#actual conversation i am having. unreal

[sneakyboymerlin]

Me: The ban on magic was a genocide.

Fandom: B-but Gaius said it’s okay !!!! sniffle

[maemil]

Lying in my bed listening to butchered tongue on repeat and crying while my brain tries to convince me to relearn Irish

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

what the hell is happening rn

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 ICARIAN

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai had known he was flying too close to the sun, he should have stopped himself while he still had the chance. {wordcount: 11.5k; fem!reader, romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: installment fiveeeee otherwise known as part 2 of installment four LOL! ugh guys i'm dragging myself thru the trenches right now i'm so miserable - i wasn't even up to posting this today i won't lie but </3 i pulled thru </3 if only barely. fun fact this is actually only a 3 scene chapter but the second scene is just MASSIVE. i wasn't up to restructuring so you guys are just going to get it as it is. this is also unedited because i just wasn't up to it so bear with me regarding mistakes. JUST TO REMIND YOU ALL: the last installment is DELAYED - i have 3 finals next week and haven't had the time to finish it. it will be up by the end of may </3 sorry guys. wow this actually is attempt number three trying to post this correctly - i'm so shot

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: partially copy and pasted from badlands - if you guys read badlands, you know the deal. y'all knew what you were getting into. this is the smut chapter. but again, i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole 12k chapter just because there's 4k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the SECOND scene. there is very little plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys, again, to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! there is NO plot development in the smut, i'll reiterate that at the end where i put the summary in badlands, i restructured to make sure none of it was in it.

SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected sex, dazai cries </3 poor baby, sub!dazai, as always pussy drunk!dazai, bit of overstim on dazai's part too, jfhsuhdfsu i will say it starts on the bathroom floor so that might be a bit gross to some of you but dazai hardly even uses his apartment anyway so trust it's clean. bear with me. it just flowed from there i had to go with it. the story writes itself, i'm only the scribe. LOL let me know if i missed anything, i might have

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

Dazai is hardly listening to the conversation at hand. They’ve been going back and forth for thirty minutes about inconsequential matters. Tolstoy is getting increasingly heated as he goes tit-for-tat with Nabokov, evidently the tripartite alliance between the Russian mafias is not quite enough to quell all of the bad blood that’s simmered between them, but something about the situation isn’t sitting right to Dazai. He can feel it in his gut, swirling in the depths of his chest—something is wrong but he doesn’t know what.

Mishima looks equally put out, gaze trained on Tolstoy and Nabokov’s conversation, occasionally looking back at his executives. Cao seems bored, head tilted back against the red cushions of the round booth as he smokes a cigarette; in all regards, he seems relaxed, but Dazai notices the way the fingers of his free hand are tense on the table, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Something isn’t right.

Dostoevsky is cunning. Intelligent. He’s been lethally sharp in every universe that the other Dazais have encountered him in. He wouldn’t send Tolstoy and Nabokov into this meeting with them at each other’s throats like this without an ulterior reason. Dazai is missing something critical; he knows it’s not something as simple as wanting to give off the appearance of a divided front as means to get Dazai and Mishima to lower their guard. Nothing is that easy. There’s some ulterior motive that Dazai has to figure out.

Cao’s presence. Tolstoy and Nabokov’s blatant hostility toward one another. Mishima’s words from earlier, warning him that something seems to be brewing, that Tolstoy and Nabokov had been on edge since he arrived at the event hall. Dazai’s head hurts, and he can’t focus, not when you’re in the other room without him.

Already, he feels as if he’s been separated from you for too long, he’d been hoping this meeting was only going to last thirty minutes at most, and it’s been thirty minutes already and hardly any progress has been made. If Dazai didn’t know any better, he’d think that…

He’d think that Tolstoy and Nabokov were stalling.

At once, Dazai starts catching onto the things that he missed. The way Nabokov keeps glancing up at the clock on the wall above Cao. The way Tolstoy’s gaze keeps flickering to his phone. The way Cao’s attention seems to be elsewhere. 

Cao Xueqin. A Dream of Red Mansions. A scrying ability.

His heartbeat slows and Dazai blinks. Once. Twice. Blood roars in his ears as his gaze twists down to where his phone is laying on the table in front of him, on its face. Tachihara should have texted him to let him know that he got to you. Him or Chuuya. He usually reports to Chuuya anyway, so Dazai figured that Chuuya would’ve gotten the confirmation. He turns his head to the side to look at the executive from the corner of his eye, trying to keep his breath as slow and steady and natural as possible when he realizes that Chuuya is frowning with furrowed brows, looking at his phone. Unsure.

Dazia reaches for his own phone, fingers deceptively steady despite the way his insides are curdling with a sudden jolt of anxiety. His eyes zero in on the top right corner of his phone. No signal. Dazai has been to this event hall countless times in this life and dozens of others—there’s always service throughout the building. 

Unless it’s being jammed, that is.

Dazai’s blood runs cold, gaze dragging from his phone to the door that leads to the hallway connecting to the event hall where you are. He feels as if he’s been doused with icy water and lit on fire all at once. For a second, he doesn’t move—he’s not sure if it’s anxiety or fear, or both, but he knows it’s because you’re out there and Dostoevsky is plotting something while trying to keep him out of the picture in this meeting. 

He should have known better. Mishima had assumed that Dostoevsky wasn’t in the building—he had his three best scouts prowling the whole building trying to place the real leader of the tripartite but had failed. Nabokov had apparently told him that Dostoevsky had to stay back to handle residual business in Russia, a blatant lie, one that has had Mishima on edge all night.

The one with the overcoat. The clown.

Dazai stills as he remembers the white haired man who hung around Dostoevsky in some of the other universes. Not all of the other Dazais encountered him—in fact, Dazai thinks there were only half a dozen other universes where he met the man, he can hardly remember his name, but when he did…

Spatial linking. Of course Mishima’s men hadn’t been able to hunt down Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky would’ve predicted that the Sun and Steel would seek out the mastermind with their scouts. He used the clown to enter the building without anyone knowing after the scouts finished their hunt.

