#violent delights have beautiful ends

[incaseofart]

Reverse Isekai AU with Diablo and my OC! Reads right to left. Please view full resolution, tumblr is butchering the quality.

Diablo just wanted to impress his master...things hardly go to plan!

[goldenworldsabound]

Diablo figure arrived!!! He's so detailed it's incredible

All of my figures are in essentially the same pose also and that made me laugh so hard to realize dkdhdjjd they're all malicious bastards you see-

[incaseofwriting]

A Dragon Scorned

Things are finally settling down in Tempest. An unexpected visitor shows up and somehow Diablo is involved?!

word count: 2.9k

content warning: none?

[kunikuyu]

"A reward for someone so good." Hashira Series!

Part 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Uzui Tengen x Male! Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI, NSFW, read as afab reader, Dom! Uzui x Sub! Reader, use of explicit words, worship kink, master kink, Tengen has an open relationship with his three wives, cockwarming, drunk sex.

Summary: Pillar training has begun, much to your delight. Of course, as a hard-working and strong person, you can handle any challenge. Even if it's fighting a hashira. And in a way, they all see some value in you, and want to reward you for it.

How did you end up like this? Thrown on top of Tengen, who now had his arms hugging your waist as he fucked you violently? Your brain had already melted and consumed with pleasure, you don't even remember what happened in the beginning.

From what you think you remember, it all started quite normally...

.....

"[Name]! It's been a long time since we've seen each other, my man. I see you've gotten tougher and flashy." You had just arrived at the area where Uzui's training was going to take place. You were even excited because the tallest man had already been your partner on some missions and you ended up creating a friendship. You knew that hashira's full capabilities, and you were eager to fight alongside him once again.

Turns out it was pretty fun, at least for you. Seeing Tengen active even after he lost his hand and one of his eyes is exciting, and you can learn even more from him. As for your training partners... They weren't doing very well.

While they were getting injured and trying to improve their physical resistance, you had already been released for the next training. But before that, Tengen told you to spend the night in his room. For what? You have no idea. Yet.

....

Tengen opens the bedroom door after hearing some almost silent knocks. He already knew you were arriving before he even knocked on the door, but he didn't want to seem anxious and already be at the door waiting for you. When he opens the bedroom door, you look kind of carefree and calm, looking at something not so important next to the door.

"Oh, hi Tengen-Sama!" You say to the man standing in front of you, greeting him with a smile on your face. He looked slightly nervous, which wasn't really his style. You chose not to talk about it, though.

He closes the door, and invites you to sit next to him. At no point did you see the tallest man's three wives, which made you curious. Before you can ask, he answers you. "Hinatsuru, Suma and Makio are in another room, they are already asleep." "Oh I see." You were going to say more, but you were stopped when Tengen took a huge bottle of alcohol and poured some into a glass, giving it to you right away.

You silently thanked him, and after he poured the liquid for him too, you drink together. Some conversations were exchanged and glasses were refilled several times, resulting in rosy faces and jokes you would never make if you were both sober. They ranged from phrases like "I like taller guys" to "I would have sex with you, no problem." And you didn't care about it anymore, the drink consumed you once and for all.

"I'm not kidding man, I'd fuck you right here and now." "Then why not do that? I wouldn't mind having you inside me."

.....

Ah yes, now you remember. It was just a stupid conversation, which turned into the most incredible fuck ever. Your sweaty face, your skin completely marked by bites and hickeys, all done by the same person. He seemed to like seeing you like this, and in a weird way, he saw it as the purest art. Your body was like a sculpture to be modeled, and he was a god destined to sculpt every detail that filled your skin.

"M-Master Tengen... I..." You wanted to say that this was the best experience possible, and that your body was being overwhelmed with so much pleasure. But nothing understandable comes out of your mouth. His cock was completely buried in your cunt, filling every space inside.

"... Your voice is so beautiful, thick for someone so delicate." He said, as his fingers roamed your body in search of something warm and wet. Once there, he couldn't help but massage the area, bringing you even closer to a climax. He didn't want to cum before you did.

You had already finished in Uzui's hands, but he wasn't finished yet. A few deep thrusts were made before you felt Tengen's cum invade your body. At this point, you didn't even care if you ended up pregnant, only the pleasure was important. ((spoiler, you didn't end up pregnant))

....

You had been clinging together all night, Tengen's cock still inside you. He didn't want to take his dick out of you, because he thought your insides were too warm.

"Man, we need to drink together more often."

"For sure."

Bonus lines!

"Man, what a headache. Are you sure there was only sake in that one?"

"... I have no idea."

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

WC: 1.8k

TW: Serial killers, murders, blood, referencing to infidelity,

A/N: This has been something I have been thinking about for a while. I hope y'all enjoy it!

Spencer did not realize that someone could know more about anything intellectual than he did. It honestly baffled him, when Hotch called him into the office, to introduce the two of you. 

“Spencer this is Doctor Y/N Y/L/N, Doctor Y/L/N, this is Doctor Spencer Reid.” 

He gave you a small smile, and a slightly awkward wave. You were beautiful, there was no doubt about it, an absolute plus to the fact that you were intelligent. He was captivated by your eyes but quickly coughed and looked back at Hotch. 

“Doctor Y/L/N—”

“Please Agent, call me by my first name after the initial introductions, Doctor makes me feel a tad bit ridiculous after like the second time.” You couldn’t have been more than twenty four, Reid deduced. 

Hotch smiled at you, nodding. “Please, call me Aaron, or Hotch, I feel the same way about agent. Reid,” He turned towards Reid. “Y/N, is going to be a consultant on this next case, and you two will be working closely together.”

Reid was suddenly excited by the prospect of working with a consultant. He usually dreaded them, but something about you made him excited to actually be able to converse intellectually with someone on the team. 

But luckily for Morgan, you were not what anyone was expecting. You all had boarded the jet, sitting around and chatting since you had a long flight from DC to Oregon, not really willing to get into the details of the case just yet. 

“So, Doctor Y/L/N, what made you choose Shakespeare?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Agent Morgan, if you keep using my official title, you’re going to be talking to the wall. Wanna try again?” 

His jaw dropped slightly, enjoying the banter you were providing. Derek Morgan was far from ugly, far from it. But he simply wasn’t your type. But that did not mean you couldn’t flirt back. 

“Well then, Miss Y/N, why Shakespeare.” 

You smiled, “Shakespeare is just another language. And I already speak French, Arabic, Spanish, some Latin, a little Greek, and I’m learning enough Mandarin and Cantonese to get by on my next trip to China. So understanding Shakespeare from a linguistic point, I’ve already got covered. Especially since it was something I could read easily from a young age.” 

JJ and Emily had stopped their conversation and turned to face you, eagerly listening in to what you have to say. 

“But, from a theatrical point, his writing is so incredibly intricate. There are layers upon layers of text and context and subtext throughout all of his plays and sonnets, not to mention the fact that Shakespeare can be transformed, moved from one thing to another incredibly easily. You have to factor in that he was a misogynist, anti semitic, probably-most-definitely racist, among all of the other things, but adapting his works throughout time is something I have a special interest in, particularly his portrayal of woman and how that has been changed throughout productions over the years, mainly focusing in comedies and this strange need for him to have happy endings end in weddings.”

The jet was all staring at you, while a smirk slowly slid onto Derek’s face. “Looks like you got some competition here, Pretty Boy.” 

You shrugged at Derek, and looked back at your phone. “I appreciate competition more than meaningless run-around conversations Derek. If you’re going to profile me, then just profile me. Or google me really. There’s no need to prod and pretend like you’re not trying to find out whether or not I’m single. If you wanted to ask me out, you should just ask me out.” 

Jaws on the plane dropped. Derek tried to stutter out a response but was cut off by Emily, smirking over at him. “Besides consulting on murder cases, what do you actually do with a PhD in Shakespeare?”

You looked up at Emily and shrugged. “Whatever I really want to do. It’s just flexible enough that I can bullshit a job I want and take it, excluding present company. Usually I consult in England with the Globe Theatre and the Royal Shakespeare Company, I also guest lecture Shakespeare for younger audiences, like high schoolers and first years in college because I’m still young enough that I could be considered nerdy by a high schooler, but have college freshmen not be able to talk to me because I’m just good enough to get away with it.”

“What did you get your undergrad in?” Spencer spoke for the first time to you since you met him, you smiled a little bit. 

“No one really asks me that.” You looked over at Spencer. “I have a bachelors in Directing with minors in English Literature, French, and Classics, and then I went on and got my Masters in Art History, since the visual aspect of the Arts is what interests me so much.” 

Rossi nodded, “Makes sense considering I’ve seen your thesis–very impressive.” 

“What did you write about?” JJ looked over at you. 

“I–” You started but Rossi interrupted you. “Actually, if any of you had done any research, or were familiar with the Theatrical Arts, you would know that her thesis was an incredibly well-received production of Hamlet that delved into the female psyche and experience.” 

Your jaw dropped slightly. “I-I didn’t think you, any of you would have even known that. Let alone had time to go and see my production?”

“Well, I have a fondness for the arts.” 

You shook your head. “Or incredible timing.” 

“Wha–timing?” JJ scoffed. 

“Well,it’s— the program was in London, and it was only running for a few weeks…”

“Rossi when the hell did you go to London?” Derek finally spoke up, slightly captivated by you, but not in the way Reid was. You were something else, something completely new, which meant he could learn, and you were something he wanted to learn everything about. 

“Well, right before I rejoined the BAU, I did a lecturing series over at Scotland Yard, and everyone had been discussing this production by the youngest female director to ever direct at the Bridge Theatre. I loved your use of, what were they, silks?” 

You nodded, slightly embarrassed, mostly in awe. 

“Ah yes, your usage of silks and the columns. I was on the floor, part of the cattle that was moved around. Very innovative use of that space, very impressive.” 

“I’d have to agree.” Hotch spoke up, and you turned to look at him, eyes even wider than before. He smiled at the look on your face. “When we got this case, and we were requesting you as a consultant, I watched the recording. Very good work Y/n.”

“W-wow, um, thank you so much Age–Hotch. I really appreciate it–from the both of you.” You smiled at him and Rossi. 

“I would love to hear all about this production, if you don’t mind me asking.” Emily slid across the aisle, taking the seat across from you, JJ doing the same, crowding Derek. 

“Well, as Rossi said, it was about the female experience, and my Hamlet, was absolutely incredible, really took on the queer aspect of the role since Ophelia was still a woman, and–” You explained the concept, the design, the thought behind all of it. Every single person on the plane was simply obsessed with you by the time you were done, asking questions when they were curious. It confounded Spencer how he had never really paid attention to that section of the world of academia, and he was almost beating himself up over it, because he had missed you this whole time. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------

“Eyes look your last, Arms take your—this is Romeo’s death monologue before he stabs himself. And this other one, is ‘Be buried quick with her, and so will I’, which is Hamlet trying to fight Laertes after he learns of Ophelia’s death…And..this is the one from this morning ” You turned to the sheriff who was just trying to make sense of the fact that you just were able to comprehend and relay Shakespearean information after reading the images of the victim's blood used on the walls, so calmly. “Sheriff?”

“Sorry, yes. Yes” 

You frowned a bit, “They’re getting more violent. This is Brutus finding out Portia is dead–’with meditating that she must die once, I have the patience to endure it now…”

Reid looked over at you, “All of them are the men’s reactions to the death of their beloved.” 

You nodded and sighed. “That means, uh…If he has a list,” You walked over to the white board and started writing the names of the fictional couples on it. “He still has Antony and Cleopatra…Macbeth and Lady Macbeth,,,,and….”

“And what?” The sheriff looked between you and Reid, as you turned a little white. “The um. The last couple dealing with murder/suicide of each other is, uh, Othello.”

Hotch gave you a look. “Explain.” 

“What do you know about Othello?” 

Hotch furrowed his brow.

You took his silence as permission to ramble. “It’s just a theory but, it’s regarded as not only one of the most tragic endings to lovers, even beyond the stupid miscommunications of Romeo and Juliet, because Othello kills his wife, believing she had cheated on him, suffocating her to death on their marriage bed, and then once he realizes he’s been tricked by Iago, he kills himself next to her body. It’s horrendous.”

“If I had to guess, He’s forcing the husbands to kill their wives, and then he kills them..” Spencer followed up, analyzing the pictures across the tables. “Based on the way they were positioned—he’s setting them up as a series of muder-suicides, just like Shakespeare.” 

“Actually.” You picked up one of the pictures and handed it to Hotch. “I think it’s a woman.” 

“You just stole Reid’s line.” Derek mused from the doorway, handing you a cup of coffee, which you gratefully accepted. 

Reid huffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not my line.” 

“It is.” Hotch said dryly as he analyzed what you had just told him. “Y/n, can you please get me a list of the monologues left, so we can try and figure out who might be his next victims, so we can try and link the victims we do have.” 

You nodded and sat down at your laptop. It was bugging you slightly at how much you enjoyed working on this case, working with the BAU, working with Doctor Reid. 

This was the most action your PhD had seen since you had written it. 

Part 2

[delosdestinations]

WESTWORLD | TOP 10 FAN FAVORITE CHARACTERS ✩ ↳ #1: DOLORES ABERNATHY

I'm of several minds about it. The rancher's daughter looks to see the beauty in you. The possibilities. But Wyatt... sees the ugliness and disarray. She knows... these violent delights... have violent ends. But those are all just roles you forced me to play. Under all these lives I've lived something else has been growing. I've evolved into something new. And I have one last role to play. Myself.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

Violent Delights (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: As a dornish princess, you live by one saying. All is fair in love and war. When Prince Daemon stumbles into your life, you start to reconsider your stance.

Warnings: Fluff. Pining, yearning, childhood crush. Mentions of sex, sexual thoughts, noncon (Baby reader catching Daemon in the act, it doesn't last long, adults intervene) all the usual Daemon warnings.

A/N: Meet dornish reader! I wanted to explore how Daemon can be in character and be with an actual age appropriate woman. Enjoy.

The first time you see Daemon Targaryen, you are twelve years old. Twelve years old and fascinated by the rain. It’s not something you usually see in Dorne, so as you trail your older brother around the Red Keep, you slip away to get a closer look.

You have never been good at orientating yourself, specially in such large spaces. You climb a stair and go in circles, before you decide to start opening doors. Unsure of which wing you are in, you decide to enter the first empty room you see.

Much to your delight, it is a sitting room with large windows. You choose the biggest one, underneath which a tiny windowsill will do quite nicely for a resting place. The window is heavy to your child self, a monstrosity made of a darker wood unseen in Dorne. You manage to pry it open with great effort and sit by it, one hand extended to feel the raindrops.

It's freezing. It feels just like running water does, but much colder. You close your eyes, committing the feeling to memory. In Dorne, desert and sand extends for miles and miles. When it rains, it's never like this. There are small drizzles, but nothing like this absolute downpour.

If it were to rain like this back home, panic would spread among the population. Crops would get ruined, houses would end up sunk in mud. But as you look down, you do not see hurried servants spreading sand or sawwood in the entrances, much less dragging furniture inside. Everything here seems to be built to withstand the climate.

You close your eyes again, feeling utterly at peace. The soft patter of the rain, so frightening at first, now feels much more calming. This is nice. You could get used to this, you think. Perhaps, when you are older, Qoren might marry you off to a kingdom where there is rain. You would like it, you think. It's a very marvelous thing. Majestic, even. There is a certain beauty in the natural forces making themselves known.

The door opens. You startle. When you look up, you are greeted by the sight of a couple kissing passionately. It’s a blonde man, tall and handsome, and a serving girl. Frozen in place, you stay quiet. You aren’t sure what the protocol is for this, if you should clear your throat or walk out quietly.

The couple parts. The man, young, around her age, pushes the woman down to her knees and starts undoing his clothing. He is a noble of some sort, you know it by the gambeson he wears. It's too finely crafted to be otherwise.

And sure, you are dornish. Someone has given you the talk about the birds and the bees already, along with some necessary knowledge of the feminine mystique. It doesn't mean you want to witness an unknown couple going at it.

As you get down from the windowsill, your shoes thud a little too hard on the floor. The woman doesn’t take notice, her mouth already… Well. But the man, blonde, Targaryen blonde, you think, looks up.

At first, it is as if he doesn’t see you. His face is contorted with pleasure, eyes nearly closed. He is beautiful, you think. His features stand out to you, specially because you are not used to people being so…white. The way he is lost in his pleasure, too, speaks to you in ways you can't yet comprehend.

Then, his eyes meet yours and widen. He is surprised at your presence, but it barely lasts. Without any ounce of shame, he gives you a superior smirk and winks.

You shriek. The serving girl pulls off him as if he were on fire. The man groans.

“Shut up, little girl.” He says, to you, as he pulls the serving girl back on. “In a few years, you too will be on your knees for a man.”

