#THAT BOY HAS BEEN THROUGH SOME FUCKED UP BULLSHIT AND HE IS ALLOWED TO FEEL WHATEVER HE'S FEELING

[smartass-hoot]

on today's episode of clownfuckery

[eowynstwin]

clawing at the door

ghoap x reader. jealousy. bisexual soap. bisexual ghost. emotionally constipated ghost. manipulative soap. ghost likes em thick. lightly explicit. MDNI. ao3

When Ghost first sees you and Soap together, his jealousy is hard to parse. He doesn't quite understand what he's feeling.

On the one hand, Occam's Razor. Simple explanations usually prove the truest. Soap is his boy, has been since Las Almas, and you are an interloper in their hard-won dynamic. Ghost does not absorb others into his life lightly, even less so then he allows them to strongarm themselves beneath the mask. He doesn't particularly like people, isn't really fond of their tendency toward abject mortality.

Soap's strong arms are a rare exception. And Ghost has nearly died too many times not to admire a nice round ass when he sees one—the kind that glistens and quivers beneath the weak spray of a communal shower. Some part of him has always kind of supposed the sergeant had been showing off specifically for him, too, when he dropped trousers and moaned like a whore when the hot water started flowing.

The boy certainly dogs his steps like that's the case.

Then, you: showing up on base one day, Soap's hand spread wide and possessive on the small of your back. Jewel-bright eyes following your every move. Blush high and feverish on his boy's cheekbones every time you throw half a smile his way.

So it's envy. So it's a crush, unrequited.

Simple problem, simple solution. Getting over by getting under and all that. There are apps for every heartache, and plenty of hard-bodied gym rats out there tripping over themselves to bottom for a brute like him, who can actually throw them around.

Not two minutes after making his profile (military, six-five, top), likely candidates start filing themselves into his inbox. Some part of his ego is gratified, at least. The influx of taint pics certainly confirms for him that his vanity, in fact, is justified, even if the last thing he wants to see is some random stranger's asshole.

He messages a jacked brunette with brown eyes and dimples, who led instead with a comparatively tame "hey big guy," and lets him pick the bar where they'll meet up.

And it's...fine.

The guy is fine. Equally as attractive in person as on camera, with curly hair and short stubble. He's there before Ghost, and directs an easygoing smile at him when he drops onto a stool at the bar beside him.

He doesn't even question the mask, though his eyes linger on it, half-lidded, the kind of way that suggests he's figuring something out about himself that he hadn't considered before. Not the first time it's happened for Ghost.

The problem with fine is that Ghost can't work up even much of a chub talking to him. The guy has a nasally voice and a friendly attitude that makes Ghost's teeth go numb from the sweetness. When they sequester in the dingy pub bathroom, the guy goes to his knees like an angel, and Ghost's cock actually softens more, thoroughly bored already with the notion of this random guy’s mouth on it.

The problem is, Soap would bust Ghost's balls for this.

Sure, Ghost could get him on his knees. Soap is a good boy, he'll take an order if he's given one. But he's also a fucking brat, and the moment Ghost pulled his cock out Soap would immediately start complaining about it.

Too big, too ugly, not hard enough, and when was the last time Ghost washed that fucking thing? How romantic, LT, making him suck Ghost off in a pub bathroom, hasn't he ever heard of good old-fashioned wooing?

He'd complain, Ghost knows, because he'd want, more than anything, for Ghost to just cut through the bullshit and shove straight down his throat. He'd run his mouth because the only thing he wants Ghost to do is shut him the fuck up, for once, and make him actually work for the praise they both know he's so desperate for.

And Ghost would give it. If Soap earned it. The fight isn't about winning.

This guy isn't putting up a fight. He tries nicely, licks all over the limp-hanging head and pale glans, but Ghost ends up making some excuse—Dad has cancer, Mom died, the usual—and leaving him there still on his knees.

He deletes the apps. He can invest in a fleshlight, and find some porn star another with enough of a resemblance to be functional.

Less of a hassle for everyone involved.

Problem solved.

And then he encounters you again.

You're walking out of the supermarket one night, with two huge bags over your shoulders, digging through your purse out in front of you. He has to stop you with one hand on your shoulder to keep you from running into him.

The evening is warm; your shirt is a thin camisole with little elastic straps. His palm meets your bare skin, and finds it soft and dewy with a little sweat.

You look up, startled, blinking as if caught in a bright light.

"Oh," you say, "Ghost, hello!"

"Bird," he grunts, wondering why he's surprised that you recognize him.

He pulls his hand away, and still feels the imprint of your body heat in its grooves.

"Sorry, I should have been looking," you say, smiling. It's a friendly expression, open and innocent—a daisy's petals spread on a clear day. "Johnny's making beef wellington tonight when he's off duty, so I went and got everything."

Ghost frowns. What kind of boyfriend lets his girl do so much heavy lifting?

He helps you carry the bags to your car. He's jealous, not an asshole. You thank him with a breezy laugh when he closes the hatchback—

"I'm sure Johnny wouldn't mind if you stopped by for dinner," you say, folding your arms across your ribcage. It presses your tits together as you cup your elbows in your hands, pronouncing the line of your cleavage with an uncomfortable eloquence.

"Busy," Ghost says immediately, staring very hard into your eyes. "Thanks."

You shrug, unperturbed. "Anytime. Good night!"

He stands in the carpark for a full five minutes after you drive away. He thinks he can feel his own heartbeat throbbing through the palm he touched you with.

Well, then.

Bereft of any opportunity to get to know you—as if it would even be appropriate—Ghost stalks social media until he finds you through Soap's Instagram. Your account is private, so he sends a follow request, expectations very low that you'd allow someone with a blank sky for a profile picture and only one post on their feed to follow you, "sghostriley" notwithstanding.

But—you do. And suddenly he has a decade of material to peruse, beginning with your last year of secondary school and leading all the way up to present, the most recent photo one of you and Soap at the top of some mountain, grinning at the camera in your hiking gear.

You don't post very many pictures of yourself, he finds. Instead you document interesting food you eat or make, crafts you're working on, nice scenery you caption with variations of "saw this on my walk today :)". It's all very domestic, sweet in a way without being saccharine.

Soft, really. Totally separated from the hard edges of the world he and Soap routinely throw themselves along.

And yet, honest in a way that makes your version of the world feel more like the real one, and his and Soap’s the nightmare.

Ghost hasn't been with a girl—let alone been interested in one—in years. It isn't that the attraction had ever died, exactly. Rather, it simply became so complex, so twisted in on itself and trapped beneath years of grown-over scar tissue, that he'd made an unconscious decision never to confront it. He ignored Price’s stories about his wife’s antics at home, Gaz’s perennial heartbreak after strings of failed dates—

Soap’s lurid bragging about the women he’s taken home from various pubs.

(Were you one of those pub girls?)

So, here it is now, confronting him instead. Reminding him, in a pretty camisole, just how very much it exists.

In the carpark, there’d been a bead of sweat slipping down your neck as you’d waved him goodbye. He finds himself wondering how long it would’ve taken to slide all the way down to the slope of your breast, if he didn’t catch it with his tongue first.

He continues through your Instagram. The majority of your selfies show up, he guesses, after the beginning of your relationship with Soap.

Earlier pictures of you make your discomfort obvious. You don't like the way you look, and it shows in the tension on your face when confronted with a camera lens. But later on, you gain confidence. Your expressions are softer as you show off a new haircut or glasses.

And when the first picture of you with Soap shows up, it's like seeing someone glowing from the inside.

Your head is tucked into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. The smile on your face is soft, small and lovely in how little you're clearly thinking about it.

You're happy.

It floors him. A happy girl, settled into the embrace of a man who’s made her feel that way.

Piece of work, he is. Could ogle another man's ass without shame, but present him with that man’s girl and suddenly it upends his entire sense of self.

Some old cunt psychiatrist would have a field day analyzing him.

Ghost skips the apps and, following in Soap’s footsteps, heads back to the pubs.

It’s worse.

Not that he doesn’t have options sidling up to him, that is. It seems like all he has to do is sit at the bar and wait, and women circle their way into his orbit, not really talking to him but letting him know, simply by hovering, that they’d love for him to talk to them. Batting their lashes, laughing near him seemingly at nothing.

Up to him to make the first move then. It seems to him like the rules haven't changed over his long absence from the dating pool.

Therein lay the snag—Ghost doesn't know how to talk to women. Not that way, the way one says without saying it that he'd like to take her home and bend her over the back of his couch. Say that to a man at the right bar and that was his evening sorted, but Ghost has a feeling that won't play as well among people with cat-shaped brass knuckles on their keychains.

He's not much of a talker, period. Soap yaps enough to fill in his side of the conversation whenever they're in the field. And you...well, he doesn't know about you. Ghost has the uncomfortable feeling that he'd try for you, and fail miserably.

The bartender slides a drink in front of him, distracting him from his agonizing. When Ghost gives him a questioning look, he nods in the direction of a table behind him.

One of the barflies has made the first move.

She winks at him when he raises the glass at her. She’s pretty—her dark makeup makes her eyes look angular and mysterious, and her red dress is tight, thin, and low-cut. Her exposed chest shimmers, as if she dusted some sort of powder across her collarbones before making her way here.

Sparkly and colorful, like a lure on a line. Ready to hook something and pull it in.

(Your camisole had been threadbare and lined with cheap, fraying lace. A favorite of yours, probably, something you wore when you wanted to be comfortable, and didn’t care who thought what about it.)

Ghost notices other men are eyeing the woman, and a couple of them send nasty glares his way. That is, they do before promptly averting their gazes once they see what he looks like.

He can have this, then, if he wants it. He just has to reach out and take it.

He feels your warmth in the palm of his hand again. The breeze of your laugh brushes his cheek with a soft touch.

He sends the woman one of her own drink, drops forty quid on the bar, and leaves without looking back.

Another dinner invite comes his way, this time courtesy of Soap himself.

“She told me she met you at the store,” Soap says, one afternoon when they’re in the changing room. “Really nice of you to help her out, LT.”

“You weren’t there to do it,” Ghost grumbles. Soap has been prancing around shirtless for fifteen minutes, faffing about while Ghost waits for him to leave so he can adjust his erection.

“I didn’t tell her to get everything!” the sergeant protests. “She just went and did it herself.” Then Soap’s eyes go all dreamy and stupid. “She’s grand, isn’t she.”

Ghost grumbles again, something noncommittal.

“Anyway, dinner’s at seven, and I’ll send you the address,” says Soap, pulling a thin t-shirt over his head. Ghosts watches him yank the hem down over his pecs, covering the toned plane of his abs.

Soap winks at him. “See you there, Ghost.”

Ghost grunts.

Soap does, in fact, see him there.

He goes out of resignation. Or maybe with some notion that seeing Soap and you together again will finally vanquish whatever sits on his chest so heavily whenever he thinks of the two of you.

Soap’s the one to answer the door. “There he is, the braw wee bastard!”

“Soap.”

From the looks of it, it’s your flat. It’s nicely decorated without being too over-designed, something warm and comfortable and welcoming. When Ghost steps inside, he’s hit immediately with the smell of seared pancetta and garlic.

The sergeant leads him through the flat. Ghost has a bottle of wine under one arm, having remembered at the last minute he should probably bring something along. You’re in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove.

“Hi, Ghost!” you chirp when you look over your shoulder. “Ooh, good, that’s drinks settled. Hope you like bolognese. It’s all I know how to make.”

“S’fine,” Ghost says, which he would say even if bolognese made him violently ill.

“Ach, you can make more than that,” Soap says, retrieving three long-stemmed glasses from a cabinet. “Pour a nice glass of water.”

You snatch the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and give it a snap in the general direction of Soap’s ass. He laughs and dances out of the way.

“There’s a bottle opener in the island drawer, Ghost,” you say cheerfully. You're pretty tonight, in a loose t-shirt and soft-looking joggers. Casual, like you don't have a guest over at all.

Like it's just a night in with your boyfriend.

Ghost pops the cork as Soap sets the glasses down. After he pours, the sergeant delivers a glass to his girlfriend, and there’s a brief moment of quiet as everyone sips and the sauce on the stove bubbles.

It’s all so nice and normal as to make Ghost’s hackles raise just in anticipation, although he knows there’s no reason for it. Truthfully, he almost hadn’t come. The thought of you and Soap, and Soap and you, in the same room, together, a unit, had made his stomach clench up so tight that he though he might not be able to get any food down.

But some part of him needed to come, and see this. Test out Pavlov’s theory, to see if enough negative reinforcement could break him of this borderline manic fixation. If he could associate Soap and you with romantic nausea, and nothing more, maybe he could finally stop jerking off every night to no satisfaction.