Dazai had missed a critical piece on the board.

Dazai rises to his feet abruptly, mind numb, eyes distant, and lips parted to speak but no words escape them. Tolstoy and Nabokov exchange a sharp, pointed look, pausing in their hostilities, and Dazai knows. He knows.

Dostoevsky is going after you. 

He hears Chuuya and Kouyou calling after him but it sounds like a distant buzz. His throat feels clogged, his heartbeat is erratic and uncontrollable, his ears are ringing. His surroundings are blurry, a part of him doesn’t even know where he is: the event hall, your apartment, in the cafe below the Armed Detective Agency, it’s all blurring together.

This is it.

His vision swims and his head spins. The hallway seems impossibly long, much longer than it was to walk to the room. He can hear Chuuya spitting curses, scrambling out of the room, and he’s sure that his other executives and the other mafiosos aren’t far behind, but Dazai’s mind is on a single track. He doesn’t know how fast he’s moving—fast enough that Chuuya is chasing after him but can’t catch him. Something is heavy and cool in his hand—his gun—numb fingers moving to click the safety off.

This is it.

He might enter that hall and find you dead, slumped over the bar he’d last seen you sitting at, blood splattered across your face. Limp, cold. Just like you were on your bedroom floor. In the booth at the cafe. He’s pulling you from the water. He’s screaming for Yosano when he’s with the Agency. He’s screaming for Mori when he’s with the Mafia. Sometimes he’s alone, and he has no one to call for help, so all he can do is hold you and cry. 

It’s his fault. He knew this would happen from the beginning. He knew that being with you would lead you to the same fate that you’ve met in every other universe because of him. He knew that being with you would be your death sentence, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

His vision swims again, the red and gold patterns on the walls of the event hall are indistinct blobs, he feels someone try to grab his wrist—Chuuya, probably—but Dazai rips himself free and pushes himself into the event hall.

He ignores the eyes on him and the way people all instinctively move away from the sight of him with his gun out, he’s sure he must look deranged but he’s hardly even keeping himself grounded to this reality. Pages pile around him, every single one has variations of the same scene that’s haunted him for almost eight years written on it; one is being written before his eyes, he can see the words appearing on the blank sheet. He needs to find you before it’s complete. He has to stop it.

His eyes cut across the room, toward the bar he’d last seen you at, and you’re there. You’re there. It’s almost enough to make him scramble to put his gun away, cover up his steep spiral of paranoia even if you are looking right in his direction and see the gun in his hand. He can hardly come to terms with the consequences of this, how you’re seeing him right now, because his gaze tunnels right in on the person sitting next to you and his world comes to a halt. 

He lifts the gun. He ignores as people shriek and scramble to the edges of the room. He ignores the look on your face as he moves closer to where you’re sitting with Fyodor Dostoevsky. He ignores the way Chuuya and Kouyou and Piano Man have all skid to a stop somewhere behind him, trying to figure out what to do. Dostoevsky’s hand is mere inches away from brushing against your body, it would only take the slightest movement and you would be dead. It would be a game of who’s faster: Dazai’s trigger finger or Dostoevsky’s ability. Dazai’s always been quick to pull the trigger but now, faced with your life on the line, when he should be at his best because of what’s at risk, he finds himself scared and unsteady. 

He can’t lose you. He can’t watch it happen.

He paces toward you slowly, steadily, he swears each step he takes echoes across the suddenly silent event hall. He doesn’t stop until the muzzle of his gun is pressed against the back of Dostoevsky’s head.

“Stand up.” Dazai’s voice is deceptively cold and steady for the rage and fear that’s clawing at his chest, threatening to take control.

Dostoevsky turns his head to the side to look at Dazai, faint amusement in his eyes. “Are you sure you really want to do this here, Dazai?” 

The mocking lilt his voice takes is almost enough alone for Dazai to pull the trigger. And if that wasn’t, the way Dostoevsky smiles at Dazai like he’s won is certainly enough to push him over the edge.

Before he can, he feels Chuuya grab his bicep hard. 

“You can’t do this here,” he hisses quietly. “If you kill him now on neutral territory, we’ll have all of the mafias in the Eastern Hemisphere coming after you and the government on your ass. You can’t do this here and you can’t do it in public.”

Dazai doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how many mafias come after him for killing on neutral territory when invited as a guest. He doesn’t care that the government will come after him for such a blatant murder. All he cares about is getting Dostoevsky away from you.

“Chuuya is right,” Kouyou murmurs, low enough for only Dazai to overhear. “We can cover this up as is. If you pull the trigger, there’s no hiding what happened here. You know better than this, boy. You won’t be the only person this affects if you do this. Think of her. She will be implicated for coming here with you. Lower the gun and let us handle sweeping this under the rug.”

Dazai can’t even bring himself to look at you. He’s scared of what he might find. But he doesn’t even consider lowering the gun, not until Dostoevsky raises his hands and slips off the bar stool to step away from you. Even when he does, Dazai keeps it trained on him, still tempted to blow his head right off his shoulders.

“I meant no harm,” Dostoevsky says smoothly. “I was intrigued, wanted to know the girl who’s managed to capture your interest. I must say, I see the appeal. Beautiful and intelligent, you have quite the eye, Dazai.”

Dazai’s lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s not kind, and it’s mildly feral, and Dazai’s pretty sure he must look entirely deranged from the way Dostoevsky’s eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and entertainment, just enough to be noticeable.

“If you ever go near her again, I’ll put a bullet through your fucking skull, Dostoevsky.”

