking down at him, you meet his eyes.

“You’re going to cum on my cock, got it?” 

He stands up, struggling with his belt. You try to help him take it off but he swats your hands away. Once the belt is off, he pulls his pants and boxers down in one swift motion. He’s big. You don’t know how he’s going to fit inside of you. It’s possible but it looks like he could split you in two. Who knew he was packing this whole time?

Cooper lifts you up onto the sink so you’re on display. He pulls your dress up around your waist before coating himself with your arousal. 

“Beg for it.” He demands, “How badly do you want me?”

You’ve never begged before. But fuck it. “Badly.”

“How badly, darlin’? Use your words.” 

He’s constantly rubbing himself up and down your slit. Everytime he brushes against your clit you lose it, a tiny moan slipping past your lips.

“I want you to fuck me, Cooper. Like all those times you’ve kissed me. I need you. I ache for you.” You whine.

He accepts that, slowly pushing into you. It hurts. It’s bigger than any toy you’ve used on yourself. You wrap your arms loosely around his neck, whimpering. Cooper doesn’t seem to pick up on the discomfort because he’s already starting to thrust in and out of you. He rests his forehead against yours so he could look into your eyes and he fucks you. His jaw is hanging slightly as it seems he’s thinking with his cock rather than his head. Every time he hits a certain spot inside of you, you moan louder. 

“You’re tight, sweetheart. Bet your boyfriend doesn’t fuck you like this.” Cooper grunts, pressing a messy kiss to your lips. 

“Bet he doesn’t know how to make you cum.” He taunts.

You’re already starting to moan again, head tilting back. Maybe once this is over you can tell him that he’s your first. That you’ve been waiting for this day. To avoid saying anything stupid, you press a desperate kiss to his lips. It’s mainly to shut the both of you up. You’d never let your boyfriend touch you like this. He’s not Cooper. He’ll never be him. You feel nothing but bliss right now as Cooper fucks you. His thrusts are getting faster, messier. Pulling away from the kiss, he rests his forehead back on yours. Using a free hand, he starts to play with your clit. You feel like you’re on fire.

“Gonna cum. Fuck, Coop.” You moan.

This seems to encourage him, he’s getting sloppier. “Cum for me, sweetheart. Make a mess all over my cock.” He nearly growls.

You feel a knot explode in your lower stomach as you hit your climax. You’re digging your nails into his suit as you scream his name. Anyone outside the bathroom could hear the both of you. This was a risky game the two of you were playing. You clench down on him as you orgasm. His cock twitches inside of you as he quickly pulls out. You’re trying to catch your breath and he’s jerking his cock off. It’s aimed right at your clit. 

“Gonna cum all over your pretty pussy. Fuck.” He grunts, rambling to himself. 

His head falls back as he cums. It’s a lot. Some of it lands on the sink, your pussy, and your dress. You’re covered in his cum. Still trying to catch your breath, you look at Cooper. His hair is no longer slicked back, it’s falling into his face. Not just that but he’s drenched in sweat. He’s made a mess of himself. Made a mess of you. 

While the both of you catch your breath, you feel the urge to blurt something out. 

“I was a virgin.” 

He looks at you, confused and horrified. Confused because he could have sworn you’d have had sex by now and horrified because he took your virginity in the bathroom of a theater. Quickly, he pulls back up his pants. 

“I’m sorry.” Is all he can muster. He’s ashamed that your first time was here. That it wasn’t special. To him, you deserve nothing but the best in life. That’s why he was always scared to hurt you. 

His reaction is making you feel sick. This isn’t how it should be. It should be a cute moment shared between the both of you. You’re about to open your mouth but he quickly leaves the bathroom. Now you’re feeling ashamed. 

You take a few minutes before getting up. You wipe whatever bit of his cum off of you that you can. Next thing you do is leave the bathroom and go back to the theater. Sitting next to your boyfriend, the only thing on your head is that you smell like sex. 

You smell like Cooper Howard.

tag list: @djarinsgirl27 , @cupid-club

part two coming soon

[gguk-n]

In Another Life (Max Verstappen x Reader)

Summary- Max just lost the love of his life, the woman he wanted to marry and the woman who was carrying his child. What happens when he transports to a place where she might exist? Does he finally get his happily ever after?

Warning- Angst, Major character death

{Max's POV}

My world came crashing down after that fateful call I received. I was in Qatar for the race weekend; my fiance Y/N didn't join me because she had been feeling unwell. I had just gotten off of the podium when a member of the RedBull team brought my phone. It was an unknown caller; I answered the call to "Is this Mr. Max Verstappen?" the voice asked. "yes" I replied, my heart started to beat a little louder and faster then it did after races. "I'm calling from the Princess Grace Hospital. You are Miss Y/N Y/L/N's emergency contact." they continued. "yes" I replied, a bad feeling making it's way to the pit of my stomach. "Is she ok? What happened? Why is she at the hospital and why are you calling me?" I rambled almost racing to the driver's room to change and leave. "We're sorry to inform you but Miss Y/L/N is no more" they said remorsefully. "What?" I stammered. "We tried our best but the collision was catastrophic. I'm sorry for your loss." they said. I stood still, in the middle of the paddock. My legs felt numb, "You're lying. She can't be dead" I screamed catching everyone's attention. People started to whisper, "Do something, you have to save her. You're doctors for fucks sake. Bring my girlfriend back. NOW" I bellowed. "I'm coming, I'm out of the country right now, but I want my girlfriend well and healthy by the time I'm there" I said finally gaining the feeling in my legs and ended the call.

