#I don’t know how I could’ve done this

[moonstruckme]

And since you're such an angel, I would love some:

snow angels with doctor!remus

Thank you and please hydrate 💧

Awee you're too sweet to me, thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood (not a lot? if that helps), dizziness/lightheadedness

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 686 words

Remus cups your face in his hand, brows woven together in concern. “Did you eat lunch?” he asks you. 

“Yeah.” 

“What’d you have?” He swipes his thumb gently over your cheek before leaving you, going into the nearby bathroom. 

“A sandwich.” You sound a bit defensive, which isn’t strictly fair. You know you gave Remus a bit of a fright when he came home to find you lying on the rug between the living room and the kitchen, too scared to get up. It was perhaps a tad dramatic—you could’ve walked over to the couch if you’d really wanted to, you’re sure—but you didn’t see any point in pushing yourself when you felt so dizzy and shaky on your feet. Remus has taken it as more cause for alarm than you have. 

He comes back with a blood pressure monitor and a couple of other things, setting them on the kitchen table in front of you. “That sounds fine,” he murmurs, taking your arm to slide the cuff up it. You have the sensation of swaying in your seat, but you’re not sure if it’s really happening or only in your head. “And it’s been going on for how long?” 

“Since maybe two.” You lean sideways so your head rests on his chest. Remus’ free hand comes up to hold it there gently, pinkie stroking the baby hairs by your temple as the cuff inflates around your arm. 

“You should have called me, sweetheart.” 

“I was okay,” you tell him. “I didn’t really think I was gonna pass out or anything, I just thought it’d be safer to sit down.” 

Remus’ hum conveys some disapproval, but he doesn’t seem to think it’s worthwhile to continue arguing with you. The blood pressure monitor beeps, and he leans forward to read it. 

“Hm, that’s normal.” He takes the cuff off you with a satisfying ripping sound. You curl and flex your fingers against the odd feeling. 

Remus holds your head to his chest with his free hand while he leans forward, grabbing something else off the counter. He takes your hand, but you pull it from his grasp when you see what he’s holding, sitting up. 

“Remus,” you whine. 

He chuckles at your tone. “Dove, it’ll be quick.” 

You let him take your hand again, but don’t allow him to pull it near that clicker thing. “Is it going to hurt?” you worry. 

“No.” 

You make a low, petulant sound in the back of your throat. Ordinarily you might be embarrassed for it, but you’re feeling rather self-pitying right now and entitled to some sulking. “Really?” 

“Yes, love. Relax.” 

Still feeling mistrustful, you allow him to pull your hand closer. He pricks the pad of your finger. 

“Ow—Rem!” 

“It’s okay,” Remus shushes you. “All done.” 

“That hurt,” you complain, vindicated, as he collects the bead of blood on a reader. 

“I know,” he admits. “It does, a little. But only for a second, yeah?” 

You make your displeasure known through your silence. 

“Look.” Remus takes your finger, kissing the back. “It’s better now, see?” He brings your head to his chest again, and it’s difficult to keep from softening when he kisses that, too. “Sorry, dovey.” 

“It’s okay,” you say, begrudging, only because he really does seem to feel a bit bad. 

“Mm.” He reads your blood sugar. “You’re at ninety two.” 

“Is that good?” 

“It’s normal.” Remus holds your cheek again, looking down at you and stroking pensively with his thumb. You’re not sure if he’s feeling for something or just touching you; you’re happy either way. 

He hums softly. “Do you feel tired as well?” 

“A little, yeah.” 

“Headache?” 

You tilt your head back to see him. “What’s it mean?” 

“I’ll take that for a yes, then.” His lips curve softly. “I’m not completely sure what it means yet, but I’ve got a couple of theories.” 

“Can you fix it?” you ask, though really you have complete faith. Remus always fixes it. 

He kisses your head again like he knows what you’re thinking. His lips make a soft landing just short of your hairline. “We’ll see.” 

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 WE WERE BORN SICK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: that sinking feeling that's been looming over you both has finally come to fruition. truths are revealed, questions are answered, but one big one remains: is love enough for you and dazai's relationship to survive this?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy fridayyyyy, i can't believe we only have one chapter left of civzai, it's actually makin me emotional </3 this chapter was quite a doozy to write, and i hope it's equally a doozy to read HAHAH no no jkjk , i hope you enjoy. also do u guys want to add an arcane au to the dazaiverse .. ive been thinking heavily about it. comments & reblogs appreciated

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

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. angsty chapter. explicit depiction of suicide (past recollection of dazai), implications of past self-harm (dazai), very toxic thought processes at certain parts (dazai), past (and a bit of current) suicide ideation (dazai), manic behavior (reader).

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

“I’ve been eager to meet you for quite a while. In all of the years I’ve known her, my little hime has never let something as trivial as a boy come between her and our work… I knew you must be special, but I never could’ve imagined just how special. I’m so pleasantly surprised.”

Dazai’s head throbs as he comes to his surroundings. He’s laying in an uncomfortable bed—a hospital bed, he thinks, he can smell the unfortunately familiar scent of antiseptic, but the walls aren’t the typical white he’s used to. He winces as he sits up, unable to recall where he is or what happened to him. Everything is too fuzzy, he remembers being with Fitzgerald, the car ride to the tea house, and-

And he remembers you. 

He remembers you.

He lets out a shaky breath as he recalls the way you’d pulled him into your arms, cradling him close as soon as you got him back from Fitzgerald. God, he only got to be with you for what felt like a second. It wasn’t enough time. It wasn’t nearly enough time. You sent him off, he remembers—you sent him with two of your subordinates, the weretiger and that freaky little girl, and then… 

“Shhh… Don’t speak. I want to get this done and over with.”

The gun to his back, Atsushi and Kyouka’s cries of shock, the baton to his head.

“No can do, weretiger. On orders from the boss.”

His mind tracks back to the words that had been spoken as he was teetering on the edge of consciousness, mouth going dry and eyes widening as he becomes acutely aware of the other person in the room with him. His gaze flicks up to where a vaguely familiar man sits at a desk watching him—straight chin-length black hair, inquisitive purple eyes, a long black coat, Dazai isn’t sure where he recalls this man from but he knows that they’ve met before. 

“Who…” Dazai asks, voice wavering as pain shoots through his head with every little movement. “Who are you? Have we… met before?”

His wrist hurts. His mother’s nails dig into his skin so deep that it draws blood, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. He’d just been sleeping—is he still sleeping? He isn’t sure. He’s stumbling over his own feet trying to keep up with her, he keeps asking her what’s going on but she doesn’t answer him. 

They turn a hall and his mother stops so suddenly that he slams right into her, nearly tripping over onto the ground. He doesn’t even regain his footing before his mother is pulling him back the way he came, he looks over his shoulder trying to figure out what caused his mother to panic so badly and he looks at—a man? 

Who is that? 

Why is he coming from grandfather’s room?

Is that-

Blood?

“Shuji! Shuji, don’t look back! Keep moving!”

Shuji? Who’s Shu-

“I think you know the answer to that already.” Dazai is startled out of the memory—was that a memory?—by the man’s voice. He sounds amused, and from the way that his eyes are glittering, Dazai can tell he’s finding great entertainment out of this situation. It pisses Dazai off. “Don’t you?”

“Tane-chan, you know you won’t be able to hide him forever. You’re just making this harder on yourself.”

Dazai’s breath catches. He shifts backward on the bed to press his back against the wall. Everything is wrong—the air is too cold, his bandages are itching, his head hurts, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. Who is Shuji? Why is he thinking of his mother after all of these years? And what… what was he remembering? 

Memories of his youth have always been sparse and fleeting—he can vaguely recall the faces of his siblings, the anxiety he felt around his grandfather, the loneliness—but something like this… The panic on his mothers face, the pain in his wrist, the way she was dragging him around, the fear in her voice when she screamed at Dazai—was he Shuji? But then why—to not look back, to keep moving. He would remember something like that. That would be… crazy to forget, right?

What is going on?

“You’re Mori,” Dazai breathes out, clearing his throat. He hopes he doesn’t look as disconcerted as he feels, but he thinks he must. “You’re…”

The leader of the Port Mafia. 

The closest thing you have to a father.

So, how does Dazai remember him from years ago? It doesn’t make sense. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen, maybe fourteen in that memory. What did he forget? When did he meet him? What’s going on? Dazai wants to scream, his mind is still slow from just waking up—he doesn’t even know how long he was unconscious, it couldn’t have been that long.

Mori’s smile widens as if Dazai just walked right into whatever trap that had been laid out for him, violet eyes flashing with a type of cruel amusement that makes Dazai sick to his stomach. Dazai has to circle back to remember what he just said, he needs to snap out of the daze he’s in. He needs to think. He made a mistake—Dazai made a mistake. He shouldn’t have admitted that he knew Mori. That was a mistake.

How does he fix it? 

Can he fix it?

“You do know,” Mori says, like he didn’t actually expect Dazai to admit that he knew him. Like he’s pleasantly surprised. Again. Like Dazai just made things much easier for him. Shit. “Interesting.”

He’s going to use it against Dazai. Dazai knows it. He’s going to use it against him to hurt you. He remembers everything he’s learned about your relationship with Mori—how he pit you against that other girl, Yosano, to get results from you. And he already said it. He already said that Dazai is getting between you and your work, he’ll do the same thing here. He’ll pit you against him.

He’s going to tell you that Dazai knew who Mori was, and that Dazai is someone that he’s not—who is Shuji? Why doesn’t he remember his own name? Is that really his name? How does Mori know all of this? Who is Dazai?—and Dazai needs to be able to say something. He needs to be able to explain. How does he explain this when he doesn’t even know what’s going on? Dazai needs to remember; he needs to remember now, he needed to remember yesterday, because if he’s not the one to tell you this… If he can’t explain this…

This cannot be happening—it can’t. Right when he thought everything would be okay, when he would be with you. His throat starts to clog as anxiety clouds his head and weighs on his chest, a panic attack that he can’t afford right now. He needs to think, he needs to figure out what’s going on—Mori knows something about Dazai that he doesn’t know himself, and he’s going to use it against him to drive a wedge between the two of you. He’s going to tell you, and-

Dazai’s world feels woozy. Why can’t he remember? How does he know Mori? What was happening that night with his mother? He needs to snap out of this, needs to think, but he can’t even breathe. Fear—the mind killer.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Dazai rasps, his voice is hoarse, and he feels sick, and he hates admitting that he doesn’t know what’s happening, but he needs Mori to believe it so that he doesn’t tell you something that’s not true. “I don’t know how I know you. I don’t-”

“You might believe that,” Mori says amused, “but will she?”

Dazai stares at Mori, his stomach churns violently and his vision swims as the answer becomes abundantly clear to him.

He doesn’t know. 

———

The gun in your hand weighs heavily.

You hid it in the inside of your blazer to get up to the conference room. No weapons are allowed up past the thirty-fifth floor unless you’re one of the Boss’s hand-picked personal guards—even executives are forced to disarm themselves before going up, but security is much more lax for the upper echelon. Because you’re you—the hime, second-in-command, the Boss’s daughter—the guards outside of the elevator that goes directly to the top floor wave you past the metal detectors to go on up.

A mistake.

(Who is Tsushima Shuji? It can’t be Dazai. You know Dazai. Mori must be wrong.)

The smile on your face is bland and doesn’t meet your eyes as you walk down the hall to the conference room attached to Mori’s office. You greet the guards, and they don’t notice how off your demeanor is, too starstruck over the fact that they’re being acknowledged for once. They also don’t notice the way your hand is curled around the grip of your gun in your blazer.

A mistake. 

(Mori is never wrong. Do you really know Dazai?)

When you reach the end of the hallway, you toss them one last brilliant smile. This one is a bit more genuine because you’ve realized that you’ve gotten through the top notch security of the upper levels of the Port Mafia headquarters without a hitch. That you’re one step closer to finishing this. They’re so blinded by the beauty of your smile that they don’t realize your teeth have sharpened into knives and the floral perfume you wear masks a putrid bloodlust. 

A mistake. 

(It’s always been odd, hasn’t it? The way he approached you. The way he was so insistent on pushing himself into your life. You always questioned it. There was a sinking feeling that something wasn’t as it seemed. Why didn’t you question it more?)

You keep your back turned as you slip into the room. You can feel four presences behind you—Kouyou, Piano Man, Chuuya, Ace. No Mori. No Dazai. That’s fine—you have something to take care of before they show up anyway. The conference room is soundproof; Mori designed it that way because he didn’t want the guards outside to overhear any discussion of sensitive topics. Even if he handpicked them for their loyalty, he understands that money can make the most devout man’s faith waver. Still, it’s not them rushing in that you’re worried about—it’s the people in the room with you rushing out, so you very carefully twist the nub of the lock and then reach up to fix the deadbolt. It won’t stop them, but it will slow them. You can feel their eyes on you as you make sure the door is locked, but none of them call you out for it or try to stop you.

A mistake. 

(Mori always told you that the Tsushimas were like cockroaches. If they all weren’t killed, one would eventually return to reclaim their grandfather’s empire. There’d be a power struggle between the factions loyal to the new regime and the ones that still hid in the shadows believing that the Tsushima blood belonged at the head of the organization. Everything the two of you had built would crumble to ashes.)

You turn to make your way over to the conference table where the four of them are sitting. You haven’t decided how you want to go about this yet. You don’t know who all was aware of what Mori did, and because of that, you don’t know who needs to die. Treachery has always faced a death penalty—you don’t care if Mori ordered it, you don’t care that the Boss’s word is absolute, you have bled and breathed for the Port Mafia. You’ve sacrificed everything you’ve ever owned and wanted for the Port Mafia. You have made the Port Mafia into what it is today with your efforts abroad and at home—foreign governments, foreign criminal organizations, the Japanese government and other domestic mafias, all of them are just puppets that you pull the strings of to ensure the Port Mafia stays on top. Treachery against you will face the same penalty one would receive if they betrayed the Port Mafia, because you are the Port Mafia—Mori has made sure of that. 

Chuuya and Piano Man share a look with one another as you approach the table. Neither of them say anything—is it confusion? Is it guilt? Did they know? Were you the only one unaware of the schemes going on around you? Were you the only one loyal? The only one you could trust?

Did they know?

Did they know?

(No one could ever love you without your ability at work influencing them. You’ve known that since the very beginning, but you were so quick to forget that when you discovered Dazai’s ability. You should have had more questions, you should have been more suspicious. Mori had been right from the very beginning. You were emotionally compromised. You were weak.)

Ace opens his mouth to speak.

A mistake. 

“It was nice meeting your-”

Ace’s head hits the conference table with a hard thunk, his eyes wide and glassy, his mouth open around the words you didn’t let him finish speaking. Blood seeps from the bullet hole in his temple and pools around his head and the ground beneath his chair, staining the glass table and the white floors. 