He should do it now. He should. Fuck Chuuya and Kouyou’s warnings, he should put a bullet in his head and be done with it, move onto handling Christie so that both of the major threats to your life are gone. But he can’t. If he takes this opportunity now, if he kills Dostoevsky so blatantly on neutral territory, the Pale Flame and Three Deaths will come at him in full force, and Dazai is sure the Red Chamber won’t be far behind them with Cao’s recent interest in expanding his business into Japan. And you’ll be caught in the crossfire of all of it, Dazai has ensured that by bringing you here. Dostoevsky must have accounted for all of this. He knew that Dazai would be put in a situation where either way, whether he kills him or lets him go, he’d be throwing himself onto a blade. 

Is that it? Killing you wasn’t the goal, was it? Exposing Dazai was. Forcing him into this impossible decision.

Did he really just fall into Dostoevsky’s hands so easily? Even with all of the forewarning the other universes have given him?

It’s you. You always make him reckless, his mind is never as sharp whenever you’re involved, muddled with thoughts of you, plagued with spirals of paranoia and anxiety that make him double guess himself. It’s like this in every universe—he becomes stupid, he becomes rash, he becomes careless. It’s you.

You.

Suddenly very hyper aware of your eyes on him, Dazai lowers his gun, gaze turning in your direction. Dostoevsky lets out one last snide comment, something toward you, telling you ‘don’t you see’ but Dazai doesn’t even process it, heart in his throat as he looks at you. He doesn’t know what he expects—fear, betrayal, even anger. He’s not prepared for the emptiness. He can’t read a single emotion on your face, your eyes eerily void of any feeling as you stare at him. 

He says your name quietly. His voice cracks. He should be embarrassed, so many people watching the scene play out, so many of his enemies and allies and subordinates, and he’s staring at you like a lost child with an unsteady voice, but he can’t bring himself to care. The fingers of his free hand are trembling, and the ones wrapped around the grip of his gun are so wound so tight that his knuckles are white. 

You’ve never looked at him like this before. Not in any universe. 

He thinks he might throw up. 

You’ve been mad at him before, scowling at him whenever he distracts you from your work and snarling whenever he makes messes that he never cleans up, but your eyes always stay soft in spite of the venom you spit. He’s seen betrayal on your face a few times before, screaming at him through tears when he got a bit too close to a successful attempt, cursing at him for trying to leave you, but you hold him so gently that it makes up for the harsh words. You’ve been scared of him once, when he lashed out so badly during one of his slumps that he nearly hurt you, but even then, you were more concerned for him then you were scared for yourself, speaking to him softly to settle him down.

He’s never seen this. He wants it to go away. Desperately.

“I’d like to leave,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, and your voice is so vacant of emotion that it leaves him feeling even more sick.

Dazai nods, because he can’t bring himself to speak. 

He holds his hand out for you, waiting for you to take it.

You don’t.

You haven’t spoken a word since the event hall, and Dazai doesn’t know what to do. He used to find peace in silence—for years, he’d become accustomed to it, isolating himself from everyone around him, keeping everyone at arm’s length. The most he ever spoke was a few sentences to give out orders to his executives; his voice had become hoarse and raspy over the years of self-imposed isolation, unused to being utilized. But the past few months with you have utterly obliterated any semblance of comfort Dazai had found in solidarity. 

It’s become entirely intolerable, the silence is making him sick with anxiety; he has hundreds of lifetimes worth of memories with you and he can’t even vaguely predict what to expect from you right now. You’ve been tense and cold since leaving the event hall. Dazai tried to open up a conversation in the car once but found himself promptly ignored. Chuuya tried to say something to you but only received the same cold shoulder. Even Albatross tried to lighten the mood when the four of you got in the car, but all you did was stare out the window with your back to Dazai. 

Now, you’re back up in his penthouse with him. You haven’t sat down. You’ve hardly budged from where you’re standing near the elevator—Dazai wonders if you’re scared of him now, if you want to be as close as possible to the only exit in fear of him lashing out at you. The thought makes him even more nauseous.

He doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to sit down, he’s uncomfortable standing in the living room, waiting for you to say something, and he can’t bring himself to try to break the silence because if there’s one thing he learned very swiftly, it’s that he can’t handle being ignored by you. He’d prefer anger and hate to the stonewall iciness you’re giving him.

He can’t even fathom what you might be thinking right now. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the window that looks over the city, he can see the bright flashing lights from Cosmo World flickering faintly in your eyes. It’s so quiet that he can hear the distant honking of horns, police sirens coming from the streets below. 

He just wants you to say something, do something. Yell at him. Scream at him. Hit him or punch him. Anything is better than this. 

It feels like an eternity before you finally move away from the elevator. You still don’t speak, but Dazai watches raptly as you make your way into the kitchen. You fling open the cabinets, searching for something, and Dazai’s lips part to ask what you’re looking for but he decides against it. You stop with your jerky movements when you catch sight of the numerous bottles of sake Dazai has stored in his cabinets—room temperature, because Dazai can’t stand cold drinks, they make his teeth hurt. He watches you struggle to uncap it and his body itches to move toward you to help but he knows it won’t do any good. It’ll probably just piss you off more.

When you get the cap off, you’re immediately bringing it to your lips. One. Two. Three. Four large gulps before you put the bottle back down on the counter and turn to look at him. The emptiness in your eyes is gone, replaced by something caught between hurt and anger and betrayal. It makes his heart sink, but he thinks it’s preferable to the emptiness.

“You lied to me,” you finally rasp out, shaking your head as you pace behind the counter. There’s a whole length of a room separating the two of you and Dazai longs for your touch but he forces himself to stuff his hands in his pockets and keep still. “You lied to me, Dazai.”

“Osamu,” he corrects quietly without thinking, not liking the switch up. He’d finally gotten you to call him by his given name earlier in the night, he doesn’t want to lose it so quickly.

For the briefest of seconds, the hurt and betrayal in your eyes disappears and only fire rages in them. “Dazai,” you spit out pointedly. 

Dazai almost draws back, not having expected that. In all of the other universes, you’ve always been gentle with him even when you’re livid. You speak his name softly, even with a tight jaw and fisted hands—his given name, you’ve never used his surname against him like this before. Probably because most of the major fights he had with you in those other lives, it was months into the relationship; it’s only been a few weeks in this life so of course-

Dazai realizes, a bit dizzy, that he’s about to lose you.