Carlos, Charles, Lando and Checo were now standing next to me. "Everything OK?" Charles asked. I laughed, "It was the hospital, they were spewing nonsense that Y/N is dead. I spoke to her before the race. She was on the way back from the hospital. They say she's dead, haha. What a load of bull?" I said. All of their faces had dropped, Charles had moved forward to pat my back and Carlos wrapped me in a hug. "It's okay" Carlos muttered. "NO, NO. She can't be gone. We were gonna get married and have kids and not make them race car drivers since the sport gave her anxiety. Carlos this can't be true" I cried; my resolve breaking while Carlos hugged me tighter holding me up and patting my back. The flight back to Monaco was a blur, I don't remember how I got to the hospital, I don't remember filling out any forms, I don't remember her dad hugging me as they showed Y/N's lifeless body to me. What I remember is her face and it had a few scratches, her hands bruised, she looked peacefully asleep. I reached forward holding her hand in mine, "How could you leave me? You know how much I hate this world. You're the only thing that made it worth living for." I cried. The doctors entered the room and handed me the stuff she was carrying, "Here are her belongings. I'm very sorry for your loss, sir." he said handing me her stuff and a hospital file. I opened up the file to find an ultrasound scan and a report saying that she was pregnant. I fell down on the floor, "We were going to have a kid" I whispered which her father heard; I heard a wail leave his lips.

We buried her in a cemetery in her home town surrounded by flowers and greenery. I spent too much time there; I missed a few races too. But I was back before the final races; I didn't win a single race after her death. But when I stood on top of the podium as the World Driver's Champion of 2023, I didn't celebrate. How could I when the person who celebrated my every win was no where to be seen. I flew back to meet her after the race. As I was sat at her grave; "I won the championship for the third time. It didn't feel it though. You should've been there. I know I know, you must be angry since I missed 3 races and lost the last two. But you told me that the points were enough for me to win; so I won for us and our little one. How are you two? Both of you must be in heaven if there is a heaven. I wish I could say that I hope we meet but I don't think I'll make it heaven ever. I hope our child is happy. I love you lifde. You took a part of me when you left" I whispered, placing the bouquet of roses; a tradition I started after winning my first championship.

After the funeral, I was given Y/N's phone and messages were open; there was an unsent message. "Baby, I know you're racing rn, hope you win like always. btw, I went to the doctor and guess what? I'm pregnant. We're gonna have a mini Max soon. I know you'll be the best dad ever. I love you" it read. My tears didn't stop. I was robbed of a future I always dreamt of with her. That asshole drove while drunk, why did he deserve to live, why did he deserve to wake up every morning but the love of my life didn't? Why did he get to go back home when I couldn't even bring my girlfriend and kid back home? I hope he rots, I hope when I meet him he doesn't get to walk away from me for stealing the best thing that ever was mine.

The off season was torture, I spent my time laying in bed while my friends and family came over to make sure I ate and showered. They tried to get me to clean the house but I had left it untouched since the day she left. I wasn't ready to let her go just yet. Her parents would come in occasionally to check up on me. Her dad was currently sat at our table while I ate the food her mom made, "Max, you need to move on. Y/N must be suffering, watching you like this." he said. "I hope she is, she doesn't get to leave and expect me to be normal" I spoke. "Max, we love you. You are my son; I can't watch you like this. Y/N would want you to move on and live with the happy memories you two made." he said. "I know, I just need time" I mumbled while tears streamed down my face. He gave me a hug and then left. I wasn't ready, I don't think I'll ever be ready.

I didn't attend the pre season training until Horner dragged me. We spent some time but I couldn't focus. I was supposed to fly out to Bahrain in a week for the first race of the season. I don't remember when I fell asleep but I woke up to a much cleaner apartment. It pissed me off, so I called Lando who answered in a few seconds. "Who the fuck cleaned my apartment? I told you I would do it at my pace" I screamed. "Mate, no one entered your house. I don't know what you're talking about" he replied. "Don't fuck with me. Where's all of Y/N's stuff. It's missing" I said. "Who's Y/N?" he asked. "Don't fuck with me Lando. You know who Y/N is" I cried. "Max, I really don't. Was it the girl you took home the other day?" he questioned. I was annoyed and cut the call.

After some searching and the whole house being devoid of any sign of Y/N I decided to call her but my phone didn't have her contact. I flew to where her grave was which was missing. Everything was strange, I don't know why but I googled myself. That's when I saw it, my ex's name wasn't Y/N and she didn't die in a car crash. With time I realised that I was in an alternate universe where we had never met. A world where I didn't know Y/N existed was the worst kind but it gave me hope that maybe Y/N was alive in this universe. Maybe, I was here to meet her, to have the chance that was robbed from me. I spent my time racing, making sure I won every race so that incase she watched Formula One she knew about me. I would explore each city in hopes of running into her.

It was during Silverstone weekend when I went to the cafe the day after the race. It was very early so there weren't many people around. I walked into the cafe when I heard it, the voice that brought a smile to my face, there she stood. My Y/N, at the counter ordering her coffee, Iced Spanish Latte she said, her favourite. I smiled at her before walking towards the counter. I ordered and went to stand next to her while I waited for the order. She turned towards and smiled nervously, "You're Max Verstappen, right?" she asked. I nodded. "Oh my God, I'm a huge fan. Sorry to bother you but can I get a picture with you?" she asked. I agreed and we ended up taking a picture and talking after grabbing our drinks. She looked the same, her hair flowed down her back, her face had those moles I loved to kiss, her bright smile and infectious laughter. She was an avid Formula One fan from what I got. I offered her tickets to the next race which she denied politely. She got up to bid me farewell, "Will you go out with me?" I blurted, I hoped that she would say yes. "I'm sorry Max, but I have a boyfriend" she mumbled apologetically. I nodded, "It's ok. I'm sorry about this" I muttered. "No, no, I'm sorry for giving the wrong impression. I'll get going. Thanks for the picture and autograph though" she said while she walked away from my life for the second time.

A couple races later, I saw her again. This time at the paddock, I greeted her as she entered wearing Ferrari paddock passes. I eyed the card on her neck before she said that she was here with her boyfriend. I nodded along and watched her walk towards the Ferrari hospitality. It was media day and we were supposed to go get interviewed when she walked in with Carlos. He introduced her to us as his girlfriend. My heart shattered as I watched her peck his lips. She was kind, loving and understanding like she always was. I couldn't watch Carlos have what was once mine. In this universe, she never was mine. It hurt to watch her laugh at his jokes or kiss him or hug him. It hurt so much to watch her be in love with a man that wasn't me. I couldn't help but look at her longingly, there was a sort of pain in my eyes that only she caught it seems. Because she asked to speak to me as soon as I had come to the paddock on race day. I took her to my driver's room where we sat down.