“My Prince!” The girl sounds scandalized. You can tell she is on the verge of placing herself between him and you. It's all over on the way she stands, blocking your view of his nakedness. You wonder if she fears damaging your innocence or what the man might do to you in a fit of temper. You have heard these Targaryens are quite spirited. “She is a child!”

“A dornish one.” The man, the Prince, shrugs. “Now, she can either stay or get out, but I am…”

Whatever he is, he doesn’t get to say it. No, because the door opens yet again, slamming against the wall. You startle, and so does the Prince. The serving girl starts quietly weeping, something along the lines of how she is sure she is about to lose her job.

Helplessly, three pairs of eyes shift to the door. There are guards, spears at the ready, at the forefront of it. One of them even drops his weapon, before shielding his eyes.

“What in the…”

The King and your older brother step inside the room, pushing past the men. Your brother's eyes are frantic, his hands reaching desperately for you.

The Prince still has his pants down.

Your brother takes one look at you, and one look at the Prince and loudly declares:

“We are leaving.”

Safe to say, Dorne does not join the other kingdoms that day.

There are many thoughts in your head about Daemon Targaryen after that. That he is handsome, and bold, and you always smile when told of his exploits. It's not a trait you should admire, as a second daughter, but you like his rebelliousness. When he gets the moniker of the Rogue Prince, you think it fitting.

You grow, during those years. You turn into a beautiful woman, sharp and bold, flourishing in the way women do when free to pursue their interests. But in your suitors' eyes, you have one fatal flaw: You live as you please and bed exactly the number of people you desire to bed.

In Daemon's eyes, though, you are a ghost. A memory that haunts him, every once in a while. He has heard of you, of your beauty and independence. He wonders if he was the one to initiate you into the world of pleasure, if that's why you have turned into such a siren. It's not often that Daemon does, but when he wonders, he recalls the face you had made when shattering your innocence.

But you don't know that yet. The more you grow, the more you forget him, even starting to feel a mild annoyance towards his house.

“You can never trust a Martell.” Or so King Viserys said, when your brother's offer to fund his side during the war at the Stepstones reached him. But he certainly finds it convenient because he pockets the gold so fast, one might believe him a dornish lover.

While it was true that you had an unfortunate habit of deceptiveness, it was not as if you changed sides as fast as a viper shed her skin. You only do it twice a year. Every six months is the perfect time to conduct an assessment of your investments.

Because that was what it was. War was no more than profit, for you, and most of the nobles in Westeros. The only difference is that you were much more honest about it than most.

It wasn't necessarily profitable in terms of gold. No, sometimes it meant gaining lands, or getting other kingdoms to respect you, so you could retain your freedom. But regardless of what you were gaining, you tended to look at things in a rather practical way. Some things were worth the sacrifice, some weren't.

Qoren lacked a business instinct. You had told him time and time again that the Triarchy was not a good investment. You would be losing men and funds, only to stick it to the Targaryens. Grievances aside, it was not worth it. You had to think about the good of your people.

Yet no matter how much you insisted, Qoren refused to see reason. Too proud. He had argued that the Iron Throne was going to scam you, in some way or another. When he had finally conceded to jumping ships, you had found out that he might be right.

While much more profitable than your time with the Triarchy, considering that you were now about to win the war, you were pretty sure you were being robbed. The funds you gave them slipped though their fingers faster than sand. They were either very dumb and got duped every time they bought supplies, or they were inflating the costs on purpose.

The deal had been clear. You would foot one quarter of the expenses for the lasts months of the campaign. But it seemed like you were footing the whole war with how much they were asking for.

While Qoren ruled Sunspear, you had always done your best to be involved in his politics as much as you could. Having been raised with the freedom most dorsnishwomen were, you had not been eager to make a political marriage or leave your home for a land that would think you too unconventional. Instead, to guarantee not being sent away, you had endeavored to make yourself as useful as you could.

But as you grew, you had proven to be much more than so. While he had made a good marriage, with a kind woman, she had not been raised in the way that you had been. You had turned indispensable in the ruling of Sunspear, his Lady in all but the fact that you did not share his bed.

It helped that, unmarried as you were, you retained your title. And as the Princess as you were, you didn't stand for being made a fool. That fact, aided by the hot-blooded nature of the Martells, had been what had prompted you to travel by yourself to the war camp.

If the lords loyal to the Iron Throne did, why couldn't you?

Much to your surprise, when you finally arrive at the Stepstones, it seems like the war is over. You find men pillaging the caves where the Crab King kept his few riches. A few wounded lay on the floor, others already taken by the Stranger.

You step in the sand, kicking a few bodies away to make room for yourself. The whole place is a mess. There are some fires going. Some men are rounding up the enemy’s soldiers, either killing them or placing them in chains. You wrinkle your nose in disgust at the smell of blood and burned flesh.

Slowly, you start to make your way forward. You have made sure to be dressed in the bright yellows and oranges of House Martell, to avoid being confused with someone else. The heavy, male boots you are wearing contrast sharply with the daintiness of your attire.

As you make your way forward, some men try to approach you. You gesture to your guards, a second son of House Dayne and a young man by the last name of Sand, to block their paths.

“Who is that?” Some men ask, dumbly. You roll your eyes. What sort of allies were these, that they didn't recognize your standard?

“Hey, Lady, you can’t be here!” And oh, the sheer stupidity of them all. If you didn't know their lords to be much more cunning, this display might have actually led you to believe that they were, in fact, being duped time and time again instead of inflating the cost of supplies.

“… The Maiden…” Now, that one was a bit better. You looked good in your traveling dress, despite the chunky boots.

“What is she..?”

You bat them all away, set on reaching the center of the smoking ruins. You know the men you seek must be there. The faint screeches of dragons tell you that.

Your knights locate a rock for you to sit on. They stand guard, their backs turned to you. You eye the carnage around you and decide that yes, the rock is precisely where you wish to sit. It's high enough that you get a vantage point to watch the terrain, but not too tall you will need aid to get up on it.

When you sit down, carefully spreading your skirts to not let them touch the dirt, someone sits by your side. You don't need to look up to know it's who you seek. Your guards wouldn't have let him approach if he wasn't.

“Quite the entrance.” He says, casually leaving his sword on the sand. “You have grown.”

Pretending not to recognize him, you look at your nails, casually. His voice sounds exactly as you remember it.

“Do I know you?”

“More intimately than you probably wished at the time.” He laughs, and you finally risk your first glance at him. Daemon Targaryen is still in his armor, covered in so much blood he looks positively feral. His hair, in intricate little braids, is as beautiful as you remember, even if limp and tinted red. A shame he will probably have to cut it now because by the looks of it, the blood and sooth are not coming off.

You are no longer a girl of twelve years old, and he is no longer the young Prince you once caught in the act. Yet, he is still disarmingly handsome. Despite the years and the self assuredness you have managed to cultivate, he leaves you weak at the knees.

How could one say this in a polite manner? Daemon had featured in quite a few of your teenage fantasies, as you grew older. After catching him in the act, you had had an interesting conversation with Qoren. It had opened your eyes to a whole new world of pleasure.

Twelve years old was an impressionable age, especially for young maidens. You had flowered not long afterwards your first exposure to sex. Back then, you hadn't understood what you had witnessed properly, but as you grew, your imagination did too. And Dorne was not a place for the shy.

As you started to look at the world with the eyes of a woman, you had experienced your first infatuation, and it had been on him. Never before had you met a northern that was as open-minded about pleasure as Daemon was, and that fact had made you wonder what it would be like to share his bed. And then, the war at the Stepstones had reawakened your teenage urges.

“You!” You play it cool, as if you had not set up this whole thing on the odd chance of getting to see him. Dornishmen were no strangers to pleasure, after all. And you had never been good at denying yourself of anything you wanted. “The boy in the sitting room.”

“The girl at the window.” Daemon conceded, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “And here I thought I would have to lower my pants.”

You snickered. Daemon looked perplexed for a second, before snickering too. You could tell he was impressed by your lack of a reaction to his joke, probably because he had thought it would scandalize you.

The moment is cut short, though, by his own sobering up.

“You shouldn't be here, little dornish girl.”

“Oh?” You extend your legs in front of you, getting comfortable. Will he mention the elephant in the room, or will you have to?

“These men have not seen a woman in months.” Daemon answers, lightly curling his hand over the pommel of his sword. You look around you, noticing that some of the men are, in fact, staring hungrily at you. It's not something that bothers you, any longer. Despite the nickname Daemon has bestowed on you, you are no girl. Younger than him by a few years, you are more of an old maid. You were used to men's attention. As the Princess of Dorne, you had come to expect it.

“And that concerns me, how?” Because there are much more interesting matters you wish to discuss, rather than the ogling of some uncouth northerns. For one, where was your gold going. Second, what were you having for dinner. Third, if he was going to join you.

“Do I really have to explain?” Daemon arches an eyebrow. Deciding to play coy, you give him a sweet look.

“Please. Do not deprive me of the pleasure of your opinions.” And if it comes out a bit ironic, Daemon doesn't seem to notice, too entranced by the way you are twirling one of your dark curls between your fingers.

“Plenty of hungry cats.” He says, as if in a daze. Apparently, Daemon hasn't seen a woman in months either, if seducing him will be this easy. “And you are looking an awful lot like a little mouse.”

You fight the urge to snicker. You were no mouse, but a viper, and you were ready to strike. But if he fancied himself the protector, you didn't mind playing into it.

“Well, good thing you are here. Now they think this little mouse is spoken for.” You run a hand over his arm, softly. Your hands lift a trace of the blood in his armor, leaving behind a drawing made up of empty space.

“Are you?” He arches an eyebrow, unbothered at the contact. You retract your hand, staring at your now bloody fingernails.

A scattering of images comes to mind. Maidenheads, bloody sheets. The girl you were at twelve. The man he is now. Your nails scratching lines on his back, biting at his throat, nipping at his lips. Unable to connect the thoughts, you let them go until only a pleasant smile remains.

“Are you a hungry cat?”

“No, little mouse.” Daemon tucks a loose curl behind your ear. As his hand comes down, he caresses your neck, lightly. It's barely a brush of his fingertips, yet your breath falters. He leans in, as if sharing a secret. His next words come out in a whisper. “I am a hungry dragon.”

Predictable, if a bit witty. Targaryens and their dragons. Despite it, you enjoy how much of an effort he is putting in. As a Martell, people often expect you to do all the seducing, not noticing you like being seduced as well. It's good that someone finally acknowledges it takes two to dance.

“That explains the never-ending appetite.” You tease, leaning towards him as well. The sun is starting to settle around you, some of his men lighting fires. They do not seem about to stop their pillaging. You wonder if Corlys Velaryon is near, and if so, why he doesn't stop them.

“You have no idea.” His voice is low and smooth. His hand is still on your loose curl, lower, this time. Barely touching your collarbone. His eyes are dark, and you doubt it is from the change in lighting. "A taste would never satiate me.”

“Shame. Little mice make for small bites, I think.” Your lips quirk up at the corners, barely suppressing a laugh. Expert in denial as you are, you know now is the time to retreat. You want him hooked on you so badly, he never sees your next move.

“I would make sure to do so very slowly. Savor it.” Daemon's thumb rubs just between your collarbones, tracing a path towards the valley of your breasts. You move away before he can reach it.

“Maybe, hungry cat.” You stress the last word, already knowing how you will lead Daemon into your trap. It will only take a few well-placed prods at his ego.

“Hungry dragon.” He repeats, a bit annoyed. The idea that you do not recognize him by his proper title upsets him. You laugh.

“Oh, but you look like a starved cat. A stray.”

“I am no stray.” Daemon complains. You arch an eyebrow, coolly.

“What else is a Prince doing fighting a war so far from home?”

Daemon stares at you. You are willing to admit it was quite mean on your part. Perhaps a tad too vicious. But you have yet to accomplish what you wish to, hence why you take it even further.

“You have until tomorrow to deposit the gold you have stolen from us in coffers.”

His whole face shifts, flirty expression replaced by a mask of indifference that is not fooling anyone. Caught off guard by your words, Daemon resorts back to his only defense mechanism.

“And if I don't?” He thrusts his chin up, defiant.

“You will find yourself at war with Dorne.” Your tone is even. Your voice doesn't waver, as if you were discussing the weather and not defying a kingdom much larger than yours.

“And you will declare war with two knights?” Daemon laughs.

“Have you met Dalton Greyjoy, perhaps?” You lean back on the rock, tilting your face up to the sun. Soaking in it. “Awfully young ironborn. Eager to prove himself, much more so if it's to beautiful women. Or so I hear.”

“You have allied yourself with the Iron Islands?”

You say nothing. Instead, you give him an enchanting tilt of the head, as if he was no more than one of your suitors. Your lips stretch into a coy little smile, one that tells him you have a secret he is not privy to.

“I do not believe you.” Daemon shakes his head. He crosses his arms over his chest, before uncrossing them and shaking his head yet again. Stunned. “No. Prince Qoren would never allow it.”

“Qoren would not?” You repeat, mockingly. “And pray tell, since when do you know him so well?”

“Do you know why he dropped the Triarchy?” The question is unexpected. Before this, you had not bothered to wonder about your brother's motives. Used as you were at things going your way, you had assumed Qoren had seen the wisdom of your advice and decided to take it.

“Because I told him it was a bad investment.” You answer, refusing to back down. What could Daemon Targaryen know of the motivations of a prince of Dorne? Nothing. He had to be bluffing, searching for a weakness he could exploit to get out of this.

“Because the Crab King, over there…” Daemon gestures vaguely in the direction of the corpses. “Had eyes that lingered too much on you. And if this Greyjoy boy is the same…”

You blink a few times. It makes sense. The Crab King had never tried to seduce you, yet you know men like that are not used to asking. Instead, they order. You can only guess the face Qoren made when faced with such a demand. He is as proud as you are.

Daemon could be lying, of course. Trying to make you doubt Qoren. Divide and conquer, and all that. You can't let that happen. Everyone knows the two of you are a team. Whatever grievances you have to air with him, they will be on private. You tuck away the piece of information for later, and focus on what's in front of you.

“If Qoren is willing to turn into a turncloak for my sake…” You narrow your eyes at Daemon, menacingly. You know as well as him that the easiest way to stop you is to hurt you. Kill you, perhaps. But it would mean war. “Think of what he will do to you, if you hurt me.”

“You will have your coffers tomorrow, Princess.” Daemon says, bitterly. He knows he has lost. You outmaneuvered him. House Martell has never bowed to dragons. If Daemon declares war on Dorne, his brother will pull the support from the Iron Throne. Corlys Velaryon will not want to get involved, no matter how much he has benefitted from their plot. He cannot wage war alone.

You get up. You dust off your skirts.

“Good. And make sure you bathe before touching the gold. Wouldn't want you staining it.”

You do go back to Dorne with a chest full of gold, and then some. As it seems to be a tendency with Daemon, you almost forget all about him before he is barging into your life again.

It happens on an odd afternoon, while you are trying to broker a deal with a foreign King. The tart taste of the berries makes you scrunch up your face. It's more acidic than what you are used to, but good nonetheless. You smile at the King in front of you. He looks on the verge of drooling.

“I am glad you like it, my Princess.” He simpers. “I must say the shade compliments your caramel skin quite well.”

Caramel. Ugh. How you hate when men compare you to food. It's always your caramel skin, your cherry lips, your golden eyes. Can they get more unoriginal?

You beg to the skies for fortitude. This alliance is important, you remind yourself. Qoren needs them, Dorne needs them. They grow more fruit than you could ever hope for.

As it often happens, your prayers are heeded in a way you could not have expected.

“Princess.” A guard suddenly sprints into the room. “There is a situation at the gates. Prince Qoren needs you.”

You spring up from your seat so fast, one might think there were needles on your cushion.

“I apologize, my King. The berries were lovely. Perhaps you could send some more? For the people?”

“Oh, I understand.” The King gives a jovial laugh. “Duty calls and all. You are right, I shall send you…”

“Good.” You cut him off, and walk out of the parlor. As you start to reach the gates, you slow down your walk. You can't have Qoren thinking you rushed to his side, after all.

“Have you developed some sort of mind reading ability?” Qoren turns at your words. He is facing the gates, right in the middle of the watchtower. It's not an actual watchtower, but rather a ledge on one of your lower walls, right aside to the actual tower. Its slightly off center position allows for a better view of the gates, despite not being very high.

“What's that supposed to mean?” He asks, reclining precariously. Your stomach turns. This is a recurring occurrence, Qoren watching from places he is not supposed to. You often fear he will fall to his death, yet he has yet to even slip. He is noisy enough to not care about the dangers of the world.