Instead of lowering your arm, you shift it so that the gun is pressed against Piano Man’s temple next. Chuuya says your name—it’s awful, something caught between a gasp of shock and confusion, he’s never said your name like that before. Like he doesn’t know what you’re doing. Like he doesn’t understand you. Like you’re something unfamiliar. Unrecognizable. You ignore him anyway, and the pangs that come along with it, and instead, you keep your gaze trained on Piano Man’s face.

He’s not as panicked as Chuuya, but you can tell that he’s just as caught off guard from the way his lips are twisted. He watches you carefully, waiting for you to say whatever you’re going to say—if you were going to pull the trigger, you would’ve done so immediately, he knows that. He’s always been good at reading you, better than even Chuuya sometimes.

“Did you know?”

Your voice is steadier than you expect it to be. Cold almost. Distant. You don’t recognize it yourself, you suppose it’s no wonder that Chuuya’s staring at you with such a foreign expression. You watch him just as carefully as he does you. He has a tell when he lies: he squints. Not an obvious squint, just the barest hint of his eyes squeezing shut like he’s calculating exactly what he wants to say, in what tone and with what fluctuation he wants to say it.

A subtle tell, but a tell nonetheless. 

“No.”

He stares at you steadily as he says it. There’s no squint—he’s telling the truth. You don’t let out a breath of relief, but you certainly feel the weight off of your shoulders. You lower the gun, satisfied with his response, and then you walk over to where Chuuya is sitting.

You don’t raise the gun to his temple immediately. He looks up at you, you look down at him, a whole conversation is had in the silence between you, and eventually he lowers his lashes in resignation, telling you to do what needs to be done for you to feel more at ease.

He’s always put others before himself. 

You lift the gun at the same time he lifts his gaze to meet yours. He could activate the Tainted Sorrow and end this before it starts, but he doesn’t—you know in your gut that if you pulled the trigger right now, he would accept the fate you delivered. Probably would take it as a better one than he deserved—it being at your hands rather than Arahabaki. 

“Did you know?” you ask. The words taste bitter, rancid—they don’t belong there, Chuuya would never betray you, but you had to hear it from him. 

Chuuya doesn’t have many tells when he lies—he’s a good actor, much better than people give him credit for. If he wanted to lie to you, he might be able to get away with it. But he won’t lie to you, not when he’s looking you in the eye. 

“No,” he says, voice soft and raspy like he can’t believe he has to say it.

You let the gun drop to your side. It weighs heavier now—heavier than it did in the elevator, heavier than it did in the hallway leading to the room, heavier than it did when it was pressed against Piano Man’s head. You can hardly bear to keep holding it, but you’re not done yet.

Slowly, your gaze turns to Kouyou. Her expression is cold and unreadable, gaze pinned on you in the same way a lion stalks its prey through the tall grass… No, that’s not right. She stares at you with the same look in her eyes that a snake does when it’s curled in a corner, rattle shaking and hissing to try to scare off the predator that has it trapped.

“You knew,” you breathe out softly in disbelief. Your voice hardens and tightens as you repeat, “You knew!”

Before you can raise your gun—before you can pull the trigger four, five, six times, before you can riddle her body with holes because how dare she know, how dare she know and not tell you after what the previous boss did to her—the door that separates the conference room from Mori’s office opens, and your attention is drawn to the one person who caused all of this.

“Oh my,” Mori says airly, looking between you, Ace’s body, and Kouyou with an expression that is frustratingly amused. “I see you’ve been busy.”

You don’t even know what to say to that. You almost want to laugh. You think you do laugh, actually—someone does, and you think it’s you, because you feel yourself walking away, you lift your hands to your head to tug at your ears in frustration. Your vision is blurry—are you crying?

“You betrayed me,” you finally say, voice quieter than you intend, so you raise it as you repeat yourself. “You betrayed me. You. Of all people I never thought you would be the one to-”

You can’t even finish the sentence, your voice cracks over the words. It makes you feel sick, it makes you angry, it makes you want to crawl out of your skin, because how could he? To you? You don’t know why you’re so angry, why you’re so betrayed. Mori has always made it clear that his priority is the Port Mafia, but still, to do this to you. To do this to his-

To his what?

You’re not his daughter. You hate when people imply that you are, you hate being called hime, you hate being called ‘Miss Mori’, you hate when people give you respect because of your perceived relationship to him. 

He’s the only father you’ve ever known. Almost every decision you’ve made has been with the motive of making him proud of you. When he seeks out your opinion specifically during meetings, your chest becomes warm with pride.

You don’t love him. How could you? Look at what you’ve become because of him. 

Then why do you feel so betrayed? Why did you think he would be the last person to do something like this to you when you know the type of person he is? Why does your chest feel like it’s caving in? Like your heart’s been ripped right out of it? Why does this hurt as much—why does this hurt more than Dazai’s potential betrayal?

And he certainly doesn’t love you. He never would have done this if he did. 

He’s killed people for disrespecting you—he hardly ever gets his own hands dirty, but he does when it’s you and your dignity on the line. He spends hours meticulously picking out birthday presents that he knows you’ll like. He gets sad when he invites you for lunch and you don’t join him, reminiscing about the days where you clung to the back of his coat.

He touches your shoulder, and your finger twitches on the trigger of the gun. You want to lift it, press it to his temple and pull the trigger just like you did to Ace, but you can’t. Your arm feels like lead, and when his hand slides down to your bicep to force you to turn around and face him so that your back is to the rest of the executives, you dutifully follow along.

His expression is unreadable as he looks down at you, violet eyes swimming with an emotion you’ve never seen in them before. He lifts his hand to wipe away one of the tears that had spilled over your cheeks with his knuckle, and then taps your cheek twice, chiding you silently. 

Do not cry here, little hime. Not here.

“You have always been so dramatic,” Mori hums just loud enough for you to hear, but the words are fond, and the corners of his lip curl up as he looks down at you. “I would not betray you. Not ever, dear.” 

You look at Ace pointedly in response and then back to Mori, the man sighs dramatically and gives you a disappointed look. The nerve, you think bitterly, narrowing your eyes on him as you wait for his explanation.

“I told you,” Mori says. “I did this to protect you. I wanted to get ahold of the boy-”

“Because you have some mistaken belief that he’s a Tsushima,” you interrupt coolly. “How did you even manage to come up with that ridiculous theory?”

Mori’s eyes flicker with something akin to interest, but shifts quickly into pity—you can’t tell if it’s genuine or mocking, and you don’t know which would be worse. He must be mistaken, he has to be. You don’t think you can handle the implications of if he isn’t, of what it might mean for you. For Dazai. Your whole relationship with him. How much was manufactured for him to get information about the Port Mafia? So he could get a foothold in the organization? Get in contact with the remaining loyalists to his family?

“Sit,” he tells you, guiding you over to the seat at the right of the head of the table. “I’ll explain everything, but first… Shuji-kun, why don’t you come out and join us?” 

Your breath catches at Mori’s words, gaze twisting to the side over to the door that he’d come out of. You watch as the door creaks open, and the achingly familiar sight of his face finally comes into view. You’ve missed him—you’ve missed him, and you hate this. You should be back at your apartment with him, you should have him curled up in your arms, you should be listening to him complain about how long he was stuck with the Guild. 

This shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be sitting at the executive roundtable with Ace’s dead body a few feet away, and Dazai entering the room, questions of his identity, of whether or not he’s been using you for information and opportunity to take back his grandfather’s legacy. 

You hoped that Dazai would enter the room angry, irritated by the kidnapping and the accusations, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen Dazai look like this before. He looks a mess, fidgeting, brown hair matted to his forehead, dark eyes wide and swirling with emotion. When he seeks you out, they’re pleading, imploring, like he already knows that whatever is about to be said is going to be bad for him. 

He looks… frazzled. Nervous. Confused. 

He looks guilty, and you know that Mori is telling the truth. 

How much of this was a lie? All of it?

Your throat feels uncomfortably tight, gaze sliding from Dazai back to Mori.

“Tell me.”

Who are you, Dazai Osamu?

———

Despite his body being wracked with a strange sense of guilt, Dazai pushes open the door to enter the room where he assumes you’ll be waiting. You’re not the only one there sitting at the table—there’s five… no, four others—but Dazai can’t help the way he immediately seeks you out. He recognizes his mistake instantly. That highly unwelcome, and highly misplaced, guilt amplifies the moment his gaze meets yours and he sees how crushed you are by all of this. His face twists into something that he knows condemns himself more. and from the way you instantly look away from him, directing your full attention to Mori, he knows he has. 

Now, you won’t meet his eyes at all.

Dazai sits stiffly across from you to the left of Mori. Nakahara Chuuya is on his opposite side, glaring holes into the side of Dazai’s head, but he can’t drag his gaze from you. He’s never seen you like this before—even back at the beach house when you’d been so close to breaking down under the weight of everything on your shoulders, you’d held yourself together as best you could. 

You’re unraveling now; he can tell you’re still trying to hold yourself together, but it’s as good as trying to pick up water with your fists, your emotions spill out through the cracks carved into the walls you used to hide yourself behind. Mori hasn’t even begun talking, yet your breath is unsteady and your eyes are swimming with emotion; your fingers are still wrapped tight around the grip of your gun, and Dazai is very acutely aware of Ace’s dead body slouched over the table not even a few feet away. 

And you won’t even meet his eyes.

Maybe it’s a good thing, he realizes, because Dazai isn’t sure what you might see if you do. You clearly didn’t like what you saw the first time. He just feels so guilty, and he doesn’t even know why he feels guilty because he’s not-he didn’t do any of what Mori implied. He didn’t use you, he didn’t know who you were before meeting you, it wasn’t all some scheme to try to take over the mafia. That’s ludicrous—he’s a literature student at YNU, not some gang lord. He just-

He loved you. Loves you. No ulterior motives. No strings attached. 

“I said tell me,” you snap when Mori doesn’t immediately begin talking. “You love talking, so why are you holding back now? Tell me, or I’m leaving.”

Dazai feels a bit sick to his stomach when you say ‘I’ with no implication of taking him with you. He tries to get you to look at him again, silently pleading with you to just spare one glance in his direction, but you’re irritated now. He can see it in the way your fingers flex around the gun, knuckles whitening and finger twitching on the trigger—it’s pointed at the woman sitting next to you, who is very acutely aware of the fact from how stiff she is. 

“Do you remember the night we took over the Port Mafia, dear?” Mori asks her, voice a low hum. 

“What kind of question is that?” you answer tightly. Your lip curls up in irritation, Dazai can see you become more and more antsy and angry—he’s never seen you so out of control before. “Of course, I do.” 

“And you, Shuji-kun?” Mori turns his attention to Dazai and he wants to spit in his face—his name is Dazai—but his voice fails him when he sees the way your face twists at the sound of the unfamiliar name. He stares at Mori instead, hating how amused the man becomes at his silence. “I’ll take that as a no, allow me to refresh you.”

“Eight years ago, a coup was staged against your grandfather’s regime,” Mori says, and Dazai feels like he’s being studied under a microscope. All eyes are on him now—even yours, but now, he can’t bring himself to look at you. He doesn’t know what he’ll find, and he’s scared it’s going to be something he doesn’t like. “Your grandfather was mad, killing civilians and mafiosos indiscriminately, something had to be done, and nobody was willing to do it, so we did.”

“We had to wipe out the whole family, and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s grandaughter…”

Dazai’s gaze drags over to you. You’re staring ahead now, gaze listless and expression eerily blank like you’re slowly starting to realize what this means. Dazai hasn’t come to terms with it yet, because if even a little of what Mori is saying is true then…

“We wiped out the whole bloodline and as many loyalists as we could,” Mori continues, “or we thought we did, at least. My dear hime was who I sent to kill the heirs, I trusted in her to make it quick and painless. We didn’t realize one of the grandchildren were missing until it was too late—he wasn’t in his bedroom, apparently liked to wander around at night because he couldn’t sleep. His mother was able to swoop in and get him out of the estate before our men took over the building… Tsushima Shuji, the youngest of the previous boss’s grandsons. Does this sound familiar yet, Shuji-kun?”

He has the best view of the night sky from an alcove on the fourth floor of the estate—his grandfather’s floor. It’s where he likes to go when he can’t sleep at night, and ever since his cousins and siblings started fighting over their grandfather’s legacy, that’s been just about every night: half because of fear now that things have started escalating to violence, half because he’s not even sure why he’s still here.

His knees are tucked tight to his chest, arms wrapped around them and head resting against the cool glass as he looks up at the stars. He hears a commotion happening somewhere downstairs, but there’s always a commotion happening at the estate, so he thinks nothing of it. He submerges himself in the darkness instead, letting his mind float away as he stares up at the sky—it’s the only time he’s able to relax, escape from the shadows of his own mind.

He’s not sure how long he sits there admiring the night, time passes immeasurably when he’s lost in the stars—he’s only snapped out of it when he hears feet slamming against the ground in his direction. He stiffens, eyes wide, wondering if another one of his cousins has finally turned to bloodshed as the way to inherit their grandfather’s legacy, but instead his mother turns the corner, her smooth face contorted in a type of panic he’s never seen on her before.

“Mothe…” he starts to say, confused, but he doesn’t even get a chance to finish the word, gasping as his mother grabs his wrist and yanks him off the cushioned seat in the alcove.

“Shuji, we have to go,” she gasps, “we need to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

He stumbles after his mother, struggling to keep up with her quick pace and longer legs. Her grip was painful, nails digging into the bandages around his wrists, right into the fresh wounds they covered. He grimaces in pain, breathing heavy as he follows his mother down the hall, assumingly toward the steps near his grandfather’s room. 

“What’s going on?” he asks. “What about Bunji? Akane? T-”

His mother chokes over what sounds like a sob and his eyes widen—he’s never heard his mother cry before. 

“There’s no time,” she chokes out, “we have to leave without them. We-”

They turn a hall, she skids to a stop and-

“It seems that it does… Allow me to continue then,” Mori hums, drawing Dazai out of the memory. He sounds unbearably amused, and Dazai would be angry if he wasn’t so shaken. He pulls his hands off of the table to rest them in his lap to hide the way his fingers are trembling. “Your mother was able to hide you from us for half a year, I warned her that she wouldn’t be able to for long and since she didn’t share your grandfather’s blood, promised to spare her life if she gave you up to us, but she refused. She tried to take you out of the Kanagawa Prefecture, but our men were catching up to her, and she took… drastic measures to ensure we couldn’t track you down. That I’m sure you remember.”

“Mother,” he whispered, staring up at the rope, her limp body, gaze trailing down to the kicked over chair. “Mother, I don’t… why did you…”

He takes a step closer. A step back. Another step closer. He reaches out, fingers brushing the white nightgown she’d worn the night before while getting him settled in bed, but he snatches them back instantly like he’d been burned, clutching his hand to his chest.