"What's up Max? You look at me like a puppy that's been kicked. You look at me like I have hurt you beyond repair" she asked. I breathed out, "What if I told you I wasn't from this universe?" I asked. "I would say you're crazy" she said. "But I was, I was from a time line where I was gonna marry the love of my life, the woman that made life worth living. The universe where I wasn't only winning on track but also in real life because of her. We'd been together for 5 years and were planning a life together. I had proposed and she couldn't join me for my Qatar race last year because she was sick, I wish she had. Then then..... It was because she was carrying our child, she had gone to the doctor and found out but she was never able to tell me in person, I found out later. Then I get a call from the hospital saying that some asshole killed her in a drunk driving accident when she was returning home. I fly back to find her lifeless body. I haven't gotten over her yet, I missed races and performed poorly. But what could I do when I lost my life. Then one day I wake up here, a universe where we've never met and I spend all my time looking for her and then I find her at a cafe. We talk, she's a fan" she looked at me expectantly with tears in her eyes,"I'm sorry" she mumbled. "I ask her out but she has a boyfriend. Then we meet at the race and every time I see her my heart breaks watching them because that was me. She looked just like you, sounded just like you, was just like you with the same name." I cried, finally breaking down. She wrapped her arms around me as my body shook while sobs ripped through my chest.

"Max, if alternate universes are real and you are from another and lost the love of your life that looked exactly like me. I'm sorry. But I know, that she...I mean me from that universe wouldn't want you to mope. She would want you to move on. She would look down at you and make sure you were safe during every race, She would hope that you found half the happiness you gave her. She would want you to be yourself and not let this affect you. I can't tell you to move on now, but I can tell you to take your time. She wants you to always be happy. Please, take care of yourself. Be happy. Remember her but move on for her sake if not yours" she said all the while hugging me. I cried for a very long time and she embraced me until I let her go. She wiped away my tears and had me drink water. We walked out while I went to race and she went to Ferrari.

I won the race and headed back home after the weekend. When I went to sleep, I woke up back in my apartment. How did I know it was mine and not the other universe is because there was a paper next to the table that read, "I'm sorry for your loss. I cleaned up the space a bit but there are pictures of the whole house as it was before with all her memories in a couple boxes in the closet. I went to her grave with her dad too. I got her flowers. I hope you can move on. P.S We're leading the championship, hope you didn't throw mine away" I laughed after reading the note. Like it said, all the stuff was in the cupboard and there were pictures. I smiled at the boxes, I guess Y/N was the one who intervened because she knew I needed this. I walked out to the balcony and looked up at the sky before saying, "I'll live better. I'll make you proud, just you watch and then I'll come to you whenever you want me too"

[endemise]

✻ DEMO

→ Latest Update: Prologue — 3 February 2024

17+ The Fall of House Black — A gothic, supernatural, mystery interactive fiction story. Lightly inspired by The Fall of the House of Usher and Frankenstein media. (Work in Progress)

Synopsis has mentions of death and suicide. See extended content warnings below.

The fall of House Black, your house, was an imminent thing. A name had never been so cursed that all it could do was bring about death.

First, your younger sister in a swimming accident, then your older brother in a case of mistaken identity. As the rest of your family sought to grieve and bring justice to your brother, your older sister was killed in a hunting accident at the end of your father’s bow.

The three of you, mother, father, and child, became inconsolable. Broken beyond repair. Your mother unable to bear the weight of life any longer took her own while your father disappeared, gone into the night. When you remain the sole survivor of House Black, you know you must leave, and on the night of your decision, your home goes up in flames with you inside.

Then, you awake, dazed with no recollection of anything, and when you look down at your body, you scream. It is wrong. So wrong.

Play as a reanimated, customizable character.

Learn how to be a person again.

Try to survive in a society that fears the unknown.

Develop relationships. (4 ROs: All gender-selectable + 1 secret RO)

Aid in the investigation of your family’s untimely deaths.

Learn about your family’s curse.

Aesop/Almira Hammond | Detective | 36 Years Old | RO

A is an observant and clever person, stoic in nature. They put their all into their work, striving to find the truth in every case. They take on the case of your family’s sudden deaths despite pushback from others. It was an occurrence of events all too strange, and they are determined to figure it out.

Cyprian/Cecilia Atterton | Writer | 28 Years Old | RO

C is an imaginative and creative person, quiet in nature. They write not only from their own experiences, but the experiences of others as well. They are interviewing people about House Black, intending on writing a book about your family’s ill fate and eventual demise.

Sebastian/Sabina Farwell | Doctor | 34 Years Old | RO

S is an intelligent and kind person, caring in nature. They are a most trusted doctor, hardworking and honest. They were the young doctor that tried to help your father and sister. They helped without question, never calling your family cursed as you so often were.

Elias/Elosia Osborne | Coroner | 30 Years Old | RO

E is an empathetic and hardworking person, cheerful in nature. They put their heart into their work, aiming to bring closure to people as swiftly as possible. They are the one who investigated and confirmed the death of your elder sister. They never could for you though.

Unknown | ??? | ??? | RO

A secret. Who knows when they will appear.

SUBJECT TO CHANGE

Mentions of death, child death, suicide, violence, blood, injury, burning alive, body horror, mutilation, slight gore, amnesia

asks are welcomed!

DISCLAIMER

this is a demo/work in progress. everything is subject to change until the final version. it is by no means a finished or polished work.