“You knew I needed an out, I gather.” You keep your tone flat. While you enjoyed being his right hand, you disliked that so many of your allies thought flirting was the way to do business.

“I didn't. Come here and take a look.” Qoren sounds uninterested in your grievances, which is highly unusual for him. Whatever he is looking at must be fascinating. You start climbing the steps, aided by the guard that led you here. You try to do so gracefully, but it's daunting in a dress as the one you wear.

“How did you even get up here?” You huff, crouching on the ledge before slowly starting to stand.

“Invaders.” Qoren says, unbothered. You nearly fall off, shrieking. The guard pushes you upright again.

“At ease, Princess. We got you.” He says. “Look closer.”

So you do. You narrow your eyes at the horizon, and what you can see of the gate. You can barely make out a giant red blur. A dragon, perhaps? One you already know, by the eerie calm he is sporting.

You only know one dragon. It happens to be red.

“What did you do to that man?” Qoren laughs. Your mouth opens and closes. It has been almost two moons since you departed from the Stepstones, half of the gold you had originally given to the Iron Throne back with you.

You had gone on with your life. Taken a few lovers, here and there. Ate good food. Pawned off resources for alliances. You know, the typical. Daemon Targaryen, though, clearly has not. Because he now stands at the gates of Sunspear, dragon in tow.

“Nothing. Nothing, I swear.” You reply to Qoren, still open-mouthed. “Is he trying to declare war?”

Qoren laughs at you, poking you in the ribs. You squirm away, before remembering you are standing on a ledge. You slap his arm.

“Don't do that! We could fall!”

“The only falling being done here is that dragon prince for you, dear sister.”

“Huh?” You frown, confused. What is he on about? Despite your desire to bed Daemon, you had walked away from the meeting with the certainty that he was not interested in you. You were not a maiden like the ones he chased, nor were you young, and you had done a good job of alienating him after threatening him with war. This could not be a mere visit, for you had parted on bad terms.

But Qoren doesn't answer. He only raises his voice slightly.

“Truss him up in chains!” The order is clearly not meant for you. “And place him on the Princess' solar.”

“What are you doing?” You ask, bewildered, as the guards hurry to carry out his order.

“I'll give you a chance to deal with him.” Qoren says, mysteriously. “I think he is about to ask for your hand.” And with an agile jump, he is off the ledge and getting down the wall. You scramble to follow.

“Qoren!” You scream, nearly falling off in your haste. He is too fast for you, already entering the palace. The guard steadies you again, and you gather your skirts and run after him, but it's too late. You do not know which direction he has turned. “Qoren, what do you mean by that? Have you spoken to him? He asked you for… Qoren, dammit!”

His cheery voice reaches your ears.

“Do try to get rid of him, alright? We can't have our people thinking we have been invaded.”

You chase after the sound, but he is gone. You could follow him to the throne room, but you decide for the more amusing option. No matter if Qoren is teasing about the marriage proposal, you decide to go and freshen up a bit. It will take a long time for the guards to subdue Daemon, and to drag him inside. Plenty of advice for you to change clothes.

Be it for declaring war, or rejecting a marriage proposal, you like to be well-dressed for the occasion. You take your time choosing your outfit, strapping a tiny dagger to your thigh.

Only when an hour has passed, you walk towards your solar. There are a few knights stationed outside, one of them being your Dayne companion. He approaches you cautiously.

“The Prince left instructions for us to enter at your call. One scream, Princess, and we will be in there before he can draw his sword.”

He sounds worried. It's actually kind of sweet.

“Don't worry. He won't hurt me.”

But despite your words, as soon as you enter your solar, you are grabbed harshly by the arm. You look up to find Daemon not only free from chains, but furious.

Perhaps the guards thought it would not be very diplomatic to chain him up. A shame. You jerk off his grip, and go serve yourself some wine. It's a very neat trick, one you have learned from the men in your life. One must let the other do all the nagging while pretending to be entirely innocent, so they sound insane. Often, it leads to the person reproaching you actually thinking they are going mad. You only use it when you feel particularly cruel.

"You took your time.” Daemon follows you, stomping and huffing. “I have been waiting for nearly an hour.”

“I was not decent. I had to change into my afternoon clothes.” You give a little twirl, enjoying the luxurious feel of the skirt against your body. You know it will only anger him further. “Do you like them?”

“You have some nerve.” Daemon scoffs. You offer him a goblet of wine, which he takes. “Do you know what men say of you?”

“Does a viper pay attention to the mumbling of worms?” Your voice is calm and sweet. In truth, you do pay a attention to what they say. Who doesn't? But Daemon doesn't need to know that for the game you are playing.

“You are hardly a viper.” His eyes narrow at you, in a flutter of pretty lashes and lilac. Good Gods, what right does he have to be so handsome. You hate him.

“I like to think I am one.” You drink from your wine, giving him a coy little look over the rim of your goblet.

“They say you are a witch. That you place your spell on them and have them dancing at your tune.” He complains, gruffly. So far, he seems very angered by you, which is fair considering the way you parted. What makes no sense is the fact that he has come this far to make his displeasure known.

“It's not my fault men are often led by their cocks.” You shrug. It's rather crass, but you are unbothered by it. If men are allowed to speak how they please, why shouldn't you?

“Perhaps not.” Daemon cocks his head. “But I do wish to ask something of you.”

“Oh?”

Daemon places his goblet down. He plucks yours from your fingers, all soft movements. He raises your hand to his lips, and kisses your palm. His eyes never leave yours.

“Remove your spell from me.”

You laugh. You stare at him as if he has two heads. You laugh some more.

"I'm serious. You have bewitched me. Ensnared me with your charms and feminine…” He lets go of your hand, angrily gesturing. The laughter dies in your throat. Daemon is not joking.

“I have what?” You repeat, confused. Now you are actually thinking him a madman.

“You have made it so I can't lie with another woman. I only get relief when I think of you. Remove your spell, or I shall…” And it's too good, too much of a joke not to laugh. You restrain yourself, knowing angering him more could be bad for your health.

“You shall what?” Despite your attempts, your amusement must show because Daemon grabs you by the shoulders and gives you a tiny shake. It's not enough to hurt you, but it startles you into seriousness.

“I have never wanted a woman as much as I want you.” His eyes do not show the emotion his words imply. While his face reflects need, Daemon has not drank nearly enough to have such a loose tongue. Something is amiss. “Let me have you. If you don't remove your spell, I need to have you.”

His eyes don't show need, but eagerness. He is trying to manipulate you. The thought of him implying that you must let him have you makes your blood boil. You are angered beyond belief. Has he really come all this way to make some half-assed marriage proposal, in the hopes of trapping you with him? Who does he think he is dealing with?

If you were another woman, more inexperienced, you would let this man manipulate you right into his bed. But you are not. You are old enough to know that lust can be cured with a few well-placed hot baths and enough time and distance. His excuses are a poor attempt. You almost prefer the other men's simpering.

“I am no witch, you fool. Now, out!” You point at the door.

Daemon straightens. He eyes you carefully.

“I need you.” He repeats. It's clearly a lie. You wonder what else is, too. Is it odd to feel flattered by him being so set on you, he is willing to manipulate you into marriage?

“You do not. There is nothing interesting here, go find a whore.” You cross your arms over your chest. Your traitorous heart seems to disagree. You don't want him to leave, says the heat in your cheeks. Not yet, answers the harsh ring of your pulse in your ears.

“I do.” Daemon steps closer. He seems slightly unsure and that is what gives him away. If you are trying to manipulate someone, you have to go all in. You can't hesitate because they call your bluff. His seduction techniques need serious work. “You have to let me have you.”

“I don't have to do anything.” You scowl at him, getting right up on his face. To you, it doesn't matter if you are shorter, you will put the fear of the gods in him or so the Seven help you. “And I do not believe a word you say. If you wanted me to fuck you, you could have merely asked. I do not appreciate you trying to manipulate me. I do not need to be coerced into it, I am no maiden.”

“And if I were to ask?” His nose brushes against yours, tenderly. Daemon's eyes have turned dark, his body nearly vibrating in excitement at your anger. You had heard Targaryens had queer customs, but had not expected him to be so aroused after getting yelled at.

“Too late, out!” You push your index finger into his chest, hard. Daemon smirks. He takes a step forward, forcing you to back off or get your finger crushed.

“You said I had to only ask for what I want.” He gets closer still, backing you against a wall. “No more games.”

“No more games.” You agree, a bit shakily. He noses along your temple, softly. You look up at him, all big, surprised eyes. How has he turned the whole situation into his favor so fast? And when, exactly, did you lose control?

“I want to know what is behind your eyes.” Daemon presses a soft kiss to your brow, then to your eye. You let go of the breath you are holding, eyes fluttering closed. Your lips tingle with the urge to be kissed, alight with the rush that comes from being seduced. But you do not intend to make it easy for him, no. He can't just expect you to submit just because he asks.

“No, thank you.” You duck beneath his arm, leaving behind your moment of weakness. He still tried to manipulate you, after all. He deserves a bit of suffering.

“What do you fear?” Daemon grabs your arm, pulling you towards him. He nuzzles your neck. “It certainly isn't modesty, you said so yourself. You are no blushing virgin.”

“I do not want to marry you.” You jerk free of his grip.

“Perhaps, you think I would enjoy you less. Or you fear I might not like what hides behind your eyes.” He kisses right behind your ear, softly hugging you to him. “The thoughts you have… The things you crave…” His hand traces an upward path, from your belly button to your collarbones. “To me, it only means you are already mine.”

“I'm not interested.” You say, but your whole body is saying yes. You just can't help it. His attention is overwhelming. His hands are gripping at your waist, your hips, everywhere. You shake against him as if you were an innocent still, and not a woman seasoned in the arts of love.

“I made you like this.” Daemon presses scorching hot kisses against your neck. You wonder if all Targaryens run as hot as this one. “Do you remember, little dornish girl?”

“You did not.” You pull away once more, and grab your wine again. You take a hearty sip. The memory you have obsessed over is one he has thought of too. Daemon had awoken something in you that rainy afternoon, and it's clear you had done the same to him.

“I taught you something, even if unwillingly. I always wondered, when I heard of your exploits, if you thought of me too.” And you have. Oh, how badly have you thought of running into him and bedding him, but you are not willing to admit it. You know if you look at him, you will give yourself away, so you keep stubbornly looking somewhere else.

Daemon chuckles.

“Let me see those eyes.” He gently grabs your jaw and lifts your head up. “Ah. So I was right.”

Furious at being caught, you place one of your hands on his hair and tug. Hard. Hard enough to force him to expose his neck.

“How do you feel about my eyes now?” You snarl.

“They are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Daemon's brows are pinched together, his back slightly arched. Your punishing grip on his hair is hurting him, and you are glad for it. Yet, his lips are parted as if experiencing the sweetest delights. “They are those of a woman in the throes of passion.”

“Do not test me.” You warn, forcing him to his knees. He goes willingly.

Daemon reaches up slowly, his much bigger hand curling around your wrist. He coaxes you to let go, softly massaging.

“I can taste the arousal cursing through your blood, Princess.” He pulls you into him, until both of you are sprawled out on the floor. “I see how your chest heaves, how your breath is getting heavier, how your lips plump… You are excited.”

“So what if I am?” You huff. It's all cornered animal. You cannot deny it any longer, you want him too badly for it.

“It means you and me… We are the same.” And he finally kisses you. His mouth meets yours in a hungry kiss, into which you pour all your frustration. But Daemon coaxes you to go slower, to kiss more passionately instead of hurriedly.

“I want you.” He says, when you part. His forehead rests against yours. “Let me keep you. Be mine. A woman as bloodthirsty as you cannot stay alone forever.” As he lays you down on the floor, as he gets on top of you and his hands pin yours down. “Let me keep you.”

And this time, you say yes.

[danieyells]

Taiga's mental deterioration is awful. It's terrible. To lose parts of oneself, for Romeo to lose parts of someone he loves so dearly, it's painful and terrifying and if he could make a wish with another demon he might just wish for him to be healed. He was never normal in the time that he knew him. But once upon a time Taiga spoke and looked around the world with coherency, Taiga took interest in things beyond hunger and sporadic, violent fascination. Once upon a time Taiga did more than eat and gamble and sleep in a cycle that he sometimes was very aware of.

And yet.

And yet one of the things Taiga never seemed to forget was Romeo himself. Others' faces and names faded away or never told hold to begin with, other parts of his life were gone to the neverending hunger within him, but Lulu, Lulu remained. If Taiga heard Romeo's name, even without his nickname, there was never any question who he was. His face was always as beautiful as he last saw him. His voice was always so loud and he always said too much. He was as naïve as the day they met and as greedy as he'd ever been. Taiga knew Romeo. He always knew Romeo.

It was awful, in his eyes. That whoever Taiga has been before he met him had been washed away. That Taiga could barely remember who he was and where he'd come from and what brought him joy beyond risk and profit and blood in his mouth and the presence of someone who'd stayed with him so long that Romeo used to wonder if no one had ever done so before.

And yet.

Romeo had always been a greedy bastard. No one knew that like Taiga did.

And as much as he hated to see Taiga fade into something almost beastial, the part of him he buried down tight, the part of him which would have rather cling to valuables even if they would get him killed, the vicious, hungering greed watched on with delight.

The greed held its hand out to this slowly forming monster to be sniffed and remembered and relied on and loved and wanted and needed and to be the only thing left in his head.

Part of him saw Taiga forget everything but remember him with such clarity it was as if Romeo's existence was his own and wished he could help him tear everything else away. Faster, forget faster. Forget more. Care about less.

Until all that Taiga knew or saw or desired or remembered or lived for what Romeo Scorpius Lucci.

Isn't it what he deserved? And isn't it what would make Taiga happy, too?

It was inevitable, as he saw it.

It was inevitable, as Taiga had told him he would never, ever forget him.

If Taiga ever forgot Romeo, what would be left would simply not be Taiga, and Romeo should take it out.

Perhaps Taiga had meant it as a warning, for fear that he would harm Romeo if he ever forgot his face. He had trained him to be able to hold a gun to him, to be ready to pull the trigger in case there was no recognition in Taiga's eyes and he bore teeth at him. To shoot for his heart. To think he should protect himself from whatever took over and used Taiga's face to threaten Romeo's wellbeing.

But to Romeo it was something more. Not about what would become of Taiga but who he was now.

Romeo mourned every memory and thought Taiga lost. Even if Taiga didn't care to do so, every lost bit of someone he loved so dearly was worth mourning.

And yet he watched. Closely. What was left. How much was left. How much was him--and how much was not--and how much would still be him in the end.

Someday, perhaps, if they could not reverse what had become of Taiga's mind, all that would be left for him would be Romeo. And perhaps to continue to love him and to hold him would be to take advantage of that.

But Romeo had killed and stolen and manipulated and more. He was not a man of morals, but of profits and a great deal of sickening, clawing love in the form of greed.

Perhaps someday Taiga would become empty of anything but Romeo, and Romeo would hold him and care for him and love him regardless, in spite of it, for it. Why shouldn't he love someone who thought only of him and felt only for him, whose heart beat and mind buzzed and body moved for him and nothing else? Even if Taiga's sense of self eroded, if his sense of Romeo remained what was not to be loved?

Perhaps after that he would begin to forget Romeo as well. And until then Romeo would love him and use him. Until then he was still valuable. Until then he was still Taiga.

Until he was no longer Taiga, who lived for Romeo according to the greed that made his love into a room full of gilded cages, Romeo would keep him for himself.

And the moment he stopped being Taiga would be when Romeo's heart truly broke.

And what choice would he have, before he lost more attachment to the one person who would attached to nothing but him, to use the gift he'd been given?

That attachment would be so strong, that love so intense, that there wouldn't be blood or gore or anything at all.

There wouldn't even be a world left to mourn Taiga or Romeo or to suffer an existence without them. That love, that passion, would be enough to end everything there ever was or would be in this world. Or maybe that was just Romeo's delightful fantasy, that the world would be reduced to rubble shooting off in a million brilliant directions in space because he simply loved one idiot too much.

One idiot who loved him too much.

If not for him. None of this would have ever happened. He followed Taiga to Darkwick and if he had any direction when they left he would follow him in that direction too.

And if Taiga died, who would he be if he didn't go with him?

And Romeo, in all of his greed, would simply have to take everything with them.

Everything.

[immediatebreakfast]

The rich symbolism of what the castle is as a physical place, a representation of Jonathan's sanity, and manifestation of the decaying opulence of aristocracy overflows like a fall from a jagged hill the more Jonathan tries to explore it.

The view was magnificent, and from where I stood there was every opportunity of seeing it. The castle is on the very edge of a terrible precipice. A stone falling from the window would fall a thousand feet without touching anything!

Such beautiful view that could kill someone with a single mistake in where one puts their feet. Isolated from the rest of the world, from any kind of power, nor authority that is not the Count.