He’s not breathing, he realizes when his lungs start to burn. His eyes sting painfully, unable to draw his eyes away—unable to even blink—is it a nightmare? Is he hallucinating? She sways—sways like when she used to distract him when he was settling into a depressive episode by putting on music and forcing him to spin with her in the kitchen, sways like the wind chimes she keeps outside because the house doesn’t feel homely enough without him, sways-

“Shuji! Shuji, get away from there!” The voice that calls to him is familiar—Aunt Kiye? Why is she here? “God, I tried to get here earlier. Nee-san, forgive me.”

Aunt Kiye grabs his wrist, yanking him away from his mother, dragging him out of her bedroom and down the hall. His voice is hoarse as he screams, he doesn’t know what he’s screaming, if he’s even screaming anything intelligible. He doesn’t stop until he’s out of the house and she’s kneeling in front of him, shaking him out of his panic.

“Enough, Shuji! We have to go, we can’t stay here, they’ll be here soon,” Aunt Kiye shouts at him, expression twisted and eyes pooling with tears that she doesn’t let spill over. “We need to go, and we-we need to change your name, change everything. I promised I would hide you, I-”

“We can’t leave her there,” he argues, voice shrill. “I don’t understand, why did she do that? What did I do? It was my fault, It was my fault, wasn’t it? It-”

Aunt Kiye doesn’t answer his question. She looks bitter, angry, hateful. “We have no time. We have to leave,” she whispers, dragging him to the car despite his protests. She continues talking, more to herself than to him, but the words make his chest cave in. “I told her not to get involved with that family. Their blood is black, cursed. Everyone knows nothing good comes from associating with those people.”

His fault, he realizes, breath becoming thin and shallow. It’s his fault, his blood, his fault that his mother-

“Yes, quite the unfortunate scene we walked into,” Mori says dismissively. “She was smart for it though, she never would’ve survived a night with our sweet hime interrogating her. You should see what she did to that despicable journalist. Of course, she wasn’t as fine-tuned with her ability back then, but that would’ve been at your mother’s expense—her first few attempts at conditioning were quite… unfortunate for her test sub-”

“Enough,” you spit out, interrupting him. Dazai wants to believe that it’s because you can see how uncomfortable he’s getting, but he’s not even sure that you care. He’s not even sure you remember he’s in the room. “Get to the point. You think he’s the Tsushima kid we missed—that doesn’t prove shit. It doesn’t mean-”

You don’t finish what you’re going to say, but you do look at him, and Dazai’s breath catches when his gaze finally meets yours again. He can’t tell what you’re thinking—the expression on your face is entirely indecipherable, something caught between being accusatory and guilty. Dazai doesn’t know if he’s going to make it out of this room alive. Even if by some miracle, you decide to believe him, there’s a good chance that Mori will order his death anyway, and he’s not sure if you’ll pick him over the Port Mafia. 

That being said, Dazai doesn’t even know if he wants to make it out of here alive. His brain is fogged with memories that he locked so deep within him that they never should’ve resurfaced—every time Mori speaks, Dazai’s recalling something new, something awful, something that proves that he’s every bit the freak people have always claimed him to be. Every bit as bad. Every bit as wrong. Not like other people. A monster whose mother killed herself because of him, a monster who's been cursed since the day he was born. 

“... blood is black, cursed… nothing good comes from associating with those people.”

More than that, he doesn’t see how the two of you are going to be able to come back from this, and that scares him more than anything. You’re the only good thing left in his life, and he doesn’t think he’ll make it without you, but he doesn’t think that after all of this things are just going to work out. You killed his siblings. His cousins. And yeah, Dazai was never close to them—they thought he was too quiet, too strange, all of the things that the other students at school whispered, his family was the first to—but… they were still his family, and if Dazai had been in his room that night, he would’ve been just as dead at your hands as the rest of them.

You killed his family. You would have killed him. The Port Mafia is the reason his mother killed herself, the reason why he walked into her bedroom and saw her hanging from a fan. The Port Mafia is the reason his aunt hated him so much that she couldn’t even bear looking at him, the reason why he was left to die in Suribachi City. 

Would you ever be able to get over the guilt of that? Would Dazai be able to accept it? You had a heavy hand in ruining his life, is it enough that you saved him years later? He doesn’t know, he’s hardly even processed it, he just knows that he has to cling to what little he has left, dig his nails in and not let go even if it makes you choke on guilt, even if it makes him sick with shame. He won’t let go. 

“So impatient,” Mori sighs. “Your aunt hid you for almost another half a year, but she wasn’t able to move out of the Yokohama area. She did well though, I’ll give her that. We had our best trying to find you, but she was very careful. It was partially our own fault that we didn’t get our hands on you back then—some loyalists to your grandfather snuck under our radar, told her when we were closing in on the two of you. She got rid of you before we got to her… but we did get to her. Kouyou-kun was the one who handled her, if I recall it got quite… messy. I can’t imagine how it must feel knowing that your mother and aunt sacrificed themselves to protect you only for you to throw it all away in an arrogant attempt to reclaim your grandfather’s legacy.”

Dazai doesn’t even zero in on the last bit of what Mori says because he’s too busy trying to wrap his head around the rest of it. Aunt Kiye didn’t… die for him. Aunt Kiye hated him. He remembers that clear enough—he remembers how she could hardly stand to look at him, he remembers the way she was always so cold and rough with him, he remembers-

“You have to go, Osamu.” Aunt Kiye is shouting at him, and he’s sitting in the passenger seat of her car. He doesn’t move, he thinks maybe if he sits still enough, she won’t see him there and won’t make him leave. “Osamu, get out of the car and go, we don’t have time! They’ve found us.”

The name is still unfamiliar—he’s not used to it, and he doesn’t know if he likes it, but Aunt Kiye insists that Tsushima Shuji is dead and that name can never be uttered again. She gets mad when he doesn’t immediately answer to it, tells him not to let his mother’s death be in vain, and that’s usually enough to get him to stop being stubborn over it.

“Osamu, go!” She grabs his bicep hard to try to get his attention, but he flinches and squirms out of her grip, still not responding to her. He can’t remember the last time he’s spoken—he thinks maybe since they left the cabin that morning. “You-”

Aunt Kiye sounds angry now, but he can’t bring himself to look at her. It’s only when he hears her unbuckle and feels her start reaching over him that he starts to panic. He reaches up to grab her bicep, trying to stop her from grabbing the handle of the door to open it, but she’s stronger than him. He’s hardly been eating lately, and he’s never been particularly strong—he was always the smallest among his siblings. 

It takes no effort for her to bat his hands away, pushing open the door and unbuckling his seatbelt. He struggles against her as she tries to push him out of the car, and she’s still speaking—shouting at him, begging him, he thinks she might be crying too, but he can’t even tell. His mind is fogged with panic and fear—he doesn’t want to be alone in Suribachi City, he doesn’t want to be alone at all. He wants to stay with Aunt Kiye even if she hates him because he doesn’t want to be alone. 

Eventually, Aunt Kiye wins the fight—even with him fighting tooth and nail, she manages to push him out of the car. He hits the ground hard, gasping when he lands poorly on his elbow. He’s stunned for a moment by the shock and pain, and Aunt Kiye takes the chance to toss out a backpack from the back seat and close the door behind him, locking it quickly. 

“No!” His voice is raspy from lack of use over the past few months. He scrambles to his feet and tries to pry the door open but can’t. Aunt Kiye won’t even look at him, she stares ahead as she switches the car into gear and he slams his hands against the window. “Aunt Kiye! Aunt Kiye, don’t leave me here! Don’t leave me here, please, I’ll be better, I’ll do better, just don’t-”

He stumbles back as she pulls the car away, falling when he trips over the backpack onto the asphalt, scraping up his hands and forearms. He’s not sure how long he sits there staring after where the car disappeared waiting for her to come back for him.

She doesn’t.

She didn’t die for him, Dazai thinks again, nails digging crescents into his palm. She didn’t die for him, she couldn’t have. Dazai won’t believe it. Aunt Kiye hated him, she abandoned him in Suribachi—none of this can be true. It can’t. His mother killed herself to be free of him, not to protect him; and Aunt Kiye abandoned him because she hated him, not to save him.

That’s the truth. It has to be. They couldn’t have died for him—for him. It doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t want to remember all of this—he was better off thinking that they hated him, that they wanted to be free of him.

He can feel you looking at him now, but Dazai is back to being unable to look at you. He’s staring down at the glass table looking at his reflection, his eyes are wide and dark and far too black—he looks warped, inhuman almost. His expression is blank, none of the turmoil within him is reflected on it, and he doesn’t even understand why. He thinks it’s probably just making him seem more guilty.

“We figured she left you somewhere in Suribachi City, but we weren’t able to track you down,” Mori says flippantly. Dazai wants him to stop talking, but he has a sick feeling things are only going to get worse from here. “Not until you ended up with Oda Sakunosuke, at least, we…”

Dazai’s ears ring at his old friend’s name. Mori is still talking, but his words become a distant buzz. Everything starts coming back to him at once—his time alone in Suribachi City, the weeks he spent rationing the little food he had, getting the shit kicked out of him by some low rung gang who stole his mother’s ring from him. He remembers giving up, questioning the point of his own existence with a detached logic that left him with only one answer—there was no point to his existence, so he was as good dead as he was alive. 

He remembers seeing on a sign that it was the eve of his fifteenth birthday, and he remembers dropping himself in the bay during a storm, hoping that the tide dragged him so far beneath the surface that he’d never see the light of day again.

He remembers waking up the next morning to an unfamiliar face at his bedside, brows knit in disapproval and lips turned down, and he distinctly remembers feeling put out by a stranger looking at him that way.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Dazai couldn’t remember anything but the name Aunt Kiye had drilled into him over and over again the past few months.

“Dazai Osamu.”

“Hm. Oda Sakunosuke. You got a family, Dazai?

Odasaku brought him in. 

Odasaku saved him. 

The doctors said he’d been dead for almost three minutes when Odasaku found him washed up on the beach—said his memory might return over time, but it might not—but Dazai didn’t even care, because Odasaku brought him in. He gave him a roof over his head, food to eat, and a reason to live. He sent him to school so he could feel like a normal kid his age. He played board games with him and didn’t even care when Dazai was a sore loser and quit mid-game when he realized he wouldn’t win. He humored Dazai when he faked being sick because he didn’t want to go to school. When Dazai was going through bad depressive episodes, Odasaku would sit with him silently and write his book so Dazai never felt alone. Odasaku introduced him to Ango and they were-

They were his friends.

Family, maybe.

They were all he had, and they were all he needed. 

And then-

“We were the ones who killed him.”

Dazai’s gaze drags up from the table to focus on Mori. The man’s lips are curved into a cruel smile, his eyes are sharp, and Dazai is moving before he can stop himself. He lunges across the table, but Mori doesn’t even flinch because Nakahara Chuuya grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him back down into his seat. 

“You-” Dazai spits, voice raspy and angry.

“Don’t look at me like that, we were trying to get to you,” Mori says casually as if the words don’t shatter Dazai’s entire world. “We would’ve loved to have Oda Sakunosuke amongst our ranks. His death was unfortunate. Collateral damage. He was an assassin for a long time—one of the best in the world. He was pretty much unkillable, his ability allowed him to see six seconds into the future. I never understood how our sniper managed to get him that day, but now I do. He saw you getting shot with his foresight and tried to pull you out of the way, but your ability is nullification, so when he touched you to save you, he damned himself. In those split seconds when he was pulling you to safety, he couldn’t see the future, and couldn’t see the bullets aimed for you that lodged into his chest instead.”

Dazai can’t do this anymore. He tries to push himself up to his feet but his legs are numb and uncooperative, and he can’t move his hands or arms. Mori’s lips part to continue speaking but Dazai can’t do this, he can’t hear anymore of this. He’d always known in his heart that Odasaku’s death was his fault even if he couldn’t remember much about his mother and Aunt Kiye and their desperate attempts to hide him from the Port Mafia. He’d known, but hearing it-hearing the confirmation, it’s too much for him.

Before Mori can say anything, Dazai is startled from his spiraling thoughts when you stand up so abruptly that your chair goes flying back. Your expression is haunted and you’re not looking at him again, but Dazai is glad for it, because he thinks he’s about to throw up.

“I… I need a minute. I just need a minute,” you say shakily before fleeing the room into Mori’s office so quickly that you almost trip over the chair you knocked over.

The room is silent in your wake, and after a few impossibly long moments, Mori stands to follow you into the other room. The three Port Mafia executives left in the room don’t say anything for a moment, and Dazai is just trying to breathe. He’s trying to breathe and process what Mori just said, but he’s failing miserably at it. 

It’s the woman, Kouyou, who speaks first.

“She’s going to kill me for knowing about this,” she says simply, sparing a glance down at the dead body on her opposite side. “I’ve never seen her like this before. Even when Chuuya-kun went missing for a few days, this…”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have conspired against her,” Piano Man sings, looking entirely unperturbed. “I mean honestly, after what the previous boss did to you, I would’ve thought you’d be more sympathetic. Silly me to think you aren’t a cold-hearted bitch.”

Dazai tries to pay attention to what they’re saying, he tries to ground himself with the conversation happening so he can forget the feeling of Odasaku’s blood all over his hands, staining his clothes, smeared on his face. He tries to replace Mori’s echoing words with what they’re saying but he can’t.

“We were trying to get to you.”

“It has nothing to do with sympathy,” Kouyou snaps, but she does look ashamed. “It’s a security threat, it’s bigger than love. This boy could spell the end of everything we’ve built.”

“She won’t kill you, Ane-san,” Chuuya finally speaks up, his knuckles are tight around the armrest of the chair he’s sitting in. “I’ll talk to her, I just-”

“When he touched you to save you, he damned himself.”

“Chuuya-kun, she almost killed you,” Kouyou says so dryly that the words almost don’t even register to Dazai, but when they do, they’re the only thing that effectively draws him from his spiraling thoughts. He looks at Chuuya sharply to see if what Kouyou said was true, and his eyes widen when he only grimaces and looks down. “You and Piano Man. She didn’t even hesitate before pulling the trigger on Ace. She’s unstable right now, there’s no talking to her.”

“But she didn’t,” Chuuya says tightly. “I’ll talk to her, but first…”

Chuuya looks at Dazai so suddenly that he almost wants to snap his head away and ignore him, but he can’t. The ginger studies Dazai so intensely that it makes him want to crawl out of his own skin.

“Did you know?” Chuuya asks, voice low. He’s angry, Dazai can tell from the way a dark red color starts to flicker around his hands, but he’s trying to keep it together. “Tell me. Did you know who she was and use her to get closer to the Mafia for revenge? I’ll spare her the pain of having to put a bullet through your fucking head and kill you myself right now. Did you know who she was and purposely-”

“No,” Dazai interrupts, voice hoarse. “No. I didn’t-I didn’t know.”

Chuuya stares at him for a few seconds, studying him like he doesn’t know if he actually believes him, but after what feels like an eternity, he finally shakes his head and looks away, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Fuck, this is such a mess,” Chuuya breathes out, voice strained. “Fuck. She-”

Chuuya doesn’t finish his sentence because the door to Mori’s office reopens and you step back into the room, Mori at your heels. Your eyes are red, but your expression is withdrawn now, void of the tumultuous emotions that had been raging across it just a few minutes before. You settle back in your seat. Your eyes flit over Dazai like he’s not even there before focusing on Mori.