LINKS

✻ demo | same one, just another link

✻ itch.io | my creator page

✻ @ethersic | my main, art, etc. blog

INFO

word count w/o code: 6.3k

made with tweego + vscode + sugarcube

[milksnake-tea]

Can I request a yandre Nanook and yaoshi and god /aeon reader the reader is like that unknown god in genshin impact that can control time and destiny

What if Nanook had a fascination about this aeon and slowly developing an obsession with them and yaoshi being the same and would bless their devoting followers

to chase destiny.

characters: nanook, yaoshi

contains: YANDERE CHARAS, obsessive behavior, stalking, manipulation, brainwashing(?), unhealthy relationships, power dynamics(?), vaguely religious language (nothing heavy, it comes with the aeons stuff lol)

a/n: mmmmm yandere aeons <333 love that for them. ngl i kinda forgot about the time part so this is primarily focused on the destiny part so yahoo!

...follows you like an incessant plague. Wherever you go, wherever you may run, they and their Antimatter Legion follow, bringing destruction and devastation with them.

Nanook first met you in the early days of their existence as an Aeon. Back then, they were but a young one, still weak in the eyes of the others. Back then, they saw you as another obstacle in their Path, another nuisance.

But then, in a clash between you two, Nanook witnessed your abilities for the first time. In the midst of a Legion invasion, a battle that was sure to end in the destruction of another planet, you managed to turn the tide. Your hands weaved a different path, a path that destroyed Nanook's forces and forced them to retreat.

Just one word from you, and fate was reversed. Just one sweep of your pen, and a losing battle was won.

The image of you that day is forever etched into Nanook's mind, burned into their memory. You, powerful, beautiful, and the cold glare of your eyes as you met their gaze. You, the weaver of fate itself.

You were the key to purifying the world of the cancer of civilization. You were the missing piece they never knew they needed. With your power, Nanook could create a perfect, clean world.

They would like nothing more other than to take you away for themself, to lock you away in a separate realm from the rest. But alas, you are older, stronger than they were.

But Nanook wasn't one to give up. As the Aeon of Destruction, they have many other Aeons as enemies, such as Xipe or Yaoshi. They knew how to get their way, even if they would have to fight tooth and claw for it.

And so they follow you. They stalk you throughout the galaxies, chasing you much like the Hunt would. Any planet that has the misfortune to garner even the slightest glance from you is reduced to rubble, for Nanook despises the mere idea of your attention being on anything other than them.

The person they hate the most is Elio, the seer that you've seemingly blessed with your favor. If it weren't for your protection, Nanook would've killed him - blessing him with a long, torturous, drawn-out death with you as their audience.

But it's fine in the end. In the end, Nanook will have their way. They will take you, no matter what it takes. And when they finally do, only then can an untainted world be made.

You may claim to change destiny, but Nanook knows that the future can be changed by those with enough ambition, enough drive.

They isolate you, crushing both the people and the worlds you love. They whisper in your mind of how the greed and hubris of civilization weren't worth saving, and show you only the ugliest parts of humanity. Their words cloud and befuddle your mind with distrust, fear, and abhorrence towards the sentient species.

Soon, your loom of fate becomes tangled in their hands, and Nanook is the one who pulls the strings. They are the only one you can trust, clean from ugliness and impurity. They are all you need. And in return for your power, they offer a faux love.

You watch from within their embrace as the universe crumbles into nothing, watch as countries and planets collapse.

This is how things should be, they whisper, feeling nothing in their heart as they hold you. This is the right way of the world.

And you believe them.

...is an insufferable thorn in your side. Yaoshi yearns for a paradise free from suffering and despair, a paradise that wouldn't be complete without you.

Ever since the day they saw you, they've known. Their heart that loved each and every being in the universe, bloomed for you, longed for you.

They weren't sure just what had attracted them to you so badly, but Yaoshi didn't think they needed to. There was never a need for a reason to love, was there?

Every day, every hour, without fail, Yaoshi clings to your side. You could try to foresee their movements, forcing them away from you, but even you were not free from the cruelty of fate. Yaoshi would always find you, arms open for an embrace as they fill your space with promises and sweet words.

Let us make a paradise together, they'd propose, taking you into their arms as they coo into your ear, caressing your arms with their fingers. Think of what we could do, what we could bring to the galaxies.

Yaoshi is convinced that you were meant to be theirs, the gateway to a world ridden of death and disease. With your power alongside theirs, no one would have to suffer any longer.

The only problem was that you were a little stubborn. No matter, for Yaoshi was patient. They knew you wanted to bring salvation to the universe alongside them, you were just a bit scared of venturing outside your script.

Yaoshi wears you down bit by bit. First, they guilt trip you. They lament over the pitiful mortals, succumbing to disease and war. Perhaps if you had taken them up on their offer, those mortals would be alive and happy right now. They remind you about the lives you could've saved. Yaoshi never outright says it, but you know that subtly, they call you selfish for ignoring the plight of the weak.

Then, they gain the favor of your followers. They bless your devotees with immortality, curing them of any disease or injury they may come across. They coddle and care for them, so that even when Yaoshi isn't physically by your side, your followers who sing them praises constantly remind you of them.

It's even worse when Yaoshi is present. As your followers gush about your so-called love, a love you don't ever recall partaking in, Yaoshi preens at your side, holding onto your arm as a noble lady would her lover.

And as they do, they whisper into your ears, crooning like a venomous snake.

Play along, they murmur, playing with your hair as they kiss your temple. You don't want to disappoint them, do you?

And so you do. You play the role of lover to Yaoshi, forced to give up your pen and your being to the Abundance.

Even though you know of the despair that would eventually come of immortality, you are powerless to stop it, lest you face the scorn of your people.

[rainbowolfe]

Chaos

*cracks knuckles* finally, some fucking lore.

Here's the song for those who haven't heard it yet.

All of my time spent scouring for and trying to interpret symbols... trying to interpret the tarot cards... a conspiracy board of connected dots. It all pays off now, with this album. MY TIME HAS COME.

Before I get into analyzing the lyrics, I wanted to call attention to the tarot cards that appear in the music video.

True Sight, Strength From Within, Diseased Heart, Death's Door, Divine Curse, Hands of Rage, Gift From Below, Ambrosia, Weeping Moon, and two cards that haven't appeared in the game (yet).