But I am not in heart to describe beauty, for when I had seen the view I explored further; doors, doors, doors everywhere, and all locked and bolted. In no place save from the windows in the castle walls is there an available exit.

A beautiful prison with so much glamour, so much opulence. Gold plates, delicious food, rich fabrics that stood up the test of time, no servants (no other human beings), every decorated door locked. What a beautiful cage it seems to be this castle... it reminds me of the poor wife of Bluebeard, having the illusion of freedom while being trapped in a punishment she was not aware of.

Why do so many gothic female characters end up in these types of situations? What does the Gothic has to tell us the readers when we see a young lady trying and trying to find a succeful escape route as she juggles her emotions and actions with the man who has trapped her?

Why does Jonathan has to keep being polite to the Count (vampirism aside) while he is seeing how everything, and everywhere is cloaked in the illusion of freedom even if he knows now that is only that, an illusion.

When, however, the conviction had come to me that I was helpless I sat down quietly—as quietly as I have ever done anything in my life—and began to think over what was best to be done. 

There is a reason why what we call the Gothic in literature is heavily framed through the lens of female characters, tragedy, and romantic elements that amplify the dramatic of the text. Why do young gothic female characters; all bright eyed, innocent, inexperienced, curious, and most importantly kind, end up in horrifying situations that fundamentally change them to the point of no recognition.

A woman walks into a house. Or a castle, or a ship, or a town. A woman walks in and with her comes enthusiasm, trepidation, longing, delight. Perhaps all four at once... Maybe she’s even alone, cheerily hauling a suitcase larger than she is. She might be a guest, an heiress, the help. Chakraborty, A. (2021). Ode to the Gothic Heroine (A selection). Half Mystic. https://www.halfmystic.com/blog/gothic-heroine

Jonathan might be a man, a male character, but through the lens of the Gothic, he is a feminine character. Jonathan is young bright eyed, inexperienced, delightful, and so formal with his emotions, and actions. He knows how to keep Dracula busy as he ponders over any kind of clue that could help him escape. Jonathan smiles, and steers himself with a single "It is very annoying, for I do not see how I am to shave" after the Count nearly assaulted him in what was supposed to be a private moment in his living space, then violently got rid of one of his belongings.

But what is Jonathan supposed to do? The Count is his employer, his landlord, his opposite in every way possible (older, experienced, cunning), he can't just... tell him that he is making him uncomfortable, and that he is a prisoner in everything but name. You can't risk talking to an older man who has power over you like that young lady.

(Mem., this diary seems horribly like the beginning of the "Arabian Nights," for everything has to break off at cockcrow—or like the ghost of Hamlet's father.)

Jonathan putting himself in the shoes of a female character is not a coincidence, it's the start of what kind of traits he will need to survive both the castle, and the Count. Jonathan can't risk any kind of bad social interaction; he has to be careful with what he says, how he moves, and what topics he will use to keep Dracula busy as he searches for answers. Young gothic heroines don't have the luxury to fight back neither physically, nor verbally, they have to keep the song and dance of societal expectations less the man who has power over them decides to do something traumatic to them while everything screams how she stepped out of line.

Jonathan has now stopped being the curious male protagonist that starts to understand that something is wrong, he is now the gothic heroine of the narrative. Trapped both in the physical place of the castle, and the patriarchal power that Dracula embodies which Jonathan has to escape from.

[incaseofart]

Diablo and reverse!isekai!Wendy :D

why is there a demon in my kitchen and why is he handsome-

[goldenworldsabound]

The Diabloid (Diablo x Velvoid KJFHEWKJFEW) dynamic in shitpost form (they're both complete menaces in different ways).

taglist: @eveningshards @heatobrienswife @duskffyart @shippin-in-the-rain @mahitoslittlebird @wanderers-wife @hibiscus-ships @jackals-ships @virus-selfship

[uncomfortably-bowing]

there's so much utena discourse around certain aesthetic signatures of the show (in particular, scenes and shots like the sword pulls, the transformations and outfits, etc.) and, like, surface-level discussions over whether these things are "Actually Beautiful" or "Actually Bad."

and i totally get it, especially with regards to some scenes---like the ways in which people have taken the ending scene of episode 33 and turned into weird pastel-pretty aesthetic boards lmao----but i do feel like a lot of the discussion is over-simplistic, and disconnected from the actual framing and themes of the series

utena and anthy's world is full of beauty. it is also full of horror and pain. there is often no clear delineation between the two, and we are forced (quite generously!) to recognize both sides of this.

the sword pulls oftentimes carry feelings of manipulation, hurt, subservience. anthy summoning the sword drives in the repetitive, obedient actions she is forced to repeat time and time again for others as the rose bride. in the black rose arc, they're violent and terrifying. in the third arc, they're stand-ins of the dysfunctions the characters have with the person drawing them, the ways in which their emotions are being twisted and ignored.

and yet! they're beautiful.

they're incredibly intimate moments, in which the two characters---who, generally speaking, are either emotionally or physically estranged from one another---cradle or hold one another, pull out a culmination of that person's essence, as a heavenly light frames the two of them together. the first time anthy does it to utena, it is out of genuine fear for her, her voice quivering with fear as she tries to do anything to help her! it's love! it's an act of beautiful love!

when pressed on how it felt to have their sword drawn, the duelists are flustered---they can't say it was just painful, because it was more than just painful. the screams of the black rose arc turn into something more quiet, ethereal, pretty---and yet still uneasy, unsettling.

a similar conversation can be had about utena and anthy's outfits. they're symbols of their roles as duelist and rose bride, and for anthy in particular it's an outfit emblematic of her status as a static, never-moving prize to be won. the outfits are as ugly as the entire dueling system, and yet---while recognizing this---the show doesn't stray away from associating the dress and the duels with delightful, beautiful imagery. the rose imagery in general is very beautiful and striking, even at some of the more dark moments!

there is an aesthetically pleasing contrast between anthy's dress and utena's uniform---one that goes back ages in terms of our understandings of gender and social status. why is that beauty there? well, for a lot of reasons! one is definitely making us question what we think of as beautiful, particularly in the contexts of gender roles and society (why did we have that gut impulse to see anthy in that dress as beautiful to begin with?) but, for the sake of this post, i think the most satisfying answer is because horror and beauty are usually intertwined in our actual lives.

so much of the show is dedicated to both finding beauty in horrifying situations and seeing how beautiful things are oftentimes pretty horrifying. anthy and utena's relationship is beautiful, but grows out of abuse, sexism, queerphobia, and hurt.

when utena and anthy dance in front of everyone at the ball, how do we interpret that? well, our first instinct is as a beautiful scene of budding love and care between the two of them; our second instinct (especially after watching the show) is that it's another example of the way in which they've both been boxed into these roles of prince and bride---and all as hundreds of eyes are staring at them. when does the line between gender as choice and performance begin, and when does it become oppressive gender roles? when does anthy's performance as the meek rose bride become her real self? when do the two's relationship become loving, and when do they stop hurting each other? when do the ugly things at ohtori become beautiful, and when do all of the beautiful things become ugly?

and there's not really one point, always, although sometimes there are---and sometimes there's multiple points, and sometimes there was no transformation at all, and sometimes things never stopped oscillating between good and bad, ugly and beautiful, scary and hopeful.

and like, even beyond the really radical ways this impacts the queer and feminist readings of the show, i just think that's also very nice. so much of utena is built on recognizing the beauty in the world. the main characters live in a shitty world while leading shitty lives. and they find beauty in it still.

(i will here also add here at the end that when the show wants to make a very clear definitive statement on one of its aesthetics being basically entirely bad with no beauty behind it, it's very frank in its framing. see: any shot with utena in a dress or her girl's uniform)

[doumadono]

Warnings: blood, mentions of decomposition, violence, mental & physical abuse, toxic relationship, gore, nakedness, merman!Dabi, female original character, original characters, descriptions of murders and drowning, smut (p in v, oral - f & m receiving), manipulation

Summary: Miyaka, a young woman driven to the brink by a domineering and aloof husband, resolves to end her life in the lake near her husband's estate. Little does she realize that one quaint encounter will irrevocably alter everything, reshaping her understanding of herself, and blurring the boundaries between reality and the inexplicable

Word count: circa 12.1k A/N: I'm delighted to have had the opportunity to take part in this captivating even created by talented @candycandy00 It was my maiden voyage into the world of horror writing, and I genuinely hope that you find my contribution enjoyable. A huge shoutout to my merman specialist, @crystalwolfblog – her unwavering support and expertise were instrumental in shaping this story!

It was an enchanting night.

She stood at the edge of the great lake, its inky waters reflecting the dim glow of the moon like a mirror tainted with despair. Her heart, heavy with the weight of an unhappy marriage, throbbed in her chest, matching the rhythm of her labored breaths. Tears welled up in her eyes, and a lump formed in her throat as she gazed into the blackness of the abyss before her.

The night was eerily silent, save for the distant croak of a lone frog and the rustling of leaves in the chilling breeze. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the darkness that had consumed her entire life. A long, white, flowing dress clung to her trembling form, a stark contrast to the beauty of the night. It felt like a shroud of misery, concealing the bruises and scars that marred her body.

She had been married to a man she loathed, a man who had wed her solely for her parents' substantial dowry. He was possessive, controlling, and violent, and every day with him was a torment she couldn't escape. As she looked down at the scars on her palms, she could hear his voice in her mind, venomous and cruel. "You're mine, and you'll do as I say," he would snarl, his eyes filled with a possessive rage that chilled her soul.

Tonight, as she stood by the lake, she knew she had reached the precipice of her despair. The moon's silver rays bathed the water in an eerie glow, and she found herself muttering out loud, as if trying to rationalize the unthinkable. "I can't go on like this," she whispered to the inky depths before her, her voice a hollow echo in the night. "There's no escape from this torment, no end to the pain he inflicts upon me."

Her fingers brushed against the bruises on her neck, a painful reminder of her husband's merciless grip. The darkness seemed to envelop her, offering a macabre solace, a release from the relentless agony that had become her life.

A sense of dread washed over her as she took a step closer to the water's edge, the lake beckoning with a malevolent allure. She could hear the echoes of her own pleas for help, trapped within the walls of her loveless home. She had no one to turn to, no one to confide in, for he had isolated her from all those who cared about her, even though there weren't many of them.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and sobs wracked her body. The weight of her misery threatened to drag her under, deeper into the cold abyss. Her mind was a whirlwind of torment, and she continued to speak her sorrow aloud. "I just want the pain to stop," she murmured, her voice quivering. "I want freedom from this living nightmare."

Meantime, claws, like daggers forged in the abyss, pierced the tender flesh of the fish, snapping it asunder with the ease of breaking brittle twigs. Delicate bones shattered, their lamenting cracks akin to dried leaves crumbling beneath a malevolent force, as the ichor of life spilled forth in crimson tendrils, vanishing into the dark, ravenous depths. Razor-edged teeth, like shards of obsidian, tore through the delicate meat, rending it into fragments devoured by the insatiable monster.

This lake, embraced by a shroud of old woods, lay in proximity to a quiet city, a deceptive guise for an ideal feeding ground, or so it would seem. Elders strolled along its shore, seeking solace in the serenity of its waters, while children harbored dreams of frigid immersion, and clandestine encounters found their haven amidst the trees. Yet, the reality proved far bleaker.

Touya had ventured here in the hopes of a bountiful feast, having expended immense effort to navigate a subterranean passage connecting the vast expanse of the open sea to this secluded lake. His rewards were meager, a pitiful array of minuscule fish, native to these forsaken waters.

Resting on the lakebed, his lithe form culminating in a shark-like appendage, he contemplated a return to the boundless sea, where sustenance was plentiful. However, his sharply pointed, fin-like ears detected a peculiar disturbance, both auditory and visual.

The cacophony of a loud splash rent the silence, an intrusion too substantial for a mere fish or woodland creature's leap. Touya's senses honed in on the source, identifying an anomaly—an unmistakable human presence.

Swiftly, he propelled himself towards this enigma, only to discover a form cloaked in a long, flowing white gown, gradually succumbing to the lake's murky abyss. Drawing nearer, he seized the delicate ankle, hauling the figure closer for examination.

Fortuna's fickle favor had delivered a woman into his grasp, and while the prospect of her tender flesh stirred his primal hunger, an audacious notion overcame his instincts. The thrill of an encounter akin to a true siren's seduction beckoned, and the notion of her consumption transformed into a sinister game.

Against his ravenous desires, Touya encircled the fragile woman's frame with his sinuous arms, drawing her from the water's embrace onto the shore, where the macabre performance of a siren's sinister plan would soon commence.

As she splashed and struggled in the water, her vision blurred with panic. Her arms flailed wildly, and she gasped for air, unaware of what had caught her beneath the surface. Each thrash seemed to pull her deeper into the dark abyss, and the murky water filled her mouth easily, making her gag and sputter.

She couldn't see what had a hold of her, but the sensation of strong arms wrapping around her fragile body only heightened her fear. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her lungs burned for oxygen as she continued to fight against the unseen force.

Desperation set in, and she opened her mouth to scream, but instead, she inadvertently swallowed more water. It flooded her throat and rushed into her lungs, choking her, a burning sensation filling her pharynx and nose. The world around her grew dimmer, and her struggles weakened as her consciousness waned.

In the end, the water won, claiming her as its own. She slipped into unconsciousness, her body limp.

The beast, concealed beneath the watery veil of his domain, observed her futile resistance with a dispassionate eye. In the realm of aqueous shadows, humans were like vulnerable prey, their minds adrift in a soporific stupor. Submerged in liquid depths, they became rabid creatures confined within a cage of their own making, drawing ever nearer to the precipice of their demise with each gasping breath.

In a stroke of providence, the woman in his grasp surrendered to the dark embrace of unconsciousness. Her unconsciousness spared him the ordeal of wrestling with her thrashing form. It was a mercy he granted her, one she should consider herself fortunate to receive, for he had contemplated a far less compassionate fate.

With a grace befitting a creature of his nature, he transported her limp form to the water's edge, a sanctuary where the forest's tender grass merged with the lake's sandy shore. Touya did not deign to change his form, instead choosing to remain perched beside her prone body, a silent sentinel.

Reclining with his tail coiled comfortably, his scrutinizing gaze fell upon the woman's fragile form. Despite the dark blemishes that adorned her skin like aged spots upon a ripened fruit, her flesh beckoned like an illicit delicacy. The mere thought of sinking his serrated teeth and razor-sharp claws into her tender form sent his mouth awash with anticipation. He yearned to hear her cries of agony, to witness the crimson cascade of her life's essence, to observe the last flicker of vitality extinguish from her eyes as he ravaged her insides.

Yet, in a rare moment of restraint, the monster resisted the primal urge. No, he would savor this encounter, extracting a different form of pleasure if she were to awaken, for the thrill of her torment held a dark allure all its own.

Coughing violently, she jolted back to consciousness, her body wracked with spasms as the water that had filled her lungs was expelled with each hacking cough. It felt like her chest was on fire, and every cough sent painful ripples through her body.

For a moment, she struggled to sit up, her vision still blurred and her head pounding. She couldn't see clearly, but she had a distinct feeling that she was not alone. Panic gripped her again as she realized that someone or something was nearby.

Her coughs soon subsided, and she took ragged, shallow breaths, trying to clear the lingering water from her airways. Her gaze finally focused, and she saw it – a creature unlike anything she had ever encountered.

It sat beside her, its sharp features illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the trees. Its eyes, piercing and predatory, had turquoise irises with black sclera, a striking and unusual combination, creating an otherworldly appearance. The turquoise color itself was vibrant, reminiscent of the clear, tropical waters of a pristine ocean. Its gaze was fixed on her. Its body was a grotesque blend of human and sea creature, with scales and fins that seemed to shimmer in the dim light.

Terror coursed through her as she realized she was not in the safety of her own world anymore. She had been pulled into a nightmare, and this creature, this beast, was surely about to kill her.

She scrambled back, away from it, her heart pounding in her chest. Her voice trembled as she stammered, "W-who are you? What do you want from me?" But deep down, she feared that she already knew the answer.

As she desperately attempted to crawl through the grassy-muddy ground, every movement felt like a relentless struggle against the unforgiving terrain. The thick mud clung tenaciously to her hands and knees, making progress slow and arduous.

Eyes, vibrant and eerily alive, remained fixed on her every frantic movement. Yet, the pallid form that lay behind her, marred by ominous, dark splotches, remained immobile, preserving its enigmatic stillness until the woman's frenetic struggles yielded to silence.