Dazai suddenly has a bad feeling.

“I’m not quite sure how you escaped us after that,” Mori continues where he left off, and Dazai is so sick of the man’s voice that he almost wants to rip his own ears off. “Probably Sakaguchi-san from the SDUP, I recall him and Oda-san being close… but that brings us to the present, doesn’t it? Four years later, you stumble into our lovely hime… Come, dear, let me tell you my running theory, and you tell me how accurate I am, yeah?”

Mori is looking at you now, eyes glittering as he waits for your response. Dazai has his own serious issues with the man, but he thinks it’s sick the way he’s enjoying your clear discomfort and increasing distress. Your jaw tightens a bit, but you nod, signaling for Mori to speak. Dazai’s nails dig into his pants as he waits for Mori to continue. Neither of you look at him, and Dazai’s lips part to speak so he can preemptively deny whatever Mori is about to accuse him of, but he can’t push a single word out. 

“Your first meeting with him wasn’t by chance. A cafe, maybe… a bar?” Mori offers, watching your face carefully for a reason. You look away at the second option, and the man’s lips curve up. “A bar, then. One you frequent, I bet. The one in Hodogaya-ku, perhaps? Your first meeting, but not Shuji-kun’s first time seeing you. Ui Koutarou—his journalism professor at YNU—wrote his first article implicating the Mori Corporation’s connection with the Port Mafia in February of this year, around a month before rising fourth year students register for classes. Shuji-kun, naturally, has been following anything related to the Port Mafia closely, so when he sees a class being offered in the fall by the same man who has been openly targeting the Port Mafia, he sees an opportunity and signs up for the class.”

No, Dazai tries to say. His lips form the word, but the sound doesn’t come from his lips. No. No, no, no, no. You look haunted suddenly, and Dazai remembers the argument he had with you during the government event in Tokyo. How cold and withdrawn you’d become. How when he confronted you next, you accused him of working with Ui Koutarou and blackmailing you for money. Mori is reigniting all of the initial fears you once had.

“Ui-san has had his sights set on you for quite a while, dear. You don’t need me to tell you that, you’re very well aware of the man’s hatred of you… When Shuji-kun started classes in the fall, Ui-san roped him into his plans, and you became his project. That wretched man had many documents on you. I had the Black Lizards raid his apartment after we captured him—most were harmless, detailing places you frequented and people seen around you, but when Shuji-kun became involved, he started using that information to manufacture meetings between you. I imagine that after you met him that first time, he started appearing around you rather regularly. Bump-ins at that cafe you like in Minami-ku, on the streets—he even started renting an apartment on property that we own after he realized the opportunity he had with Ui… he’s only been living there since the summer, you know?”

His last apartment wasn’t close enough to the school, Dazai wants to argue desperately. He’d been lucky that a cheap apartment opened up in Hodogaya-ku before the semester started—he’s been trying to get one since his first year. It has nothing to do with-

Dazai suddenly feels nauseous again, everything is spinning around him—he still hears Aunt Kiye screaming at him, he still hears the creaking of the rope his mother hung himself on, he still hears Mori’s confirming that Odasaku’s death was his fault. And now this, and you’re not looking at him again, and he’s not saying anything, why isn’t he saying anything? Why isn’t he denying this?

“He attached himself to you quickly, didn’t he?” Mori asks rhetorically. “Too quickly, I’m sure you had doubts—not even your ability makes people reliant on you as swift as he became. How long did it take for him to start prying for information? Trying to make you slip up and implicate yourself with the Mafia? Confess yourself as an ability user?”

The night of the earthquake when you showed up at his apartment, he remembers dizzily. He started pressing you on your political opinion because he remembered Ui saying that all of the criminal syndicates in Japan are going to do whatever it takes to prevent the military bill from passing. But he wasn’t… doing it to prove anything? He just wanted to know more about you, he was curious, he was finally putting the mystery that you are together. It wasn’t malicious—he just wanted to know you. That’s all it ever was, he’s only ever wanted to know you.

“When did you tell him about your ability? More about our organization? Around when the Guild started making their move in Yokohama, I’m sure. He never told you about his ability until his hand was forced. In fact, I’m willing to bet he lied and said he didn’t know he had one, but tell me, do you really think an assassin of the caliber of Oda Sakunosuke would not realize his ward had an ability that negated his own? That he wouldn’t be trained in how to use it… Most importantly, if all of this wasn’t a scheme of revenge—if he really did love you—then why did he never get rid of the flash drive that contained the proof that his journalism house published? The proof that got you thrown in prison?”

You’re crying.

Dazai’s throat swells when he sees the tears silently tracking over your cheeks. At once, he realizes that he’s never seen you cry before; he itches to reach over to you, to grab your hand or wipe away the tears. He doesn’t—partially because he doesn’t think he could move if he tried, but mostly because he knows that he’s the reason you’re crying. 

He wants to assure you that none of this is true. He had nothing to do with the Guild—they kidnapped him for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know about his ability, he didn’t even know Odasaku was an assassin. And he was just… careless with the flash drive, and he shouldn’t have been, but there was always so much going on, and he was so new to having someone in his life that really loved him that he was quick to bask in it and forget everything else.

He doesn’t assure you of anything, instead he watches as Mori reaches out to do what Dazai wants to do. He brushes away your tears and turns your face to look at him, a disgustingly sympathetic look on his face.

“I know you were eager to believe that someone could love you without your ability at work influencing them, dear,” Mori murmurs, “but people like us will never find a love that pure. There will always be other factors at work sullying it—wealth, revenge, threats. You understand now what this was, don’t you?”

No, Dazai wants to scream at you. He does love you, this wasn’t some ridiculous revenge plot for family he hardly remembered until this meeting, that-

“I do.”

Dazai finally is able to make a noise when those two words leave your lips. It’s weak—something caught between a wheeze and a whimper that sounds too loud in the silent room. He feels eyes on him—Chuuya and Kouyou’s in particular. Not yours. You stare down at the table.

“Ogai-dono,” Kouyou clears her throat. “If I may… perhaps we could… send the boy away. Abroad. Ensure he never comes back to Japan so we don’t have to risk him coming back and disrupting things.”

“We could give him a seat at the table,” Chuuya interrupts, ignoring the wide-eyed look both Kouyou and Piano Man give him because of the radical idea. “We’re down an executive anyway. We tell people who he is, that he supports the new regime. It’s what you wanted to begin with, right, boss? You wanted one of the grandchildren to legitimize the passing of power. We could make it work.”

“It’s too risky.” Mori isn’t the one to speak, Piano Man is, but he doesn’t look happy to do it. “Maybe back then it could’ve worked, but the Port Mafia killed his friends and family, and hunted him down. Too much has happened, he’s an unpredictable variable that we can’t risk. We can’t trust that he’ll just accept it all, that he won’t work behind the scenes to take us down. Giving him any leverage in the organization is the last thing we should do, but what Kouyou-”

“Leave him alive and we risk everything we’ve built falling apart—a civil war igniting, Yokohama being caught in the crossfires and all of our foreign enemies crawling into the city to reap the benefits of our fall. It’s one life or hundreds—thousands, even,” Mori interrupts, voice cool. He turns his gaze onto you. “I trust you know what has to be done, dear.”

Your expression is resolved, a heavy emotion in your eyes that tells him your answer before you even speak. “Yeah, I know.”

You stand up, and Dazai knows that it’s over. When you look down at him, it’s with a type of apathy that makes his stomach twist—he’d rather hate than nothing. His lips part to speak but he pauses when you shake your head slightly, so subtly that he almost doesn’t even notice it.

“Get up,” you say flatly, and then glance at Chuuya. “Chuuya, will you…?” 

“Yeah,” Chuuya replies without you even needing to finish the question. His voice is hoarse, he looks more than a little disturbed. “Yeah. Of course.”

Chuuya rises to his feet and then grabs Dazai’s bicep to pull him up to his feet too. Dazai doesn’t even have the heart to give him a dirty look in response, following along as he leads him out of the conference room and into the hallway. 

For a split second, Dazai really believes that maybe you’re just trying to fool Mori, you made him think you were taking Dazai to have him killed so that you can get him out of here safely, but even once you’re out of the conference room without Mori’s eyes carefully watching you, you don’t look at him.

“Get one of the clean up crews up here,” you tell one of the guards waiting in the hall instead as you frown at your phone, typing out a quick text to someone. You pointedly ignore how alarmed they are by the offhand comment to click on the button to the elevator.

When you look back at the two of them, it’s not to look at Dazai—it’s to look at Chuuya. The two of you are having a conversation, Dazai can tell that much, and he thinks that maybe he should be putting in the effort to figure out what’s going on, what you have planned, but he’s just… tired. He’s not even sure if he cares what happens to him anymore, and he figures the worst case scenario is that he dies at your hands, and of all of the ways he could go, he thinks that would be the most preferable, because at least you would be the last thing he saw.

He doesn’t try to speak again until the three of you are in the elevator and the doors have closed. 

“I-”

“Stop.”

Dazai is startled by the sharpness in your voice. He looks at you, but you’re still not looking at him, your lips are curved down as you stare at your phone, typing furiously. He glances up into the left corner of the elevator, noticing the cameras—maybe that’s why, he thinks a bit unsurely, deciding to stay quiet until out of the building. 

When the elevator doors open, it’s Chuuya that urges him to keep walking by nudging his shoulder. You don’t touch him, don’t look at him. There’s nobody in the main entrance of the building, which Dazai thinks is a bit odd, but he bites back any comments he might have when he sees a black car waiting outside the building.

The doors to the building open at your approach, and Dazai inhales the crisp, fresh air greedily, not even having realized how stifled he’d felt in that room with Mori, you, and the other Port Mafia executives. He thinks maybe that you’ll sit in the backseat with him and he’ll finally be able to talk to you, but you don’t. You open the door to the passenger seat and sit there without even sparing him a glance.

Dazai’s throat starts to swell again, stopping in his tracks as he stares at where you disappeared behind the car door. Chuuya pushes him forward, not letting him linger for long—he opens the door to the backseat and pretty much manhandles Dazai into the car before taking a seat next to him.

He recognizes the person at the wheel—Albatross, your friend. He’s driven you and Dazai around before, every time Dazai gets in the car with him, he makes a sharp comment aimed to embarrass you in some manner. This time, he doesn’t even look at Dazai through the rearview mirror. He just puts the car in gear and starts driving.

A pit starts to form in Dazai’s stomach. Dazai tries to initiate conversation with you again now that you’re outside of the Port Mafia headquarters within closed quarters, nails scraping against his pants as he decides what he wants to say.

“I d-”

“Stop.”

When you cut him off now, Dazai’s stomach flips. He stares at the side of your face, trying to understand why you won’t even listen to him. You can’t actually believe what Mori was saying, you can’t. You were faking him out, tricking him into thinking you fell for it—you had to be, you have to be. You can’t possibly believe him. 

“You won’t… even hear me out?” Dazai asks you quietly.

“There’s nothing left to say.”

Oh, Dazai thinks to himself, withdrawing. He stares at you for a moment before turning away stiffly, expression tight and strained as he stares out the window, watching the buildings pass by as they get closer and closer to the ports. 

You believe it, he realizes dully. You believe that it was all just a scheme. You believe that everything was manufactured, that he used you for some fantastical revenge plan, that he never loved you. You believe it.

But it doesn’t make sense, he thinks desperately. He doesn’t understand how you’re not seeing through it, and if you are, why aren’t you at least giving him some hint? He should try to say something again—he knows that, but he finds himself unable to. He’s a smooth-talker, quick on his feet, but never when it comes to you—since the day he met you, he’s been fumbling over words awkwardly, but now it’s costing him everything. He finds ash in his mouth preventing him from salvaging anything he might’ve had with you.

Dig your nails in and cling, he reminds himself, but his nails have become rounded out and blunted from how long he was scratching at his pants and skin while remembering all those memories he locked away. He tries to dig his nails in and cling, but his voice fails him and his nails can’t even find purchase on your skin, you slip out of his hands as easily as an eel.

He’s going to lose you. He might’ve lost you already.

Dazai thinks that’s worse than the realization that he really might be about to die.

The car comes to a stop much quicker than Dazai had hoped, and he stiffens when you waste no time before getting out of the car. He makes no move to join you outside, and Chuuya sighs next to him.

“Get out,” Chuuya says flatly. When Dazai doesn’t budge again, Chuuya snaps, “Get out of the car-”

“-and go, we don’t have time! They’ve found us.”

Dazai draws his knees to his chest, breath becoming a bit labored as his aunt’s voice echoes in his ears. He doesn’t even realize that Chuuya has gotten out of the car until Dazai’s car door is pried open. For a split second, he confuses the executive with his aunt as he’s yanked out of the car—he’s fourteen again and being abandoned by the only person he has left, and he can just barely bite back the “don’t leave me here!” that almost spills from his lips as his knees hit the ground hard.

Dazai is instantly hit with a thick scent that makes him gag. It’s noxious, almost entirely unbearable, clogs his throat to the point he almost struggles to breathe—a blend of rot, acrid chemicals, and something he doesn’t recognize, but it’s sickeningly sweet. As he pushes himself to his feet, he notices you pass your gun over to Chuuya, but in that moment, Dazai is more concerned with figuring out where he is, and when he does, his stomach drops.

The dumping grounds by ports stretch endlessly under the heavy, overcast sky. Mounds of trash rose like grotesque hills patched with scraps of torn plastic and suspicious lumps that Dazai doesn’t have to get close to know what they are. The ground is uneven and treacherous—a mix of sticky mud and sharp shards of discarded glass and plastic, and pools of murky water shimmering with oil slicks. 

It’s disgusting, and Dazai has a feeling it might be his final resting place. 

He trails over to the side of the road and his gaze tracks down to the ground directly below him. It’s not a far drop, hardly a foot or two, and certainly less gross than some of the other parts of the area, but that’s a low bar to meet. He tears his eyes away from the scenery around him to look back at you, lips parted to speak but he doesn’t say anything.

You’re leaning against the front of the car, watching him with an expression that Dazai can’t describe. Sad, maybe, resigned. Chuuya is back in the car, from what Dazai can tell, he's still fiddling with your gun—he wonders if this is his way of letting the two of you say goodbye in private.

“I do love you,” Dazai says. His voice cracks over the words. “No ulterior motives. No schemes. I just loved you. Love you.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, eyes drawing from him somewhere over to the side like you’re looking for something, but after a moment, you look back at him, your face a little softer than it was before.

“I know,” you tell him quietly. “I know, Osamu.”

Dazai’s lips part to say something back—he doesn’t even know what he wants to say, because confusion fogs his mind. If you know, then why-

Why are you doing this?