Because he had, in fact, found a porn star who looked like Soap. More tattoos, and a buzz cut rather than a mohawk, but Ghost couldn’t be picky.

The real shock had been to find that this proxy often partnered with a girl who looked enough like you to be uncanny. Too skinny, definitely, but in the one video Ghost had watched of them together, he could have sworn, as the lookalike reamed her from behind—

That it was you looking at him over your shoulder.

Looking at Soap. Or, looking at Ghost, behind him.

At that moment in the playback Ghost had come so hard, cock blazing red and raw in his hand, that the notion had liquified a little. So he couldn’t be sure what the thought had originally meant.

He hadn’t been brave enough to watch another.

“This isn’t bad,” Soap says after tasting the wine. “Nothin’ on a good whisky, mind.”

“Don’t neg your lieutenant, Johnny,” you say. “This is good, Ghost, thank you.”

Hearing Johnny fall from your lips so casually threads something uncomfortable between Ghost’s intestines. Uncomfortable, because he likes it.

Had Soap told you to call him that? Or had you decided on it all on your own? Did Soap think of Ghost whenever you said his name? Did he think of you whenever Ghost did?

“Simon’s fine,” he replies.

It escapes him before he even thinks about it. The same way he’d taken his mask off in Las Almas and looked directly at Soap, wondering in some hidden part of himself if the sergeant was impressed.

“That’s a nice name,” you say, swirling the wine in your glass. You take another sip, closing your eyes to savor it, and then, tilting your head like a little bird in thought, you pour a stream of it from the glass into your pasta sauce.

“Suits him, aye?” Soap says, side-eyeing Ghost with amusement. “Right posh name he’s got for a big scary bugger. Hidden depths, him.”

“Yeah, unlike you,” you snark, stirring.

Soap slaps a big hand over his heart. “Ach, lass, you wound me always.”

“Someone has to keep you humble,” you say, grinning. There’s a charming twinkle in your eyes.

“You gonna let ‘er get away with that, sergeant?”

He surprises himself by saying it. But something in the way you and Soap bicker—absent of the usual sugary drivel, as if the two of you have skipped over the honeymoon phase and stuck the landing right into stable commitment—invites him in.

It's magnetic, almost. It seizes the spinning needle in his brain, draws it to a standstill. Evens out the landscape, so he knows where he can go.

“You’re absolutely right, LT,” says Soap, who smacks his lips, sets his wineglass aside, and bum-rushes you.

You shriek as he captures you in both arms, lifting you off the floor and whirling you around—both the spoon in one hand and the glass in the other fling drops of red and white absolutely everywhere. And then you’re giggling as Soap wedges his face between your neck and shoulder and shakes his head like a dog, probably biting down.

Soap growls; a big smile takes over your face, eyes squeezed shut as you laugh breathlessly. The sergeant’s broad, brown forearms have yours pinned up against your chest, pressing your breasts together.

“Not fair, Ghost!” you exclaim as Soap’s growling noises turn into obnoxiously loud kisses. “No pulling rank in my house!”

“Two against one, hen, you’re outnumbered,” Soap counters. “What should we do with this one, eh, LT?”

“See if I ever cook for you two again, is what!” you protest, still grinning with delight. You kick your legs to no effect.

Soap, also grinning, slots his face back into your neck. You giggle again, complaining that it tickles.

Some incomplete circuit finally connects.

Order given. Girlfriend “punished.”

Soap making you laugh because Ghost told him to.

Not one. Not the other. Both.

“Think we can let ‘er off the hook this time,” he says, feeling dazed.

The pictures on your Instagram, with you and Soap together. The both of you, smiling together, wrapped around each other, standing at the top of a mountain and grinning what the two of you get to share.

Soap's hand spread on your back.

“Aye, sir,” Soap says, setting you down. You’re still laughing a little as you go to check the sauce, and Soap finds a towel to clean up the mess he made. Ghost reels in the meanwhile.

There’s an imprint of Soap’s teeth on your neck.

They wouldn’t be there if Ghost hadn’t sicced Soap on you.

He’s still reeling as you begin plating dinner, and Soap sets out the silverware. When everyone sits down to eat, the sergeant tops up everyone’s drinks.

“I hope you like it,” you say to Ghost, setting his plate in front of him. There's a shyness to you, a verity to your concern for his opinion.

“Oh, he will,” Soap says, grinning.

He trails the tips of his fingers along the back of your arm as he directs that jewel-blue gaze at Ghost. It's sharper than Ghost has ever noticed before—

“The LT has good taste. Don’t you, Ghost?”

And with his other hand, he raises his glass to the knowing smirk on his lips.

a/n: I can't use arse, I know it would be more accurate but I just can't I'm sorry

[frudoo]

just saw the anon for reader helping slasher 141 and now im thinking about actually doing the whole thing. like finding someone, kidnapping them and torturing them. she does it as a gift or surprise. maybe its their anniversary and she wants to give them the best gift ever.

I love this idea, but I just can't see reader ever participating in the torture aspect of her boys' work. She's absolutely not above kidnapping, though.

Warnings: Dark!Fic/DDDNE. Y'all this one is gross (just not in a gory way). Kidnapping/drugging.

 “I have to say, little girl, you look absolutely delicious tonight.”

     You giggle, allowing him to twirl you and trying not to suffocate on the smell of his cheap cologne. The man is loaded and he won’t even spend a pretty penny on some quality fragrance? Although, what else could you expect from a conman like him?

     “Not so bad yourself, Mr. Chief,” you purr, yelping softly when he pinches your asscheek teasingly.

     You want to vomit. Really, you could do it right here, all over his pristinely polished shoes, or on his tailored suit jacket and annoyingly bright tie. The fact that you’ve managed to keep this charade up for the past couple of weeks is astonishing, to say the least, especially given the fact that you’ve been hiding it from the boys. It kills you to see their disappointed faces every time you turn down a night in with them, making up poor excuses about how you’re just going to decorate your classroom, or that your friend has been having a rough time and you’re going to her house to support her.

     The truth is that you’re doing it for their benefit. Herschel Shepherd has been on your boys’ radar for years now, long before they ever met you. It’s just been too risky for them to attempt anything, be it a kidnapping or assassination. He’s too public of a figure as head of police, meaning that he’s protected by a multitude of security personnel, and on top of that, can easily defend himself. Even if they tried to befriend him, suspicions would be raised and it would likely fail.

     That’s where you enter. You’re exactly the chief’s type—a pretty young thing with big, soft tits and a charming smile. The only thing you’re missing is the naivety he’s so desperate to corrupt, but you’ve proven yourself a wonderful actress and he’s none the wiser. For someone who used to be a detective, he really is clueless. Someone should have taught the old man not to flirt with strangers on the internet. You’re just grateful that he took the bait so easy, all too eager to get his dick wet. 

     “Since I’ve treated you to such a nice dinner, how about giving me some dessert?” You hear his knees pop when he bends to whisper into your ear.

     “Anything for you,” you murmur back, “Daddy.”

     For the love of all things holy, you cannot wait to get this bullshit over with. Shepherd wraps his arm around your waist and ushers you into his limo—he really wanted to go all out for his ‘girlfriend,’ apparently. The inside smells like cigar smoke and you have to bite back a frown. It makes you think of John and how desperately you’d prefer to be in his arms instead. In all of their arms. With every disgusting, sloppy kiss the sick fuck peppers across your jawline, you have to remind yourself that it’s all for them.

     For them, for you, for every poor family he’s ever screwed over. It’s all too familiar, the coverups, the paying off coworkers and employees so that they keep their mouths shut. You’ve read about countless cases against heinous criminal acts that were suddenly dismissed when a certain slob threw a large sum of money towards the judges. You can’t even begin to imagine how many women alone have been assaulted because this corrupt piece of shit paid to let their abusers go—and for what? To gain favor? To get reelected? God knows he cheats his way through the system anyway.

     You feel your hand being tugged and realize that you’ve arrived at the parking lot where your car still is, some random garage located in the heart of the downtown area—about an equal walk from any little shop or restaurant in the vicinity. Your ‘date’ furrows his eyebrows and looks at you, confused.

     “A little Toyota Corolla is more inconspicuous than a limousine, don’t you think?” you hum as you pull out your keys.

     “Right,” Shepherd nods, opening the driver’s side door for you. “We are still going to the hotel?”

     “Of course.”

     He buckles into the passenger seat while you start the car, messing with the air conditioning like it’s his right. You avoid rolling your eyes as you begin driving, softly humming along to the radio. There’s a tin of mints in your glovebox that you pull out and offer to him. All according to plan, he takes the bait.

     Almost instantly after popping the tainted mint into his bastard mouth, he starts getting woozy, saying odd things and swaying in his seat. Adrenaline rushes through your veins—this is really happening. You’re kidnapping the chief of police, your husbands’ most desired target, driving him back to your home to be tortured and killed. It’s surreal, and there’s guilt eating away at whatever sense of retribution you’d created in your head. Still, there’s no turning back now.

     No turning back from the rattle of his unconscious body as you drive over the gravel path leading to the barn. No turning back from the strain you put on yourself as you haul his deadweight through the random pieces of hay, nor the act of tying his arms behind the metal pole in the stable where horses should be but has only kept victims. This is a decision you made and will have to live with. For the greater good, you ask yourself, or for the praise you know you’ll receive from your boys? In the end, it’s all one and the same to you. 

     As you stand over the comatose-laden sleazebag, you hardly make out the sound of the barn door slamming open and all four of your lovers trailing in with wide eyes.

     “Bloody hell.”

     “No fuckin’ way.”

     “Steamin’ Jesus, hen.”

     “Darlin’, how in the fuck did you manage this?”

     There’s a beat of silence before you turn around to look at them, your face maddeningly neutral.

     “Happy anniversary, guys.”

[lxkeee]

TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

-PART SIX

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Seraphim Angel! Fem! Reader

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Genre: Angst (for now)

Warnings: Depression, swearing and mentions of self h*rm.

Notes: shit is about to go down.

PART ONE | PART FIVE | PART SEVEN | NAVIGATION

“I don't understand Michael sometimes, I guess it runs in the blood.” The angel of death muttered underneath his breath, Azrael sighs, running his hand through his dark black locks, feeling the soft strands of his hair in-between his fingers. He is annoyed, annoyed at how Michael didn't leave any room for [Y/n] to say no. Sure, Michael did make a bargain that if she wins rock-paper-scissors against him, he'll change his decision but [Y/n] sucks at rock-paper-scissors so she didn't have any chance of winning in the first place. Well, he guessed that this is Michael's way of winning against [Y/n] as the man is absolute shit when it comes to Monopoly.

Azrael is confused, why does Michael want [Y/n] to see her good for nothing husband? Azrael asked him about it and the man just told him to trust him, as it is what their dear creator has told him. He is confused why Michael is really pushing [Y/n] to see his twin brother. Azrael asked the man about it and he just looked away with a sad smile. Azrael knew how much it affected Michael that his twin brother was casted out of heaven. Despite him being one of the angels who voted for him to be casted out. Azrael knew how much of a tough decision Michael made. But still,

Bullshit. Absolute bullshit.

Azrael trusts God on his decision but he doesn't know if the outcome of this will be good, Azrael has been by [Y/n]'s side ever since Lucifer was being a neglectful asshole and he heard that the fallen angel got married again when in hell. How is he going to accept that his dear friend is going to get hurt again? Azrael knows how much pain Lucifer caused [y/n], how much pain it brought to Xavier. Goodness! He saw the poor boy trying to stab his own face with his own angelic weapon, thankfully he was there to stop him.

Azrael's shoulders slumped, already feeling more stressed than usual. He is worried, so worried about [Y/n]'s mental state as he knows how fragile it is. He knows how much shit she's going through, she's constantly trying to help cleanse earth from the constantly growing evil while maintaining to be kind and to add more to her plate, she has a son to take care of and now... She's about to take care of whatever the fuck is happening on hell?

His feet quickened its pace, speed walking the long hallways of the Seven Heavenly Virtues building, trying to reach [Y/n]'s floor and office, he would've immediately checked up on her after the meeting but he had some important matters to deal with and he prays that the poor girl didn't have a mental breakdown again. Which somehow, he feels like she already did. He hopes that he's wrong though.

His heels clicked against the gold marbled white tiles, rays of sunlight passing through the curtains giving the hallway an orange glow from the setting sun.

He finally reached her office, knocking against the wooden door. No answer. He sighs rather loudly. He knocks again. No answer.

“[Y/n]? It's me, Azrael. Are you alright?” He asked softly, pressing his ear against the door to listen if she answered him. None. He became worried.