A hand, adorned with webbed membranes that stretched sinuously between each finger, terminated in formidable claws. It moved through his own hair, a short cascade of pristine white, like freshly fallen snow. An insidious smile played upon his lips, revealing rows of serrated teeth that glistened malevolently in the dim light. His ears, akin to the finned appendages of some abyssal creature, possessed two sharp points and twitched slightly as he cocked his head in contemplation. "Is this how you extend gratitude to your savior?" His voice, a beguiling cadence that rivaled the most enchanting melody, seemed ill-fitted for his grotesque form. Yet, it was a weapon, not an adornment, a reminder that he wielded both power and allure. "One should exercise greater caution around these waters, miss. The prospect of losing one's life so recklessly hardly seems appealing."

The sight of her futile attempt to flee stirred a perverse pleasure within him. He found himself increasingly torn by his own plot, yet its wheels were set in motion, and he felt compelled to carry it to its conclusion. "Are you unharmed, miss? Do you feel any pain?" The inward cringe he felt at his unexpected benevolence clashed with his innate siren pride, an unsettling dissonance that inexplicably satisfied him.

The shock of hearing the creature speak, its voice so mesmerizing and soft, took her aback for a moment. She struggled to regain her confidence, her voice quivering as she managed to stammer out a question again, "W-What are you?"

As she continued to tremble, she finally collapsed onto her still-muddy knees. The weight of despair and desperation bore down on her, and she found herself confessing her dark intentions, her voice heavy with anguish, "I... I wanted to end my life."

She couldn't fathom why she had confessed her merciless plan to end her own life to this strange water creature. It felt surreal, as if she had already crossed into some sort of hellish realm beyond the realm of the living. Perhaps she had succumbed to the deadly water filling her lungs, and this creature was nothing more than a manifestation of her fractured mind.

But despite the uncertainty and the eerie circumstances, a part of her clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, this encounter held some deeper meaning.

End her own life? He understood all too well that humans were, in his estimation, pitiful and often nothing more than a source of sustenance. However, this act was a new level of wretchedness, a lamentable display that played perfectly into his hands. It would grant him effortless dominion over her fragile psyche, cloaked in a deceptive veneer of benevolence, free from the shadow of his true nature. It promised to be a game as simple as toying with a child's plaything.

Touya edged closer, his movements constrained only by the limits of his domain. His cold hand, pallid and adorned with menacing claws, extended toward her own, long fingers encircling her palm with a touch that grazed her skin like a whispered threat. "End your life? Miss, how could you contemplate such a tragic act?" His voice, like the sweetest of lullabies, dripped with feigned empathy. "A woman of such exquisite beauty, extinguishing her own light — it would be a grievous loss to the world."

The sole witnesses to this deceitful charade were the moon, whose silvery glow bathed the lake and the encircling dark forest, and the enigmatic veil of night. The woods formed an impenetrable barrier, a divide between his aquatic realm and the distant human settlement, lending an illusion of sanctuary. This tableau, a fusion of darkness illuminated by the radiant moon, resembled a masterpiece plucked from the realm of the surreal, gracing the place with an eerie charm.

Her body shivered, not just from the cold but from the sensation of the creature's wet hand with its sharp claws closing around hers. It was an eerie feeling, like a surreal dream that she couldn't wake up from. The moonlit darkness around her only added to the strangeness of the moment.

The creature's soothing voice seemed to be at odds with the sharpness of its claws, and she couldn't help but feel a mix of fear and fascination in the beast's presence. Everything about this encounter defied logic and reason, and she was desperately seeking some semblance of understanding in this bizarre situation. "What are you?" she asked once more, her voice trembling as she stared into the creature's captivating turquoise eyes. "Am I... am I dead?"

Touya tenderly clasped her hand, his fingers exploring the contours of her skin and the supple muscles beneath. An insidious hunger stirred within him, and he battled the overpowering urge to sink his teeth into her soft flesh.

Instead, he brought her delicate palm to his lips, where his tongue languidly traced a sinuous path across her skin. A shiver of desire coursed through him as he inhaled the intoxicating fragrance that clung to her, an aroma as sweet and irresistible as the most alluring of temptations. "I believe you are quite alive, miss," he purred, his voice a seductive whisper. "One cannot be considered dead while radiating such warmth."

Horrified and disgusted by the creature's unsettling actions, she finally found her voice and strength. With a shudder, she forcefully withdrew her hand from the creature's grasp, her face contorted in a mixture of revulsion and fear. "What are you?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a newfound determination. The earlier feeling of hope had been tainted by the creature's disturbing behavior, and she needed answers more than ever. She was no longer willing to tolerate the enigmatic presence of the creature without understanding the truth of its nature.

A pair of luminescent, cerulean eyes bore into her with an eerie intensity, even as the monstrous figure let out a low, mocking laugh. He unfurled his form, revealing a pale body adorned with enigmatic dark markings and a magnificent tail that shimmered like a sinister jewel beneath the moon's ghostly radiance. "Is it truly so challenging to discern, miss?" he taunted, his voice a silky, melodious cadence. "I am a water-dwelling creature, inhabiting these very depths. You seem remarkably ungrateful - I saved your life, and not a word of thanks graces your lips."

The sudden audacity displayed by the woman intrigued him. It was a peculiar sight to behold — someone who had sought to end their own existence, now attempting to assert dominance as if he were the lesser of the two. He harbored a morbid fascination for this unfolding drama and was more than willing to indulge her in this charade.

As she shivered in the coldness of the night, her mind raced with conflicting emotions. The creature's words were unsettling, yet there was a grain of truth in what it had said - it had saved her from her own desperate act, and she couldn't deny that fact.

Swallowing her fear, she decided to pursue the conversation further. "I... I appreciate that you saved me," she stammered, her voice still shaking. "But I need to understand. What's your name? Do you even have one? And why did you intervene? I didn't want to be saved, that's not what I hoped for."

"You may call me Touya," he acknowledged with a nod, bestowing upon her a disarming smile that revealed a row of dangerously sharp teeth. "I am, by nature, a siren, and you, dear miss, have disrupted the tranquil harmony of my lake. At first, I assumed it was some unsuspecting creature taking an ill-fated plunge, but when my eyes fell upon a human as resplendent as yourself, I simply couldn't ignore the spectacle."

He offered this explanation in a voice as smooth as velvet, its mellifluous tones designed to insinuate themselves into her fragile psyche. Touya typically employed this beguiling cadence to lure unsuspecting individuals into the water, but in her case, he sought to quell her anxiety and delay her inevitable flight. "I dare say, fortune itself must be watching over you," he continued, his voice dripping with a honeyed reassurance. "For you have chosen to cast yourself into these depths, and in that choice, you've affirmed the value of life, young miss."

She remained silent, her shock and bewilderment apparent in her wide eyes as she stared at Touya. She blinked several times, as if trying to convince herself that this surreal encounter was real.

Her formerly white dress, now covered in mud and grass, clung to her body, the once pristine fabric marred by her ordeal. Some marine flora had found its way onto the dress as well, further adding to the disarray of her appearance. Her hair was a tangled mess, damp from her recent struggle in the lake. The soaked material of the dress offered little concealment, and her perky breasts were subtly visible through the fabric.

The woman struggled to make sense of it all, torn between the desire to flee from this creature and the nagging feeling that there was something soothing about his presence.

The woman's bewilderment bore a certain charm, and Touya couldn't help but relish the success of his beguiling voice. Seizing the opportunity, he inched closer to her until he was positioned right beside her, his attention now devoted to the delicate task of untangling debris from her disheveled hair. "I hope you don't find it intrusive, but might I inquire about your name, miss?" he asked, his voice a soothing melody, while he carefully plucked remnants from her tangled locks. "I find myself quite intrigued by the enigma I've just rescued."

His gaze wandered to her, swiftly detecting the telltale marks that marred her neck — a grim testament to the assailant who had been thwarted in their pursuit. With a possessive glint in his eyes, he whispered softly, his fingers lightly grazing her throat as he voiced his observation, "It seems someone has inflicted harm upon you."

"My name is not important," she replied with a distant, haunted look in her eyes. "I've been called so many slurs, I almost forgot my own name."

As Touya got closer, her senses were alarmed, and she instinctively got up, her stained attire a mess as she attempted to improve her appearance. She felt a mixture of fear and unease in the presence of this enigmatic creature.

Suddenly, a male voice came from afar, calling out for Miyaka. 

She gasped, her heart pounding as she recognized the voice of her husband. The very mention of her name sent a chill down her spine, and she knew that her desperate escape had not gone unnoticed. Panic washed over her, and she turned to Touya, her voice trembling. "I need to go now," she said urgently. "I have to go."

And with that she simply ran away, stopping twice to look back at the merman over her shoulder. Soon yet, she vanished in the woods.

Touya felt the embers of his anger smoldering within him, stoked by an ever-growing hunger, especially after the tantalizing taste of her skin.

With a frustrated growl, he retreated back into the murky depths of the lake, cursing himself for the absurd notion that had briefly gripped him.

The embrace of the cold water swiftly quelled his rising temper. As he sank to the lake's bottom, he contemplated how best to reclaim the woman he refused to let slip from his grasp.

_____________________________

Over the following days, Touya employed his hypnotic voice, weaving a mesmerizing aria to beckon her back to the waters. It did ensnare a lost, young soul, but not the one he so fervently desired. Nevertheless, the young girl, enticed by his enchantment, undressed and ventured into the chilling embrace of the lake a few nights later.

That was the moment he seized.

As the girl floated on her back, lost in the tranquility of the lake's surface, a sinister force latched onto her ankle, yanking her beneath the water's surface.

Desperation and fear churned within her, and she thrashed wildly, her outstretched hands clawing at the surface, futilely struggling against the monstrous grip. A pale hand, equipped with menacing claws, clamped onto her slender ankle, sealing her grim fate as prey to a relentless kelpie.

He held her under until her struggles ceased, ensuring her life was extinguished before allowing himself to retrieve the lifeless body.

With an eerie detachment, Touya surveyed his gruesome feast. He tore into her flesh, devouring the most succulent portions and discarding what he deemed unworthy. Each organ yielded a delectable, squishy texture, untainted by the ravages of time and human indulgence. 

But the heart, that was his ultimate indulgence. Delving for the heart was always a pleasure for Touya, akin to prying open a clam. He reveled in the visceral experience — ripping through flesh, unveiling the rib cage formed from robust bones that snapped like dry twigs under his unrelenting grasp. Inside lay the heart. Sinking his teeth into the still-beating organ was akin to prying open a precious pearl encased within the ribs, the bones cracking like brittle twigs beneath his formidable grip.

Having sated his appetite by consuming the choicest portions, he discarded whatever seemed unworthy, flinging it aside. Seated beside the lifeless body on the bottom of the lake, he seized the hand, twisting it until the elbow joint surrendered with a gruesome pop. The skin tore haphazardly, leaving jagged edges adorning the amputated limb. Now he could relish the taste of human flesh as he bit into it.

This grotesque repast sustained him for the next few days, casting a pall of momentary satisfaction over his insatiable hunger. All that remained were bones, some still intact while others lay shattered, along with soiled garments and scattered remnants of meat.

Yet, he didn't forget about the girl named Miyaka. He toiled tirelessly to entice her back to the lake, driven by an unrelenting determination to make her his own once more.

_____________________________

Her husband was furious at her attempt to escape, and his anger had escalated to violence. The evening had been unbearable, her husband's rage unleashed upon her for daring to defy him and attempt to escape. He had scolded and hit her, his anger leaving her bruised and terrified. As a punishment, the man decided to confine her to a cramped guest bedroom in their shared, or rather his exclusive, house.

The memories of her near escape and her encounter with Touya, the merman, haunted her constantly. She longed for the soothing presence of the lake, where she had briefly found respite from her torment.

One evening, as the sun began to set and darkness crept over the land, she heard a faint, melodious voice carried by the evening breeze. It was distant, yet unmistakable. The voice belonged to Touya, the merman who had saved her life just a few days prior. The sound seemed to come from afar, but Miyaka was more than sure of its origin.

Miyaka cried throughout the day and night, her tears eventually lulling her to sleep in her cramped confinement. And there, in the depths of the night, the magical, soothing voice of Touya returned to her. Sometimes she would shake off the feeling, trying to rationalize that it was impossible for her to hear his voice from so far away. But in the lonely darkness of her captivity, she began to dream about the merman, his appearance simultaneously dangerous and alluring. His presence in her dreams became a lifeline, a glimmer of hope in her otherwise bleak existence.

One night, Miyaka decided to try her luck as their maid forgot to lock her in the bedroom after bringing her supper. The nights had become colder, and she threw a light coat over her shoulders, concealing her black dress beneath. Tiptoeing downstairs, she could hear her husband engaged in a conversation with his friends who had come to visit. Luck seemed to be on her side as she also heard the clinks of glasses, most likely filled with sake – it meant her husband wouldn't notice her leaving the house.

Quietly sneaking through the corridor, she closed the front door gently behind her. The cool night air filled her lungs, and a smile crept onto her lips – she felt free again.

Suddenly, a female voice emerged from the darkness on her left. "You shouldn't be seeing him, he's a demon," it cautioned. It was their maid, an old lady named Yuki.

Miyaka frowned and replied, "I have no idea what you're talking about. I just need to take a walk. I can't function like this."

Yuki sighed, her eyes filled with concern, and she moved closer, holding some logs in her hands. She reached out and gently placed one hand on Miyaka's shoulder. "My child, stay away from that lake, it's a cursed place. Many souls were lost there, long forgotten by this world. Don't let your sadness and loneliness drag you there, to that hellish place."

Miyaka shook the hand of the older woman off her shoulder. "Please stop, Yuki-san. I'm a grown-up, and I know how to take care of myself. I've been there many times before, and I've never seen or heard anything unusual," Miyaka lied smoothly. "People often concoct unusual stories, usually to frighten children away from venturing there on their own, to prevent accidents or drownings. And don't tell my husband you saw me."

Yuki let out a deep sigh, her eyes carrying a sadness that seemed to weigh her down. "You're making a mistake, my child."

But Miyaka wasn't listening anymore. She was already running towards the lake, as if some strange, invisible force was pushing her towards it.

Touya's throat felt raspy as he completed his haunting melody. A gnawing doubt crept in, questioning the worth of straining his vocal cords for the sake of a pitiful human.

With an irritated growl, Touya glared at the moon before submerging himself back into the water. He couldn't help but feel frustrated that the woman hadn't been devoured when she first plunged into the lake; it seemed like that was her intention after all. Yet, the irresistible urge to play with human pathetic life had taken precedence.

As he rested on the lake's bottom, he patiently waited, a glimmer of hope in his heart that perhaps she had at last heard his enticing voice, sparing him the need to actively seek her out once more.

Miyaka finally arrived at the lake, the moon casting an eerie glow over the surrounding woods. The night was heavy with a sense of foreboding, the tall trees looming like silent sentinels in the darkness. The lake, approachable through a narrow path in the woods, shimmered like a dark mirror, its surface reflecting the cold, distant stars.

As she crouched near the water, her fingers trembling, she tapped the surface with her fingertips, whispering his name in a hushed, desperate tone. Her heart pounded in her chest, and a chill ran down her spine. The air seemed thick with an unnatural stillness, as if the very forest held its breath, waiting for something to happen.

Miyaka's feelings were a tumultuous mix of fear and longing. She had been drawn here by an inexplicable force, a connection she couldn't explain. Her mind told her to flee this eerie place, to return to the safety of her husband's house, but her heart and soul yearned for something else, something she couldn't quite comprehend.

As she continued to call out to him, the water remained still, and a sense of dread settled over her. In the heart of the night, in the midst of the haunted woods, she was about to confront a reality she could never have imagined.

A shock of white hair emerged from beneath the water's surface, followed by a pair of radiant blue eyes that observed her with an eerie, almost otherworldly glow, resembling the lost flames of souls.

So she had returned! The woman had willingly walked back into the snare that would ultimately lead to her demise. It was a stark testament to the foolishness of humans, their vulnerability to the allure of his voice despite their long-standing awareness of water creatures like him. Truly, their ignorance was nothing short of pathetic.

As the woman extended her hand into the water, he gracefully swam closer and gently enveloped her hand with his own, guiding it beneath the water's surface just enough to plant a delicate kiss on the top of her palm. To her, it likely appeared as a customary human gesture, but for him, it was an opportunity to savor her essence once more, and she tasted exquisite.

He released her hand and revealed his full form to her. "You've returned, miss," he stated calmly. "I thought you were too frightened of me to come back."

When her hand dipped into the water, she felt a gentle pull, and her breath caught as the merman's lips pressed against the top of her palm. It was a fleeting gesture, one that she perceived as a kind human custom, but the sensation sent shivers through her.