You found out too soon. You found out through Dostoevsky, through Dazai's own loss of control. You found out in the worst possible way and you found out too soon.

Dazai is about to lose you.

“Okay,” he murmurs, not wanting to test your temper anymore, giving in as a means to try to soothe your anger, regardless of how much it might wound him because being wounded is nothing compared to losing you. “Dazai.”

His compliance seems to do nothing to quell your anger from the way you just scoff and shake your head again, looking away from him. You stare out over the city, dozens of emotions cloud your expression but Dazai still can’t predict what you might do next. He feels out of his depth, in murky waters with an anchor tied to his ankle.

“I knew it, you know?” you finally say quietly. “I knew it from the beginning, honestly, but I kept making excuses for you. I mean, the guns. The secrecy. You weren’t really subtle about it. Did you think I was stupid, or something?” 

“Never,” Dazai says honestly, without hesitation. He sees your gaze flicker down to the ground at his words, but you don’t make any move to speak again so he takes the opportunity to, in hopes that you’ll finally listen. “You’re the smartest woman I know. I-”

You interrupt him with a sharp laugh, it’s loud and almost cruel, and Dazai turns in on himself at the sound of it. He feels small and unsteady, like a child who’s being scolded by a parent. When you look at him again, your eyes are wide and wild, half-crazed in sheer disbelief. You don’t believe him. Of course, you don’t. It’s plainly displayed on your face. And why would you anyway? He’s given you every reason not to. 

“If you think I’m so smart, why didn’t you think I would figure it out?”

He tries to say that he knew you would. That he’s been living in fear for weeks that you’d finally see him for what he is but when he opens his mouth to say it, no words leave him. Like he’s frozen in fear, ice crawling through his veins, stones weighing on his tongue; he can’t respond, and he knows that he’s only condemning himself more. He tries to force something out but he can’t even make the barest hint of a sound. The mindkiller. He’s never responded well to fear, much less when you’re involved. 

You click your tongue, as if to solidify that his silence proves your point, or maybe you know what he can't bring himself to say and you just don't believe him. His stomach churns again, and dread spreads through chest when you say: “If I’m so smart, and I was going to figure it out anyway, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You would have left.” Dazai is finally able to speak, but he speaks the wrong answer, clearly, from the way you let out another humorless, breathless laugh, eyes wide in disbelief. You look at him like he’s the most audacious man in the entire world. Maybe he is.

“Yeah, I would have,” you agree and Dazai flinches. “Without hesitation, without even looking back. And now, I can’t because you made me fall in love with you without even warning me about what I was getting myself into.”

Dazai’s heart should be leaping through the roof at your confession, but if anything, he feels even worse. His throat feels clogged and his chest feels so heavy. You’ve never regretted falling in love with him before. Not in any lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The words are still foreign on his tongue, he doesn’t think he’s ever apologized to someone in this life before the last twenty-four hours.

“No, you’re not,” you say bitterly, looking away. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to care so much about you that when you finally tell me who you are and what you do, I won’t be able to leave.”

Dazai stares at you, lost. He remembers how just the other day he was finding comfort in the way you could read him so easily, knowing he didn’t have to speak for you to know what he needed at the moment. He thinks he hates it now, because you’re finally reading deeper into his soul and seeing him for the sick, twisted monster he really is. Just like he feared from day one. Manipulative. Selfish. Undeserving. His fingers tremble in his pockets, nails biting into his palm so deep that he can feel blood trickling down his skin, but not even the stinging pain can distract him from the numbness spreading through him. 

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” you interrupt him. “You didn’t think I’d be upset? You didn’t think I’d be angry? Or maybe you didn’t think it would happen this soon? Is that it, Dazai? You thought you’d have more time to win me over in hopes that I’d take the news in stride. News flash, Dazai, no amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily. How could I ever accept any of this?”

Nausea rises to his throat so suddenly that he almost gags. He feels dizzy, taking a step back so that his back is against the wall, keeping him steady. Your last words echo through his head over and over again, he can’t escape them. The one person who’s always accepted him in every lifetime, the only person he was ever able to find a home in—how could I ever accept you? 

His cheeks feel wet, his eyes are wide as he stares at you. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t even think he could if he knew how to respond to that. His lungs are burning and his throat feels so swollen that even just the thought of trying to speak is painful. 

You let out a sharp breath, caught between a hysterical laugh and a sob as you press your hands to either side of your neck and pace across the kitchen. “What am I supposed to do, Dazai?” you ask, voice hoarse. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

He thinks it might be a rhetorical question, but he still forces out: “Don’t leave me.”

You scoff again, louder and harsher this time. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as if to futilely minimize the blow. “I wish leaving you was still an option for me.”

Oh. He’s going to throw up. 

He wants to blame it on the alcohol he drank earlier in the night. He wants to blame it on the stress of the past few weeks. He wants to blame it on anything but this, even though he knows damn well that this conversation is what triggered the bile that rises to his throat. He forces himself to move, nearly tripping over his feet to get to the bathroom because he doesn’t want you to see him vomiting up his guts.

He hardly makes it to the toilet, crashing to his knees and clutching at the seat as he dry heaves. Nothing comes up—he hasn’t eaten enough the past few days to have anything solid in him, too busy with preparations—but he can’t stop gagging, eyes stinging with tears and throat burning. He doesn’t know how long he stays crumpled at the toilet, losing track of time entirely, a part of him just wants to stay there forever so he doesn’t have to go back out and face you. 

Evidently, he doesn’t have to go back out and face you because you come to him. 

He’s gagging again when he feels your hand brush his back, hesitantly at first and then firmly. Your touch is warm, and Dazai thinks he must look pathetic as he turns his head to the side to look at you. Your expression isn’t as harsh now, your eyes are still conflicted but your face is softer. After a moment, you take a seat on the floor next to him—you don’t say anything, but you let out a soft puff of air as you slip your arm around his shoulders once he stops heaving. 