I will make an in-depth analysis of what I think these cards mean for Leshy's fate in another post, cause it's gonna be huge. I also wanna see what cards the other Bishops get, as many of the tarot card's reference each other and have meanings that depend on the context from other cards.

But some quick surface level observations based on the notes I already have about the cards:

-whatever "it" is, it starts with the Blood Moon Ritual.

-Either Leshy or his demon were wounded, metaphorically or otherwise, putting him on a path towards corruption.

-Leshy has large reserves of Fervour. His demon receives strength/power from the Sun.

-He almost dies. A deal is struck to exchange something (or someone) for a boon.

-He was eating Gods for his immortality. A specific type. More on that some other time.

-Leshy is the receiver of a gift (of extra life)from TOWW.

The two remaining cards that are still unknown may relate to Leshy's eventual fall.

ON TO THE SONG.

Enough interpreting vague pictures and cryptic lore text. It's time what I've been hungry for. DESPERATE for. Very plain and straightforward text about what a character's been up to.

So there are four entities singing in this. There's the demon who starts the song off, the Green Crown, Leshy, and a fourth being related to the Green Crown.

The demon is marked by a specific, deeper (almost whispery? Dare I say... hissy) voice. We don't hear it again after it says it's peace.

I am the demon growing inside of you. I feed off all your fears and lies. It's so true. I can't wait to hunt you down, capture, and do the horrid things I must do to survive this.

This could very well be the creature that is literally inside of Leshy, visible only in his Eldritch form. But it could also be Leshy's heart. At the core of all the Bishop's actions was fear, and something had to be feeding that fear. Resulting in hearts cast in vile, impermeable, unrelenting terror.

Or it's Shamura.

It also plays off of what Leshy says to the Lamb. "I hear your lies and I smell your fear."

We then transition into what seems to be Leshy finding his Crown (while burrowing) and emerging from the dirt.

I claw my way out, My feet on the ground This horn atop my head... ...is my Crown.

We can know this part is Leshy's because the summoning circle that appears in this section is the one found in Darkwood. Thus, based on the summoning circle in the next section being the same one used by the Red Crown Snake, these lyrics are the Green Crown speaking. ((I would even posit. It's the Crown's original, intended owner. Someone had to put it in the dirt, and it surely wasn't on accident.))

I won't stay in line (I won't stay in line) I'm destined to die (I'm destined to die) The thunder rages on (The thunder rages on) (as night forever falls) As night forever falls

While it's Leshy's voice, they aren't his words. These words belong to the second voice echoing him which slowly reveals that it isn't repeating after Leshy. Leshy is repeating after it. As the 'secondary' voice gets ahead of the 'primary' voice.

The night falling means both an eternal nighttime and the literal "Night" falling. As in, dying. If the Light is the Sun, then the Dark is the Moon. And the decorations in the Heretic's pack would greatly suggest that the moon is dead (if not, then heavily injured).

The eternal night is a reference to the Old Faith, more on that later.

Next section!

True Name vs True Moniker. Moniker does technically mean name, but it's more in the sense of your "brand". Here I'm sure it's being used as a "nickname".

We know him as Leshy, he's representative of chaos (his ""brand"" lmao) and thus is known by that title. But he's not Chaos itself. Something I've pointed out before is that he's "he of havoc" and not "he of chaos". Havoc is not synonymous with chaos.

No, no. Chaos is the one on the other end of the Crown. Because the Crowns are just conductors of devotion. We even see with Narinder's Crown that there's something we make sacrifices to that gives us/the Crown power in exchange. And unless Narinder's hiding tentacles under those robes, it's not him. There's someone/thing higher.

The Old God. Maelstrom. Or Turua, they're both red-coded.

Know him as Leshy, the vessel of chaos. But the second voice (the one influencing Leshy without him realizing it) demands you worship him as Chaos. And only Chaos.

And the "me" here is strange but maybe it'll make sense after hearing the other Bishop's songs?

An important side tangent though. As this is "The Goat" album, there is of course going to be a slight difference in what's being described in this song and what actually happened in Lamb's reality. And that difference lies in the names of the songs.

It's Chaos, and not Leshy. I suspect it's a lot like how Narinder stopped being Narinder, and became The One Who Waits. A being his siblings regard as something indistinguishable from the Red Crown. Maybe even something more severe, as he eventually gets to go back to being Narinder it seems.

Daylight will come undone; as we eclipse the Sun

What I assume is going to be Kallamar's song was previewed in the Goat trailer/teaser, and that too makes an explicit mention to killing a representation of the sun. (or someone adjacent to it)

I said before that the Old Faith represents an eclipse. That's why those specific, but incomplete moon phases appear on all their stuff. They are the omen. They are the punishment for someone's misdeeds towards a higher power.

Destruction wastes at noonday.

[inferno-0]

Symbiote | Headcanons |

───────────────────────────

Just a bunch of headcanons

────────────────────────────

Sorry for the English

Venom

* The most understanding and at the same time annoying symbiote. Sharing the body with him, let's say, is not a dangerous business, from the second time. You just need to know that you are no longer alone, there is literally a "living" creature in your body that chose you.

* Venom is not inherently hostile, although he is smart in his own way and has other thoughts, unless they come at the expense of yours. Jokes and straightforwardness of words, completely to his character. You don't know why Venom chose to behave this way.

Maybe this is a frequent change of the owner, who had the same temperament?

Unknown.

* Although the humor, which is witty enough, makes you laugh until he wants to "Devour".

Riot

* He chose you only because you didn't scream when you heard someone else's voice in your head. Riot had no choice but to stay with you.

The previous owner died while trying to fly to another planet, there was no point in moving on, because all people and in principle the creatures in which he possessed were not as indifferent as you.

* You live with him and it's not that problematic. Riot is quite serious about some things, anything he doesn't know he considers a threat or something primitive if he finds out what it is. His train of thought is sometimes cruel compared to yours, but you somehow manage to convince him of the opposite and not show your essence so harshly in front of people.

* Everything is complicated with Nutrition. Of course, Riot likes chocolate, but only a certain one. In the absence of this specimen, it will require people, but not animals.