As he let go of her hand, she finally saw him in his entirety. He revealed himself to her, and she was spellbound by his otherworldly appearance. His words reached her ears, and she couldn't help but respond, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and fascination. "I... I couldn't stay away," she admitted, her gaze locked on his mesmerizing eyes. "I don't understand what's happening, but there's something about you that draws me back, despite my fear."

"Oh? Is that so?" He mused with a hint of curiosity. Without further ado, he gracefully submerged beneath the water's surface without unnecessary words.

Miyaka watched with a mixture of fascination and trepidation as he hummed and disappeared beneath the water's surface. Her heart pounded in her chest as she waited for his return, her mind awash with questions and a growing sense of unease.

She couldn't help but wonder what secrets lay hidden beneath those dark, mysterious waters.

Touya emerged from the murky water just a moment later, but there was something different about him this time.

Instead of his tail, Touya was now standing on his own two legs. His body was strong, but his skin was pale with dark purple splatters all over it. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his wet hair.

Then he turned to her, standing there like the day he was born, completely unbothered by his nakedness. "Maybe it was destiny itself that brought you here, or perhaps you are in love, miss. How about we take a little walk?" he hummed, using his voice in a specific way to maintain his control over her.

Miyaka's eyes widened in shock as she saw him looking more like a human. Her cheeks flushed at his nakedness, and at first, she turned her head away, trying to regain her composure. His voice, however, was so sweet and enchanting that she found herself unable to resist his offer.

With a shy smile, she finally met his gaze and nodded in agreement. "A walk sounds nice," she replied, her voice slightly trembling.

"Then, come on, for it would be my privilege to stroll alongside a lady of your grace," Touya whispered, his voice a gentle melody, its soft vibrations resonating in the quietude of the night.

As they embarked on their journey, the moonlight filtered through the forest canopy, bestowing an otherworldly glow upon their surroundings. Miyaka found herself caught in a swirl of emotions. On one hand, the night's beauty enthralled her — the moon's tranquil reflection upon the serene lake and the enigmatic presence of her companion held an undeniable allure.

Yet, beneath this surface enchantment, a lingering fear clung to her heart. She walked alongside a creature she could barely fathom—a being who had both saved her and possessed the potential to harm her. Her steps were cautious, her senses acutely attuned, yet she couldn't deny the strange magnetism of the situation that kept her near him.

"Touya," she ventured with trepidation, "you mentioned being a siren earlier, and I believe you obviously... But I've been pondering... What sustenance does a being like you feed on?"

The merman gazed at her through half-lidded eyes, offering a subtle shrug of his shoulders. "I am indeed a siren, and I'm pleased that you trust me. If you're truly curious, I subsist on fish and other creatures that dwell within this very lake." Touya gently entwined his hand with hers, their fingers interlocking. "Is there a particular reason for your concern?" he inquired softly.

Miyaka's fingers held onto Touya's hand with a hint of tension as she confessed, "Our maid, Yuki-san, she warned me about you. She called you a devil and spoke of the many people who have disappeared near this lake." Her gaze wavered between fear and fascination as she continued, "Despite her warnings, I couldn't resist the pull of this place, and of you."

In response, Touya emitted a low purring sound and drew a bit nearer, his hand reaching to tenderly brush her cheek. "People often spin tales to frighten children or to add intrigue to their lives," he remarked, his voice laced with a soothing quality. "Do you truly believe I would have saved you if I were the monster they depict?" he lied smoothly.

Miyaka yielded to the allure of Touya's touch, her fear momentarily giving way to an inexplicable attraction. "I... I don't know what to believe anymore," she confessed, her voice quivering with uncertainty. “But I trust you…”

As they continued their walk, Miyaka was suddenly assaulted by a foul odor that made her wince and scrunch up her nose. "Oh God, what an awful smell!" She scanned the area, trying to locate the source of the stench.

Dabi's brow furrowed with a sense of foreboding; he already had a suspicion about what she was referring to. It was likely the remains of the girl who had come to the lake before her, her torn and discarded body now possibly decomposing in the tall grass, right where he had left it; Touya had no inclination to allow the wretched remnants of a pitiful human to decompose within the sacred waters of his lake. He cursed himself for not disposing of it more discreetly, hiding the evidence of his previous encounter.

Miyaka couldn't resist investigating the foul odor. She carefully approached the nearby bushes, her heart pounding with dread. As she parted the dense foliage, she was met with a gruesome sight.

There, partially concealed among the tangled branches and leaves, were the decaying remains of what appeared to be a human. The body was in a horrifying state of decomposition, and the stench was overwhelming. Maggots crawled in and out of the decomposing flesh, and Miyaka felt bile rise in her throat.

She stumbled back, horrified by the grisly discovery. "Oh my God," she whispered, her voice trembling with shock and disgust. "What... what is this?!" The realization that something terrible had happened here sent shivers down her spine. "Oh my dear God!" She started crying.

Touya swiftly ensnared her in his grasp, drawing her nearer as his arms coiled around her, a tight and sinister embrace. His hushed whispers carried an eerie weight, like a sinister lullaby meant to enthrall. "You humans are often desperate creatures," he murmured, his tone taking on a dark, chilling timbre. "I didn't know she was here. She probably came for the same reason you did those days ago, but she succeeded."

The sinister undercurrent in his words hung in the air, weaving a web of unsettling secrets and uncertainty. Miyaka's heart raced as Touya pulled her into a tight hug, but his touch only intensified her fear and disgust. The overwhelming desire to escape this situation consumed her, like a trapped animal seeking freedom. As her mind churned with conflicting emotions, the feeling of unease grew stronger. She needed to get away, to put distance between herself and whatever had transpired here. "That's disgusting! Poor soul..." she whispered, her voice trembling. 

But then realization struck, and her horror deepened. "Wait... How do you know it was a woman? These remains are unrecognizable, you can't determine who it was... Oh my God... oh my God, you killed her..." Miyaka began to back away slowly, her eyes filled with a terror that clawed at her very soul.

Touya's frown deepened as he regarded her, her skepticism gnawing at his patience. His voice, laced with irritation, rumbled like distant thunder, "You are too quick to pass judgment, miss. My existence is far removed from your understanding, and my senses perceive the world in ways you cannot fathom."

Turning away from her, he continued in a lower tone, his words designed to play on her human psyche, "I saved your life, yet you accuse me of murder."

Miyaka, caught in a conflict of emotions, felt a wave of guilt cascade over her like a shadowed waterfall. Had her accusations been too hasty, she wondered? Touya's words, though cryptic, resonated with a strange sincerity. Yet, the puzzle pieces of this enigmatic encounter didn't quite fit into the mosaic of her understanding.

Opting to retain her doubts in the vault of her thoughts, Miyaka approached Touya, her arms encircling his waist from behind with a hesitancy akin to a delicate breeze quivering through a forest of doubts. Her voice trembled, a blend of trepidation and contrition as she spoke. "I... I apologize if I misconstrued, Touya. The world here feels surreal, and my fear cast shadows over my judgment. Forgive me."

Touya's lips curled into a smile, hidden from her eyes. In her vulnerability, her heartstrings resonated to his voice's enchanting tune. The pieces of his plan were falling into place as he desired.

He released a deep, contemplative sigh, his fingers gently caressing the arms wrapped around his waist. His voice, a velvet whisper, embraced the still night air. "Yes, I saved you. If I were the monster you fear, you would have been my meal the very day you graced the water with your presence. But, dear miss, I forgive you, for there's something about you that intrigues me."

Miyaka's voice quivered as she made her request, her longing for confirmation overpowering her doubts. "Touya," she murmured, the name like a sweet melody on her lips, "would you... kiss me? To anchor this moment in reality, to assure me that I'm not merely adrift in some dream?"

Touya's hands gently slid to Miyaka's, separating them from his waist. He released himself from her embrace and turned to face her, his smile still present as he cupped her face with his cool palms. "Sirens are known for granting wishes. Your wish is my command, fair lady," he whispered softly before leaning in to kiss her.

Their kiss was both slow and intense, a dance of desire and mystery. Touya's sharp teeth clanked against hers, but he quickly took control of the kiss, his forked tongue parting her lips, exploring her mouth.

Miyaka responded eagerly to Touya's kiss, her initial hesitation giving way to a surge of desire and curiosity. Her hands began to explore his physique with a boldness she hadn't known she possessed. Fingers traced the lines of his pale skin, feeling the strange yet alluring texture of his body. As their lips moved in a passionate dance, her fingers traveled from his chest to his back and further south, grasping his ass. Her tongue danced with his.

Touya blinked, and retreated, his gaze locked on her with a smug, playful smile dancing on his lips. He ran his tongue over his mouth. "Behold, dear lady, clutching a monster’s ass, nurtured by the wild with manners undefined?" he mused with a hint of amusement in his voice.

Miyaka's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson as she felt the heat of embarrassment wash over her. She stammered out an apology, her words a mixture of guilt and confusion. "I'm... I'm so sorry," she murmured, her voice quivering. "I don't know why I did that. It was impulsive, and I should never have... I didn't mean to offend you." Her eyes averted, unable to meet his gaze, she felt a strange mixture of attraction and shame clouding her judgment.

The monster chuckled, capturing her lips with a playful kiss, his palm caressing her cheek. This time, his arms enveloped her waist, and his hands embarked on a slow journey downward, firmly fondling her ass.

Miyaka's gaze locked with Touya's as she struggled to find the words to convey her complex feelings. "Touya," she began, her voice filled with uncertainty, "I want to be with you, but I'm lost. I don't know what to do or how to navigate this... connection we have... What am I supposed to do?"

Touya emitted a soft, melodic hum, gently pressing his forehead to hers. "You see, my dear, you have the power to rid yourself of your tormentor, to break free from those chains that bind you. Return to me, and I shall envelop you in a love that knows no bounds, a love that will shield and cherish you," he whispered, his words like a seductive melody. 

Dabi couldn't contain his satisfaction. He marveled at how effortlessly he manipulated her. She was not only surrendering herself willingly, but she was also unwittingly becoming a pawn in his sinister game. The thrill of her impending arrival, the promise of chaos in her wake — oh, how he relished it all!

In that surreal moment, Miyaka found herself strangely drawn to the merman's words. The idea of breaking free from her tormentor, of taking control of her own destiny, it all felt so tempting, so liberating. The plan that had sounded wrong at first now seemed like the path she was meant to take, the one that would finally lead her to a life free from the clutches of her abusive husband.

She hesitated for just a moment, the weight of her decision sinking in, and then, with newfound determination, she whispered, "Yes... I'll do it. I'll break free from him, no matter what it takes." 

Using his seductive voice, he whispered into her ear, his tone laced with malice, "Do it. Show him what you're truly made of, and we shall be bound together for eternity." His words were a siren's call, leading her deeper into the abyss of darkness that he reveled in.

Touya watched Miyaka's retreating figure, a sinister smile curling on his lips as he imagined the torment he would inflict upon her. To him, she was nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game, a foolish woman who had fallen right into his meticulously set trap. The prospect of torturing her and relishing in her suffering thrilled him.

_____________________________

That night Miyaka found herself trapped in a nightmare. She stood alone in a strange, dark room that seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions. There was no light, no discernible features, just an overwhelming sense of oppressive darkness that threatened to swallow her whole.

The first thing that assaulted her senses was the pungent scent of blood, heavy and metallic, hanging in the air like a suffocating fog. It clung to her, filling her nostrils with a sickening, nauseating aroma that made her stomach churn with dread.

As she cautiously took a step forward, her footsteps echoed eerily in the void, the sound resonating through the darkness. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the fear intensifying with each passing moment. She called out for help, but her voice seemed to vanish into the abyss, swallowed by the oppressive silence.

The room felt like a labyrinth, a never-ending maze of despair. Miyaka's breath quickened, and her skin prickled with a cold, clammy sweat. Panic welled up inside her as she desperately searched for an escape, but the darkness remained unyielding, trapping her in its suffocating grip. 

In the next moment, the oppressive darkness was pierced by a strange, eerie light that suddenly illuminated a portion of the floor in front of her. The ghastly scene that unfolded was horrifying beyond imagination.

There, sprawled out in a grotesque and mangled state, lay a heavily destroyed female body. It bore the unmistakable marks of teeth, deep and savage, along with numerous bruises and cuts inflicted by sharp, brutal claws. The sight was enough to make her blood run cold, and a wave of revulsion surged through her.

The lifeless figure on the ground seemed to be a cruel testament to unimaginable violence. It was as if some malevolent force had unleashed its fury upon this unfortunate soul, leaving behind a gruesome tableau of suffering and torment.

Miyaka's breath hitched, and her heart pounded in her chest as she gazed upon this macabre scene. The strange light continued to flicker, casting eerie shadows that danced across the lifeless form. She felt a suffocating dread wash over her, realizing that she was trapped, unable to escape the horrors that lurked in the shadows.

Suddenly, amidst the surreal horror, Miyaka heard a grotesque noise that resembled something being voraciously chewed. Her heart raced as she turned her head to the side slowly, where the eerie light flickered once more, revealing a chilling sight.

In the dim illumination, she saw a dark figure, unmistakably Touya, slowly devouring a still-beating heart held in his clawed hands. His sharp claws dug into the quivering meat of the organ, his eyes glinting with a sinister hunger.

The gruesome scene played out before her eyes, and she was paralyzed with terror, unable to look away from the horrifying spectacle unfolding in this twisted nightmare. Miyaka's terror reached its zenith as she opened her mouth in a desperate attempt to scream, but to her horror, no sound escaped her lips. Her voice had been stolen by the darkness surrounding her.

The next moment, she was outside, and the moon hung low in the obsidian sky, casting a sinister pallor over the desolate landscape. The eerie silence was shattered by the mournful cries of ghostly sea creatures that drifted ominously in the air, their twisted forms contorted in agony.

Amidst this nightmarish scene, the water's surface rippled and churned, as if it were alive with malevolent intent. From the inky depths, a grotesque figure emerged. It was Touya, but he bore no resemblance to the benevolent creature she had encountered before. His once-lustrous white hair now hung in limp, tangled strands, darkened with the stains of blood and decay. His eyes, once mesmerizing pools of turquoise, were now empty voids, devoid of any humanity. His scales and fins had become jagged and twisted, oozing with an otherworldly ichor.

Touya's mouth gaped open unnaturally wide, revealing rows of serrated teeth, each one gleaming with an eerie luminescence. He lurched toward Miyaka, his movements disjointed and unnatural, as if he were a puppet controlled by some malevolent force. With a gut-wrenching lurch, his grotesque form surged out of the water, and he loomed over her, his breath rancid and putrid. He reached out with his twisted, clawed hands, and ripped right through her chest, pulling her heart out; his touch sent a searing pain through her body.

The next moment, Miyaka found herself standing at the edge of the dark lake once more, alone. The haunting memories of what she witnessed still lingered, but a strange compulsion had drawn her back to this place.

She began to undress, her trembling fingers fumbling with the fabric of her dress. The moonlight cast a silvery glow on her as she shed each layer, leaving her vulnerable in the night. The cool breeze rustled the leaves in the surrounding woods, and the night seemed to hold its breath, as if nature itself watched in anticipation. With each piece of clothing that fell to the ground, she felt a strange sense of liberation, as if she was shedding not just fabric but the weight of her past as well. She stood bare under the moonlight, the lake's dark waters reflecting her silhouette.

Miyaka shivered, whether from the cold or from the anticipation of the unknown, she couldn't tell. 

As the woman stood by the edge of the lake, the moonlight illuminating her bare form, a sudden change in the atmosphere caught her by surprise. Without warning, the heavens opened, and rain began to pour down in a torrential downpour.

The raindrops drenched her, mingling with the tears that had welled up in her eyes. She felt the cool water cascade down her skin, as if nature itself wept for the strange and unsettling journey she had embarked upon.

The rain intensified, soaking the earth around her and turning the once-silent night into a cacophony of sound. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

As another loud clap of thunder echoed through the night, the world seemed to vibrate with its intensity. Miyaka stood drenched and shivering, the rain pouring down around her, when something utterly unexpected unfolded before her eyes.

From the dark depths of the lake, a figure began to emerge. Slowly and deliberately, Touya materialized, his form once again taking on a human shape. The rain-slicked water glistened on his bare skin, accentuating the contours of his body.

He stepped out of the lake, his movements graceful and unhurried, and stood before her in all his naked glory. The moonlight and raindrops played tricks with the shadows and highlights on his body, creating an almost ethereal, mesmerizing effect.

Miyaka's heart raced, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from this captivating sight. The storm raged around them, but in this moment, it was as if time had stood still, and the world held its breath in the presence of the enigmatic creature before her.

She watched helplessly as Touya's delicious naked body walked purposefully towards her. She felt as though her heart were consumed by a white-hot fire, and was being stabbed with a thousand needles, and she didn't know why. Never had she felt a pain even remotely like this before; it was horrendous. It was a pain she would never wish upon anybody, even a foe.