He doesn’t get the chance to ask. The car door opens and Chuuya steps back out, he passes your gun back to you and Dazai sees you subtly slide something into his hand too, but he can’t tell what it is. You sigh as you look down at the gun before looking back up at him again, he holds his breath as you make your way closer to him.

His lashes flutter shut, expecting to feel the cool barrel of the gun against his forehead, but his breath hitches when he instead feels the familiar warmth of your hand cradling his cheek. Your fingertips are flaked with Ace’s dried blood, but Dazai still leans into your touch, eyes sliding back open to look at you.

Up close, your expression is twisted with regret and… is that fear? Dazai can’t tell, he doesn’t care, he’s more preoccupied with memorizing the image of you before he runs out of time to.

“Forgive me,” you whisper so faintly that Dazai almost doesn’t hear you.

“I do,” he replies just as softly.

Your face crumbles as you look away. You take a step away from him, and your hand drops down from his face. Dazai instantly mourns the loss. You let out a heavy, shaky breath, sparing one last look down at the gun in your hand, one to Chuuya who stands half a step behind you, and then you look at Dazai again.

“Forgive me,” you say again, this time as you lift the gun—your voice is raspy, breath uneven.

Your fingers tremble so violently that the whole gun is unsteady, but Dazai doesn’t even care to look at it, gaze focused on your face instead. 

“I do,” Dazai repeats.

You pull the trigger. 

[kkayyerr]

Safe Place.

Summary: The interviewer makes reader uncomfortable and Drew Starkey is there for her when she unintentionally regress.

Warnings: Age regression, talking about sexual stuff and reader being uncomfortable with it, slight angst, fluffy end!

Author’s note: My first cg!Drew Starkey work, hope you’ll like it!🫶🏻🥹

You weren’t a big fan of interviews. Especially when there was a tone of weird and uncomfortable questions that you didn’t want to answer. Today’s interview was one of the most stressful and uncomfortable interviews that you ever had. You and your coworker Drew Starkey were both sending disgust glares to each other each time the interviewer would ask another awfully weird question, making you both want to leave immediately.

 

„I would personally like to see more of you in the revealing outfits.”

 

The interviewer said, looking straight at you, as if he were trying to provoke you. You tried to ignore that comment, even though this time you sent Drew more of a scared glare. You were very uncomfortable, and he knew that if the situation turns out to be stressful enough for you, you’re probably going to unintentionally regress, like it had happened a couple of times before on the set, when you were getting too overwhelmed. You clearly didn’t want to regress in front of the camera, so you tried to hold it in as much as you could. The interviewer didn’t seem to care about your discomfort, continuing with his game. 

 

„Your body just made for those sex scenes; you were phenomenal.”

 

Suddenly, you realized that it was too much. It was already hard enough for you to film in those scenes, and you were not sure that you could’ve done it without Drew’s support. Hearing about it again made you feel dirty and smaller, just from being talked to like that. 

Your gaze became blurry the second before Drew caught your hand, stopping you from sucking on your thumb right in front of the camera. You saw him standing up, letting the interviewer know that both of you are about to leave. He immediately understood that you had regressed, and he wasn’t blaming you for it; he knew how disgusted you might’ve felt just because of those words. You also stood up, almost immediately giving him your hand. You didn’t care about what people would think if they saw you and Drew holding hands in front of the camera; you finally chose to care about yourself too. 

 

„Where are you going? We’re not done!”

 

The man tried to argue, but Drew was just calmly heading to the doors, checking if neither of you had forgotten something in the studio. You still were staying close to him, squeezing his hand even tighter. It was a signal that you were very overwhelmed right now and won’t handle another minute here without throwing a tantrum. He turned around before leaving the room, knowing that he had to give the interviewer an explanation.

 

„We’re done. Your questions don’t sound professional to me, and you clearly make me and my college uncomfortable. We won’t be staying here and letting you talk to us that way, sorry.”

 

Just like that, both of you had left, and you almost sighed with relief when you were finally free from that asshole and his sexualizing questions. Drew stood right in front of you, giving you some time to calm down. You just cuddle up to him, immediately hiding your face in his neck like you did every time you would regress in public. 

You couldn’t let the world see you like that, but for some reasons you didn’t want to hide from Drew; instead, you would just let him hide you from everybody else who you knew wouldn’t understand and except you like that. 

He was your safe space.

 

„Dada, can we go?”

 

You asked, and his brows raised from hearing your words. You never called him that, and you never regressed that small either. It seemed like his actions today made you more comfortable with him, and maybe it meant more than that, but those were adult conversations. Right now, he was just happy to be there for you.

 

„Of course, little one.”

 

He said, carefully cupping your face in his hands. He knew that eye contact would usually calm you down, or at least that worked all the previous times. 

 

„But maybe we should get you an ice cream first?”

 

He chuckled as you aggressively nodded. Drew was ready to buy a whole fucking ice cream section for you, just to make you forget about today’s awful experience.

Taglist: @tinylilacbun @aew-regression-cove @rafecameronsloverrrrr

[gay-dorito-dust]

lmao this is my first time giving a request. Could you maybe do dick Grayson head cannons?

Most of these hdc come from my little brain that I thought fit Dick in general, it’s not based on stuff (some of them are but not all) if ppl agree or don’t agree, I couldn’t care less honestly. Also thanks for the request anon, hope you like it! 🫶

I know I write him as a little goofy goober but he tends to play up this character so that he doesn’t have to open up about anything. Is it foolproof? Not entirely and it solely depends on the person and their relationship to him,those of whom that pick up what he’s putting down, and those (you) who can easily see through this facade and know something is up.

He’s more often than not the type who will become more affectionate in private where it’s just you, him and Hayley. Dick doesn’t need anybody else other then you two, his confidants as he so playfully called you both one day, and he’s more then content then he’s ever been.

Older sibling syndrome is strong in this boy.

Foot wars are a common occurrence in your shared apartment as you push against the others foot with your own to see who’s going to be victorious, only for you to accidentally smack him in the face with your foot and the foot war becomes ten times worse, seeing as how as Dick often wins them more then you did.

He will never stop feeling guilty about Jason’s death. Never. That boy who was filled with love and life and claimed that being robin was magic was still within Jason somewhere, dick just knows this to be true, even if Jason loves to claims that that little kid was gone.

And while he’s glad that Jason is back in his life, dick couldn’t help but feel as though he could’ve done better by him at times, holding onto that guilt and shame for not being their for his brother that still killed him inside to this day whenever he saw Jason laugh and or smile at something. It hurts but Dick will never stop being in Jason’s corner, not once. If Gotham was against Jason then Dick will gladly be by Jason’s side, to show that his allegiance to his brother would outweigh a lot of things.

(I’m so normal about dick and Jason being brothers can’t you tell 🥲 leave me here and be delusional)

The same applies to Damian also, which is why your mostly acquainted with both Jason and Damian in comparison to the rest of his family because they often come over by pure coincidence, or because dick dragged them by their ears with a smile on his face.

Insists that you cling onto his legs while he does pull ups and or sit on his back while he does push ups as he lets you count.

Complains to you when he looses the nightwing look alike contest, and to Jason no less, which no one that knows him personally allows him to live down.

They (Tim and Stephanie) even make memes out of it.

Has Hayley as his Lock Screen, you as his Home Screen. Both wearing cute matching pyjamas. So when he’s on his phone people think he’s smiling at his picture of Hayley -which is true- but he’s also smiling at the picture of you also.

His family pester him about you a lot, even Bruce asks when he’s going to meet you, claiming he’s not going to get any younger should Dick hold back on introducing you to him.

Even Alfred gets in on this as well but Dick always has an excuse locked and loaded when these questions are asked, but even he knows that Bruce knows that it’s all bullshit, however he doesn’t say anything outright incase Dick didn’t feel comfortable introducing you to them yet.

Wears only boxers to sleep or boxers and a light blue shirt, it depends on what he’s feeling really.

Loves living in the moment with you as you enjoy the others company without feeling the need to fill the air with chatter, you could just both exist and still love each other regardless because Dick didn’t feel the need to talk all the time, so moments like these were what he longed for most.

Ungracefully fell on his ass in fuzzy soaks once and hurt his tailbone in the process. It was funny until he asked to you put a bag of ice on the afflicted area.

Loved narrating what you and or Hayley do in a goofy voice that never fails to make you smile.

Doesn’t open up immediately but once he does it’s a sign of trust. He admits to his flaws in past relationships and how he wasn’t the most faithful and often saw commitment as a challenge. He understands if you see that as a sign to leave the relationship, he doesn’t expect anything from you, but if you did stay then he’s more then happy to not repeat those mistakes in your relationship.

Knows that people see Bruce when they look at him, he expects it because after being with him as long as he has it was only logical that he picked up some habits along the way whether he liked it or not.

Has a big heart but claims that Jason’s heart was twice as big because he’s so full of love and believed in love.

[daisymbin]

angst prompt #24 + dino

maybe where chan forgets yns bday because of his busy schedule >< (u can disregard this idea if u have other ideas in mind!) ((also up to u if u wanna make it a happy ending or not ><))

I swear dino w angst always hits different for some reason...that boy is just...lowkey kinda angst coded 😭 thank you for requesting!!!!! 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist!

angst prompt #24: "I waited for you, but you never came."

you had been excited for weeks. chan had promised to spend your birthday together—just the two of you, no distractions. even three days ago, he had smiled at you over dinner, reaching across the table to hold your hands.

"it’s gonna be perfect," he’d said. "just wait."

and so you did.

you waited all morning, telling yourself he was probably running late or finishing up something important. by noon, you started to feel the edges of doubt creeping in, but you brushed it off. he was busy; he’d show up soon. you sent a text to check in—no response.

afternoon turned into evening, and the silence from him was deafening. by 6pm, you gave up on texting or calling altogether. your stomach churned every time you glanced at the untouched cake on the counter.

by 8pm, you couldn’t stand sitting on the couch any longer. you slipped into bed, hoping sleep would take away the sting of disappointment, but your mind wouldn’t stop spinning.

he forgot.

the words echoed relentlessly, a cruel chant in the quiet of your bedroom.

you turned over for the hundredth time, staring at the clock on your nightstand. you weren’t sure if it was the lump in your throat or the ache in your chest that kept you awake, but both felt equally miserable.

then, just as you were considering giving up on sleep entirely, you heard the front door open.

your heart jumped, anger and sadness twisting together. you sat up as footsteps hurried toward the bedroom. the door creaked open, and there he was—chan, looking worn out, his hair tousled and face full of guilt.

"i’m so sorry," he blurted out, rushing inside, his face pale. "i messed up. i swear, i didn’t mean to—"

"you forgot," you said, cutting him off, your voice quiet but firm, the weight of the day pressing into your words with heavy disappointment.

"no," he started, stepping closer, desperation in his eyes. "it’s not like that. i’ve just been really busy with work and rehearsals, and everything piled up. i didn’t even realize how late it got." he rubbed his hand over his face. "i swear, i never meant to forget. i… i should’ve called you, i should’ve done something."

you blinked, trying to process his words. "so, you’ve been busy all day? that’s why you didn’t even reach out?"

"yeah," he said guiltily. "i had everything planned, but the schedule got crazy. and then when i finally had time to think about it, i just… lost track of everything. i didn’t mean to hurt you." he walked closer, his eyes full of regret. "i’ve been such an idiot."

you turned away, trying to hold back the tears. "chan.. i thought… i thought you just forgot about me."

"no, i didn’t forget," he said, voice cracking as he moved closer. "i’ve been so wrapped up in everything, and then i didn’t even realize how much time had passed. i’m such a bad boyfriend." his shoulder slumps.

"you didn’t even think to tell me you were busy, chan," you whispered, your voice trembling. "you could’ve at least said something, but instead i spent the whole day waiting for you, thinking you’d forgotten me."

he closed the space between you, his hands reaching for yours. "please don’t think that. i would never forget about you. you mean everything to me." his voice dropped to a whisper. "i just… got caught up. i’m so sorry. i’m really, really sorry."

you pulled your hands away, stepping back slightly. "i waited for you, chan, but you never came."

he winced, as if each word struck him like a blow. "i know, and i’m sorry. but, let me make it up to you. please, there’s still time. we can still have dinner. i’ll cook if we need to, or we can get something, i don’t care. but i want to spend the rest of your birthday with you. please."

you shook your head, the sadness still weighing heavily on you. "it’s late, chan. everything’s closed. the day’s almost over."

he took a deep breath, his eyes softening with determination. "then i’ll make dinner. we can still do something. please, i don’t want to lose the chance to make this right." he stepped closer again, his eyes pleading. "please. just give me a chance."

you looked at him, seeing the exhaustion and regret in his eyes, and something inside you softened. it wasn’t perfect. it wasn’t what you’d imagined for your birthday, but it was still him, still chan, trying to make it right. you sighed, a small part of you already forgiving him.

"fine," you said quietly, though your voice was still tinged with disappointment. "but you’re lighting the candles on the cake."

chan’s face lit up with relief, and he pulled you toward the kitchen. as he fumbled with the candles, trying to light them, he mumbled under his breath, apologizing over and over.

finally, the candles were lit, and he turned to you, his face softening. "happy birthday," he said, his voice full of regret but also a little hope.

you nodded slowly, a faint smile playing on your lips as you looked at the cake. "thank you, chan."

he smiled sheepishly, stepping closer. "there’s one more thing," he said, reaching into his pocket. his hands were slightly shaky as he pulled out a small, carefully wrapped box and handed it to you. "i… i got this for you months ago, i was planning on giving it to you earlier, but with everything happening today, i couldn’t." he looked at you, almost nervously. "i hope you like it."

you stared at the box in your hands, confused but touched. "chan… you got me a present?"

he smiled weakly. "yeah. i’ve been keeping it safe, i wanted it to be special."

you slowly unwrapped it, your heart fluttering with anticipation. inside was a delicate necklace, a simple silver chain with a small pendant shaped like a crescent moon.

"i thought it would be perfect," chan said softly, his voice almost apologetic. "you've always loved the moon, and how it has many faces but its unchaging, always there."

tears pricked your eyes as you looked up at him. despite everything, this was the gift he had been thinking of for months. "chan… this is beautiful."

"i know i messed up today," he whispered, "but i promise i’ll make it up to you. i’ll never forget you again. you mean the world to me."

you smiled softly, wiping away the stray tear that had escaped. "thank you, chan. i love it. and i love you."

"happy birthday," he whispered, pulling you into a hug.

as he held you close, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope. maybe this birthday wasn’t perfect, but with chan, you knew you’d get another chance, there's always next year—and that was all that mattered.

[parfaitblogs]

lia, i’d love a headcanon on reader snapping back at spencer! and her getting mad after it. i love making him cry, lol.

i had to employ the help of tumblr user pathologicalreid to come up with some context for this thank you margot we all chant in unison

i don’t know if he would cry personally. even s1 spencer… but i do think it would hurt a lot if you were to snap back no matter the context!! obviously!!

i feel like he wouldn’t snap at you for no reason. tbh. like even if you’re provoking him with an argument, he seems like the type of person to be level headed with his conversations with the person he loves. especiallyyyy post s2 spencer because he knows how snappy and mean he can get.