Grabbing the spare key that he has—he has a key to everyone's room and office, don't ask how and why he has them. Anyways, inserting the key to the lock, twisting it and he finally heard the satisfying click.

He quickly pushed open the door, his worried and tensed shoulders relaxing once he finally saw her, asleep on her desk. Her head on the table, her body slouched uncomfortably.

He could see the tear stains on her cheeks, golden blood from her fingers. A rather bad habit of hers, she tends to pick the skin off the side of her nails when she's stressed and sometimes causes it to bleed.

Azrael smiled softly, allowing himself inside her office. He closed and locked the door behind him before he tiptoed across the room and finally beside her.

He kneeled down beside her so he's now face-to-face to her. Azrael admired her sleeping face, he loves it when she's at peace like this. He wants her to be happy. His eyes saddened, oh how he wished to give her the happiness she deserves. But it's truly unfortunate that she doesn't love him the same way he loves her.

Always the side character, never the romantic interest.

With a sigh, he gently lifted her up from her seat. Carrying her in his arms like a bride that he'll never have the chance to call as his.

[Y/n] groans when she felt that she was lifted off from her chair, she opened one to look at the person who woke her up. She saw Azrael looking down on her with an amused smirk.

“Come on, let's get you back to your room. You need some rest.” he says softly to her and she just groaned and he chuckled. A black and gold portal opened behind them and Azrael stepped inside with [Y/n] in his arms. The portal closed after they went in.

Azrael opened the portal back to her house and back to her room, he gently laid her on the bed. Making sure she didn't lie on her hair. Tucking her in comfortably.

“I don't know what I'll do without you, Azi... I wished that I could've loved you instead. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry.” she whispered, her voice breaking. She really wished that she fell in love with Azrael, he treated her and Xavier far better than Lucifer does but her heart remained still with Lucifer. [Y/n] I'm right here in front of you, always loving you but why do you continue to love a man that is far away from you and probably doesn't give two shits about you and your son? Please give me a chance and I'll worship you to the point it'll put my faith in God to shame.

Azrael's eyes softened, a forced smile on his face. He tucks away a strand of her hair that is falling in front of her face, tucking it behind her ear. I really wished that too, I can treat you far better than him, is what he thought but decided not to say, “Don't apologize sweetheart, you really can't force a heart to reciprocate someone's feelings, no? And I can understand that. How about you take some rest and clear your mind hmm?” he suggested softly with a small smile, wiping away the tear that runs down her cheek. [Y/n] nodded, hiccuping slightly before eventually closing her eyes.

She was fast asleep the moment she did.

Azrael smiled and sighed, turning around on his heel as he walked out of her room, closing the door behind him. Walking away from someone he's not meant to be with. He just hoped that whatever God is doing is right.

Time flew by so quickly that [Y/n] didn't even notice, she was far too busy dealing with both Heavenly and Mortal realm matters. The root of evil is constantly growing and getting even more powerful on earth and the Seven Heavenly Virtues are trying to contain it. All seven of them were exposed to such horrors and so much evil while on earth, slowly threatening to consume them or even corrupt them.

[Y/n] limped back to her office in heaven, golden blood flowing off her side. She just finished her work on earth, she was trying to cleanse a root of evil when it suddenly changed direction and changed its direction towards her in immense speed and causing it to pierce her side. She managed to cut it down but the negativity from the root seeped into her wound, causing her healing powers to slow down.

She winced as she finally slumped down into her seat, hovering her hand over her wound, a golden glow radiating from her palm. The wound slowly closed, but not fully but enough that she can bandage it up. But the healing took too much of her energy and she felt she was about to pass out.

She opened one of the drawers of her desk, pulling out a medical kit and began treating her wounds. She winced as she tried to clean it. After so much struggle, she finally cleaned her wound.

[Y/n] leaned against her chair, almost passing out when her eyes landed on to the calendar that is in her office. Her eyes widened, “Today is the extermination day?!” she shrieked and quickly stood up from her seat, she hissed as pain quickly shot from her waist all throughout her body. She gripped into the table, her nails scratching the wood.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck... I forgot about that.” she muttered, trying to stabilize herself, “I hope I can stop Adam and the exorcists..” she muttered, pain still evident in her voice. Running her hands through her hair. Gripping into her locks in frustration.

Ah crap, I hope I don't pass out. She thought as she weakly opens a portal to hell. Composing herself before finally stepping inside the portal.

The first thing she noticed is Adam spewing out shit from his mouth, the hotel she heard about now destroyed, exorcists killing sinners. Anger fills her veins, her six wings puffing behind her and along with multiple eyes opened on her wings. She's beyond pissed, the audacity these angels have to perform an act without notice from the higher ups. Without thinking she summoned her second angelic weapon, a bow and arrow. Aiming it just beside Adam—a warning shot. Successfully catching his and the other's attention.

“Adam, respectfully please shut your mouth!” She ordered, her voice booming, glaring down on the people on the ground, specifically at the first man. She's far too angry to keep her attention on the back of her husband or ex-husband. There's a limit to how much an angel of kindness and healing can take, and unfortunately for Adam, this is Angel Raphael's breaking point.

“Because if you don't, I will personally kill you myself.” She sneered, her hand clenching tightly on to her bow, her fingers itching to fire another arrow and just finish the man.

“No... You don't get to end this.” Adam growled in pain, weakly standing up from the rubble of where he crashed, “I'm fucking Adam! I'm the fucking man!” he yelled, turning to look at Lucifer in anger, “And you're just some fucking clown or something!” Adam growled and Lucifer just stared at the man with a deadpan expression, not really paying attention.

“I started everything on earth! All of mankind came from these fucking nuts!” Adam exclaimed. They just stared at the man who's clearly pissed at the fact he lost.

Suddenly, an arrow shot just beside Adam, barely missing the first man. The golden arrow embedded on to the ground. Silence, as people were filled with awestruck. Adam was filled with fear.

“Adam, respectfully please shut your mouth!” A female voice boomed, her powerful and authoritative voice echoing in to the air. Goosebumps danced across Lucifer's skin, he knows that voice. The very voice that he didn't hear for so many years, the voice that kept haunting him. The haunting and guilt worsened after Charlie told him he had a son in heaven.

They turned around and looked up at the sky to see a very furious seraphim glaring down on them—specifically on the first man, Adam.

Lucifer's eyes were glued on her, she's so close yet so far away.

He admired her angelic form, he can practically feel her authority and power from where he stood. Despite all of this, despite how absolutely terrifying she looked. Her beauty never really scared him. She looked as beautiful as the day he lost her when he fucked up.

“Because if you don't, I will personally kill you myself.” [Y/n] added, her eyes glaring down on Adam, her power and strength can be felt through the air and they can tell that she is absolutely furious.

“Oh shit.” Adam muttered underneath his breath. His boss' boss is here.

END NOTES: SURPRISE UPDATE 🤯🤯 ANYWAYS, AZRAEL STANS HOW ARE WE FEELING TONIGHT?

TAGLIST I:

@valerie-36 @blackbleedingrose @adaizel @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @thedarkkitten @selvyyr @froggybich @brithedemonspawn @kottenox @totallymitya @many-fandoms-lover @dou-dou @mezzyb0nb0n @n1chxyaaenthusiast @cherry-4200 @koirb @galaxyj3lly @crystalplays28 @luleck @scootinonyourmom @rory-cakes @mixplara @crescent-z @bitchyzombienacho @kalisha2004 @altervex @nehy019 @napbatata @kouyoumarryme @sxgacxbe @kooidoom @ok-boke @random-3455 @izzieg3987 @snoozewritezz @dreamzaremyrealityy @hcneyiced @witchbunny1210 @ghostdoodlen @aikobakugou @just-here-reading @dzhanett-blog @des-deswain5621 @cocomollo @haleypearce @onyxstarhigh06 @nirvana5874 @shaebutter-baby

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Olly Wang for the First Time: Influence

G/N. Sort of soft. I did it anon!! Masterlists

In hindsight you could have been considered a bad influence except you felt bad for him. You like to think that you showed Olly Wang there was more to life than studying, there are some things that can't be taught through textbooks.

You taught him how to live, you gave him room to breathe.

But sometimes, when the nights are too silent and your brain is too loud, when you miss him so much it hurts, you would think that it was all your fault. You set him on this path.

It's stupid, of course. Your minor risk-taking and vices are nothing compared to what has happened since.

Still, it eats away at you.

.

.

It's entirely by chance that you meet.

You're not particularly studious, but empty pockets and a meagre allowance accompanied with bad weather means your options are limited.

In the library, tucked away in the corner is a boy.

Trying his best to read and study yet annoying teenagers continue to heckle him. Throwing balled up pieces of paper and calling out derisive comments.

"Fuck off," you snap, feeling kind hearted today and storming over. You drag one of them away by the hair.

"Hey! Get off-" He tries to wiggle out of your grasp.

"Leave him alone, assholes," you snarl, shoving him away.

The commotion is finally enough to draw the attention of the staff.

The teens are shooed out, throwing angry daggers your way.

"You're welcome by the way," You tell the boy in the corner and you think he mutters something about being able to take them on himself.

Narrowing your eyes, you yank his ear, "What did you just say?"

When he doesn't react, you let go. Huh?

He doesn't feel pain, he tells you, or to be honest, anything. And then when you continue glaring at him thinking that that's bullshit, he introduces himself as Olly Wang.

.

.

The first time he ditches class, as a middle-schooler, is with you. Just two kids wandering the streets of Gangdong. You, used to skipping the occasional days and class, and embracing freedom, while Olly fidgets next you.

His mouth, usually stretched too wide in a grin, is pulled down at the corners. Tense eyes behind glasses anxiously flickers from side to side.

"You think your parents are going to catch you?" You tease, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

"No." Olly doesn't sound convinced and you sigh.

"So what do you want to do?"

"Me?" he asks, blinking owlishly as if that's the first time someone has ever asked him that question.

You shrug off his weird response. "We can go the park. Shopping. Not that I have any money. Arcade-"

"Arcade!" he pipes up, then cowering and furtively glancing around him in case his parents are actually around.

Nevertheless, he spends hours and hours by your side; fighting each other, killing zombies, and racing cars. The sound of 8-bit music and bright flashing lights soon drown out his fears.

That day, Olly smiles genuinely along with you.

.

.

You first hear about Eli Jang a few weeks later.

Apparently he's fallen in with a new group of friends and this guy is the coolest person he has ever seen.

He's an orphan, he does whatever he want.

"Ok," you deadpan to each fact about this Eli Jang, growing more bored by the second.

Olly, oblivious to your reaction, continues fawning over him.

.

.

"Here, try it,"

You only offered the cigarette to stop him talking about Eli Jang. You've lost count of the times you've rolled your eyes.

Olly pauses, torn between wanting to impress you and not wanting to inhale the nasty smoke.

He gives in when he sees the playful glint in your eyes. His finger brushes yours as you pass it to him, and he places his lips where yours were just mere seconds ago.

"ACK!"

You giggle to yourself watching Olly hacking and sputtering.

You reach out to ruffle his hair once he calms and he peeks at you feeling his throat and cheeks burn.

.

.

"Why do you want to be like Eli?" you side-eye Olly, interrupting his ranting.

"I-" Olly starts, and then finds he can't say the words in your presence. He thinks Eli is the only one that makes him feel something but-

Deep down, when he's with you, he's not sure that's entirely true.

You misread his pause for something else.

You shrug, "I like you as you are."

.

.

"Want some?" you ask, shaking the bottle of soju at him.

Olly bites his lip, "Eli wouldn't-"

"Ugh!" You cut in rudely. "I've never met the guy and I feel like I know everything about him. Will you shut up about Eli?"

"But Eli-"

"I said shut up," you pull him by his stupid collar and yank his stupid lips to yours.

You consider blaming your actions on the alcohol even though you've barely taken a sip.

Olly stares at you, dazed, but there's a fire in his eyes.

"Ok." He agrees, then adds as he adjusts his glasses. "Only if you'll do that again."

You raise your eyebrows at his audacity. At this strange boy who was tucked away in the corner of the library.

"I thought you said you couldn't feel anything?"

Olly gives you a grin, different from his trademark open-mouthed one. It's almost a smirk. His gaze meets yours, determined and unwavering.

"I think I might have felt something then."

You lean in, at the same time as he does, meeting him halfway and kissing him again.