Carnage

* You will have to suffer with this symbiote. Bloodthirsty and violent. Sharp and merciless. Carnage is the complete opposite of all those symbiotes that are higher. In any case, you are trying to calm him down with all your nerves and strength. The most offensive thing is that he did not even feel this leap in you and simply restored the body for himself.

* You were just unlucky with the meeting. Especially with him. Carnage was able to survive as Venom absorbed it back. The part that remained under the ruins penetrated into you. All the thoughts that filled your brain required one thing. Massacres and food. And it was not easy for you to stop such a flow. Carnage was and is a persistent symbiote, he blackmails and threatens you if you don't do what he wants.

* In case of disobedience, it will definitely touch some nerve in your brain to fulfill its whims.

You can only hope for fate.

────────────────────────────

[sonic-au-collision]

SONIC AU COLLISION: ROUND 1

click to see full image

RECOIL belongs to @transzsonix & @lazydayslivin [link to summary & reference sheet]

Broken Illusions AU belongs to @nb-hedgewolf [link to fic]

Explore each world below the cut!

RECOIL:

After a strange vision, Silver ushers to explore the ruins of the Ark alongside a wayward Shadow, seeking clues to another one of his seemingly prophetic nightmares. Before they can dive any deeper into the mystery, an old device is set off and Silver is captured in its vortex, sending him to the past!

Silver finds himself in the thrust of the mayhem on the Ark, and his good nature ends up making drastic changes to history when he saves Maria. Now, back in the present, Silver is facing the consequences of his heroism and what it's done to his friends. Alongside Screw (Tails) and their makeshift sonic-robot (Gumball--based on Silver's embellished recounts of his blue blur), they search for a way to right the past and fix the present while avoiding GUN'S ultimate weapon and Eggman's scheming. although, changing time never comes without a cost.

Broken Illusion's AU:

It's set in an alternate timeline building off Sonic Forces' plot, on which Infinite surrenders to The Resistance just three months after the intro cut-scene of the game, after discovering a truth regarding the fate of his squad that would break him inside out. The AU focuses primarily on Infinite's character, and exploring an infinite-less mercenary, and how he'd develop being striped from his powers. However part of it is also focused on Sonic's fate, what happens to him during the remaining months before the "main-game" of Forces' normal story; and the mysterious appearance of an unknown yet familiar foe known as the "Phantom Rider". [pictured in the image]

[jacevelaryonswife]

Bad idea right?

Going out with your friends was great, really great, but it’s been a long time since you had fun with a guy. A considerable time that you thought was affecting lower parts of your body in relation to your roommate.

pairing: Michael Gavey x roommate fem!reader

warnings: p in v sex, fingering, loss of virginity, praising, english is not my first language. 3,455 words.

ewanverse characters masterlist

The idea of having a place only yours has always been something that cheered you up. Independence, silence and calm were very tempting qualities that always ended up being put in the background when the accounts were put on the table. In addition to the rent there was energy, internet, water, food and God knows if something breaks. You postponed the project for a long time while saving more money in the expectation of finding something more affordable, until the perfect option appeared on one of the announcement panels of the central building of the Campus. It was a beautiful coincidence actually, since you didn't used to go to such a place on a daily basis, but apparently the small white poster listed all the features you wanted in your small apartment for a price that fit in your pocket.

There was only one catch, a big catch.

The place already had an owner who was looking for a roommate.

In days past that would be enough for you to ignore the ad and follow your search, but the price and location seemed too tempting to ignore. You would give it a chance and call the number.

And then an even bigger but appeared: the voice on the other side of the line was masculine.

The idea of sharing an apartment with an unknown man was terrifying at all levels and almost made you hang up the phone. For some reason you arranged to visit the place the next day, obviously taking a friend and a knife in case the idiot wanted to play the smart.

And that's how you met Michael. Introverted, nerdy and brutally honest Michael Gavey. Obviously there was a lot of tension during the whole moment that led you to get to know the rooms and talk to him. About the place: it was quite comfortable and bigger than you expected, really organized and warm in the cold season of the beginning of winter. It was ridiculously pleasant. And as for Michael, well, you hadn't decided if he was a harmless nerd or a serial killer. Still, he seemed to interpret the female fear when he offered himself by saying:

"I understand that it's difficult for a woman to live with a lad she doesn't know."

But the point was: you had really liked the apartment, and when he started saying the rules of coexistence the distance between nerd and possible killer became bigger, much bigger. That was not a one-sided conversation, especially when you started questioning him in a not very subtle way about his life. What did he do? Where did he come from? Did he hide bodies in his room? (The latter was in your imagination, but you managed to spy on his room without being noticed).

Michael said that some people showed interest in the ad but that they did not fit the standard of roomies he wanted. Disorganized, drugged and very noisy, as soon as he classified them.

His methodical personality did his best to try to build a positive (or less negative) image you could have of the arrangement. And honestly, he seemed to be a quiet man, who appreciated a certain silence and calm that you wanted in your home most of the time. Obviously you checked the criminal record of the guy with caramel hair and beautiful blue eyes as soon as you left the building, relieving yourself by not finding anything. But hey, he was a student like you, it couldn't be so hard to find something about the guy!

By another incredible chance of fate a friend of a friend had some classes with Gavey and was very efficient in giving some information about the subject:

"Really smart, a little pretentious and clumsy, but he's a nice guy, doesn't have many friends and is definitely harmless."

Obviously it took much more than that to make you invest in the property, but what really mattered was that that weekend Michael Gavey had received a call and agreed with the idea.

So officially you were moving to the place you wanted, well located and cozy, but with a roommate who owns the place. And for the next few weeks after the move you slept with a knife under the pillow.

════════════════════

Living with Michael proved to be something very calm. Your classes took place at the same time, which culminated in sharing the rest of the day together. Initially things were strange, especially when you tried to talk to each other in the first days without any subject that caught the attention of the other, which defined the following days with dialogues only about the needs of coexistence. It was much easier that way and ensured that the dynamics between you happened in a more organic way than thought, since both were easy to deal with in your own ways. The apartment wasn’t complete yet, with few kitchen utensils and cleaning that you didn't mind buying. Michael was very hygienic and almost never left anything for you to clean (if it happened he would leave a note in the sink or bathroom indicating that he would take care of it later).