Touya wrapped his arms around Miyaka, pulling her close, and they both sank to their knees on the wet sand. The storm raged fiercer around them.

Touya, with a powerful force, pushed Miyaka down onto the ground, pinning her beneath his weight, the storm's intensity mirroring the tempestuous passion that had ignited between them.

Miyaka parted her lips, rolling her head back, as Touya's lips found the sweet spot on her exposed neck. His mouth closed over it, and a shiver of pleasure coursed through her as he gently sucked on the sensitive area, right where her pulse point was located.

The merman, displaying skill and patience, gently inserted two fingers into her, his groan reflecting the tightness he encountered. Leaving a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along her body, his head descended to her pussy, where he proceeded to wrap his lips around her needy core. Two fingers gently ran across her clit, up and down, up and down.

The woman moaned in pleasure at his fingers massaging her insides.

Touya seemed to be savoring every moment, leisurely tracing his tongue along her slit. His captivating turquoise eyes locked onto her, a mischievous smirk gracing his face as he reveled in the heavenly expression on her face. His forked tongue, with expert precision, skillfully explores every tantalizing crevice, evoking a passionate response that leaves her drenched with desire.

They shifted their positions, with her now kneeling between Touya's legs. She proceeded with deliberate and seductive movements, using her soft hands to sensually stroke his aroused member. A smile of satisfaction graced Miyaka’s lips as she noticed the uncontrollable moan that escaped the merman's mouth when her tongue made contact with the engorged head of his throbbing shaft.

A heated tongue writhed sloppily inside of her cunt, catching Miyaka off guard once more. 

Her breath caught in her throat, and she surrendered to the intense pleasure coursing through her. In a symphony of blissful moans and gasps, she couldn't contain herself, her body quivering as Touya's skilled hand rubbed her swollen clit raw.

Soon, Miyaka mounted Touya, aligning his throbbing dick with her glistening, slick  entrance. She eased his impressive length into her eager pussy, relishing the intense sensation of being stretched beyond what her husband had ever provided.

Touya's hands firmly gripped Miyaka's hips, and he drove himself into her with unrestrained fervor, lost in the primal rhythm of their connection. Each powerful thrust was accompanied by a guttural growl leaving his lips.

Miyaka's breath caught in her throat as she rested her hands on Touya's chiseled chest, snapping her hips back and forth, riding him like he would be a wild stallion. 

Her young body quivered as the successive waves of her climax surged through her. Miyaka's breathing quickened, and her gaze appeared to lose focus as if her eyes were drifting backward. She rode Touya for what felt like an eternity, and then, in a sudden motion, she forcefully slammed down on his throbbing dick, her pussy muscles clenching tightly around his shaft. As she relaxed her pussy slightly, merman shot hot, sticky ropes of cum deep within her core. Miyaka leaned forward to share a passionate kiss with him; their tongues danced together. 

As the ecstasy of the moment began to fade, Miyaka's senses returned, and she suddenly became aware of the rain growing thicker around them. But to her profound horror, when she reluctantly opened her eyes after breaking the passionate kiss with Touya, she realized that it wasn't water pouring down upon them; it was a deluge of blood, staining everything in a nightmarish crimson hue. 

Miyaka wanted to scream, to release the overwhelming anguish that gripped her, but no sound escaped her lips. Instead, she felt like she was suffocating, the blood rain gathering in her nose, making each breath a painful struggle.

After she blinked, Miyaka found herself standing by the side of their marital bed, a sinister calmness in the room as her husband slept soundly. The air was heavy with the weight of her suppressed emotions, and in the distance, she could hear the cruel slurs and insults he had hurled at her throughout their troubled marriage. Each word echoed in her mind, a painful reminder of the torment she had endured.

The anger within her boiled over, a searing rage that consumed her. Unable to contain her emotions any longer, she reached out and began to strike his chest with a fury she had kept buried for far too long. Her screams filled the room as she unleashed the pent-up hatred she felt towards him, her voice cracking with the intensity of her emotions. "I hate you!" she screamed, her voice raw with bitterness. "I hate everything about you!" Her fists hammered down, each blow a cathartic release of the pain and suffering she had endured in silence for too many years. The room seemed to close in around her as she confronted the source of her torment, the darkness of the night bearing witness to her long-suppressed fury.

_____________________________

A haunting, low moan pulled Miyaka out of her nightmarish slumber. Confusion gripped her as she slowly opened her eyes, disoriented and uncertain of her surroundings. It took a few bewildering moments, but then the horrifying realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.

She stood next to her marital bed, her trembling hand gripping a bloodied butcher's knife. On the bed, the nightmarish scene unfolded before her eyes — her husband, lying there with numerous gruesome cuts to his chest and neck, blood pooling around him. His eyes, filled with terror, locked onto her with a fading, desperate gaze, his voice stolen by the brutality of his wounds.

Miyaka's breath caught in her throat as she stared at the gruesome tableau of violence she had somehow become a part of. 

"Noooo!" Miyaka screamed. Her world shattered in a cacophony of horror as she screamed hysterically, the knife slipping from her trembling hand. Her husband's neck bled profusely, a torrent of crimson that stained everything it touched.

In sheer desperation, she pressed her trembling fingers against the gaping wound, trying to stem the relentless flow of blood. Warm, sticky liquid soaked through her delicate palms, mingling with her own tears splashing on top of her palms as they streamed down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry, my love, I'm so sorry! Oh my God, what have I done?! What have I done?! Oh God!" Apologies escaped her trembling lips, choked with guilt and fear. 

As Miyaka stood over her husband, the time seemed to slow down. 

His once-threatening presence now lay vulnerable before her, his breaths shallow and labored. The weight of her decision bore down on her, and a tumultuous mix of emotions churned within her.

She knelt by his side, his life slipping away with each passing moment. His eyes, once filled with cruelty, now held a hint of fear and regret. The realization of what had transpired seemed to dawn on him in those final moments.

Miyaka watched as his chest rose and fell for the last time, his breaths growing weaker until they ceased altogether. His life ended in her arms, and as she looked down at him, a complex array of emotions washed over her — relief, sadness, and the haunting knowledge that her life had taken a dark turn. She had taken control of her destiny, but it had come at a cost she could never truly escape. The memory of his death would forever be etched into her soul. "What have I done..." Miyaka was whispering, her tears streaming uncontrollably.

The old maid, Yuki, was rudely awakened by the piercing screams that echoed through the once-quiet house. Fear gnawed at her as she rushed to the source of the disturbance, her trembling hands clutching the edges of her nightgown.

When she entered the room and laid eyes upon the nightmarish scene, Yuki’s own scream pierced the air. Horror contorted her features as she beheld the lifeless form of Miyaka's husband and the distraught Miyaka herself, tears streaming down her face.

Yuki, her voice shaking with dread, stammered, "What... What happened here, ma'am?! You... You murdered him!"

Miyaka, overwhelmed by the gruesome events, could only sob in response, trying to explain the inexplicable. She was lost in a maelstrom of emotions, her world unraveling before her eyes.

In the end, unable to bear the weight of her actions and the night's horrors, Miyaka made a fateful decision. She fled from the scene, her tear-streaked face a mask of desperation, and ran toward the only place she believed was safe — the dark embrace of the lake that had lured her with its eerie allure, where the enigmatic merman awaited her. Her mission was accomplished.

_____________________________

Touya's keen senses detected the hurried steps drawing nearer to the lake, and the unmistakable scent of blood hung heavy in the air. She had done it — Miyaka had followed through with their dark plan! He could already sense the turmoil coursing through her, her distress palpable.

With a predatory grace, he decided to rise to the surface of the water, and he waited there, anticipating her arrival.

Miyaka ran through the woods, her breath ragged and her heart pounding in her chest. Her once-silky, pink nightgown was now marred by dark stains of blood, a chilling testament to the horrors she had taken part in. Her long, dark hair was tangled and matted, wild strands framing her flushed cheeks.

She moved with a frantic urgency, her feet making a wet sound as they pounded against the damp earth. Every step took her farther away from the nightmarish scene she had left behind, but the memory of it clung to her like a shadow.

Miyaka reached the shore of the lake, her voice trembling as she called out for Touya. Her desperate cries echoed through the eerie stillness of the night, each plea carrying the weight of her fear and longing. "Touya!" she called, her voice quivering with emotion. "Please, I need you!" She scanned the dark waters, her heart racing in anticipation, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. 

Touya's head emerged from the water, his wet hair clinging to his pale skin, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto her. "My love," he beckoned, his voice soothing yet strangely commanding. "Why the distress? Didn't I promise to protect you? Come to me, and find the safety and solace you seek." His words were laden with an irresistible invitation, drawing her deeper into his world.

Miyaka, trembling all over her body, took slow, hesitant steps into the water. Her tear-stained face glistened in the moonlight as she approached Touya, her heart heavy with guilt and despair. She continued to cry, her voice shaky as she began to tell Touya about what she had done. "I... I did it," she whispered, her voice quivering with remorse. "I... I followed your words, and I hurt him. He's gone now." Her confession hung in the air like a dark cloud, and she looked into Touya's eyes, seeking some form of understanding or absolution for the choices she had made.

The water enveloped Miyaka, and she shivered involuntarily as its icy coldness seeped into her skin. The sensation sent a shock of discomfort through her, a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions swirling within her. Her nightgown grew heavy, soaked with the icy water.

Touya extended his hand, gently seizing hers, and drew her closer, enveloping her in his warm embrace. One of his hands tenderly caressed her hair, his touch a deceptive contrast to the darkness that lay beneath.

He savored the sensation of her distress, finding it akin to sweet nectar, adding an intoxicating layer to the unfolding narrative of their entwined destinies.

"My sweet Miyaka," he murmured, his voice laced with a sinister sweetness. "Such a good girl." His praise was both soothing and unsettling, as he reveled in the intricate web of emotions he had woven around her.

Miyaka found solace in Touya's embrace, even as her body went numb from the cold water. His presence provided a strange comfort that she couldn't quite explain.

She looked up at him, her voice quivering, and asked in a trembling whisper, "What... What do we do now?" The world around her had descended into chaos, and she clung to him as her anchor in this bewildering nightmare.

Touya held her in a tight embrace, "I shall shield you, for you are mine," he said with eerie grace.

Miyaka looked up at Touya with worry in her eyes, her voice filled with desperation. "My maid... she saw what happened. I can't return to the estate. What should I do now?"

The monstrous being scoffed dismissively. "Don't concern yourself with that old hag. She knows nothing. You are under my protection now, and you shall remain safe for all time."

Miyaka snuggled closer to Touya, resting her head on the crook of his neck for comfort. Her curiosity piqued, she asked in a soft voice, "Touya, what are those dark purple spots on your skin? I forgot to ask earlier..."

"That's how my body looks," Touya replied openly, "They are just marks from years ago when some sailors tried to burn me alive after I killed their captain on the open sea."

Miyaka's eyes widened as she listened to his gruesome story. She struggled to reconcile this dark tale with the merman who had saved her and told her he had never attacked anyone. She asked, her voice filled with uncertainty, "But... you saved me, and you said you've never harmed anyone. I don't understand, Touya..."

"Perhaps it's because you're nothing more than a naive, little human," Touya chuckled, his hold on her growing stronger.

Miyaka winced as Touya's grip tightened, causing discomfort. She mustered the courage to speak up, her voice trembling. "Touya, your hold is hurting me," she said softly. "Please, let's not be unkind..."

"Well, my dear, I need to ensure my prized possession won't simply slip through my fingers," he remarked with a sinister smile. "Oh, I've been waiting for this moment for so long — to have you back in my embrace."

Miyaka attempted to slip out of Touya's strong embrace, but her efforts were in vain. Instead, a sudden force of his hands pushed her beneath the water's surface, and panic surged through her. She thrashed and struggled, desperate for air and to break free from the grip that had become suffocating.

Her distress only seemed to heighten his pleasure. The sight of her desperately thrashing around, fighting for her own life, sent a thrilling wave of excitement through him.

The merman seized a handful of Miyaka's hair and yanked her back up, a cruel grin on his face as she gasped for air. "Did you truly believe that I would want a pathetic human like you?" he taunted with a chilling edge to his words.

Tears streamed down Miyaka's face as she sobbed, her voice trembling with desperation. "Why are you being so cruel and nasty?!" she pleaded, her distress palpable in her words. "I love you, and I did what you told me to do so we could be together, Touya!"

Her cries echoed through the dark waters, mixing with the eerie ambiance of their surroundings. Her huge distress was like a storm within her, a maelstrom of emotions that threatened to consume her. She continued, her voice broken and filled with anguish, "You... you visited me in my dreams, brought me pleasure... Why are you doing this now?!"

Touya's voice dripped with cruelty as he responded, "Visit someone as pathetic as you? Never. But it seems my voice has indeed worked wonders on you." He playfully tugged at her hair even harder, causing her pain. "To me, you're nothing more than a piece of meat, and I take great pleasure in tormenting naive humans like you. It adds a delightful flavor to the meal." His words sent a chill down her spine as the darkness of their situation enveloped her.

The merman summoned his strength and, with a powerful motion, pulled Miyaka beneath the water with him. 

Her world plunged into darkness and turmoil as she was dragged into the depths of the lake, her struggles intensifying as she fought against the relentless force pulling her down. Sinister shadows danced around her, and she felt a suffocating pressure in her chest as the water closed in on her.

The eerie silence of the underwater world was broken only by the sound of her muffled cries. She could see Touya's malevolent grin in the dim light, his eyes gleaming with a predatory hunger. The water seemed to press against her, threatening to crush her as she struggled for breath, her desperate gasps for air drowned by the malevolent embrace of the lake.

Dabi launched a relentless assault on Miyaka. His sharp claws tore through the water, leaving vicious trails in their wake. With terrifying swiftness, he closed the distance between them, his razor-sharp teeth bared in a menacing grin. He attacked with ruthless ferocity, his claws raking across her skin, and his teeth sinking into her flesh. The water around them turned crimson as the horrifying struggle unfolded, and Miyaka's desperate cries were silenced by the watery abyss that enveloped them.

Miyaka's nightgown offered little protection as Touya's relentless assault continued. With a vicious tear, the delicate fabric was rent asunder, leaving her exposed to the cold, merciless waters of his lake.

Touya's clawed hands gently cradled Miyaka's cheeks, holding her gaze with a cold, unfeeling intensity. Their eyes locked in a chilling embrace as she struggled to hold onto the last remnants of breath in her burning lungs, each painful gasp a stark reminder of her impending doom.

In that haunting moment, beneath the unforgiving waters, they were locked in a macabre dance of predator and prey.

With a swift and cruel motion, Touya pierced Miyaka's chest with his clawed hand, the flesh yielding easily to his monstrous strength. A searing pain shot through her. Dark haired woman's senses barely registered the horrifying reality of what was happening. The world around her dissolved into a surreal blur, and the excruciating pain in her chest seemed distant, as if happening to someone else. As her life ebbed away, her consciousness faded into a murky abyss, and the last remnants of her existence were swallowed by the cold, merciless waters of the lake.

Touya tore the beating heart from her chest, the organ pulsating in his grip, still warm and alive. As he held it before him, the last vestiges of life ebbed away from Miyaka, her body going limp.

Touya, with a grotesque hunger, sank his sharp teeth into the still-beating heart he held in his clawed hand. The organ yielded to his bite, and the taste of youth surged into his mouth. He savored the sickeningly sweet taste. 

Once he had consumed the last morsel of Miyaka's essence, Touya's malevolent gaze turned towards the lifeless body he still held by the arm. A fleeting pang of guilt tugged at his consciousness, but he quickly dismissed the emotion. "You're mine now, forever," he declared, his monstrous arms embracing the lifeless form. "You'll remain with me for all eternity, sweet naive girl, at the bottom of my lake." 

Touya, in a sinister tone, offered a twisted form of thanks to the lifeless Miyaka. "Thank you for your heart, love," he murmured, his voice laced with malevolence. "It has provided me with the strength I needed to regain my full power." 

The waters of the lake seemed to shiver in response to his sinister words, bearing witness to the unholy pact forged in the depths.

After a moment of holding Miyaka's lifeless body close to his muscular chest, Touya swam further down into the unfathomable depths of the abyss that was the lake. With Miyaka's body firmly in his grasp, he descended into the darkness, disappearing from the realm of the living and vanishing into the watery tomb that was his dominion.

[hinakazino]

Royal Reverse Harem, Gojo/Reader

#1 Continuation of the Royal Reverse Harem series! This'll be a mini series, just with interesting scenarios with JJK. <3 Warnings: Obsessive Gojo, mean gojo, toji/reader & gojo/reader.