[hippielittlemetalhead]

Part 3 (One of Us) of 'Never Took The Time (To Forget)' previously known as 'Hopper Adopts Steve But Make It Sad'

Part 1 (Hop fucks up), Part 2 (Pride and Prejudices: Joyce Edition), part 3, Part 4.1 (With a Capital 'P'), Part 4.2 (Robin's Boy), Part 5 (Man Of The Hour)

Here's a bit more for you filthy animals 😘

Much like he's come to expect from the small soldiers these children have fashioned themselves into he's not surprised when they come pouring out of whichever of the twins' rooms they shoved themselves in like codependent sardines. He's not surprised by the looks of anger and disappointment and confusion. Claudia Henderson's kid -Dustin- looks on the edge of tears with a grim set to his mouth that reminds him of when the kid's mom is beyond words in her slow-burning fury. El and Will have matching looks of disappointed confusion.

What he's not expecting is the way Mike and the younger (usually more volatile) Sinclair are holding onto an incensed looking Lucas. Lucas who has always been the polite one when it came to addressing adults and the one to preach caution and thinking plans through. Lucas who has been quiet and withdrawn since Hop came back, spending his days at the edge of Party affairs when not helping in the rebuilding efforts around town or sitting at Max's bedside.

"What the fuck, Hopper?" The kid spits out and that seems to snap the rest of The Party into action. Will goes to join the two holding Sinclair back but Dustin starts near incoherently yelling in that screechy pitch only that kid seemed to be able to hit about bullshit cops and useless adults and to let Lucas go. "He idolized you, man! Would tell us all the time that you were 'one of the good ones' that if we ever needed anyone and he wasn't there, to find you. That you would take care of us because that's just what you did for people. Because you were good!"

"Lucas, chill out man." Mike pants though he's also glaring daggers at Hop.

This is where Joyce (god bless her) decides to step in. "Lucas, honey-" She says with her soft voice and big wet eyes and that warmth she seems to infuse into everything she touched. "It's complicated. There's some things you just don't understand and-"

"No! You two don't understand! Steve is GOOD. He's good and he cares and he takes care of everyone else and he always kept us safe." The kid seems to be losing some of his steam, pulling at his friends less and resigned to shaking in barely contained fury. "He gets hurt and he gets back up and he apologizes for taking a fall in the first place! He's just Good."

"I know he's been good to you kids and I appreciate that, I really do Lucas." Joyce says, her voice a little stronger, that steadiness returning. "Sometimes people in our lives can do bad things to others and we don't see it because we care about them and that's not always a bad thing. But we have to remember that the people who were wronged are allowed to be upset and that's normal to feel and-"

"You mean like Jonathan?" The room goes quiet. Will looks resigned but not surprised by Lucas' question but the rest of the kids look just as confused as him and Joyce. "Did you really think Steve broke his camera -in the school parking lot of all places- for the hell of it? Did you seriously never question it?"

Hop feels something twist in his gut. He had been so caught up in the search for Will and wrangling a frantic Joyce that he hadn't paid any attention to small-town squabbles like two teenagers having it out in the school parking lot, the destruction of personal property or what might have triggered it. He looks over the kids' heads to see Jonathan and his stoner buddy standing just outside his door. The friend looks confused but Jon is looking at his mom who hasn't noticed him yet like a man preparing himself for the gallows.

"Mom." Joyce's eyes snap from where they were locked on Lucas up to her oldest son. "Mom, I-"

"What are they talking about Jon?" It's quiet. Quiet and scared because everyone in the room knows that whatever secret reason Lucas (and maybe Will?) seems to be the only one to know Steve had for picking a fight isn't going to be good. Jonathan's mouth opens like he's going to say something but no words come out. "Honey, what did you do?"

"He took pictures of Steve and his friends the night Barbara Holland disappeared."

"Will?" all eyes except Lucas' (who is still glaring daggers at Hop) are on the two brothers. One scared and almost pleading the other disappointed and resolved.

"He hid in the bushes and took pictures of Steve and his friends with Nancy and Barbara. There were pictures of Barbara at the Harrington place before she died and he never told anyone. But there were also-" He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes like he can't look at his older brother who has hung his shaggy head under everyone's heavy gaze. "There were pictures of just Steve and Nancy. Alone together. In Steve's room."

There's a sharp gasp that he thinks came from Joyce but he's too busy watching the young man he's come to consider a son. His head is still lowered and his shoulders are curving in on themselves as he shakes off the hand his long-haired friend tries to place on his shoulder.

"Oh baby," Joyce's voice is wet again. A tone of horrified disappointment to it that Hop has only heard her use when talking to or about one other person. "Tell me you didn't."

"Then he-" Will clears his throat like this one is what gives him pause. "He was caught developing the pictures in the school's darkroom. All of the pictures. And he had zoomed in on Steve's window. Nancy was the center of the shot." The kid's eyes flit over to Mike (who is now turning an interesting shade of red as he glares at Jonathan) before he blushes and looks at the ground, "She uh-"

Lucas does not seem to share Will's newfound hesitance in the face of an enraged Mike Wheeler. "Most of the upperclassmen argue if she had a bra or not but they all seem to agree she didn't have a top."

"Oh my god." Everyone was frozen as Joyce began to crumble. "Oh my god." He reached out to catch her, her nails digging into his arm through his shirt sleeve as she stared unseeing at her oldest son.

Jonathan started forward. "Mom, I-" a hand in the middle of his chest stopped him. "Will, please, I need to-"

"Just stop, man." Lucas sighs. "You started this shit, you gotta deal with it before you hurt someone else besides Steve."

"I didn't mean to hurt Steve."

Hops feels himself frozen to the spot in a way he's not used to anymore these days. His mind is working overtime picking out all of the charges that could have been pressed even against a boy of 15/16 if any of the kids in Harrington's inner circle had told an actual adult about the situation. The veritable legal hell that would have been brought down on Joyce while searching for a son legally assumed dead.

"Is that what you told yourself when you helped Nancy cheat?" And it just kept getting worse.

Joyce gives off a whimper and the kids gathered make varied sounds of shock and disgust.

"They were broken up."

"Were they? Cause everybody at school and half the town seems to all know about you and Nancy disappearing together when Steve was still calling her his girlfriend and then you all showed back up to school, Steve beat to hell again and Nancy hanging all over you. The basketball team STILL talk about it."

He's heard enough. "Alright, that's it!" He yells out over the children yelling and Joyce demanding answers and Jonathan's friend trying to say something about there being some sort of explanation. "This doesn't help us help Steve."

Lucas shakes off the loose hold Erica and Mike still had on him and crosses his arms as he rolls back his shoulders and tilts his jaw up to fix him with a glare. The kid's stance is almost arrogant but Hop can't help but notice the way he rests his weight on his off side, his shoulders back and his posture straight without his chest puffing out ridiculously like Hop is used to from teenage boys gearing for a fight.

"I think you've helped enough, Hopper." It's quiet and biting and he lets himself have a moment of grief for the childhood these kids lost, and the fact that he's almost positive Lucas didn't pick up this easy confidence from anyone else in their monster fighting club but Steve. "You and Mrs. Byers want to play nice now cause you feel guilty and that's all well and good but what happens when Steve does something else you don't agree with without explanation? Or he and Jonathan or Nancy get in another fight? When we finally get rid of Vecna and the Upside Down for good? What happens when you don't feel guilty anymore?"

"I can't make any sort of promise you lot will believe. And lord knows I'm pretty shit at keeping them anyways. I just want to be able to try."

"He mourned you, you know. When we were told you didn't make it." That weight is back in his chest. "He held himself together around us but there were- there were moments we could tell. He and El really bonded over that. Over you. Over losing you."

"I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't. You didn't want to know."

"There's no way I can make you believe me. That I want to fix this."

"We want to, Hopper." Dustin butts in, placing a hand on Lucas' shoulder and limping up next to the other boy. "But from what you and Mrs. Byers were talking about... There's just a lot that makes a lot more sense and it doesn't inspire a lot of faith in either of you."

"We need to discuss this as a Party."

"Okay."

"That means letting us take care of it. Steve's one of us and you hurt him."

"I understand."

"So you and Mrs. Byers have got to wait till we say you can talk to Steve. That he's ready for it."

"Now, kids-"

"No they're right, Joyce. We fucked it up on our own and- and he trusts these little shits more than he trusts us right now. We've gotta do the same."

Joyce sighs, "Fine."

She's not happy about it and honestly neither is he. But if the last few years and his stint in a Russian gulag and the subsequent escape taught him anything it's maybe he needs to trust his people to do what they need to do.

The kids scurry back to whichever of the Twins' room they came from, led by a newly determined and involved Lucas and a furiously muttering Dustin. Jonathan and Joyce make their way to the kitchen and Hopper decides he's going to let them have that conversation in as much privacy as they can with a house as full as theirs.

Hopper sits in the living room, runs his hands through his hair that's finally growing out and pulls them down his face before resting his chin on steepled fingers. He hates sitting and waiting and relying on someone else for the next steps. But all he can think about is the sound Steve made. The look in his eyes. The pride in his voice the last time he heard him say, "My Hop."

That's it!

He stands up so fast his bad ankle protests and his knees pop. He limps to the front door, yelling out to the house that he has to go, has something to do. Calls out he has his walkie and that El needs to be ready on time. Then he's out the door.

Part 4.1

More coming soon! Hopefully! Work went from an active team of about 12 to 5, not including the managers we lost ssssooo... Yeah fun times. 🙃

So here's a tag-list, hope I didn't miss anyone. Feel free to yell at/with me in the comments or ask box. If you see your old tag in my list tell me your new one so I can fix it.

@thelittleclare @jackiemonroe5512 @0body0disphoria0 @strangersteddierthings @lingeringmirth @dead-cherry-bitch @irethsune @ink777 @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner @ledleaf @pansexuality-activated @paintsplatteredandimperfect @kinryuuki @katdeerly @yikes-a-bee @altocumulustranslucidus @ohimamarigold @child-of-cthulhu @samsoble @sensationalsunburst @xxbottlecapx @y4r3luv @rocochen20 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @flustratedcas @rootbeerandmusic @vinteraltus

[cowgurrrl]

Strangers

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader (cowgirl!reader???)

Author’s note: goddammit is this gonna be a thing

Summary: Javi struggles to assimilate back into civilian life in Texas until an old friend returns [1.5k]

Warnings: Texas Javi my beloved, language, addictive tendencies, PTSD symptoms, Javi + Steve 4eva, reader has a brother, southernisms, pining, yeah there’s probably gonna be a part two 🙄

Javi really did try his best to leave Colombia and the ghosts that pricked at his memory every time he turned a familiar corner. He wanted to do better. He felt he had to. Too many people died for him to just throw away his chance at life, but the days were long and hot, and he was so fucking tired. The nicotine patches stopped working, and the bottle suddenly wasn't enough to convince himself he was doing what he was sent to do. That he was doing the right thing. That he was a good person. 

He expected the feeling to leave him once he left the imaginary borders of Colombia and returned to the northern valley. He thought working with his dad and getting his feet back under him after years of being pushed and pulled at Reagan's whim would feel better than shaking down teenagers for narco information. Of course, it didn't disappear in the cacti and hazy horizons of Loredo or the arms of his father. It's only been a couple of hours, Peña, he thought. Give it some time. Who knows? Blistering Texas sunsets might be good for burning the blood off his hands. 

Except everybody in his small town knew of his exploits in Latin America. They knew his name was plastered to boxes full of evidence against the cartel and then some. They knew Chucho's boy was some kind of fucked up veteran or hero or whatever they wanted to call him. He avoided going into town more than necessary when he first got home because of how often he got stopped. It didn't matter if he was going to the hardware store, HEB, or the mechanic. Somebody ended up talking to him about Escobar or Cali. He couldn't escape his past even thousands of miles away from it. The only good thing about his newfound fame was the free drinks people pushed his way in the shit hole bar just on the outskirts of town. 

He tells himself to slow down, what with the early mornings and long days he's working, but it'd be a dick move to turn down free drinks, right? Sometimes, Javi loses hours in the bar, betting money on pool, flirting with women passing through town, and telling war stories of the jungle and sicarios and whatever else comes spilling out of his loose lips. He tells himself he's coping the best way he knows how when he comes down for breakfast looking and feeling like shit, his hair practically wet from lingering cigarette smoke, but he knows better. 

His dad deals with Javi's vices the same way they dealt with his mother's death: inefficiently and without making a sound. The most Chucho does is shake his head and sigh when Javi comes stumbling in at some ungodly hour. What more could he do? Javi barely told his dad where he was in the world. How was he supposed to tell him what he'd done? What he saw? What he allowed? No, his dad can never know. It'll kill him. It'll kill Javi to retell. 