He wasn’t so good in the kitchen, but that wasn’t a problem when cooking was an almost relaxing activity for you, and it was very gratifying to receive compliments about your food. In addition, at the end of dinner he would make a point of washing the dishes to help.

Everything seemed to go very well over the weeks, the first month, the first month and a half until things started to change in the way you saw it.

Going out with your friends was great, really great, but it's been a while since you had fun with a man. A considerable time that you thought was affecting lower parts of your body. You see, Michael wasn’t bad looking, not with his caramel blonde hair, beautiful blue eyes and a formidable face; not with his terribly long fingers and delicious hands, not with his height much higher than your usually covered your body when he approached. No, the point was that you never had a relationship with someone like him. A little introverted, methodical, with a particular sense of humor and a little grumpy. On the other hand, he knew how to be pleasant and malleable when he wanted, he was almost shrewd and a little lonely.

Adding this to a nice body, a perfectly sculpted face and the looks he sent you when your clothes were tighter or more tidy, the sum was that you wanted to fuck that damn nerd in every room of your shared apartment.

Initially the feeling was repressed. Maybe it was just your fertile period and the sad reality of being for a long time without a male comfort — not the fact that he looks like a delicious prey easily edible. However, as the days went by the realization of being really invested in your roommate was more explicit and palpable, really palpable. Something needed to be done on the subject and some ideas were already around your mind about how to convince Michael to have sex madly in the next few days.

You looked good as an advantage, although you weren’t the most beautiful woman in the world, you were beautiful enough to take off a good looking partner. It couldn't be so difficult (or he could reject it). Therefore, acting with subtlety was your first option, although there was the uncertainty of him not realizing even if his mind was too sharp to do so. But in your state of urgency by instant action the games that would make him gradually succumb would be extremely stressful for you, so you would grab him at once.

But how would you proceed?

It was Friday night and your friends were dismissed for your onslaught to happen. Should you arrive as a hungry lun or a sneaky fox?

Fuck it, you'd jump on it with everything you had.

Wearing only a lacy white lingerie and an unbuttoned silk social t-shirt you left for the attack, opening the bedroom door and floating like a feather to the living room where your sweet roommate was distracted by the laptop. He didn't seem as focused as the times he studied, in fact he was almost relaxed in his gray sweatpants and thick pumpkin-colored sweater and a rare soft look on the screen. It was the ideal moment.

With a sensual feature and melodious voice you announced your presence with a simple "Hey," calling his attention.

And as you called it.

The poor lad could barely blink when he saw your half-naked and inviting figure approaching with a false innocent smile.

His reaction was a real treat. With his blue eyes wide from under his glasses and half-open mouth. He was terribly shocked, that was a fact, and it only encouraged you to go ahead. "I was thinking, if... you wouldn't have some time available for me." In a bold action, you gently pushed the laptop away and sat on his lap with one leg on each side of his waist, leaning your hands against the breastplate and leaning close to his flushed face to whisper on his perfect lips. "I'm thinking of something we can do together."

Blinking a few times for your dubious suggestion, Michael's hands landed uncertainly on the side of your thighs as he tried to formulate some audible answer in his now unstructured mind. “D-do you?” He asked tense, panting.

“Yes, but only if you want too,” you purred against his mouth, rubbing your noses and moving your dressed pussy against the newly hardened bulge, making him both moan low in anticipation.

Interesting fact about Michael: he's never had any girl rubbing against his body like that before. In fact, he never had a girl in any way.

It was something that didn't bother him full time, very worried about books, classes and science, but it would be a lie to say that he didn't think what it would be like to fuck a girl whose attraction to him was genuine. But that, well, that was better than any fantasy he's ever had throughout his life, that's why it was so costly to believe and answer your question with a blown and whispered "Yes", quickly amended by a more assertive confirmation: "I want to."

“Good," you smirk satisfied and collided your lips on his in a demanding and intense kiss, giving no chance to any doubt that he will feel. Your hands grabbed the back of his neck and his soft caramelized hair, avoiding any body separation.

Michael moaned when your fingers pulled some sensitive threads from the back of his neck, holding your waist and ass in a firm grip. That could only be a big wet dream. Yes, he really stole glances at you many times, more than he was proud of, but to think that this would happen? That way? Not even fucking.

He pressed his hardened cock against your pussy again and broke a kiss with a grunt when you started grinding on it. It was a delight to feel the impressive hardness below your body and see it all red and anxious, capturing another panting, long and tongue-filled kiss. Not even when you ripped off his sweater and discarded your social shirt, your lips separated. Although he was a skinny nerd, he had a really nice body. You wanted to fuck right there, but it was exciting to see him follow your trail like a hungry puppy. And he was fucking hungry, although equally nervous about being his first time.

Michael wasn’t stupid to think it would last long, he heard the stories, he knew how the male body worked to hump for the first time, he knew it would be disastrous, so when you leaned against him again his words were quick to reveal his secret.

“Wait… I need to say something,” his eyes faced the ground, posture hardening as he quickly lowered his head. At that moment you were sure of your implications on your roomie's sexual history, but wanted to respect his process in stating clearly. "I've never done thid."

With a gentle hand groping the left side of his face, you tried to calm him down: "it's ok, really. We can stop if you don't feel comfortable."

"No, no, I want that, really-," he was quick to contest, "I just didn't want to disappoint you."

“Hey, it's okay, I'm not going to make fun of you for that. Besides, I can teach you how to use these fingers to make women cum," you bit your lower lip, looking at it sensually. "Let me take care of you, babe."