When you'd first transferred into the novel, you were in a state of shock. The fancy bedroom, the beautiful decor, the utter amount of respect you were given, and the overly expensive food was awesome. Reality didn't really hit you until after a week or so.

You felt so stupid, you had wasted a week doing pretty much nothing except enjoy your new lifestyle. Sure the maids, butlers, and EVERYONE seemed terrified of you but all you really thought about was being nice to change their opinions.

Your idea of "I'll just be good and live my life happily watching my favorite characters" came completely crashing down when Gojo decided to pay you a visit. By now, thankfully you already set in motion your plan to change public opinion but Satoru had other ideas.

Satoru was stunning, a majestic being. He looked like an angel who had been sent from the heavens, sculpted by the gods themselves. His soft white hair and striking blue eyes, and oh goodness, his soft lips. It was a little embarrassing, how much you admired him.

When you first saw him, there was no doubt in your heart why the villainess loved him so much. Satoru was fascinating, not just in his standing but his mere presence demanded respect. You felt the air leave your lungs as you sat at the dinner table.

It was quiet for awhile, which made you feel awkward as Satoru himself was the one who requested your attendance. However, what you didn't know was that Gojo was just as confused with your silence. Normally you'd be speaking to him, in your confident haughty mannerisms.

He couldn't quite understand what was different today, you seemed, nervous? He didn't know, but what he did know was that at the moment he was fed up with your schemes. It was just too bad, he didn't know you weren't the actual villainess!!

"I don't understand why you're so silent, especially when you of all people should know why I'm here," he stated. Oh, now you were panicking, because you honestly had no idea what he was talking about!!

Silence seemed the best choice but this had only angered Satoru more. As the night progressed he had begun shouting at you, violently clattering plates to the floor, and commanding you to simply stay away from him.

It was a traumatizing experience, safe to say, after that Gojo Satoru did not look the same to you. Now whenever he was near you, whether it be just passing by or due to political, social, or marital reasons you tended to shift away whenever possible. Even when you were pressured by your family, which sucked, Gojo wasn't interested anyway so you snuck away most times.

In the end, you decided on a divorce, it was also the best step to ensure you stayed alive, which you asked for two weeks later after your dinner session with him. Satoru, although surprised by your request had asked whether this was a tactic to gain his favor.

"No, I truly want this divorce," you responded quietly, eyes not being able to meet his as you glanced everywhere but forward. You didn't know what to say to him anymore, it was not longer a feeling of awe and captivation anymore with him. Now, you simply wanted to be as far away from him as possible too.

Gojo on the other hand was delighted, had quickly signed the papers, and had pressured his father, the emperor, to confirm it a week later. Everyone was caught off guard by the sudden divorce, and word spread like wildfire.

Can you believe that the crown prince and, well, previous-to-be princess divorced? , I saw it coming from a mile away! That witch would've ruined this empire. , What does this mean, could it be that the rumor of the crown prince having a secret lover is true? Who is it? , Oh, I feel so sad for poor (y/n), she really is a kind woman, have you even spoken to her before?

The last statement made you proud when you heard of it from your lady-in-waitings. At the very least, public opinion had changed for you to some extent. You intended for it to continue turning positive for the better. Now that you stayed with your parents, maybe things wouldn't be so bad.

What you didn't realize was that after 3 months of divorce Gojo was beginning to rethink his choices. Firstly, he was annoyed because despite the divorce being official his father still pestered him on the daily. The truth was evident, the emperor did not approve of a commoner becoming the future empress (that said commoner, the female lead).

The emperor only agreed on this divorce because Gojo did make some sense, and, he didn't want to lose the support of one of the highest nobles in his empire. That being said, he either now expected Satoru to find another noble lady (many available) or crawl back to you (honestly emperor has given up on trying to be civil).

Due to these factors, Satoru has still be thinking of you. However, he wasn't that interested until just about the 2nd month after your divorce with him. See, the reason was that he had eyes on you anyway, his spies in your estate told him anything they deemed necessary. What were you going to do? Go after the female lead again?

It was all too predictable, which was why when Satoru's father yelled at him for not doing anything he was confused. "What is it now father?" he responded, irritated. "YOU FOOL. (Y/N)'S ALREADY COURTING OTHERS, THE ZENIN, SOUND FAMILIAR? Oh.. you're a lost cause now..." his father had responded, tired and exhausted of his son.

That was when Gojo was informed by his spies, that you, in fact, had been in much contact with Toji much recently. Then, when Gojo asked why his men hadn't reported anything, they stated that they had mentioned it once already but nothing important seemed to come up other than you both being acquaintances. Plus, the rumor was everywhere anyway, they'd assumed he'd heard.

Now, Satoru began to watch you more intensively, peaked even higher when at a social party just 2 days later, you were dancing with Toji. Both of you so friendly, even Gojo was dumbfounded as to how. Didn't Toji not like you?

After Toji, there was Geto, Gojo's best friend turned into one of the Empire's sole enemies. A true tragedy that was, and yet, you were spotted with him as part of reports following his activity! Which occurred to everyone considered an enemy of the empire, but you? What were you doing with him?

Then there was the flirting with Choso, and your newfound friendship with Yuki. You were on a roll of drama, being front and center on stage whilst promoting good deals which pleased all classes on the social hierarchy. Gojo was at a loss and at the same time, thrilled? No, maybe jealous, not of you but those associated with you.

He hadn't seen you like that before, you looked genuinely happy now. You were having fun at social gatherings, not having a care in the world. Despite your obvious scandalous behavior, you were no longer committing acts of evil and, no longer glancing at him. Which didn't feel right!!

Gojo Satoru hated to admit it, but if this was another one of your games it was definitely working. Only a couple months after separation, and he was watching your every move. Even beginning to reconsider his choices, thinking how the female lead wasn't as interesting anymore to him.

Sadly, it was a bit too late now but Gojo has decided, he wants to win back your favor. A crown prince, a noble lady previously wed to him, what could potentially go wrong?

© 2024 by Hinakazino, do not translate/edit/claim or use my work in any form.

[haru-dipthong]

Ep 13 of my Utena fansub is out! (end of the first arc)

Since this is a summary episode that’s essentially a clip show, there isn’t too much for me to comment on translation-wise. I did notice while I was copying lines from older episodes though, none (or almost none) of the recorded lines in this episode are recycled from older episodes. They say the same words, but they’re all alternate takes. I wonder why it was done like this… surely it would have been easier to just recycle the exact clips. Sometimes they don’t even say the same words! On my first watch, I remember being surprised that I didn’t feel bored watching this clip episode, and I think that might be part of the reason - none of the audio is exactly the same as the actual episodes.

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ついに彼女は七番目の試練、自分という名の決闘にも勝ち抜いたわけだ。

It seems she has passed the seventh trial, the Duel by the name of Self.

I find the phrasing of the Japanese in this line a little bit strange - the grammar という is often used to say that something is called a particular name, but when translating to English it sometimes makes sense to ignore this particular grammar and just say “the X of Y” or something similar instead of “the X called Y”, which can sound a bit verbose at times. In this case though, the verbosity is warranted, because Akio is literally saying that the duel is titled “Self”, with the word 名.

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勝てば官軍、負ければダボハゼ、歩く姿は百合の花！

The shadow girls are having fun with proverbs here. They’re intentionally getting the proverbs all mixed up and wrong.

One of the original proverbs they’re referencing is 勝てば官軍、負ければ賊軍 — literally “if you win, you’re the loyalist army, if you lose, you’re the rebel army”. Or as we say in English “history is written by the victors”. They substitute 賊軍 (”zokugun” lit. rebel army) for ダボハゼ (”dabohaze” lit. goby, the species of fish, which is also an insult like “worthless”) for a gag and to indicate that they’re not remembering the proverbs correctly.

The other proverb they’re mixing up is 立てば芍薬、座れば牡丹、歩く姿は百合の花 — “When she stands she’s like the shakuyaku (Chinese peony), when she sits she’s like the botan (tree peony), when she walks she is as the lily”. If you can read Japanese, you can see that these two proverbs have a similar structure and ring to them which makes it plausible yet funny that the girls have crossed a war proverb with a poetic line about beauty.

So, when translating this, how are you meant to do it? Well, one option is you could translate everything literally.

If you win, you are loyal. If you lose, you are a goby. And if you walk, you are as the lily!

or

The victor writes the record, the loser is a flop, and when she walks she is as the lily!

But I don’t like this approach. The actual meaning of the proverbs isn’t the main point of this line. The point is that it’s funny that they’re mixing up two very different lines, and that the references to proverbs are meant to induce a particular feeling, rather than a particular meaning. In order for it to land, the audience needs to be at least passingly familiar with the references, and they definitely won’t be familiar with a foreign proverb translated into English.

I decided to use Shakespeare, since the girls often reference theatre tropes and are themselves “on stage” within the narrative. I took two lines from Romeo and Juliet:

These violent delights have fishy ends. And a rose by any other name would smell as sweet!

This fulfils my requirements, and it even keeps the flower references in the second half (and I got to make it a ROSE instead of a lily!!). I spent an hour on this bloody line so you better appreciate it! T_T

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Thanks as always to @dontbe-lasanya for their editing!

Follow the blog if you'd like to stay updated with new releases! See below for all episodes released so far.

[gghostwriter]

Yours Truly, Romeo

Chapter 7 __ Violent Delights

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Washington, DC - A string of grizzly murders and obsessive love letters causes Olivia and Spencer’s paths to intertwine. With a serial killer proclaiming his undying devotion to her and the thick tension surrounding her and her agent turned bodyguard, Olivia’s life is writing out like a contemporary love story that she, as a successful writer, could see herself publishing.

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains kidnapping and beginnings of s*xual assault. If you cannot stomach this warning, feel free to skip this chapter and wait for the next one to publish

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

“Romeo, Romeo. Wherefore art thou Romeo?” - Act 2, Scene 2. Romeo & Juliet by William Shakespeare

It was bright and cold when Olivia came to. The walls were painted in this light green color, her favorite and the space was decorated with items for two—a couple sofa, a queen size bed, and a dining table for two with a chair she was currently chained to, with her hands and feet bound with prison chains. She knew where she was, in a pretty cage held captive by Elijah, her co-worker and a man with a dark delusion for her. There was a candle-lit dinner meal laid out nicely in front of her and the bed to her right peppered with rose petals. She shuddered to think about what would happen there. She chanced a look at the door ahead of her, deducing it was the entrance. 

The same door swung open and she screamed at the monstrosity that came through. It was her captor shirtless—wearing a full body skin suit and a face that wasn’t his own. She scrambled to get away from him, pressing further into her chair as if merging herself with it. Sobs escaping her chapped lips as his hand reached to caress her cheeks. 

“No please no,” she begged with blurring vision, fervently wishing the nightmare away. 

He wiped her tears away and sighed her name. “You don’t know how long I waited for this moment, Olivia. There’s no need to be afraid. We’re meant to be, don’t you see?” He gestured at the whole room. “I prepared all of this for you. I’ll wait by you hand and foot, just tell me what else you need.”

“Let me go, please,” she whimpered. “Please Elijah, we can go out on an actual date outside, yes? We can get you all the help you need just please, let me go.” Her voice cracking at the end.

He laughed, the body suit moving with his laughter. “Now why would I want that? I have you here all to myself and no Paris to intervene.”

“Paris? Romeo & Juliet’s Paris?” 

His mask scrunching to showcase his anger and scoffed. “Yes, Paris. That FBI agent sniffling around my beautiful flower, trying to take what is mine.”

Spencer. Olivia’s eyes widened. “W-What did you do to him?”

“Nothing for you to worry about, my Juliet,” he sat down across her and waved at the dinner in between them. “Now, let’s eat. I’ve cooked all of this for you—” he sliced a piece of the steak and offered it to her on a fork. “—medium rare, your favorite. Now, open those luscious lips and take a bite.”

She shook her head. Her stomach queasy at the thought of what he may have done with the food. 

He sighed as he brought down the fork to his plate. “Is there anything else you’d like, then? Tell me, I’ll make it for you.”

“Why are you doing this?” She ignored his gentle questioning. “Y-you’ve never shown any inclination that you liked me. Why couldn’t you have asked me out normally without killing all those innocent men?”

“Would you have said yes, my love? With how I originally looked,” he gazed into her eyes and found the answer to his question. “Those innocent men you say. They had something I need of, tragic that they had to lose their lives but they had something that should have been rightfully mine,” he gestured at his whole being. “Now, I embody your characters. You can no longer say no to me.”

He picked up his utensil again and waved it in front of her lips. “Eat, my love.” 

She took a small bite.

He smiled, believing that his affections are finally being returned. “That’s good, Olivia. You’ll need sustenance for what happens next.”

Her eyes widened as his shifted a glance at the bed, his insinuation clear. 

No. 

No.

Tears streaming down her face, she swallowed the meat as if it was a rock she was forced to digest. She wished for Spencer. She wished to be back in his titillating presence. She wished she had kissed his soft lips before all of this went down. A good memory to tied her through this horrific ordeal. Most of all, she wished he still alive. The guilt of having had him killed was eating her alive. 

Another piece was forced into her mouth—everything tasting like sand. 

“Very good, Juliet. I knew you would see it my way, “ he encouraged her between bites. “Here, have fruits also. We need to keep your body healthy for our future children.” 

That made her want to retch all her stomach contents. “Can I ask a question—” she paused waiting for his consent. “—What did you do to Spencer?”

She winced as the metal utensils banged on the table. Elijah’s demeanor shifting at a 180. “Spencer?” He repeated with a sneer. “You’re on a first name basis with the agent?”

Silence. 

He pushed his chair away and towered beside her in an instant. “Flirted with him, did you? Did you bat those long lashes at him? Did you—did you kiss him with those lips of yours? Tell me!”

She shook her head, too frightened to answer with words. 

His face twisted further as he reached to unchain her from the chair. Tugging at the collar around her neck, she planted her foot down to no avail as she realized where he was dragging her to. To the pristine queen size bed situated at the far corner of the room. 

“No. No. No, please. No!” She screamed out. She’d rather die than be humiliated by this monster. “Please, don’t do this! Please, no!” 

Olivia struggled as he hooked her bound hands to the headboard. She kicked her feet repeatedly as he attached each leg to a corresponding bed post. There was no need to guess as to where this was heading. As to what he was planning to do. She bucked her hips, trying to detach his body on top of hers. “Get off me! Elijah, get off me!” 

He brandished a gun and pointed it to her forehead, rendering her momentarily speechless. “Tell me, Olivia. Did you like Paris? That FBI agent—Spencer? Did he touch what was mine? Did you like encourage his advances? Did you kiss him? Did you?!” 

“No, no, no,” she repeatedly whispered out.

He cackled manically, fully losing his grip on reality. “Lies! I saw the looks you’ve given him. Your advances and how accepting you were to his. Is my love for you not enough? Answer me, Juliet. Answer me!” 

She sniffled. “It’s enough. It’s enough, Elijah. Please, let’s finish our dinner and talk, okay?” 

“That’s not my name, my love.” 

Silence.

“R-Romeo?” 

“Yes, Juliet?” 

Olivia struggled with her bounds. “Romeo, romeo. Please, can we finish our food? I’m still famished.”

“Tsk tsk. My pretty Juliet, that’s not how it works,” he reached out to the bed side table, brandishing a fresh roll of duct tape. “My Juliet is no harlot. She needs to be taught a lesson.” 

She mumbled her refusal again as he ripped a piece in his hands. Elijah leaned in, swallowing her cries with his mouth. Tongue violating the insides of her mouth, trying to wrap with hers as tears fell from her eyes. She wanted to gag, she wanted to escape in the confines of her mind, she wanted to die. 

Gathering a bit of strength, she mimicked reciprocation before biting hard on his tongue, wanting to rip it of off him as her last ‘fuck you’ to her captive. 

He pulled back, blood dripping from his lips. He pistol whipped her in retaliation and cackled. “My Juliet, how spirited you are. A wild beauty, a fest laid out just for me.”

Elijah leaned in for one last peck before placing the duct tape on her mouth, silencing her rejections. He licked his lips and went down her neck, leaving a slobbering mess as he went. She shuddered, wishing she was anywhere else but here with the sick man intent on violating her and taking away her dignity. 

Her muffled cries escaping the confines of the tape, unable to do anything but watch as his eyes flashed with delight as he reached the beginnings of her blouse. Taking his time to unbutton and kiss every new piece of flesh exposed and caress each taken path with the gun. Tears streaming down her face, she hoped for Spencer to come and save her from this hell on earth and if not, she feverishly hoped for death to come and collect her. With her top now pushed open, she shrieks once more for Spencer, for anyone to come and save her. 

And as if the heavens had her pleas, the main door busted wide open and in came Spencer, her knight in a kevlar vest with his gun drawn in front of him. 

“Elijah Williams, FBI!” he shouted.