Sometimes, Javi will call Steve and ask about Connie and the kids, and they'll act like they're old school buddies and not tethered together through tragedy and white powder. Steve will ask him about his sleep, and Javi will give some bullshit answer which makes Steve laugh. "Yeah, me too," he says one time. "Woke the baby up the other night 'cause I was talkin' again. Don't even know what about. Isn't that fun?" Javi doesn't give much away. He never does, but sometimes, it's just nice to know he's not alone in his struggle to get back to normal. 

Javi is back in town for a full forty days before he finally stumbles across you. At first, he doesn't remember you or your first name. Your last name, however, rattles around his skull until he finally gets the courage to ask if he knows you as he stands in line at the store. "You look familiar." He says, making you laugh. 

"I'd hope so. You were practically livin' in my house in high school." You say, throwing him back to his high school baseball days, spending time either in the field or on the ranch with your older brother. You were a little bit younger than him— the daughter of a weathered cattle rancher— and only caught his attention when you were in the way or being an obnoxious teenager. Man, did you grow up pretty, he thinks. Suddenly, he's hyperaware of his sweaty hair, rumpled shirt, and god-awful farmer's tan. 

"Last I heard, you'd moved out of town," Javi says, crossing his arms over his chest and eyeing you carefully. The freckles dotting your face from all your time in the sun should be considered lethal, especially when you smile. 

"Last I heard, you were engaged." Just as you did then, you don't hold your punches. The jab doesn't hurt, but it does make him laugh, an embarrassed blush crawling up his neck.

"Alright, you got me there," he says. "How's your brother?"

"Good. Married Suzanna a few years ago, and now they've got some babies running around." 

"They live around here?"

"Dallas," you say. "Dillon thinks he's too good for us and decided to be a real estate agent out there instead."

"Sounds riveting," Javi says and you laugh. The line gets shorter and shorter as you talk, but he can't focus on anything but you. "And you? What's a pretty girl like you still doing in this shit hole?" Something behind your eyes flickers at the comment and you take a deep breath, suddenly all too aware of how hot it is today.

"Somebody's gotta get Daddy off the horse every once in a while."

"And what? Your mama can't do that for you?"

"She knows better than to keep tryin'. I'm just as stubborn as he is, so one of us'll win or give up before the other." 

"Well, my money's on you." He says easily. You stare at each other for a little bit longer than necessary before the clerk calls you by name to get your attention. Your items are scanned, bagged, and paid for all in the span of a few seconds. You have no reason to linger in the checkout aisle, but you do, rocking on your boots' heels just a little. 

"Don't be a stranger, Peña." You say, looking him over as if you're seeing him for the first time. 

"I don't think this town's big enough for that." He says, and you chuckle.

"No, I don't think so either," you say. "Tell your dad I said hi." With all your Southern hospitality, you turn and leave. Javi watches you go until the clerk calls his name and breaks him out of it. Well, that and the sound of something crashing to the floor makes him reach for a gun he doesn't carry anymore. His shoulders brace for an explosion, and he can't catch his breath. He stares at the box and the broken jars in it as a pissed-off employee storms off to find a broom. He scoffs. 

Javi has dealt with some of the most dangerous people in the world, and jams are what spike his adrenaline. 

He tries to shrug it off and pay the cashier, but his ears are still ringing, and his heart is still racing when he climbs back into his truck. Fucking jam. He tries to forget about it as he drives home. He wants to forget about it. He wants to think of anything else. 

If that happens to be your smile, the way your laugh fills the air, or the inconspicuous way you looked at him when he complimented you, it's just a coincidence. 

When he gets home, he's craving a drink or a cigarette or something more physical to get his mind off of what happened. His shoulders slump with the weight of memory and Chucho sees. He always sees. He just doesn't know the right way to fix it. 

"Y'know, uh… your friend you used to play baseball with?" He asks, seemingly out of nowhere, as Javi puts away the groceries. He furrows his brows and gives his dad a confused look.

"I had lots of friends I played baseball with."

"He was datin' that girl you went to Homecoming with when you were a freshman?" Of all the things his dad remembers, of course, it's that. Javi resists the urge to roll his eyes and grinds his teeth instead.

"Suzanna?" He asks and Chucho snaps his fingers in a way that tells him that was the right answer. "His name was Dillion. What about him?" 

"Well, his dad heard you're back in town and invited us over for a barbecue," he says nonchalantly and Javi scoffs. "I'm not sure how he didn't know, but you know that old fucker's always out doin' something. Somebody probably told him something or the other. Anyway, you can say no. I told him you were still adjustin'."

"I'll go," Javi agrees too fast. "Might be good to… get outta the house. Wouldn't wanna be a stranger." Chucho is surprised but not displeased with Javi's answer, and they leave it as is. 

It's just reintegrating into civilian life. It's just socializing. It's just a barbecue. It's not an interrogation or a raid. It's coping. 

Apparently, coping could be really fun if he plays his cards right.

TAGLIST: @abbyhaslongshorts @kiwiharrykiwi @sumsworldz @myloveistoolittle @anavatazes @shyminnie07 @beezusvreeland @eddiemunsonsbedroom @harriedandharassed @doodlebob-mp3 @ignorethisplz2004 @buckyispunk @d1lf-loverrr @vee-bees-blog @moel-jiller @anoverwhelmingdin @casssiopeia @space-zaddy-din-djarin @rainy-darling @its-me-mila @mnn11ankamaaka

[veritas-scribblings]

boggart - @jegulus-microfic - words: 1,318

[in-universe: welcome, night, safe, more, devour(M) and then constellation | takes place before constellation but after devour]

There are exactly two times that Lily ever recalls Sirius and James having a proper quarrel. The first time was in sixth year. It had come out of the blue. No one, even now, could tell you exactly what had happened between the two boys. The quarrel wasn’t explosive. It wasn’t the ‘shouting in the common room’ or the ‘spells thrown, fists thrown’ kind of quarrel. One day, Sirius and James were as thick as thieves. The next day, they wouldn’t look at each other; they wouldn’t even be found near each other.

This is how Lily knows that Sirius and James are at odds with one another. Because for people so attached at the hip that it would take a severing spell to separate them, Lily could comfortably fit the Quidditch Pitch and the Forbidden Forest in the distance between them. And it had started approximately a week ago.

James flings the door open with a resound thwack and stumbles out of the compartment, almost walking into Lily. He’s flushed, anxious, and looks hastily at the ground before muttering, ’Sorry, Lils,’ and hurrying away down the corridor.

There’s only one person in the world with the ability to make James Potter so humble and sheepish: Sirius Black.

Lily steps into the compartment where Sirius is valiantly attempting to beat up the wall of the train with the toe of his shoe. ‘A confringo would do the trick,’ she says. ‘I’ll help. Between the two of us, reckon we could probably take out the whole train.’

Sirius dumps himself onto the bench and draws his knees to his chest. ‘Fuck off, Evans.’

Lily nods solemnly in acknowledgement, though she very much does not fuck off. Instead, she sits on the bench opposite him and gives him a tight smile. ’Just some unsolicited advice—’

‘Don’t.’

‘—get over it.’

Sirius frowns. Knees pulled to his chest, squashed into the corner of the compartment, he looks away. ‘I repeat: fuck off, Evans. This is none of your business.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Lily agrees. ‘But your platonic life partner just exited stage left with his head hung and his tail between his legs because you’re being a spoiled, selfish brat.’

For whatever reason—whatever unfathomable reason—she feels a sense of protectiveness towards James. She hadn’t understood James in the past; not the way she does now. They’d butted heads more than once because, let’s be real. James is a boy, and before…well, James had been a boy-boy. He’d been loud and crass and a bully who showboated. And Lily just doesn’t have the time or the patience for any of the bullshit of school boys.

It had taken the dimming of James’s blazing shine for her to really see him. To see that under all the put-on swagger, all the cockiness, that James can be sensitive, and good, and that James can be prone to putting the welfare of others above his own.

And honestly, she thinks this is why Regulus had been drawn to James. Melt the heart of the Slytherin Ice Prince, or something to that effect. ‘So they were caught snogging. I mean, who hasn’t James snogged. The boy’s got pull.’

‘They had no fucking right to lie to me and betray me like that.’ Sirius looks like he wants to vomit or strangle someone. ‘James is my friend,’ he says through gritted teeth, ‘Regulus is my brother.’

It takes an unreasonable amount of self-control for Lily to not roll her eyes. ‘Right, so it’s about you.’

‘No, I—’

‘No? Because it sounds like you’re making this about you, not about them. I was under the impression that Regulus and James are autonomous human beings, not that they are only allowed to do things that Sirius Black approves of.’

Sirius stares, wide-eyed. His wand has made it to his hand, and she knows that very soon he is likely to try and use it to make her fuck off. ‘I’m allowed to be upset that my brother and my friend were sneaking—‘

‘Your brother,’ Lily repeats. ‘Your friend. Again, sounds like it’s all about you.’

Sirius whacks the base of his wand against the bench. He’s holding it in remarkably well, despite the obviously overwhelming desire to hex her. Like he wants her to talk sense into him. And he probably does. Over the years—sometimes by choice, sometimes by unfortunately experience—she’s learnt enough about Sirius that she knows he’s often unable to look past the gravity of his own emotions. Reason and Sirius do not go hand-in-hand. And the last thing he would want is to sabotage the two relationships that probably mean the most to him.

‘You’re allowed to be upset,’ Lily says more gently. ‘You’re allowed to not like it. You’re allowed to feel betrayed that they didn’t tell you. You’re not allowed to actively try to control people’s lives because you’re not happy with the choices they’re making about about their own lives.’

Sirius whacks his wand even harder. If it breaks, she thinks, he’ll lose his absolute shit and this will be the end of the conversation. Lily grabs the wand and sets it aside.

‘I’m not being fucking controlling. They betrayed me,’ he hisses.

‘Oh, Sirius. You are. If you’re trying to protect Regulus because you think James is a bad person, or at least a bad person for him, sure. If you’re trying to protect James because you think that Regulus is a bad person or a bad person for him, again, sure. If you’re just trying to prevent them from getting together because you feel, in some sort of weird, twisted, possessive way, that they’re your brother and your friend and they can only be yours? Well, sorry. That’s fucked.’ She grabs his wand, hands it to him, and stands up to leave.

‘We’re just getting to know each other,’ Sirius says quietly.

Lily turns around again. Sirius, who is normally full of bravado. Sirius, who is normally bold and cocky and larger than life. He looks like he’s collapsing in on himself.

She gets it. She does. He’s scared. Unfortunately for Sirius and the world, he is like a dog when he’s scared: he lashes out, he gets aggressive and he bites down and he doesn’t let go. And in the process, the people he loves gets hurt.

‘I’m just getting to really know him,’ Sirius says looking like he’s about to cry. ’The entire time growing up together…living in that house…we never really knew each other. We definitely didn’t like each other. We existed. We fought. We competed. We hurt each other…’

‘…and you loved each other too.’ Lily smiles a small smile, sitting down next to Sirius. ‘I get it. I have a sister. It’s a love-hate relationship. Even if you’re not close to them, you’ll give the world to have them and protect them from hurt.’

Sirius shrugs. ‘Now, we’re starting to get to know each other and…,’ he looks down at his knees, ‘…Regulus will love James more than me. He’s James. Who wouldn’t.’

Lily shakes her head. Of course Sirius would think that. For a friendship that’s for the most part entirely platonic, they’re ludicrously stupid about each other. Sometimes she thinks it would be easier if they just shagged and got that over and done with and out of the way.

‘Not to be rude, Black, but…woman up and grow a cunt.’ Lily turns around at the compartment door. ‘Look, for what it’s worth, James is happy. He’s completely gone on your brother. Your brother, well, he’s a prickly spiteful little creature. And I think James will be good for him.’ She steps out into the corridor, calling over her shoulder, ‘And it’ll bring you and Regulus closer together not drive you further apart. You two will have more in common. The fact that you’re both stupidly in love with James Potter!’

[zvtara-was-never-canon]

What does Zuko do for Mai? She clearly puts a lot of effort into the relationship but he doesn't.

He had a lot of growing up to do before he could be in a relationship with ANY girl. Mai came through for him but he never did for her. It makes sense that he originally didn't have a love interest.

...You come into MY HOUSE to talk shit about MY BOY? And about MY SHIP? Anon, grab a sword, we're gonna fight!

Okay now, jokes aside, while Zuko has some maturing to do, so does Mai. And they'd still make mistakes even if their family lives hadn't deeply traumatized them because they're teenagers. Lots of the mistakes they've made (jealousy, poor communication, one accidentally being too aloof, etc) are stuff perfectly healthy and mature adults still make because surprise surprise, figuring out how to make things work with someone is hard, and considering their traumas and the situation they were in, they could have done A LOT worse.