He crumbles into your chest, body collapsing against yours. You wrap your arms around him, and at once, the numbness starts to fade away. His fingers clutch at your dress desperately, afraid that you’re going to disappear, but you only hold him tighter. You bury your face in his hair, forehead pressed to the top of his head.

“You’re so unfair, Osamu.” Your voice cracks, you’ve lost all of your fire, but Dazai finds no solace in it.

“I know,” he croaks out, throat scratchy and voice wavering. “I know.”

And then words are spilling from his lips before he can stop them, jumbled and hardly intelligible and he’s not even sure that you’re understanding what he’s saying but he can’t stop himself: “I tried. I tried to stay away, I tried so hard, you don’t understand. I knew it would turn out like this, I knew I would ruin you so I tried to stay away, but I’m selfish. I’m so selfish, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I knew better, I’m going to-you’re going to-”

The panic is returning, the words he wants to say but can’t push out are too damning: I’m going to get you killed. You’re going to die because of me. Dazai is breathing but the air isn’t getting to his lungs, his chest burns, and now even with your arms around him, the numbness is returning. It’s rapid now, spreading from his chest to his arms, down his abdomen to his legs; it’s going to consume him entirely, he can feel it, he can-

Oh.

Your lips press to his. Tilting his head back to angle his face up toward you, you lean down and press your lips against his, swallowing his words, his air, his panic. One of your hands cup his cheek while the other cradles the back of his head, Dazai can hardly kiss you back, his lips feel cold and prickly, but his eyes flutter shut as your lips move slowly and carefully against his.

Not for the first time, he thinks that he doesn’t deserve this. Especially not now. He tastes something wet and salty against his lips—he doesn’t know if you’re the one crying, or if he is, and he doesn’t want to know, so he forces himself to move. His arm feels heavy and clunky, and his fingers feel stiff, but he’s able to bring them up to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as the tips of his fingers tangle into your hair. He kisses you until his lungs are screaming for air, and even as he starts to feel lightheaded, he kisses you still, because your lips are the only thing able to push away the numbness overwhelming him. 

When you break away from him, you keep your foreheads pressed together, nose nudging against his. You share the same thin sliver of air and Dazai feels dizzy, he wants to kiss you again but he doesn’t think he’s capable of moving yet, so he only stays crumbled in your arms, waiting for you to grace him with your lips again. 

“I wish I still had the chance to be a better man,” Dazai says hoarsely, honestly, gaze searching yours desperately. “I would be. For you.”

Please believe me, he thinks to himself helplessly, because it’s the truth. He would try to be. For your sake. He might fail, he might be too far gone, his soul corrupted beyond salvation and his blood black beyond purification, but he would try. He would try so hard for you. But he can’t, not in this lifetime, not without risking everything he’s strove to protect since coming in contact with the Book. He has to stay the criminal, the monster, the demon so that you and Odasaku can live out your lives here. Until Dostoevsky, Christie, and any other person that could turn out to be a threat to either of you are killed, Dazai has to keep playing this role. He has to. 

You don’t respond. Dazai thinks it’s because you don’t believe him and it makes him feel sick again. His lips part to repeat himself but you only press yours against his, as if to silence him. 

You don’t believe him, the kiss confirms it, and his heart sinks but he can’t even bring himself to protest, to insist that it’s true. Instead, he decides if he can’t prove it through his words, he’ll prove it through his actions. Even though his limbs still feel leaden and clumsy, he forces himself into a better position, sitting up a bit more and bringing both of his hands up to cup your cheeks. He tilts your head back, leaning into you and slowly pressing you back against the floor and distantly Dazai recognizes that this is not the place for this but the thought is only fleeting, he’s too lost in the feeling of your lips against his and your body pressed to him.

And you let him ease you back against the floor. You let him tilt your head back and when his tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip, you part your lips for him. He doesn’t have to knock your knees apart, because you spread them just enough for him to slot his hips between them to keep your bodies flush. He wonders if you can feel how clunky his movements are—his fingers still feel heavy against your face and he can hardly hold himself up above you. He hopes he’s not crushing you with his weight, he might be, but you don’t seem to care. 

He pulls back to ask if you’re okay with this but you chase his lips and he lets out a soft, muffled noise when you tug gently at his bottom lip and bring your free hand up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling with his hair, pulling him back down to you. You drag your lips from his to slide them down his neck to the edge of his bandages. He twitches a bit at the feeling, wondering if you’re going to ask to take them off, but instead, you just trail your lips back upward, nipping at his jaw, and he shudders.

And then he finally hesitates, pulling away and not letting you chase after this time. He weighs his options in his head anxiously. He feels like he should do something, that he owes something—a lowering of a mask, a show of vulnerability, you’re entitled to at least that much after everything he’s done. Aren't you?

You give him a curious look and he tries to respond—he does, his lips part for him to speak but nothing leaves them. He swallows thickly, eyes fluttering shut as he braces himself before trying again, bringing one of his hands to yours and wrapping his fingers around it gently, lifting it from his chest to the bandages covering the left side of his face.

“Take them off,” he tells you, voice hoarse and shakier than he would have liked.

Your eyes widen, and he shudders a bit when your fingers smooth against the bandages, uncertain. “Are you sure?” you ask him softly, bringing your other hand to his opposite cheek, cupping his face in your hands again, eyes searching to make sure he means it.

Is he sure? Dazai doesn’t know. He can’t speak again as he stares down at you; a part of him is nervous, and he doesn’t even understand why. You already know who he is, what he is, but a part of him still fears that once you actually see him, something will change. And it’s ridiculous, so many other universes you’ve seen him without his bandages and you’ve never made him feel uncomfortable about it. But you’ve also never used his surname against him during an argument in the other universes, you’ve never regretted loving him, and you’ve certainly never wished you could leave him. 