BUT that being said, to quote my lover margot, when spencer reid is scared (or hurt) he gets mean. something like you disobeying direct orders from hotch and getting hurt (or nearly getting hurt) in the field would freak him out and his immediate response would be to get frustrated with you and snap!

and you never usually argue with him like this, so it’s a shock to your system as much as it is to his, and you’re responding with the same shouting tone of voice? maybe he escalates it by shouting that you could’ve gotten hurt and you counter it by arguing that he has done the exact same thing (and/or worse) in the field, and he’s being a hypocrite.

it would probably end with nobody winning the argument, but that could be my own stubbornness filtering into this situation… and it would take a few hours to a day for the two of you to cool off and revisit it.

but he’s level headed. so he’d probably be the one to find you and say you’re right and he needs to hold himself to the same standards (or something like that)… and then things are okay obviously because he loves you way too much to let his own temper ruin a relationship 💘💗💗💘

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 7 - Spite's Revenge (or lack thereof)

This story contains major spoilers for Dragon Age the Veilguard. Read at your own discretion!!

Kalais x Lucanis

Summary: It's finally time to get Lucanis and Spite's revenge against the Venatori witch that tortured them.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Illario(yeah that should say how I feel pretty well about him), Kalais is pissed off, lots of venatori death, lucanis and kalais are so cute, sexual tension

A/N: Oooh Illario pisses me off so baddddd >:(

Chapter 6 DATV Masterlist Chapter 8

The morning light filtered through the cracks in the shuttered window, pale and hesitant, as if it didn’t quite belong in this room weighed down with unspoken words and regrets. My side still ached, a steady throb that tethered me to the moment, even though I was mostly recovered, like it was a phantom reminder of what happened. I lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sounds of movement beyond the door. Life continued out there. Here, I felt stuck in some kind of limbo.

Eventually, I forced myself to sit up, wincing as the motion pulled at my tender skin. My gear sat neatly folded on the chair in the corner, my boots placed side by side. I wasn’t sure who had done it, but a nagging feeling told me it was Lucanis. Despite everything, he always made sure things were orderly---like if he could control the chaos of the little things, the bigger things might stop spinning out of control too.

The door creaked open, and I tensed, half-expecting to see him again. But instead, it was Varric, chest still bandaged up, and he walked with a limp while his leg was braced. His ever-present smirk was slightly softer than usual.

“Well, look who’s up,” he said, stepping inside. He pulled a stool over and dropped onto it with a sigh. “You look like hell, Rook.”

“Thanks,” I muttered, running a hand through my hair. “Good to see you too.”

Varric leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, you wanna talk about it? Or are we doing the whole ‘brooding in silence’ thing?”

I shot him a look that suggested exactly what I planned to do. “What’s there to talk about? We went up against a literal ancient nightmare, and I almost got myself killed. Again.”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone light but pointed. “And yet here you are. Still breathing. Which is more than most people can say after tangling with something like that.”

I leaned back against the headboard, my arms crossed. “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

“Enough for what?” Varric asked, his gaze sharp despite the casual set of his shoulders. “To save the world? To live up to whatever impossible standard you’ve set for yourself? Let me tell you something, Rook—being alive is enough. It’s a hell of a lot more than some people get.”

I looked away, my jaw tightening. “Tell that to the people we couldn’t save.”

“I have,” Varric said simpy. “And guess what? They’d say the same thing I’m saying now. You did what you could’ve. More than anyone else would’ve.”

Silence settled between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. I traced the edge of the blanket with my fingers, my thoughts tangling into knots. “Lucanis thinks he failed,” I said finally, the words tasting bitter in my mouth.

Varric nodded, like he’d been waiting for me to bring it up. “Of course he does. That guy’s got enough guilt to sink a ship.”

“Why?” I asked, my voice quieter now. “Why does he put so much of this on himself?”

Varric was silent for a moment, looking at me for long enough that I met his stare. The weight of it made me look away again. His voice was low when he asked, “Why do you?”

I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers. “I don’t know how to help him,” I said instead.

“Start by helping yourself,” Varric said. “You can’t pull someone out of the fire if you’re already half-burned.” I frowned, about to argue, but he held up a hand to stop me. “I mean it, Rook. You’re both too damn stubborn for your own good. Maybe it’s time to stop trying to fix everything alone.”

His words hung in the air, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t have a sharp reply at the ready. Varric stood, patting my thigh affectionately before moving for the door. “Think about it,” he said, pulling the door open before looking over his shoulder at me. “And for Andraste’s sake, try not to get yourself killed again. I’m running out of sarcastic things to say at your bedside.”

I snorted despite myself, shaking my head. “I’ll try.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with my thoughts. This time, they didn’t feel quite as heavy.

—-------------------------

I finally managed to drag myself out of the cot in the infirmary. My side was still tight, and the skin was stretched taut with a scar, but it was healed mostly over. Phantom pains still plagued me, but that could just have been the result of so much mental and emotional stress on a physical wound.

Lucanis and I hadn’t spoken, but I would wake to the smell of his cooking and a cioccolata calda steaming on a tray beside my bed. If that was his idea of a peace offering, I’d take it. Everything was hard enough without trying to lay our feelings out in a messy heap on the dining table. Best to keep them tucked away in organized folders, nice and neat to pull out when necessary and close up and put away in other cases.

And until the time arose for me to pull some of those folders out, they would stay right there in my chest where they belonged. Where I knew no one could see them or hurt them. 

Hurt me.

And yet, my feet carried me right to him anyway. As though they just couldn’t help themselves. As though I couldn’t help myself. Like a moth to a flame, always trailing after the danger and unable to resist the temptation of its warmth.

I knocked hesitantly before pushing open his door. Lucanis stopped mid-pace, seeing me. “Are you in here brooding?’ I asked with a slight smile.

“I’m fine,” He said, placing a hand on his hip.

“That’s not a ‘No.’”

“I had her. She should never have gotten away from me. This was our contract, Rook. I don’t fail my contracts,” he said, venom toward himself with every syllable that slipped from his tongue.

“Forget about Ghilan’nain,” I said.

“That’s why I’m here,” he argued.

“I know, but… I’m just happy you didn’t get killed out there.” I crossed my arms under my chest like I could pull that folder back in before it spilled all over the floor like loose coffee beans.

“You shouldn’t go easy on me,” Lucanis said. “Mistakes get people killed.”

“You’re an assassin,” I grinned. “So do successes.”

“I thought I still had this. Whatever else I am, I’m a professional,” he said. “After the Ossuary, I thought at least I could still take out a target. I need to work.”

“Ghilan’nain was a giant face in the clouds, Lucanis. I asked you to stab a cloud.”

“And I missed the damn cloud!”

“My point is: That was impossible, and you still almost did it. That’s not small,” I told him.

He sighed, looking at the ground. “I was distracted,” he said, looking back up at me. “That cannot happen again. I need to get my head on straight.”

“Whatever you need to do, okay?” I told him.

“Have you been to talk to the others?” He asked. “I think everyone might have… things to deal with now. I should check in with the Crows. Whatever the word is, I’ll let you know.”

“Tell Teia I said hi,” I told him before leaving. “And Lucanis,” I turned back toward him, and he looked up at me. “Stop beating yourself up before I beat you up,” I leveled him with the best glare I could manage.

His eyebrows shot up, “Is that a threat, mi estrella?”

I shrugged, smiling at him before shutting the door behind me. 

—---------------------

After a talk with Solas that night that provided no new information or feedback, I wandered back out to the dining hall to see if Lucanis had heard from the Crows. When I entered, he was standing at the corner of the table, several knives stuck into the wood.

“This is ominous…” I said as I approached.

“Viago found something,” Lucanis said.

“Something bad, I take it?” I asked, bracing myself for whatever news I was about to hear that had Lucanis sticking knives in the table.

“Venatori in Treviso. Like I thought. One of them might know where Zara is. Viago has Crows watching them. We find them, we find Zara,” he said.

“Everything she did to you… We’ll make her pay, Lucanis. Side by side,” I said earnestly.

“We just have to get this done. I’m not losing anyone else,” he said in a low voice. “We only get one shot at this. We’ll go when you’re ready.”

—----------------------

We met with Lucanis’s Crow contact. She told us that they found a group of Venatori hiding out in the market, not far from Cafe Pietra. They already took Minrathous from me. They couldn’t have Treviso too.

I would do anything to keep a home.

I didn’t like anything about this. I definitely didn’t like how willing Illario was to insist Zara had moved on and left. Especially now that Venatori were trying to occupy the city beside the Antaam.

We made our way through the city to where she said they were hiding. Of course the front door was locked. So we went up. There was always another route, this was Treviso, after all. Holes in the walls and climbing the lattice-works on the sides of buildings. Jumping between roofs and ziplining over canals. 

Still, I must’ve miscalculated a jump, my foot slipping. My heart plummeted to my stomach as I started falling. A hand gripping my wrist firmly stopped me, and a second later I was back on my feet, looking at Lucanis as his hand lingered on my wrist.

“Careful,” he said before turning to lead the way again.

I’d forgotten how fun it was to kill Venatori. They were worse than roaches. Like a rat in the last bag of rice. Lucanis watched with raised brows, almost in surprise as I slammed my dagger through a Venatori’s ribs all the way to the hilt before pulling it out and slitting his throat.

“You fight like a Crow,” he observed.

“Varric taught me to fight. I guess the rogue in him rubbed off on me,” I said in response. “Sometimes even a normal stabbing beats burning them to a crisp.”

“Remind me to stay on your good side,” he smirked.

“I think you’re safe,” I laughed.

There were lots of useless notes scattered around their hideout. Only one pointed to a possible lead. A powerful mage named Aquila. A mage? Two could play that game. Try a mage with a dagger, bitch.

It didn’t take long to get rid of him. His pockets were stuffed with jewelry from the Chantry. That was our next stop, then.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this? Facing Zara, I mean,” I asked him.

“I lost a year of my life to that Venatori witch. I owe her for that,” he said steadily.

We climbed up to the roof, and Illario was standing there. “There you are. What took you so long? Did you stop for coffee again?”

“Illario? What are you doing here?” Lucanis asked as we approached. I watched him, very much waiting to hear the answer to that myself.

“I’m coming with you, cousin. No arguments.”

“This is my job,” Lucanis argued.

“This is Crow business,” Illario countered.

“How did you even know we’d be here?” Lucanis asked.

Illario looked at me with a sly grin. “Rook! Always a pleasure. Touring the city with my cousin? You must allow me to show you the sights.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Lucanis told you not to come.” I saw a flash of anger and disappointment cross Illario’s face before it was gone, replaced by that stupid smug grin.

“This isn’t your type of job, cousin,” Lucanis said, shifting slightly closer to me. “There’s no one you can charm into dropping their guard. Only fanatics. All you can do is get yourself killed.”

“You think I’m not good enough?” Illario questioned.

“Are you?” Lucanis asked.

“Fine. Have it your way, cousin. You know best,” Illario replied with a hiss.

“Let’s go, Rook. Zara is waiting,” Lucanis told me.

“Go on, then. Don’t keep Zara waiting,” Illario crossed his arms, watching me like a predator. I sidestepped him, heading across the roof.

We didn’t find Zara, but we found about a dozen Venatori and a bone-reader in the Chantry hall. Apparently she was Zara’s favorite soothsayer, Porcia. Lucanis said if she’s here then Zara is too.

All of her lackeys were here, which meant she was here. We just hadn’t found her yet.

And of course, when we did find her, it was in a pool of blood in the basement of the holy sanctum.

And she was naked.

Great.

“Lucanis,” she purred. “It’s terribly uncivilized to drop in on a lady unannounced. Now the evening’s ruined.”

“You’ve got something on yourself,” I said.

“How very eloquent,” she said, standing from the water. She was covered in blood up to her collarbone, hair black and wavy, lips painted dark. Her eyes were bone white, a stark contrast to her hair and the blood bodysuit.

“Bitch,” I sneered, curling my lip and flipping her the bird. Lucanis glanced at me with a similar expression, and my hand clutched my dagger as she prepared to fight us.

All of my anger with the Venatori that had built in my veins now came charging out in a concentrated blast of fire and lightning. I watched as Lucanis leaped into the air, wings erupting from his back in a display of shadow and night and everything righteous and vengeful that had been building in him over the past year.

While she was busy focusing on not burning to a crisp and spending all her power regenerating herself, Lucanis grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her forcefully against the floor. Her once beautiful face was now old and wrinkled, her hair white as snow.

She cowered against the pillar she was thrown against, trying to drag herself up. “So serious, Lucanis! Why don’t we talk? I can tell you much about Venatori… and our pet Crows.”

“No. I want. Her heart. Quivering. On our knife,” I heard Spite hiss in Lucanis’s mind.

I watched Lucanis’s face twist, his neck straining as he fought against Spite for control. His eyes flashed purple before he closed them.

“You want to know who betrayed you, don’t you? Who sent you to the Ossuary?” Zara crooned.

“Talk,” Lucanis spat.

“I knew you were—”

She was cut off by someone dropping from the ceiling. I almost had them under my blade before I saw it was Lucanis’s cousin.

“Illario!”

“I told you. This is Crow business.”

“Amatu—” Zara was cut off by Illario’s hand around her throat, squeezing the life out of her. Literally. Her neck snapped. And she was gone.

“No! Mine!” Spite hissed through Lucanis’s teeth, wings flaring from his back. Spite screamed in anger, leaping into the air and pinning Illario, arm drawn back with his dagger. I watched in slow motion as he tried to plunge the knife into his cousin. His other hand caught his forearm.

“Get. Illario. Out!!” Lucanis yelled in my direction, fighting against Spite with everything in him.

“What? No—”

“Rook, I can’t—” He screamed in pain.

“Lucanis!” I moved in front of Illario.

“No!” Lucanis screamed.

The dagger pressed against my skin, drawing a nick of blood at my collar. “Rook. Move!” Spite hissed.

I stared right into those glowing purple eyes. “No. If you want him you have to kill me first.”

Spite growled. My face cracked as the dagger drew a scratch against my skin from Lucanis’s shaking hand trying to hold Spite back.

“Rook. Hurt!” Lucanis stumbled back, eyes back to their normal chocolate brown.

“Rook,” Lucanis took a step toward me, hand out. 

“Hey, I’m fine.” I swiped my thumb over the wound, letting my magic heal it with the pass. “See? Nothing’s there, it’s okay.”

“You need to get him out of here,” Illario said behind me. “Rook. Keep him away. From Treviso. From the Crows. He’s a danger to the family.”

I spun around to face him. Approaching with my finger in his face. “If you had bloody well stayed away like we bloody well told you to, this wouldn’t have happened! That wasn’t your fucking kill, Illario! Do you know he spent a year in that fucking prison getting tortured? That he never would’ve been possessed if not for her?” I spat, my hand fisted in his collar.