Nothing either of them has done crosses the line into "Behavior that indicates this person should not be in a romantic relationship with ANYONE, at least for now." It's typical relationship stuff that either results on a permanent break-up or a temporary falling out that pushes both to get their shit together and be better for each other.

Not to mention, the root of all of Zuko's issues was the fact that he was abuse victim who was struggling to cope with his abuser being not only his own father but the absolute monarch of their nation. He got used to not being able to trust that someone's affection for him was genuine, to fear that it could suddenly be stolen away.

That he couldn't rely on anyone else because THE person that was supposed to take care of him betrayed him in such a cruel way and got away with it. That feeling entitled to things and then using whatever means to obtain it was the ONLY way to not be neglected, ignored and taken advantage of.

His abuser is gone now, but no matter how much therapy (or at least the ATLA equivalent of it) he gets, Zuko will only learn how to have healthy relationship through practical means because it's REALLY easy to be a good partner in THEORY, but things always get messy when you're dealing with the real thing.

Reality is very different from hypothetical scenarios in which you're dealing with the idea of a partner that never misunderstands you, never says things in a way that didn't realize weren't clear enough for you, never loses their temper, never takes things to heart, never fucks up, never needs a bit of space when you fuck up, never is as in the dark as you are about how to handle an unexpected issue, never gets too needy, never gets too distant - never acts like a human being.

Zuko still makes mistakes when it comes to his uncle and his friends, but no one says "That means Zuko should not have a father figure nor friends" because we saw that being alone Gives Him Very Bad Ideas. Why should romance be any different? A relative or a friend can hurt you just as much as a romantic partner can, and be just as hurt by stuff you do. It makes no sense to act like a flawed person is allowed to want a family and friends, but not a committed relationship.

As to what Mai gets out of this:

1 - Zuko loves her for who she is and canonically likes it when she expresses herself, even when what she is expressing is "Zuko, I'm done with your bullshit". For someone who has been neglected and taught over and over that her opinions don't matter, that means a lot.

2 - When Zuko changed sides, he didn't try to guilt her into leaving with him, and didn't hold it against her when it looked like she was gonna remain loyal to Azula. Compare that to her parents not giving a shit that she didn't want to move to Omashu, or to her knowing there was a possibility of her getting killed by Azula if she displeased her, and tell me in which relationship Mai feels she has the most agency.

Zuko is not a perfect boyfriend, but the simple fact that Mai isn't even slightly afraid to talk back to him when he goes too far speaks volumes on who she feels safer with and trusts to never try to coerce her into staying if she ever decides to leave.

3 - Mai and Zuko enjoy each other's company, are attracted to each other and he is as openly affectionate with her as she is with him. Even the sea-shell she didn't like and the ice-cream he accidentally dropped on her lap were just him trying to spoil her a bit - and he managed to do it in a way she'd appreciate in Nightmares and Daydreams.

He can be a jerk sometimes due to his anger issues (something he canonically was working on and wanted to move past), but he could also be a genuinely caring boyfriend.

4 - Zuko was also neglected and made to feel worthless for most of his life. They can relate to each other.

5 - Three years into his banishment, after no seeing her for a long time and unsure if he'd ever even hear from her again, he still thought of how Azula pulled a prank on them because of Mai's crush on him.

He constantly sought her out for comfort when he was back in the Fire Nation, even when she didn't really know how to handle that yet. Out of all the things he had left behind when he joined the Gaang, she was the one he openly said he'd miss. He was overjoyed when they were reunited in the finale.

Even his not at all healthy levels of jealousy are extra proof that he isn't just putting up with her like her family, he cares about her and actively WANTS her in his life, to the point of being scared that someone could "steal" her from him - and again, Mai feels more than comfortable enough to call him out when he goes too far, so it never crosses the line into "He means well, so lets excuse the bad behavior."

Mai feels wanted, safe and understood. Girl could do a lot worse.

[plistommy]

I always love a jealous tommy fic. There's so much to explore there. Did he and steve "practice" when they were younger? How does he feel now seeing steve almost blatantly hanging off of another man (eddie or billy, or both hehe)? It's so delicious that tommy in canon obviously assumed steve would always be His, that he was bound to be asshole king steve with tommy forver, and then steve went and changed. Replaced him with someone else. Discarded him. I love when it's so obvious that tommy didnt even maybe respect steve as a person, just the roll steve "the hair" harrington was and now, seeing steve be allowed to just be himself, shamelessly, with another man must make tommy's blood boil. He missed his chance

Tommy felt like he would puke.

There Steve was, laughing so loudly and sweetly with Billy Hargrove and Eddie Munson on both sides of him, looking at him with such loving eyes that Tommy would love to rip them off and spit on them.

The three of them were hanging at their schools parking lot, Steve perched on top of his beemer as the other two leaned on it. The freak had clearly made some type of joke, because Steve was letting out a ’You’re so funny, Eds!’ as he tried to catch his breath.

The nickname made Tommy fume with rage.

Eds? What the actual fuck was Tommy hearing?

Four years back he and Steve would make fun of that guy, even bullying him a little when he started to wear those freaky ass clothes. People rumored him being into Satan or some shit and Steve and Tommy totally bought it as they laughed at him in the hallways.

And now Steve was throwing himself at the guy as he leaned towards him, hand lingering a little bit too long on the older man’s shoulder.

Tommy saw how Billy, the asshole who had dropped him almost immediately once he got to know Steve, moved his hand to rest on Steve’s thigh in a friendly way from other curious eyes, but Tommy could see through the bullshit.

He knows what those three are. What they do together.

They aren’t just friendly buddies who come together about sports and music and talk about hitting on girls.

They’re together. Partners of some sort which makes Tommy fucking sick in his stomach.

He knew Eddie was into guys the second he saw the freak, Billy probably too, but he wasn’t that sure.

It was only confirmed when he saw the way Billy looked at Steve the first time they showered together after PE.

Everyone looked at Steve once that way. With desire and want.

Wanting to have a taste of The Steve Harrington. Of the King. The rich pretty boy with the charm no one had.

Tommy knew it the best, because that’s how he had felt.

He had felt it when him and Steve had kissed for the first time, hands lingering on each other’s body when Steve had carefully leaned down and put those soft lips onto his.

Or when he had fucked Steve the first time. Those eyes so huge as they stared up at him when Tommy had clumsily lined his dick into the other’s waiting hole. And oh did those eyes go huge as Steve took him in so well, like no one has after him. How he had begged for Tommy’s name, told him he loved him.

And Tommy had loved him back.

Still fucking did.

But then he had fucked it up. Played with the other’s feelings, fucking up with his head which eventually made Steve leave him, his best friend, for fucking Nancy Wheeler. Things had broken that little head of Steve’s too many times and he had finally shattered, showing that sensitive and humane side of him that Tommy knew he was always hiding behind his King Steve persona.

The side he had hated. Because he liked it when Steve was mean.

He blamed the hits Jonathan Byers had given him.

That maybe those made a screw inside Steve’s head loose because how could he ever even think about leaving Tommy like that? After everything?

But he had.

And it made Tommy furious. Sad. Jealous.

Because that should’ve been him up there with Steve right now. Holding onto the boy's thigh and maybe kiss a little if no one was around.

Tommy would give him all the attention he needed. Would’ve fucked him so good no one else would’ve mattered. Steve would’ve never even thought about spreading his legs to Eddie Munson or Billy fucking Hargrove.

Just for Tommy.

”What’s up your ass?” Carol asked, focused on putting her disgustingly sweet lip gloss on, but not enough to not catch Tommy’s suddenly grumpy vibes.

”Nothing.” Tommy groaned out and took a bite of his sandwich.

It tasted bitter now.

Carol brushed it off, going back to chatting with Tina who was sitting beside her, oblivious to whatever Tommy was doing. Not like she really cared. Tommy was sure they’d break up soon, again.

Not that he’d mind.

He glanced back towards Steve and gritted his teeth when he saw the trio start to get in Steve’s car, all happy and smiley because they had ’so much fun’ together.

Ugh.

He didn’t miss how Munson patted Steve’s ass softly when he was bending down to the passenger seat and wait… what the fuck?

Was Billy fucking driving Steve’s car?

Steve never let anyone else drive it. He was too afraid to. Never trusted anyone else with it because his Daddy would get mad if it had even a small scratch on it.

Tommy never drove it.

And that pissed him the hell off, because Billy Hargrove of all people can?

The man with three fucking speeding tickets?

His blood was boiling.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the car.

Not even when his eyes locked with those big brown ones that suddenly looked worried when Tommy didn’t look away.

[mahoutoons]

the women of death note deserve better

so i just finished death note. i have Thoughts about the show. some good, some bad. its not the type of show i'd usually watch but there was something in it that kept me watching. but there was one aspect of the show that bothered me to no end, one that made me consider dropping the show more than once. and that's its treatment of its female characters.

now i know shonen isn't exactly known for writing women well. this isn't to say ALL shonen is like that, but the more popular ones definitely have this problem. the women are either sidelined, reduced to love interests, or aren't allowed to reach their full potential, and this can really be seen in the women of death note. for a show that prides itself on having complex, layered characters with depths that keep people talking two decades later, it sure does drop the ball when it comes to writing women. so here i'm gonna go through all the women of death note and how they were done dirty. keep in mind this is all referring to the anime, i haven't read the manga.

naomi misora

starting off with the one that pissed me off the most. naomi had me intrigued from the moment she first appeared on screen. she was a former fbi agent who left her job because her asshole fiance convinced her it was too dangerous, and then blew off her suggestions (which ultimately lead to his death which. el oh fucking el). she was able to piece together that kira could control how his victims die. she could add a lot to the story given that she previously worked with L. she could've been a part of the task force and would help them piece together clues that would pin down kira. does she do all that? LOL NOPE. the writers decided she was too powerful and killed her off within two episodes of her introduction. now i know this is death note and a lot of characters die. but naomi's death pissed me off the most. here was a woman who had so much potential and could solve the case within two episodes and she's killed off. oh but at least she stars in a spinoff novel half the fandom won't read! isn't that just GREAT? look how much we love women guys!

yeah all this time later and i'm still pissed off about how they did her. naomi bby you deserve so much better.

misa amane

OH BOY GET READY FOR A BIG ONE. so misa was actually the reason i wanted to watch death note because she's fucking gorgeous. i didn't have many expectations about how she'd be written considering this is a popular shonen, but even then i was disappointed. misa is the main female character of death note. she's presented as the second kira who has shinigami eyes, which gives her the power to see a person's name and lifespan by looking at their face. she was saved by a shinigami who was in love with her and got his notebook, and her current shinigami rem (more on her next) also has feelings for her. she worships kira because he killed her parents' murderer. she finds out light is kira because her shinigami eyes don't allow her to see the lifespan of a death note owner and as such asks him to make her his girlfriend.

misa misa misa. my gorgeous goth girl. you deserved to be written so much better. a second kira who has shinigami eyes? she could've been so cool. but the writers made 90% of her personality revolve around light and treated her as this dumb, impulsive girl who worships the ground light walks on. and light doesn't even treat her that well. he just uses her and takes his frustrations out on her. oh, and don't get me started on this bullshit

look, i get that misa is a killer and had to be restrained. but WAS THIS FETISHY CRAP NECESSARY?? WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THE FUCKING CROTCH STRAP?? when light was imprisoned he wasn't tied up like THIS. this is just another case of shonen authors being fucking weirdos with their female characters.

and in the end she kills herself because light dies. instead of letting her heal and live her life the author decides "welp, the man we based 90% of misa's character on is dead, time to kill her off too". just absolute bullshit. she deserved so SO much better.

rem

rem, my gorgeous butch shinigami. she became my favourite character when she was introduced. i was actually surprised by how direct they were about her feelings for misa. i'd seen bits and pieces of remisa before and i thought it'd be one of those ships the writers dance around but they explicitly had her say she has feelings for misa. i was so surprised and happy at that. but of course, this is a popular shonen so i shouldn't have had high expectations. my problem with how they treated rem comes in her death. she dies after killing watari and L to extend misa's lifespan. if a shinigami extends a human's lifespan they die. now, i'm not gonna say her death is an example of bury your gays because gelus, the male shinigami who saved misa before, met the same fate. however, i will say its very Interesting that the only canonically lesbian character who explicitly declares her feelings for another woman dies BECAUSE of those feelings. and then she isn't even acknowledged by misa which is so weird considering how much rem helped her. there's no scene of misa even mentioning rem or mourning her death. she dies without anyone knowing. i do enjoy the doomed yuri aspect of remisa but i really do wish they'd have misa at least acknowledge rem's death.