So, yeah, he thinks the anxiety of you removing his bandages and then seeing him in a different light might be more of a possibility in this universe than any other one. His body is more covered in scars than not, and he knows it’s not attractive; he thinks if he sees your expression shift in a negative way when the bandages come off, it might shatter him entirely.

Just the face bandages then, he bargains with himself, swallowing thickly as he forces himself to nod. You sit up from where you’re still laying back against the tiles, propping yourself on your knees to shift closer to him. 

Dazai thinks his heart might be in his throat when he feels your fingers unclip the clasp holding the bandages together around the left side of his face, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly unwind them from around his head. He isn’t sure why he’s so nervous for this part—there are no scars on his face, but he still feels distinctly vulnerable, like he’s giving you a window into himself that might reveal more than he means to. He can barely breathe as he feels the last of the bandages fall to the floor, he can hear you push them to the side. 

Still, he keeps his eyes shut, counting each second that passes. He’s anxious, can’t even bring himself to look at you until you cup his cheeks again. 

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

Dazai does as you ask, he always does. He doesn’t know what he expects when he opens his eyes to meet your gaze; he prepares himself for the worst, for a twisted expression or thinly veiled pity, but he finds none of it. Rather, your eyes are soft and fond, tracing over his face, looking between each of his. He can feel the pads of your fingers gently brushing over his cheekbones, tracing absent patterns.

“You’re so handsome, Osamu,” you whisper, one of your hands sliding behind his head, intertwining with his hair. “Why do you wear them?” 

Dazai doesn’t know how to answer that. His throat feels swollen at your words, eyes a bit misty and fingers trembling against your thighs. Instead, he breathes out, “Kiss me.”

And you do. 

God, when you kiss him again, it’s so intense that it has his head spinning. He doesn’t know how long he sits there kissing you, back against the cabinets with you half in his lap. It could be a few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours—he has no concept of time whenever his lips are against yours. It’s only when you press your hand against his shoulder, murmuring for him to get up, that he finally pulls himself away from you.

Dazai forces himself to push up to his feet—it’s much more difficult than he thought it would be, nearly tripping over his own feet, but you follow him up to your feet, steadying him when he almost tumbles over. You bring your hand up to rest against his cheek, fingers gently toying with the edges of his hair. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before he forces himself to look you in the eye. 

“You’re so frustrating,” you say softly, but all of the fire is gone, replaced by that same soft look you’ve directed toward him—not him—hundreds of times before. “You are so frustrating, Osamu.”

His throat feels tight again, the sound of his name on your lips causing a wave of warmth to spread through him, the numbness slowly subsiding.

“I know,” he whispers, swallowing thickly, and you sigh, gaze averting to the side for a moment before you look back at him. He still can’t fathom what you might be thinking and it scares him.

But then you kiss him again, your other hand coming up to his other cheek and his hands fly to your waist, holding you close. You walk him backward, out of the bathroom and into the hallway. His back hits the wall and you press your body close to his, and this time it’s you whose tongue is darting out to brush his bottom lip, urging him to part his lips for you. He does, and he thinks he might be in heaven when he feels your tongue dip into his mouth, sliding against his tongue. His eyes flutter shut, rolling back just a bit when you trace the back of his teeth with your tongue before sucking gently on his bottom lip.

Your hands slide down from his face to his chest, over his jacket, down to his waist. Your fingers hook in his belt loops and Dazai groans as your lips ghost from his down to his jaw, breath shaky as trail slow, wet kisses to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He can hardly do anything but follow along as you guide him from where he’s been backed against the wall into his bedroom, dazed and entirely consumed by your touch. His head already feels a bit fuzzy, breath hitching as your teeth graze his pulse point, kissing down to the edge of his bandages and then across his throat.

He barely even knows where he is until he feels the back of his knees hit his bed and he topples backward until he’s laying flat on it. His chest is heaving, head dizzy and breath shaky as you straddle his waist. You don’t kiss him again and Dazai wants to drag you down for another but he can’t even bring himself to move. His body refuses to cooperate, nervous that he’s going to make the wrong move.

“Do you want this?” you finally ask after a moment, voice raspy as one of your hands squeeze his gently, as if to get his attention. 

Dazai’s brows furrow a bit, lips parting to respond but for a second, no words leave them. You wait with the patience of a saint as Dazai tries to process what you’re asking and respond to it. After what feels like an eternity, he nods once. Of course, he wants it. You search his eyes as if to make sure he’s not just agreeing to agree, and once you’re satisfied, you continue you with: 

“And do you trust me?” you ask softly, your gaze gentle as it searches his face for the next answer.

Dazai doesn’t hesitate this time, and he speaks as he breathes out, “With everything.”

He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but your expression is still soft and your touch is still gentle as you run your thumb over his knuckles. Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the gentleness you show him. You lift your hand to cup his cheek and he leans into your touch, throat spasming beneath his bandages as he waits for you to say something. 

“Let me take the lead then,” you say quietly, his eyes widen a bit at your words. “I want to try something.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, guarded and studying you. He thinks this might be another first, and the thought alone makes him feel a bit giddy because he can’t recall any other life where you’ve ever been the one to take the lead like this, especially the first time the two of you sleep together. You look a bit anxious the longer he goes without responding, so he nods and says, “Okay.”

He’s pliant beneath your touch as you lean down to press your lips against his; he lets out a soft, muffled noise when he feels your hips shift, unintentionally grinding down a bit on his straining cock. He’s more hesitant this time in the way his lips move against yours, unsure of what to do with himself. His fingers twitch from where they're resting on the bed, itching to grab your hips but not wanting to make the wrong move.