“Rook—” Lucanis said weakly.

“No!” I cried. “He does not get to call you a danger when he’s so reckless. And what was it Zara called you, hmm? Amatus? The Vint word for love, if I remember correctly from my time as a slave,” I spat in Illario’s face. “Forgive me, if I’m not ready to let you off the hook just because you happened to know where we would be, and happened to know where the Ossuary was, and happened to be called love by the person we came here to kill. So, no. You get out of here Illario before I get the mind to kill you myself. Your only grace is being Lucanis’s cousin. Get the fuck out of my sight.” I shoved him and he stumbled.

“Lucanis, you’re going to let your plaything speak to me like this?” He questioned.

“Kalais is not a plaything, and you would be the luckiest man in the world to have her as yours. Just go, Illario,” Lucanis said, all of the fight gone from him.

Illario looked between the two of us, scoffed, and walked away. He was smarter than I gave him credit for, then.

Lucanis watched him go and then fell to his knees. I rushed over to him, hands on his shoulders to keep him upright. “Come on, just gotta get back to the eluvian and you can rest,” I said, helping him to his feet. “I’m alright, okay, now I just need you to be.”

Lucanis complied as best he could, Spite helping him move with me as we traversed back to the Diamond and through the Eluvian to the lighthouse.

I managed to get him back to his room, sitting down against the wall as he passed out on his cot.

—--------------------

I didn’t sleep much, but I rested a bit while he did. He sat by me for who knows how long while I was injured, I couldn’t bear to leave now.

Hours later he stirred. “Rook?”

“You’re awake,” I said, looking up at him from my camp on the floor. I had brewed fresh coffee for when he awoke sitting on the table next to his bed, the small lamp the only light in the room.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve been trying to figure out what to say to you,” he said quietly.

Ah.

So he’d been awake for awhile, then. I just didn’t know because he hadn’t stirred.

“And…” he continued. “There aren’t words enough to apologize.” I shifted to sit on my knees before his bedside, brows furrowed. “I never wanted you to see me like that. And to think I almost…”

I shook my head. “I’m still here,” I told him. “Nothing happened that I wasn’t expecting other than Illario falling from the sky,” I said with a slight grin. “And look…” I took his hand, pulling it to my collarbone where his dagger had nicked me. “There’s nothing there. Not even a scar.”

I let go, and his fingers trailed across my collarbone, eyes lingering on the skin there. A shiver went down my spine, goosebumps raising on my flesh. Lucanis inhaled sharply, looking away, putting his hands on his lap. “We need to talk about Illario.”

“He wants you to stay away from the Crows. He… thinks you’re a danger to your family,” I spat. I’d had plenty of time to think about it and let my anger cool down. And yet, every time I thought about it, that anger came rushing back. What better way to tell I was justified than that?

“He’s not wrong. If I cannot stay in control…” He said solemnly. “Something’s not right, though.”

I sighed. “I didn’t say anything because he’s your cousin, but… I’ve always had a bad feeling about Illario,” I said carefully. “And for your sake, I didn’t want it to be true.”

“For his sake, let’s hope you’re wrong,” Lucanis said. “Zara is dead. After everything she did to me…”

“To us!” Spite hissed.

“It should have been my knife that finished this. Illario denied me that.”

“Trust me, I won’t be soon forgetting that, either,” I scowled.

“Thank you, Rook,” he said softly. “Just… give me time.”

I took his hands, squeezing them lightly. “Of course. I’ll be around if you need to talk. Your coffee is on the end table. I made it, I hope it’s alright. I tried to copy how you do it,” I said sheepishly, looking away.

His eyes were wide, and he picked up the cup, bringing it to his lips. He hummed, eyes slipping shut as he tasted it. I squirmed with anticipation. His eyes slowly slid open to peer at me. “I think… this is better than my coffee, Kalais. I might be asking you to make it more often,” he smirked.

I felt my face flush, and I stood, hands on his knees as I leaned in. “No promises that I can make it again,” I said before standing and leaving the room.

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

A/N: I hope you guys like the slight changes I made! (I needed to yell at that bitch (Illario) and Zara so badddd)

Let me know if you want to be added to the Lucanis tag list or the Kalais tag list!

[quinn-of-aebradore]

the blame falls on jayce's shoulders because he's the one that combined viktor with the hexcore at the beginning of season 2! and then when he comes and then tells jayve he's going to leave, jayce is going to say "i never asked for this" YOU were the one that combined the hexcore with viktor. i know they're both victims but the way people try and act like viktor wasn't being manipulated by the hexcore this entire time annoy me so bad, especially the comments about it i see on tiktok.

Alright anon, I generally agree with you and I am very exasperated with Jayce for blowing a hole in Viktor’s chest, but as with all things. Nuance.

Firstly, regarding Jayce combing Viktor with the Hexcore; there is no way in hell Jayce could’ve known what was going to come of that. Which, obviously, means maybe he shouldn’t have done it if he didn’t know the outcome, but also the second the Hexcore registered that Viktor was in the room, it started gravitating towards him. Jayce tried to hold it back with those tongs and it was stronger than him. I give him grace for that whole situation because desperation and adrenaline are some insane fucking drugs and also because the moment Viktor was back in that lab, his fate was sealed, regardless of Jayce coming into contact with the Hexcore or not. Firmly believe that even if Jayce had set him there and left to go find help, he would’ve come back to find that the Hexcore had merged with Viktor anyway. I think it’s also worth noting that Viktor started this process on his own in Season 1. Viktor was the one who chose to feed the Hexcore his blood and Shimmer, though yes, he was doing so out of desperation. But still, that was his choice, not Jayce’s.

Secondly, about Viktor being manipulated by the Hexcore; absolutely! I 1000% agree with that. I do not think that whatever is appearing to him as Sky is actually Sky, that is Something Else, in a way that’s very parallel to the fake Kino we saw with Mel in episode 5! Viktor does not have the full picture of what he’s been doing with the Arcane and we only have a handful more tiny pieces than he does!

And third, on whatever Jayce saw in his missing time; I am getting the feeling that he witnessed/lived through multiple alternate timelines in which things went Very Wrong, likely at the hands of a heavily corrupted and possessed Viktor, who Jayce could not bring himself to kill. That’s why he’s so adamant about not failing again. I don’t think this perception is 100% accurate to the state of things in the core timeline, but I also don’t think Jayce’s perception of the Arcane as whole is entirely accurate. He’s been exposed to the worst of it, the mind-rending and reality-shredding horrifying potential it contains, whereas Viktor has only been exposed to the best parts of it, the good it can do (even if that’s not exactly what’s happening with him in reality). We don’t know exactly how long is between Act 1 and Act 2 this time around, probably a handful of months, but I am very much willing to bet that Jayce was gone for a lot longer than that from his perspective and came back not only with run-of-the-mill PTSD (as to be expected) but also some seriously magically inflicted psychic damage. I don’t think Salo!Viktor was being metaphorical when he said that the Arcane took Jayce’s mind. His perception of reality has been irreparably altered and I wonder if it’s part due to the lack of this alteration that led to him potentially sparing alternate timeline Viktors who otherwise should’ve died. He almost killed a child, again. Something isn’t right when it comes to both him and Viktor.

Jayce is to blame for a whole lot—the entire end of episode 6, obviously—but I don’t blame him for Viktor’s initial transformation. Whatever comes next, however, does fall on his shoulders. That I won’t dispute for a second, though there is without a doubt more going on there and I am SO excited to see what’s going on behind the curtain with all the weird magic shit.

[breadlover64]

BINGQIU VS LIUSHEN/ANY OTHER SHIP WITH SQQ PART 1

BEWARE I HAVENT READ SVSSS IN A WHILE AND I MIGHT’VE MISSED SOME STUFF! Feel free to correct and give your opinions about this.

Theres gonna be two parts to this bc tumblr can’t take all my writing sooooo 😛

In the SVSSS fandom, I’ve noticed that compared to other mxtx’s novels, the mc gets shipped with half of the cast more often and is more widely accepted in the fandom compared to the tgcf and mdzs fandoms (if you ship Hualian or Wangxian with anyone, it will get you death threats, istg 😓). However, with Shen Qingqiu, while of course he gets shipped with his love interests, another really popular one is him with Liu Qingge and many other characters in the novel. I do think this also has to do with the fact that the fandom is more chill than the other two fandoms. Shen Qingqiu in general is just VERY shippable. But why? Why do some people like liushen more than bingqiu? Obviously, I know this is simply a preference, but why do people prefer it more than the canon couple? Well, I have some speculations. First, while I love Bingqiu, I can admit that their relationship is not for everyone; even for me, they’re my least favorite main couple of the three (it's just my opinion, DONT ATTACK ME🙏) because their dynamic can be seen as somewhat toxic. Luo Binghe is very obsessive and kind of yandare like in the novel, and yes, he does have character development and regrets his actions and never really wanted to hurt Shen Qingqiu. I personally don’t feel like we see as much of this development until the very end. At least for me, I feel like we should’ve spent more time with a changed Luo Binghe, and I KNOW he was influenced by Xi Mo. I still didn’t feel completely satisfied with the Luo Binghe arc. I do think we see more of his development in the extras, which is what made me like Bingqiu a lot more, but I just wish we could’ve seen this in the main story instead of optional extras because I think the extras really show Luo Binghe’s growth and his love for Shen Qingqiu in a healthier way. I am aware this boy is very mentally ill. While I’m not a writer, as a reader, I think mxtx could’ve done more for him because he can end up more dislikable for some people and just less appealing of a love interest. I personally LOVE Luo Binghe and how chaotic he is, but again, that is not for everyone, so I can definitely see why some people don’t like him as much. With Shen Qingqiu, this is a bit different. I felt that by the end of the novel he had massive progress and huge development for his character; even if he still has his flaws, you can really tell he has changed and grown throughout the story, but he’s still himself if that makes sense. I felt wayyy more satisfied with his arc than Luo Binghe's; however, I will say that Shen Qingqiu has this sort of shame. While I wouldn’t necessarily call it internalized homophobia, he does have this sort of stigma towards gay people and him being gay himself. And while it can be funny, if you really think about it, even by the end of the novel and in the extras he still has this shame of sleeping with Binghe and showing basic affection, but I won’t really criticize this much because he does improve in this a lot by the extras. By that point, it really feels more like shyness than the shame he felt at the beginning when he first discovered Luo Binghe's feelings. So I will argue that Shen Qingqiu arc is pretty well done and concluded by the end of the book; at least to me, it really did feel like he changed. Okay, so the second reason is because Bingqiu got together when they were both still ‘not at their best’. What do I mean by this? Well in tgcf Xie lian had to endure a lot of torture and experience several traumatic situations and almost released face disease and killed a bunch of people with it. He was clearly very mentally unwell! And for Hua Cheng, he also went through a lot of trauma with his mom dying when he was young and the abuse he went through from his father and the kids who made fun of him to the point where he wanted to end his life, and then later he became a ghost with his parasocial attachment to a god. We see these characters at their worst, but when they get together, they are already 800+ years old and have lived a long life and matured and learned from their experiences.

[shapard]

Sweet Delusion🌙

Lucifer x fem!reader

Tw: Gore, Violence, self hatred, trauma, mother issues, burning

Y/n Can't catch a breath, poor thing only wanted to find out why Lu hate her so much.

Disease

Chapter 1 < Chapter 2 > Chapter 3

Story Begins under the cut

The ground was cold and hard. Your buzzing head was the only thing that kept you from screaming at the pain your body was in.

Plus, you couldn’t move. 

You were sure Valentino would've at least put you somewhere comfortable. But the other outcome wasn’t much of a surprise. 

You don’t trust anyone enough to ever do something to help you. 

No. 

Not even on living humans helped each other. So, who would even consider in hell?

Who’d help a pathetic thing like yourself. Drowning yourself in self pity, that’s how pathetic you were. A whine escaped your mouth and all you could feel was both the mental and physical pain.

The door creaked open, you only saw those leather heels and white fur legs that were similar to Angel. “Kitty!” 

Who was that again? Oh right, you. 

“What did Val do to you.” You winced as he picked you up from the ground, carrying you out of the club.

It was Indeed Angel.

Everything happened so quickly, in one moment you were walking beside Valentino and the next you were displayed on the cold ground.

Now you were carried by Angel who was running through the streets. What an outcome.

You tried to talk but just a groan came out, “Stay Awake! I’ll get you help!” Help? Why would he try to help you? You tried to stay awake, and it was getting harder every second. Soon even the voices muffled around you. 

No good sign. You were just so exhausted.

Angel was in full panic mode the moment he saw you laying motionless on the ground. What has Valentino done to you, that you blacked out that bad? Charlie and the others already left and he just wanted to see if you’re alright. 

He knows the best, that Valentino can be a lot. 

He burst into the hotel, screaming for help. Valentino could’ve poisoned you or worse, hurt you with angelic weapon. 

Angels scared shouting was alerting the whole hotel. Charlie found her way pretty fast to the spider. “What happened?!” Charlie crouched to get a better look at you. You were pale and your whole body was shaking. 

“She’ll be alright.” A Voice behind Charlie said, Lucifer. “You say that so easy, she’s shaking!” Angel scratched his scalp in stress. “She’s a Sinner, only Angelic power can really harm her.” He said calmly as he sipped from his tea. “What if she’s gotten hurt from angelic power?! What then?” Lucifer rolled his eyes, “She’s being dramatic. If it was angelic, I would’ve felt it. At least sensed it. But nope, nothing, nada.” 

Angel eyes twitched, “Dramatic?” Charlie was also looking in shock at her father. “Dad, she’s hurting. How could you say something like that?” This was very unusual for Lucifer. 

Normally he would’ve helped someone in need. Most especially when his daughter cared about the person. But every time your name fell or even you were near him or Charlie, he gets the ick. 

He couldn’t explain it himself. You were just so annoying. 

Just your present alone was already enough. He wanted to help his daughter, she was too nervous to ask you to stay in the hotel. 

So, he talked to you. 

The way you talked like your voice was silk was sickening. If you die right here right now, He wouldn’t care even one bit. 

Lucifer pointed towards your body, which was slowly going back into a normal state. “See, everything’s alright.” He spun around as he made his way towards his apartment. 

You really piss him off.

____

After that event, you stayed in the hotel for a while. 

Working wasn’t allowed so you chattered with the other’s, when they weren’t busy. Well, everyone except Lucifer. He’s been avoiding you much more lately. 

When you’d see him, he was glaring at you all the time. You don’t even understand why he was hating you now more than before. Did something happened? 

“I should talk to him, right?” You asked husk with your Mojito in your hand, “I don’t know, kid. He isn’t a fan of yours.” You chuckled, “Oh, really? I just want to live peaceful. If he doesn’t like me, I’d leave the hotel. Easy.” It could be so easy.

You sigh again, your glass clunked when you put it onto the wood. “I just want to know what I did wrong. I don’t like hurting others nor disturbing someone's peace.” Your hands moved up and down your arms, trying to comfort yourself. 