wedy

wedy, aka merrie kenwood, is a spy who joins the task force in the yotsuba arc. she's an expert at getting through security and is crucial in helping pin down higuchi as kira as she's the one who installs the bugs in yotsuba's meeting room and higuchi's cars. another cool female character with a lot of potential. you know what that means. TIME TO KILL HER OFF! wedy doesn't get much screentime and then dies within eight episodes of her introduction. which is slightly better than naomi. but still. i won't say this is also a case of misogynistic writing as aiber also dies. however, there is a pattern of having a female character with potential, not giving her enough spotlight, and killing her off shortly after her debut.

sayu yagami

sayu, my poor bbygirl sayu. she's introduced as light's bubbly little sister. in the timeskip she goes to college. her most significant role is getting kidnapped so her father could give up the death note to mello's men, making her the classic damsel in distress. and the poor girl is so traumatized that she's in a catatonic state and has to be wheelchair bound and taken care of by her mother. oh, and there's also that weird comment matsuda makes about her which... really dude? sayu isn't AS badly done as she doesn't play much of a role beyond her kidnapping. but still, she also deserves so much better.

kiyomi takada

i didn't think i'd be as pissed off about how they did a female character as i did about naomi and misa but BOY they proved me wrong. takada was light's girlfriend in college but she doesn't play a major role until the timeskip where she becomes kira's spokesperson. like misa, she worships kira. she's happy when she finds out light is kira and would do anything for him. so another woman who worships the ground light walks on. how original. she's supposed to be smart but they never demonstrate it. and need i mention that rivalry between her and misa? making two women catty to each other over a man who isn't even all that, how very typical. but what pissed me off the most was her kidnapping. that scene where mello asks her to take off all her clothes, and then she's left with nothing but a blanket? so fucking weird, i don't care if she's kira's spokesperson. this show has a history of treating its women weirdly and i'm not gonna believe this was anything but the author being weird once again. because what even was the point of that? and then she's killed by light to destroy all evidence. i'm saying this a lot at this point but takada also deserves better. she deserved to live up to her potential.

halle linder

out of everyone, halle is treated the best and that's not saying much. she's a double agent serving as takada's bodyguard and a spy for the spk. she's also the only woman besides sayu and sachiko who survived till the end and wasn't killed off. which i just realised. out of all the women in this show, only THREE survive till the end. isn't that something? i think my only issue with halle is the lack of spotlight. which is a theme with these women.

i thought of adding sachiko but she isn't much of a character. but there you have it. i'm not sure how bad it is in other popular shonen. but death note is full of women who had potential but the author squandered it for the sole reason that they're women. and its so jarring because people can write essays on light, L, near, mello, etc. even MATSUDA had more care put into him than any of these women. which is a damn shame. these women deserve to be in a show that actually cared about them, where they can actually live up to their potential.

i don't dislike death note. it definitely has its strong points. but the treatment of its women is something i take issue with, very strongly. if the author wasn't a weirdo and a nasty misogynist i feel like these women would've been the complex characters they deserved to be.

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

Good morning Hawkins in my daily struggle to power through Flight of Icarus despite my problems with it, I present to you:

Eddie Munson x Reader Headcanons - Hellfire Club Edition

Author’s Note: Y’all I am fucking STOKED! I’m finally meeting up with some old buddies this Saturday to play D&D again for the first time in four years! Me and my friends have been trying to find someone to DM for us for a while (my lover doesn’t want to which is totally fair). And I fell in love with Eddie helping Gareth make his new character in Flight of Icarus, and I feel like we have a significant lack of Reader in Hellfire Club headcanons. So, from one D&D nerd to the community, please enjoy these headcanons which is basically just me gushing for five hours about D&D.

For context: Let’s say Hellfire Club meets Fridays in the Drama Room after school hours.

Okay, first and foremost, Eddie plays Advanced Dungeons and Dragons in 1986 like its 2024 fifth edition in Hellfire Club.

Flight of Icarus got one thing right: Eddie doesn’t give a shit about rules half the time. While it’s a great guideline to start off from, I feel like Eddie would be big on homebrewing.

There may be some homebrew campaigns and a good majority of the storyline in the main campaign is improv, but that doesn’t stop him from respecting if there are players who want to follow the game rules.

He will tease the shit out of a rules lawyer though.

I can see Mike Wheeler as the rules lawyer at first, only to be thoroughly humbled by the first homebrew one shot Eddie put him in.

Eddie will either help you make a character in private or with the boys in case you need more brains to help explain things to you.

If you’re really new, he has his own private session 0 with you to roll for stats. He will meticulously go through all of your character’s details with you and help explain things no matter how many times you ask. He’s very patient, and he loves when you ask him questions.

It makes him feel happy you care so much about his hobbies!

Another big one: Eddie allows multi classing. You wanna be a Cleric who was torn from their order and forced into a life of crime as a Rogue?

“Bitchin’. We love a sassy holy member of the clergy that’s reverted to a life of crime. Let’s decide together how many levels you want in each class.”

You want to go for a specific subclass that cancels out your main class? *cough DRUID cough*

“Fuck it babe. I’ll allow you to keep your armor proficiencies, your spells, AND I’ll lift the requirements for castle worship only. Your Druid can pray for cleric spells in the woods.”

Hellfire Club is literally so relaxing even though there are insults thrown every five minutes and you might find yourself making enemies for the few hours Hellfire Club meets. But it’s not serious. It’s all in good fun and everyone makes up after.

Eddie often uses the Rule of Cool: If you make it sound cool, he’ll allow it in a campaign.

HOWEVER…

Eddie Munson is your sweetheart, your love of your life, your one, but he is a fucking BASTARD of a DM sometimes.

If you get a high roll, he will throw all manner of shit at you in a campaign.

You have a tanky build? Try soloing five groups in a row with no healer bitch.

Spellcaster with a high level arsenal of spells? Your long rests to regain spell slots will never know peace.

Cleric with high level healing spells? Woe, Silence be upon thee.

This mother fucker will not go easy on you if you’re a first timer, but thankfully he will explain to you in detail what he’s doing, what he’s rolling for, etc.

But that’s only for your first game and only because you’re his baby.

If you have a solid idea of how to play, good luck bro. You’re gonna need it.

You, Jeff and Frank collectively (jokingly) plan to one day jump Eddie after school if he continues his traditions of thinking of sadistic ways to kill your first character for a new class.

You tried to warn the freshmen about Eddie’s bullshit but they didn’t believe you. Especially Dustin, who defended Eddie to the death and chastised you for calling Eddie a “shit licking whore” of a DM because hey, that’s your boyfriend! Be nice to him!

… Dustin now only refers to the DM’s commentaries as “And now a word from our Shit Licking Whore…”

I can see Eddie becoming one of those DMs whose goal is to fucking win at all costs even though it’s really not the point but… you know. He seems like he’d have a competitive streak.

Based on Experience: You make eight in Hellfire Club. For a normal campaign that’s way too many goddamn people and turns can take fucking forever. Eddie often gets impatient and hates when the campaigns get mind numbing.

So Eddie’s devised this solution: One Shots have to be rolled for with a d20 to determine who gets to be one of four players, winners need the highest scores of the group. Hellfire Club’s main campaign though is anything goes, Eddie alone DMs, and all Hellfire Club members can play. Because the main is anything goes, it’s also the hardest. And once your character is dead, there’s no revives. The main campaign is not the most newbie friendly. You can opt out of it if you don’t feel comfortable with the main campaign.

The one shots are mainly official campaigns from the sourcebooks, but there are some homebrew ones allowed as long as Eddie checks them over first. These ones are the easier games to get into.

Eddie will allow anyone who wants to DM a chance to DM these one shots, because he honestly gets sick of being the forever DM and actually wants to play sometimes.

You prefer Eddie as a player because he will strategize beforehand with everyone while he rolls up a character. He will base his decision on everyone else’s, fulfilling any role you need. He also will help explain to you about certain encounters or walk you through picking spells or such as you level up.

If you need help while Eddie DMs, the best people to sit with are Gareth, Jeff, and Mike. Gareth and Jeff have the most knowledge about how spells work and helping you to walk through what would benefit the party. Mike is an invaluable tool to have being a former DM, and while he may get annoyed if you ask too many questions, he can tell you just about anything regarding abilities, monsters, or what effects certain spells have. He’ll also help you pick a weapon proficiency that matches your character’s needs.

If you need cheering up, sit next to Dustin or Frank. Franks got the depression snacks in clutch and Dustin will try to cheer you up if your character dies in a famous Eddie Munson death scene.

Dice Jail for Bad And Naughty Traitor Dice get thrown in a mason jar by Eddie’s DM screen. He shakes the jar full of the shitty dice and you all have to scream “SHUN THE TRAITORS”.

Eddie keeps his dice in a Crown Royal drawstring bag. I said what I said.

He even buys a bottle of Crown Royal for you so you have a matching bag for your dice too.

You best believe anything you need to start off the campaign, Eddie is going to buy it for you.

I will only say this once: Session 0 is the best day ever in Hellfire Club. Eddie goes all out: Pizza, drinks, snacks, candy, music, a little bit of the devil’s lettuce, he goes all fucking out.

[angelshizuka]

honestly… i LOVED movie!adrien. he just feels so much more /real/ than show!adrien (which i guess is the point if you weigh in senti stuff) and like… idk. he’s just a silly 14 year old boy who’s still got some residual trauma from losing his mom! maybe i’m partly projecting show!adrien onto him, but even the way he turns marinette down seemed like he genuinely felt bad for doing so.

part of me feels like show!adrien’s entire characterization is created around the basis of being a love interest for marinette, and instead in the movie we got to see him be more… realistic than that. he fights with his dad! he opens up to marinette about his mom! he has PAIN and he’s affected by it (unlike the show where it seems his mother’s disappearance has barely affected his day-to-day life even though in that universe he lost her way more recently than in the movie) and he has a hard time letting people in because of that pain (illustrated beautifully by the headphones) but he still takes the chance on his new friend group! ladybug inspires him to give the world a chance again! and when she rejects him he shuts back down, and puts the headphones back on, which again, is a very realistic response.

i think this movie would have been a solid 10/10 for me if they had cut maybe 1-2 of the songs and instead explored their lives/relationship at school a little more, so we got to see these themes a little more clearly, but i really don’t get the movie!adrien bashing like at all lol. it kinda makes me uncomfy that people are calling movie!adrien like a fuckboy incel when he’s just… a more realistic version of himself instead of this fantasy perfect boy that can do no wrong idk…

(i still love show!adrien btw i just wanted to dump this somewhere LMFAO)

Yes, yes, yes! This is exactly what I've been talking about!

I genuinely love show!Adrien, but the writing keeps fucking him over. His mother died recently (either 100 days or weeks before the 100th episode, I can't remember which one it was, but even 100 weeks is barely 2 years), yet he acts like it barely affects him at all, not even in private (because I totally understand acting fine around other people, that's how a lot of people grief).

Meanwhile with movie!Adrien we actually SEE the affects of his grief and it's a major part of his arc and the way he behaves throughout the movie. But godforbid a teenage boy griefing his dead mother and dealing with a neglectful father isn't a "perfect sunshine boy" who isn't allowed to grief (by the narrative).

And yeah, I genuinely love the movie, but even I can acknowledge Adrien needed 1 or 2 more scenes for his arc to wrap up better (but even with that it's miles better than the show and THAT is the problem, that even a movie with problems still did it better by a landslide).

Though I love both Adriens, the core difference is how I genuinely love the actual on screen movie!Adrien, while with show!Adrien I love the potential and the few good moments that shine through the bullshit, but they become rarer with every season.

Like, the whole reason I love show!Adrien is BECAUSE he can be a little shit just as much as movie!Adrien, and one of the reasons I hate his writing in recent seasons is BECAUSE they've been forcing him into the "perfect sunshine boy" role that people have been blindly buying into.

Movie!Adrien is imperfect, makes mistakes, acts irrational, is allowed to have his own emotions,, isn't always the "oh, so perfect husband material", he's his own person first and love interest second, and THAT is why I love him.