This has happened every time one of you tries to take the next step, either he gets interrupted or he ends up getting cold feet because he’s scared of doing the wrong thing and making you uncomfortable. And it’s ridiculous because Dazai has so many memories, he should know at least vaguely what you like and what you don’t like but he thinks having the memories are a double-edged sword because he overwhelms himself if what ifs: what if he assumes you like something and you end up not liking it in this universe, what if he does something that you only liked after the two of you have been together for a while and you’re uncomfortable with him doing it because you’re not as comfortable with him. Maybe Dazai is just overthinking it all but how can he not when you’re involved. He wants everything to be perfect for you. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper, separating your lips from his just enough for him to answer your question. Your breath mingles with his and Dazai can hardly think straight; it’s hot, dizzying, there’s something so intimate about it that it makes his body fuzzy.

“Yeah,” he says, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at you. “It’s okay.”

You kiss him again. His lips move against yours desperately, needy, he’d be embarrassed if you weren’t matching his energy, but you are. He can feel your fingers tugging at his hair, your hips grinding down against his. Every time you start to pull away, he lifts his head from where it’s laying flush against the pillows, chasing your lips. 

He needs you. His hands slide from your thighs to your waist, keeping your body pressed to his. He’s needed you since the day he came in contact with the Book and learned about you, since the day he met you at the club, maybe even since the day he was born even if he hadn’t known it at the time. He thinks his entire life has led to this, to the two of you being together; your souls have been entangled since the moment you were born and he isn’t sure how he ever thought a life without you was possible. 

“I need you,” he gasps against your lips, hips jerking up just a bit to try to alleviate the pressure building in his lower abdomen, desperate to reach down and unbutton his slacks, but wanting you to make the first move.

Whatever nerves that have made him get cold feet all of the other times the two of you have tried to take the next stop are long gone. You don’t give him any time to wonder if he’s doing the wrong thing—the fingers of one of your hands intertwining with his dark locks, just tight enough to make him hiss into your mouth, eyes rolling back at the pleasant sting. Your other hand slides across his chest, even through his dress shirt, your fingertips seem to scorch through to his skin, leaving his body tingling everywhere you touch.

“You have me,” you tell him, breathless, and Dazai can’t bite back the noise that slips from his lips, wanton and obscene, borderline pornographic—if he was any more coherent, he might be embarrassed but he can’t find it in him. Not when he’s finally getting what he’s wanted after all of this time. 

His hands fly down to his slacks, he fumbles with the button and zipper before yanking them down just enough to free his cock and he watches as you sit back on his thighs, eyes wide and lips parted as your gaze focuses in on his cock, watching as the leaking precum dribbles down his length, alongside the vein running along the underside of his cock. 

“Please,” he breathes out, fingers biting into your thighs as he bunches your dress up to your hips, another low moan spilling from his lips just at the thought of what’s about to happen, lashes fluttering.

You don’t even take off your panties, clearly driven by the same desperation that he is as you slide them to the side and position yourself above his cock and Dazai gnaws at his bottom lip when he feels the tip pressing against your entrance. He can feel how wet you are already, so drenched that your slick is dripping down the length of his cock. His hips stutter up instinctively, but instead of pushing inside, his cock slides between your folds and he whimpers, arm flying to cover the lower half of his face. You don’t let him, fingers wrapping around his wrist to pull his arm from his face and pin it to the mattress above him.

“Don’t hide yourself,” you say softly.

Dazai thinks there must be stars in his eyes as he looks up at you. You’re so beautiful, lips parted as you pant softly, an adoring expression on your face as you look down at him. He loves you. He loves you, god, he loves you more than he’s ever loved anything in his life; he thinks that nothing the other Dazais ever felt for any of the other yous could ever compare to how he feels for you.

When his tip starts to push into your tight hole, all he can let out is another loud, lewd noise; his head falls back against the pillows. His ears are ringing, but distantly, he can hear you gasp. His vision is blurry as he forces himself to look up at you but Dazai thinks you look otherworldly with your head tilted back as his cock starts to stretch you out, lips swollen and wet from the kisses you’d shared. He thinks he must look insane, pupils blown wide and eyes wild as he tries to focus on the sight of you. All of the clever wheels that usually turn within his mind are crumbling.

His fingertips leave crescents in your thighs as you sink down on his cock slowly—too slow, it leaves his head dizzy as your warmth slowly envelops his length. He’s imagined this so many times before. Dozens. Hundreds. He has so many memories of the feeling of your body flush to his, thighs over his shoulders as he fucks you deep and slow, swallowing your moans, but he thinks that nothing compares to this, the sight of you above him, watching your body tremble and face shift as his cock stretches you out. He barely refrains from letting out a string of strangled curses, barely able to hold his eyes open to watch you. 

You give yourself a moment to adjust, and when you do, you look down at Dazai. He thinks he must look a mess—chest heaving, breath erratic, eyes heavy and lidded and entirely glazed over—but he doesn’t care, not with the way your hand slides up his abdomen, fingers tracing patterns along the bandages covering his body. You look beautiful—you always look beautiful—but you look extra beautiful right now, and he thinks he could stare at you forever and never tire of it. 

Experimentally, you roll your hips—it’s still slow, agonizingly slow—and Dazai throws his head back, another obscene moan spilling from  his lips.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his fingers falling from your thighs to twist the sheets below him, knuckles white. “Feels so good. So good.”

You let out a hum that’s caught between a moan and agreement as you continue the slow rolls of your hips, hands sliding up and down his abdomen in a way that’s deceptively innocent and soothing compared to how his cock is dragging along your walls. His body shudders at the feeling of it, heat pooling in his abdomen so quickly that it has his whole body tensing as he tries to push it away. 

“You’re so perfect.” Words spill from his lips, more of a babble than anything else as you lean down to ghost your lips over his jaw, nibbling over the bandages covering his Adam’s apple. It bobs beneath your teeth as he lets out another shaky noise. “S’like you’re made for me. I’d do anything for you. Anything. You know that, right? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, clawing at the sheets and occasionally reaching for your thighs, and he doesn’t know what to do with his body, hips jerking up at an erratic pace, like he’s trying to meet your pace but his body simply can’t match the slow rolls of your hips, desperate for more. He doesn’t know how you’re so put together—maybe you’re not, he can see through a blurry vision how your lashes are fluttering with each roll of your hips, breath shaky, but you’re just not as far gone as he already is.