“And yet, you are still in Hell,” He sigh, “Do what you want kid, just be careful, kay.” You took a huge sip of the Alcohol, the burning sensation lets you forget the nervousness that raged in your stomach. When you finally had the courage, you started to make your way to Lucifer. 

The closer you get towards Lucifer's door, the slower your steps start to be. As the door was in sight, your heart started to pound louder and harder. “You can do this Y/n.”

Your fist raised on the red door, you were shivering in fear. The knock was hard and harsh, making you wince at the loudness. A few rattles were heard behind the door, in the next second the door opened revealing the small king. 

“Oh.” His attempt to close the door was stopped from your feet. “We have to talk.” You said serious and Lucifer looked again, annoyed. “Yeah, no.” He opened the door again and walked past you. 

“Your highness, please.” Lucifer ignored you, his finger graced onto the wall, “dusty.” He muttered. You ran towards him, “Your Highness!” Still nothing.

“Lucifer!” finally he halted. “Finally I-“ “What did you call me?” His voice was firm and stern. “I-“ Did you do something wrong?

His horns started to grow on his head and your surroundings started to fall into darkness. The lights started to flicker. His tail, you didn’t knew he had, started to flick dangerous behind him.

“It’s already enough that you little scum disturbed the little peace I just had.” The hallway started to get hotter every second. And not in a good way. Your skin felt like it was melting away, the pain was now still bearable. 

“I’m so-“ His growl interrupted you, “Stop talking! How can someone be so annoying! Just your presence is so disturbing. I hate it even when you speak!” Your breath hitched, your fear making your body halt in every movement.

His nails started to turn red and a flame started to rage between his horns. 

“You should’ve died yesterday!” Flames started to burn around you, burning a bit your skin. Your ears started to ring, Lucifer's words started to stab your heart. You should've listened to husk.

Lucifer didn't look humane anymore. Every soft feature of him disappeared. All you could see was the thirst of blood. The itching in his hand to just kill you limp by limp.

“How can anyone even like, even Love you?! Such a stupid little bitch who doesn’t even understand the concept of peace!” You took a step back, in a blink he was in front of you, holding you tight on your neck. 

'What's happening?'

The moment he pulled you up and closed his hand around your neck, tight, you wanted to scream. Your nails scratched onto his arms. His skin was hot and burning. His hand that strangles you was starting to break your skin, under the heat and force. 

You wanted to scream, shout but nothing came out. 

You opened your eyes and all you could see in those red raging eyes from Lucifer, was him. It was a deja vu.

An re-living of how you died all those years ago. This hatred in those eyes. Your eyes started to tear up. You wanted it to stop. 

This hate in their eyes. 

Your Mother,

Your Lover,

And now Lucifer. 

Your boiled blood started to pour onto Lucifers skin, your vocal-chords started to burn from the heat. A pain you've never experienced bloomed and your blood started to form around Lucifer. your body was acting on Autopilot. Trying to protect you.

With one forceful push, a cut formed onto Lucifers cheek, the golden blood dripped slowly onto his shirt. The sudden pain brought him back to reality. Like someone poured freezing water onto him.

He let you go and you fell full force onto the ground. 

You couldn’t breathe, your neck was burning hard and your face twisted in pain. The only thing was a bloody screech from you in pain. 

Your body was shaking uncontrollable. Your surrounding was black and no one but your mother was standing in front of you. Her nose pinched up. 

“You’re such a disgrace. Who would’ve ever liked you?” Your throat was burning, and every attempt to talk was like a hot iron in your throat. “I-I.. so-“ you coughed out blood, painting the black carped dark red. You scratched onto the wet carpet. 

“So-“ another bloody cough. “-rry!” Blood flooded out of your mouth and it was so painful. “You’re so beautiful Y/n, when you’re this broken you know.” Your eyes wandered up to those pretty eyes of him. You raised your arm up to meet his hands, but they glided through. “Who could ever love you.” 

You grabbed your head, you want it to stop. 

Stop!

Another screech left you but this time, your brain was hot, burning. And the other moment you just switched up. Your body slumped to the floor like a corpse. 

Lucifer looked in horror at you. 

“Kitty? Kitty!” He ran towards you holding your head in his hands. “What a Show. What a shame it ended now!” Alastor laughed heartily, his body morphed into the shadows. 

Lucifer was checking for any pulse, but no. Charlie stormed down the now burned hall, “Dad?” “Call Belphegor right now!” Charlie terrified grabbed her phone. The moment Belphegor was on the phone Lucifer snatched the phone out of charlies hands. 

“Bel, I need you. Fast!” He was in full panic. 

Why? 

He doesn’t have any clue. 

________

“That’s not good.” Bel muttered as she checked your Vitals. “Her heart is beating but very slow and she’s in a coma. Her Vocal-chords are damaged but she will be able to talk again.” 

She closed the curtain from the bed. She sighed deeply, her gaze shifting towards Lucifer. “Lucifer, Why?” Lucifer moved a bit but wasn’t looking at Belphegor. 

“Look at me Lucifer. Why would you do that, that’s not usual for you.” 

Oh God, is Y/n alright? And what is wrong with Lucifer?

💫

Taglist

@i-have-no-life-charlie @sirenetheblogger @concentratedconcrete @ylovei @cimadreamer @ayanazoldyck @froggybich @ravensdecent36 @fangthesandwing

[freedomsargeant]

Complete | Paul Aron

Hello loves! Thought I would make another book now that I'm on Thanksgiving break. My requests are open if anyone would like me to write them a little something! I hope you enjoy it!

Paul Aron X OC

Summary: Paul is unhappy with the race results and Olivia decides to spend the rest of the day trying to cheer him up

Warnings: none, it's all fluff!

Paul leaned back against his car, eyes fixed on the ground. The pit area was quiet now, the buzz of the race weekend already fading into the usual background of his life. But today was different. Today, disappointment felt heavier. He was lost in thoughts of missed turns and split-second miscalculations when he heard familiar footsteps approaching.

"Hey, you," Olivia said, her voice bright and comforting as she walked up beside him. Her smile, as usual, softened the edge of his frustration, if only a little.

"Hey, Liv," he murmured, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

She tilted her head, looking him over. “Rough day, huh?”

Paul nodded, swallowing back the urge to vent his frustration. His races mattered to him more than anything, and today’s loss—well, it stung. “Could’ve done better. I don’t know...everything felt off.”

Without a word, she leaned against the car beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He felt a familiar warmth, the same comfort that Olivia always brought. They'd been close for years, ever since he'd started racing in junior karting leagues. She’d seen every high and low and somehow never wavered in her support.

“Hey, I have an idea,” she said suddenly. “How about we leave the pit and just...do something fun? Like, something not-racing related?”

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Olivia always had a way of making things better, even if he didn’t quite understand how she did it.

“Alright,” he said, surprising himself. “What do you have in mind?”

* * * *

They found themselves at a small park overlooking the city, and Olivia had come prepared with a blanket and a bag of snacks she’d picked up on the way. Paul realized how rare it was to see this side of life, away from the endless noise of racing, the thrill of speed. He hadn’t really just...stopped in a long time.

They sat down, and she handed him a snack without a word, her usual sense of timing impeccable. She knew he needed a little time to shake off the disappointment.

“It’s okay to feel let down sometimes,” she said, as if reading his mind. “You’re always so focused, so hard on yourself. But, Paul, it’s also okay to just...be.”

“Be?” He chuckled lightly, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s in my programming, Liv. You know that.”

She laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. “I know. But you can try for one afternoon, can’t you?”

He looked over at her, really looked this time. Her bright eyes, her steady presence...for a moment, the frustration of the day melted away. She wasn’t here to talk about the race, to criticize his laps, or even to ask him why he was feeling low. She was just here for him, exactly as he was.

“You know, I don’t say this enough,” he said quietly. “But...thanks. For being here, I mean. For always knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.”

A soft smile spread across her face, a look he hadn’t seen before, or maybe had never really noticed. “It’s nothing, Paul. It’s just...I know you. I know how much racing means to you. And it’s okay to be disappointed. But you’re more than one race, you know?”

Her words lingered in the air, and for the first time, he found himself really seeing her, understanding what she meant to him. Olivia had been there through every victory, every setback, her presence as constant and grounding as the road beneath his tires. She wasn’t just his friend—she was his anchor.

He took a breath, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting, their shoulders brushing, their faces just inches apart. There was a spark between them, something he’d brushed off or ignored, thinking it was just the comfort of a close friendship.

But now, in the quiet of the park, with her gaze soft and knowing, he realized he didn’t want to ignore it anymore.

“Liv...” he started, his voice catching. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak the words he’d been holding back. “I...I don’t think I could do this without you. Racing, life—any of it. You make it...better.”

She looked up, her eyes searching his face, her expression softening. “Paul, I’ll always be here for you. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be...you.”

He felt his heart pound, realizing just how precious she was to him, how much he’d come to rely on her presence, her quiet strength. Without thinking, he reached over, letting his hand find hers. It was a simple touch, but it said everything he couldn’t quite find the words for.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he didn’t feel the weight of the race, the disappointment, or the pressure. He just felt...complete.

As they sat there, watching the city lights blink to life in the distance, he realized that maybe—just maybe—he’d found something even more valuable than a win on the track.

[l0serg1rls]

today i wanna talk about the big brawl.. season 6, episode 10 and the sekai taikai.. basically how eye would change some things.

this is gonna be an extremely long post .. i like to yap. clearly. so yeah.

initially, when i first watched i loved it.. but rewatching that specific scene. it’s giving lacklustre? i mean the choreography was good that’s for sure but i don’t know.. i feel like it could’ve been done so much better .. also feel like it didn’t really have to end in kwons death either.

the reason why it fell short for me and felt a bit anticlimactic was because it was just random? russian dojo came back and punched gunther in the face, everyone else started fighting.. like okay💀

the thing is there was no reason too really. (have the massive brawl breakout THAT way) a brawl is fine, but the way it was carried out isn’t. also the actual tournament way too short.

i have an idea; so gonna share it here for you all! this might be dumb but i don’t like a lot with this season 6 part 2 after initial thought. anyways here we go 😖:

start off by saying sekai taikai was too short. like a world tournament only being around 30-40 minutes. i would’ve had the episodes longer with a runtime of an hour or over an hour.

i think CK could’ve benefited from longer episodes and more episodes anyway and better writers. but i digress

each international dojo is introduced through short videos or flashbacks as the teams all join together in the arena or whatever, showcasing unique abilities and talent.

cobra kai and miyagi do both face frictions with other teams in the tournament. an aggressive and brutal dojo accuses cobra kai of being frauds who can’t live up to their intimidation tactics (blame kwon for that one, him intimidating others outside of the mat.) leads to that sort of confrontation.

miyagi-dos defense style is mocked by other dojo who sees it as way too soft. tension brews between alllll the teams. it isn’t just a cobra kai and miyagi do thing against all, all dojos have issues w each other.

several preliminary matches are shown, including standout fights featuring (sam, hawk, devon) and (tory, yoon, kwon) other cobra kai teamates deserved to be mentioned more.

tensions rise between tory and another dojos female fighter. tory isn’t balanced and dealing with the grief of her mother still. this girl from the other team is aggressive and fast. forcing tory to become the same. letting out her anger and almost gets disqualified.

johnny and daniel struggle to keep the peace between miyagi do. they’re fighting well, but not as good as they possibly could be. they’re losing a lot of matches and the team becomes completely divided. one side saying to fight aggressive; other side saying to defend

things begins to get a lil heated OUTSIDE of tournament.. rival dojos begin sabotaging each other outside the matches. a lot of street fights if you will. or just them fucking with eachother. an example: miyagi do member is ambushed completely by another dojo.

sam is targeted by a rival fighter in a dirty off the matt attack. causing noticeable, bad injuries, miguel jumps in to defend her and makes himself a target for specific dojo.

the brawl: a rival dojo manipulates tensions between miyagi do and cobra kai. possibly spreading a false rumour. like cobra kai plotting to sabotage a miyagi do fighter by injuring them with an illegal move they could disguise as not an illegal move lol.

yada, yada, yada. something happens, someone could hit someone else, the big brawl happenes!

during big brawl, tory could intervene to protect devon and takes a severe hit leaving her threatened with life changing injuries.

let’s get to kwon real quick: instead of him being an asshole and just getting killed. it’s established that kwon is one of the best fighters on the tournament. during brawl kwon gets ambushed by a jealous rival dojo or just a rival who wants to quite literally take him outta commission 😵.

kwon could also have a personality, so just not an asshole.. or not an asshole all the time , so he’s NOT a bad person and his team actually fw him.

say the ambush is so bad it triggers people from cobra kai to try and rescue him.. another way tory could get critically injured trying to protect him.

‘why tory?’ you may ask.. and why not? kwon was just introduced. it gives off more shock factor that a main character got hurt instead of him.

the impact of tory’s injury:

shock factor- tory being critically injured instead of kwon would exceed expectations.. like NO ONE could’ve seen it coming. her injury would create an emotional gut punch for characters like devon, sam, robby.

next, a full tournament arc. this would give the series time to delve into each fighting style, all the dojos. here’s how they could do it:

establish rivalries. cross-dojo friendships and betrayals .. this one could be interesting. inner team drama.

different fights during the sekai taikai:

tag team matches.

weapon kata demonstrations

survival matches

free for all battles

team relay matches

speed challenges

lastly, activities that the captains of each dojo would have to do or all the kids in the comp:

1. leadership seminar; captains are required to give speeches or participate in discussions about their dojos philosophy, training style, discipline, skills.

2. demonstration matches; captains are required to participate in matches to show their skills and set an example.

3. coaching workshop; leadership skills between the captains would be tested. captains would have to try and coach fighters from the other dojos.

as you can see if you’ve read up to this point, there’s A LOT .. i am a professional yapper. relaying back to my point. all this couldn’t fit into 5 episodes between 30-40 minutes, that’s why everything should’ve been bigger, longer.

CK doesn’t have the budget im aware so most of these are just headcannons unless someone wants to write a fic and do a whole rewrite.. which I might be up to do.. however i cant write for shit😭

uhm yeah 👌

[evansbby]

oh my god you guys i feel like complete and utter shit

[macksartblock]

One of my favourite bits from this ep was when Freddie mixed up gen Z/alpha lingo and immediately got called out on it. Then his defence was gen Z’s trying to adapt to new slang because they’ve realized they’re not cool anymore.

Freddie what are you talking about

[doctorsiren]

every time I mention Ace Attorney around my (defense lawyer) father, he asks if I’ll be going to law school now

the best bit was me telling him that if I did that, I would be fulfilling the Phoenix Wright prophecy because I’d be dropping my art degree to pursue law

[wiklm]

FANART FOR BAD BEAT AU BY @sunrayram !!!!!!!!!!!!!! had sm fun making this their designs are SO good

also posted on my tiktok @wilwiklm :0