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

Okay friendo no more holding back ghost x Kate x price are very similar to bucky x Kate x Steve in my head in the way that Kate falls for them separately in very different ways. One of them is broody and deadly efficient and thinks he shouldn't be loved for all the damage he's done, prefers a mask to separate him and thinks the best thing he can do for the people he loves is to push them away. The other an authority figure with the weight of the squad and the world on his shoulders, a good man who makes mistakes and pushes himself and everyone around him past their limits in the name of good to the people of the world. Thoughts, questions, concerns? (In every and all scenario Kate realizes she likes people by going 'oh no they're HOT' and then jumps out a window to escape the situation)

SCREAMING SCREAMING SCREAMING I should NOT have checked my asks on the way to the time clock rip me. if up til this point you've holding back i am SO EXCITED for unhingedness to run free

the thing is. i don't think she would be surprised she's into Ghost. because that makes sense, he's this giant wall of a sniper, that's not a stretch. and she's always willing to give people a chance. she's also capable of laying him flat on his ass. So there's a level of safety he feels around her?

I think she'd be more self-aware of her feelings about Ghost. I also think he takes his shirt off and Kate is like FUCK he's HOT but she can deal with that she's fine but then he takes the mask off at some point and it's a double whammy of trust and oh NO he's BEAUTIFUL. And she CAN'T climb out a window after that because he'll think it's his face! And it is his face that's scaring her away but not for the reasons he would think!! She wants to escape her feelings so bad and she can't!!!!

She splits the difference by climbing on his shoulders, playing with his hair, and kissing the top of his head while he tries to make them tea. (is she basically petting him and calling him pretty boy? i mean. yeah.)

Price, however.

Kate would look at Price and go "I admire his leadership! I appreciate how he treats his team and goes to bat for them, etc! maybe it's not quite admiration. it feels a little different than normal!" because it's horny. that's the difference.

look. okay. here's the thing. i do not think she has dated people who allow her to realize she is a switch with a competence kink. and a little bit of an authority kink. price is one of like...three people i could see her getting a little subby for. And it wouldn't start out sexual, it would be in regular life. maybe it happens after some off-planet young avengers bullshit where someone tried to assassinate teddy and kate is just frazzled and on edge and her sleep is all fucked up.

Things get to be Too Much and he asks for 10 minutes where she doesn't decide anything, she just does what he tells her to. And it's such a display of trust!!! Price is fucking floored when she actually agrees to it. it's simple stuff, like sit on the couch and drink this bottle of water. Split this candy bar with Gaz. Take off your shoes. Close your eyes, take five deep breaths.

(yes i'm writing it)

all this to say, i think her attraction to price would completely blindside her. to the point where someone else has to point it out to her. Maybe not even seriously, maybe Soap or Gaz or Clint or Billy or Loki are like lol haha sure been staring at Price a lot! you got the hots for PRICE?!?! ha ha jk!! and Kate realizes she DOES. The next time they look over at her they see her vanishing through a window. or climbing in the ceiling.

I don't think she would know how to handle being into Price! She's awkward but not her normal brand of awkward. She's running into shit and not paying attention and pointedly not looking at Price, to the point where he's trying to figure out what he did to make her uncomfortable (did she realize he's attracted to her? FUCK.) And he either. Asks her to come to his office so he can figure out what's going on, or they get locked in a closet together by Ghost.

If he calls a meeting with her, it's so funny because they are both thinking the same thing (hot desk sex) and trying so sososo hard to NOT think about that so then they think about going down on the other in that nice desk chair which SHIT is also not helpful! Fuck! if you asked either of them what they discussed they could NOT tell you

Basically, Ghost is the only one with any damn clue here. He would introduce the idea of it slowly to Kate. Starts talking about Price when they're having sex. Encourages her to return a text while he's eating her out. Takes calls with Price while they're having sex. Slowly building up to Kate letting Ghost take pictures of her/them while or immediately after fucking. Eventually they do a video call. Price is going to break something. Ghost is like fucking FINALLY, he KNOWS they will be good for each other. And honestly two of the best people he knows that he trusts with his life being vulnerable around him? Praising him? Telling him he's good? He's not a fucking saint! Of course he has ulterior motives!! (Kate: your ulterior motives are wanting to be called a good boy? That's the least greedy least sinister thing I've ever heard. Stop thinking you're a bad person for doing this)

I ALSO don't think Kate can handle seeing Price clean shaven or even with his beard trimmed. Like yes he's attractive with his full on Price beard but he turns into a smokeshow the moment he starts to tighten it up. She has no behavior around him. She hates doing the obstacle course and her fastest least bitchy time was when Price was told to trim his beard by a higher up. Kate saw him and immediately went OH FUCK and BOLTS. also thinking about them having to go to ground together and of COURSE he has to shave, the beard is too memorable and they're trying to not be found, so kate offers to shave him! BECAUSE I AM A SLUT FOR THIS. she's sitting on a bathroom counter, shaving him with a straight razor, and price is so caught up in Being Pampered that it takes him a minute to ask kate WHY she has a straight razor???? and she's like oh! :) well obviously it's a weapon. haven't you seen sweeney todd? now, i've never killed anyone with a straight razor. i have stabbed some people. not with this one, don't worry! and price says "i don't think i want you this close to my neck anymore (he's fine. mark him down as scared and horny, that's all)

The thing is Kate's friends and teammates will see a picture of the task force to see her boyfriends and they'll be like "ok!! I can see it" and then Ghost and fucking Price walk in and they're like what the FUCK, why is it the TERRIFYING ones??? We thought it was going to be the cute ones!!! And then of course Kate is like the FUCK you say, are you saying my boyfriends aren't cute?? Ghost is SO RED under the balaclava. Price laughs until he has to stop Kate from lunging.

please say more to me about them, i am insane over them

[estiebestieban]

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy

pierresesteban?

Oeeeh! I don't really go there (often, I should say -) but I love a good challenge! (also hey, endings are HARD)

CW: Alcohol mention

send a heart and a ship for a brief snippet!

Esteban doesn't know how much Pierre had to drink when the clock strikes four in the morning, and the magic of the evening is broken by last call and the staff turning on the lights of the club. But then again, he doesn't really know how many drink he himself had tossed back up to that point.

One turned into two, and everyone knows that liquor tastes better after the third, and that beer almost becomes pleasant after at least six fruity shots.

He did know that he had two beers at least, and that there was still a strong artificial taste of coconut clinging to his teeth.

Once, when he was 15 and a bigger moron than he was these days, he had kisses a girl who had worn coconut flavoured lip balm. While Esteban had kissed her, he had noticed how her lips were still chapped, even when he tasted nothing but coconut for the following two hours.

Naturally, he kissed her again and again until he grew sick of the flavour of coconut. Truthfully, he also grew tired of kissing girls rather quickly at that point. Mostly of tasting coconut though.

"Tired?" Pierre slurs when he slaps his open palm against Esteban's back with more force than would be necessary. He is drunk too. Esteban would know the way the alcohol makes his movements sluggish and free anywhere. "Is it past your bedtime already?"

Esteban's cheek is pressed against a glass pane which has obviously not been cleaned for months. His breath fogs up the glass, showing specs of dirt and grime. He drags his fingertip through the condensation lazily and carelessly. Too late he realizes he's drawing a heart. Dragging his finger through it sluggishly to create the tell-tale crack of pain feels almost cathartic. "Fuck off."

It's all he dares to say to the other from his position on the floor. The glass he's pressing his cheek against is a divider between the outdoor space of the club, and the wide open world before their feet. It's sticky underneath his touch. It smells of strawberries and beer.

"Let me help you up." Pierre says, holding out a hand which morphs into a metaphorical olive branch. Esteban feels like he's going to throw up. At least that would be a fitting end to whatever tattered ends of their friendship their remained. A fitting end to their careers as teammates.

He takes the offered hands, wait for Pierre to clumsily try and pull him onto his feet. The expected yank does not come, and Esteban realizes that he'd closed his eyes moments ago. Everything fucking stinks of liquor. "You're just going to stand there?" He bites, trying to sooth the words with a smile he knows is crooked.

Stupid end of the season celebrations. Stupid Alpine. Stupid Pierre and his ridiculous smile.

Pierre had been his best friend, once upon a time when they were both young. Then he had been his rival and his enemy. Lately he has been his teammate. Pierre had always been his stupid little foolish crush.

The first boy he thought he could kiss, back when they still had sleepovers and Esteban was allowed to rest his head on Pierre's shoulder in the back of the car driving to one karting track or another. The first boy he thought he could love, back when Pierre said he hated Esteban's guts because some he-said-he-said bullshit with a sponsor or a girlfriend or a whatever-it-truly-was.

Esteban is too drunk to remember. Maybe he doesn't recall the true story when he's sober either. Who cares. Pierre has his fingers wrapped around his wrist, standing between his outstretched legs as if he's going to pull any second now.

Any second now.

"A little help here, Este?" All Pierre does is raise his eyebrow and look at him with that stupid shit eating grin that Esteban has seen a thousand times before, and then a thousand times over in his mind. "You're a lot taller than I am, and we're both drunk off our asses. I don't think -"

Somewhere close some girls scream. Breathing life into the otherwise mostly quiet night. Most people have long since gone home, only the truly desperate or drunk remain. Esteban doesn't know to which group he belongs to.

He gets to his feet with little grace. Tugging onto Pierre's hand for leverage until the other nearly falls forward to the sticky and dirty ground. Esteban knows he has stained his pants, just as he knows he doesn't give a fuck about that.

Pierre doesn't move, not even when Esteban all but smashes against him in search of something to steady himself against. The world is swaying, but Pierre is still through it all.

"Fuck you." Esteban breathes again. Pierre's face is close enough to his own that he can smell the alcohol on Pierre's breath. For some reason, it doesn't smell awful on him. "Fuck you soooo much." He slurs, steadying himself by gripping Pierre's shoulder. If his thumb digs a bit too hard into the muscle underneath, no one should mention it, ever.

"Why?" Pierre asks, his eyes a lot less cold than Esteban has seen them lately.

"Because I want to." And if that wasn't the truth. "And because we're both drunk."

He doesn't know who kisses who first. All Esteban knows is that Pierre's hands are slightly sticky when they grip the back of his head, dragging him down until their lips are crashing together underneath the glowing streetlights of a city ready to wake up any moment now. Pierre tastes like champagne, and it doesn't surprise Esteban in the slightest. It was so Pierre to order bottle service.

His back crashes against the glass divider as the both of them sway on their legs. Stupid and drunk and finally kissing after years and years. Someone shouts for them to watch out. It sounds as if it's coming from miles away.

"We're so drunk." Esteban whispers when Pierre pulls back, his lungs burning and begging for air. He pulls the other forward again, stealing another kiss before Pierre can protest.

[starlightshadowsworld]

Random thought but since we're back on our danganronpa bullshit. I can only imagine how an interaction between post-game Shuichi "Fuck both hope and despair, it's all your fault for continuing the cycle" Saihara and Makoto "I stole a bunch of terrorists and a government virtual program from the government, tried to fuck Monokuma up MULTIPLE TIMES, and do what I want because I believe in you" Naegi would be like. Realistically, probably really tragically but the idea of them BOTH being feral to some degree is funnu

Funny yes but also wanna just chew on the tragic part.

They would both be absolutely feral.

I love Shuichi but ol hat boy was barely a functioning human being before the killing game.

Now?

Now Shuichi has had to come to terms that his worst fears about hurting people through his talent.

Are not only completly valid and true.

But have cost the lives of many.

Clear De Lune is going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

Shuichi is angry.

He's so so angry at the system, about humanity's carelessness and cruelty.

Hates that he's had to watch the most gentle and genuine of souls die for a cheap laugh and some views.

Yeah he's angry.

And he has nothing left to lose.

And Makoto?

Makoto's been fed to the wolves since day one.

He's had to learn that no matter how genuine a person may seem, if they can turn on him... they will.

Makoto will be constantly looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life.

But nothing will stop him from doing what's right.

It doesn't matter if no one wants to listen, he will continue to fight.

Because Makoto can suffer.

And he can almost die and he can make so many enemies he can't even count them anymore.

But no one else is allowed to.

No one else is allowed to feel that they aren't worth it.

Makoto believes so much that it hurts in the goodness of others.

No one will spare him the same thought.

But he just doesn't care anymore.

Just the two of em sitting together on a rooftop watching the stars

Makoto: The world doesn't deserve this.

Shuichi: No... It deserves worse.

Makoto: It's hurt you hasn't it?

Shuichi: Everyone I love...its hurt you why do you care so much?

Makoto: If I don't, who will?

Shuichi:... They would like you.

Makoto: I think I'd like them too.

Shuichi: Does it... Does it get easier?

Makoto: I don't know, does it?

Shuichi: Find having friends helps... But don't have too many of those these days..

Makoto: I'd be honoured to try.

Shuichi: Small smile

Both rest their heads together and watch the stars.

... Than they would go cause absolute anarchy and go beat up a bunch of Monokuma bots.