And he became meek like a lamb, letting you take off his sweatpants before he himself hurriedly took off his shoes and socks and was only in his underwear, being guided to lie on the bed while your body climbed on his hips and groped his arms, breastplate and milky abs. "You have such a great body," you purred and leaned to kiss him, savoring his hands kneading and squeezing your arse, climbing up your back and daring to open the clasp of your bra, to which you were rewarded by your satisfied tinnitus. “Good boy,” and then your tits were exposed to his delight, being touched and exploited by two large, warm and inexperienced hands. God, he never thought that tis could be so amazing.

His thumbs rotated your halos experimentally, with a little more force than necessary but without being uncomfortable. Your hands covered Michael's and guided them to your waist, squeezing, landing them on your hips.

"Women like caresses and kisses to get in the mood. Kisses on the neck, jaw, clavicle, boobs..." you started, "I don't need these things at the moment, but next time this will be welcome."

Although excited about the idea of a next time suggested in advance, Michael didn’t want to spend his luck betting that your thought would be kept after sex, as a result, he sat in bed with you on his lap and attacked your neck with kisses, bites and hickeys. His work against the encounter between neck and shoulder made you purr with pleasure and close your eyes, really enjoying how he gently pulled some strands of hair from the back of your neck. The boy had potential.

“Keep going, babe”

The wet and anxious trail followed your lap, top and valley of the tits until capturing a nipple in the hot mouth, sucking and nibbling greedily. He couldn't believe that you were on his lap letting him suck your tits, that he was the reason for your moans and soft whining. Damn, he was already in the clouds and hadn't even actually laid you — or the opposite.

And although the feeling was terribly pleasant, the heat in your pussy was too aggressive to ignore, you needed a quick and urgent relief.

"Michael" you called him. "I need to get the condom," with that, you walked away against his will to pick up the package from your nightstand. "Now, take a deep breath when I start and try to distract yourself with something else to last longer, I'll go slowly but it's very intense and better than your hand, so hold tight," you warned him before pulling his boxer down to reveal his beautiful dick shining with pre-cum. Holy shit, Michael Gavey was fucking nice. “Damn, you’re fucking handsome. I should have seen this before."

And he was already out of breath before you stretched around him, his glasses crooked and a little blurry, half-open mouth and body hurting in anxiety, cock writhing with every touch received on his skin.

“Put it.”

And he put on the condom while you removed your panties and crawled into his lap again, making him lie down again. “Hold on, big guy.”

And then, picking up his cock and guiding him to your entrance, you sank slowly, giving him time to squeeze your hips with each centrimeter swallowed, caressing and smelling his soft hair when his head fell against your neck. Nothing had prepared him for that, no handful of lubricant came close to the tightness, heat and moisture of your pussy. If he was in the clouds before, now he was sure he was in the sky. “Wait! Wait! Don't move yet." And for that he needed to make sure it lasted.

"Okay... just breath babe, relax, think of something else." you instructed him panting, savoring the feeling of his cock inside your silky walls. Everything about his member was perfect, from the size to the thickness, filling you perfectly. A whining fell from your lips and you hugged him. “So good, mm.”

"Fuck," he grunted in despair, squeezing your body against his.

“Don't worry about it, it's okay, just enjoy it while it lasts,” you whispered against his temple.

That was the damn point. “I won't last long,” he said.

“So just enjoy, Mike,” biting his earlobe, you started jumping constantly, moaning uninhibitely at how good that nerd felt. He pushed his face even more on your neck and held your waist to the dear life, moaning and grunting and pulling you to lie above him. He was a panting mess with blurry glasses and a half-open mouth, a damn sight that made you more aroused than usual, very proud to be the reason for his snatched state.

“Oh fuck, fuck- I'm gonna-“

“Come for me, babe,” you rubbed your groin against his one, two, three times when he fell apart intensely with a long, hoarse moan, heavy breathing and a blushing face.

Withdrawing from him, your body fell on the bed still hot and longing to be satisfied, watching him gradually recompose in a brief comfortable silence.

"So... did you like it?" You asked, fingering his breastplate.

Did he like it? Damn, that shit blew his mind. “So fucking good.” Although part of his mind was eager to reward you, he had to. He had to make you cum. Turning to face you, Michael stood at your top before while asking: "what should I do now?"

Smirking maliciously, you leaned your feet on the bed and spread your legs more to him. “Fuck me with your fingers,” you purred, taking his right hand and guiding him to your wet center. "I like it when guys don't forget that I have a clit, I don't understand why, even why it makes your work easier," you circled your hill with his fingers, showing him the place before going down to your entrance. "Heat me up with one, then put on another."

And he followed your rules like a good boy, sticking a long finger pumping slowly.

"Mhm, just like that," you bit your lower lip, but very very very impatient to wait for the development of a slow orgasm, you needed to cum as soon as possible. Taking his hand, you held your index finger and made him join the middle one. “Go faster.”

And although sloppy and a little strong a few times, his fingers felt so fucking good on your velvet walls, reaching the sweet point that made your toes curl. “Fuck! Keep going Michael!”

He was hypnotized by the wet sounds that your pussy was making, by your body writhing and his fingers disappearing inside you, squeezing, wetting...

That set of things went straight to his cock.

"Roll your fingers slowly," you ordered, arching your back when he pressed against your spot, intensifying the tingling at the base of your stomach and making you moan louder. “Don't stop, I-I'm close!”

His glasses were on the tip of his nose, almost plummeting from his face, but it didn't matter at the moment. Deciding to use your previous tip on the clit, Michael used his other hand to circle your pearl with pressure, making his eyes close.

“Oh fuck! I'm gonna-" your whole body trembled when the coil burst and a warm pleasure flooded your senses, holding the bed for the darling life and closing your legs with the strong spasms.

That was better than any porn he watched. And with that he encompassed the last minutes from your approach until now. Michael was still very stunned by everything that happened, that’s why when he lay on your bed it was as if he was recovering from an electric discharge, his mind and body ridiculously overloaded and active. As for you, after a while restoring from a delicious orgasm, you rested your head on his chest and traced patterns on the milky to soft skin, playing with some fine and lost hair. "So, do you want a second round?"

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a/n: I know we don’t have much about Michael, but I was so anxious about this hot nerd that I couldn’t wait for the movie.