“Anything?” you murmur, and he can feel your lips curve up against his neck.

“Anything.” His breath hitches, fingers reaching for your hips as he rocks his up into you, a desperate attempt to get you to pick up the pace. “‘d give you the whole world, burn it for you, anything you want, I’d give it to you.”

His hands slide up from your thighs to your waist as you lean down to press your lips against his in a deceptively innocent kiss. He tries to chase your lips as you straighten up but you don’t let him, one of your hands curling around his throat—not choking him, but firm enough that it goes right to his cock, lips parting in a silent moan—while the other braces back on his thigh.

He thinks that nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of you picking up the pace. His breath hitches, he chokes over a moan, stars sparkle in his vision as the tip of his cock presses deep inside of you. You sigh out his name and Dazai thinks this might be the closest he ever gets to heaven: you on top of him, cock buried to the hilt in your cunt, the sight of your blissed out face above him as his head spins. 

“Oh, fuck,” Dazai cries out, back arching and hand flying to cover his face again but the hand you have on his thigh flies forward to snatch his wrist before he can, pinning it back above his head. Dazai’s eyes roll back, you’re leaning over him entirely now, leaning most of your weight on the hand that’s pinning his wrist but the new angle adds pressure onto how you’re squeezing his neck, paring his airways just enough to make his lungs burn. “More. Faster, fuck, I-ah-”

His voice falls off into another moan, head falling to the side to press his cheek against the pillow. He thinks drool is starting to pool at the corner of his lips but he doesn’t care, he can’t even think at this point, too lost in the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock fucking deep in your cunt, your soft moans and gasps, lost in the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on his cock, the warmth, the wetness, your fingers digging into his wrist and the sides of his neck. He wants to tell you that he needs more but the words are garbled, entirely unintelligible. 

He forces his eyes back open, feeling the tears spilling over his cheeks just from the intensity of it all, the intensity of you. You’re gentle with him even when your hand is wrapped around his throat and his cock is splitting you open—he can feel the soothing circles you rub with your thumb, he can see the way you’re searching his face to make sure he’s okay. Dazai is just so overwhelmed that he can’t stop the way his next moan breaks into a sob; acutely realizing just how deprived he’d been of any type of care or love before meeting you, and forcibly coming to terms with the fact that he is never going to be able to go without this again, without you again. He’d known it to some extent before this, the thought of losing you and the light you bring him has made his stomach churn violently but this…

He’s torn from his thoughts when you suddenly stop the rolls of your hips, halting the spreading heat in his lower abdomen desperately. The noise that escapes him is something caught between distress and betrayal, dark eyes wide as he looks up at you questioningly, but the expression on your face makes his breath catch. Your hand slides up from his throat to cup his cheek, your other hand releasing his wrist so that you can hold his face between your hands, thumbs wiping away the tears spilling over his cheeks.

Distantly, Dazai recognizes that he’s still choking over sobs and that’s probably why you’ve stopped and that only rips his chest apart more because of course, you’re still putting him above you—even when you’re mad, even when you’ve just fought, when he’s betrayed you in a way that should be unforgivable, you’re still kissing away his tears and putting aside your own needs to take care of him

He doesn’t deserve you. Not in any universe, but especially not in this one.

He thinks he could stay here for eternity. Fuck the rest of the world. Fuck the Port Mafia. Fuck his plan. He just wants to stay here with you, your lips brushing his, sharing the same sliver of air. He leans into your touch, groaning against your lips when he feels your walls spasm around him.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes out, unsure if you can even understand him. “You’re so-”

His words fall off into another moan, and he can’t control his hips as they thrust up sharply against yours, another string of incoherent curses escaping his hips as your breath catches and you straighten back up, head falling back as you gasp his name.

Your nails dig crescents into his upper thighs through his bandages as you brace yourself back against them. You move your hips again—faster, this time, harder, and Dazai thinks his head is in the clouds. He’s so deep inside of you that he can feel everything, jaw falling slack as heat spreads through his body too rapidly for him to get control over. He wants to throw a hand over his mouth to muffle the lewd, pitched moans spilling from his lips but he can’t drag his hands from where they’re clawing at your hips, desperately trying to help you meet him with each thrust.

“I-hah-shit, I’m gonna-fuck-”

He slurs out your name and several obscenities, trying to warn you that he’s going to cum when he feels his cock twitching inside of you and his abdomen tensing, but you only lean down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips and Dazai is gone. He wants to watch you, he tries, but he can’t hold his eyes open, they’re half-rolled back as he chokes over moans of your name, hips stilling as he cums deep inside of you. His body twitches, expression twisted as he presses his head so hard into the pillow that he thinks he might permanently indent it. 

His head is spinning, lungs burning, sweat beading at his forehead and hair matted to his face—he thinks he’s never cum so hard in his entire life; all of the nights he spent alone, desperately trying to fuck his hand to the thought of you in attempts to mimic how you’ve made all the other Dazais feel, to give himself some semblance of the pleasure you’ve brought him in other lives to hold him over on particularly lonely nights, they’ve never felt like this.

You don’t stop, even as he squirms and lets out jumbled pleas beneath you, body shuddering at the overstimulation but you’re too lost in chasing your own high now. He spasms beneath you, nails digging into your thigh as you fuck his cum deeper inside of you, bouncing on his cock desperately. He doesn’t care that the sensitivity is pushing his body to the brink, letting you use him however you want if it means he gets to see you like this. 

Dazai’s head feels light, pins and needles pricking his body—he thinks he might pass out but he forces himself to hold on, enraptured by the sight of you on top of him with your eyes half-rolled back, lips parted and throat bared to him. Your tits are half-spilling out over the low-cut of your dress and Dazai thinks you’re fucking divine. The only holy thing in this godless world. He wants to spend the rest of his life worshiping you.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, head falling backward as one final roll of your hips that has your clit grinding against his pelvic bone sends you spiraling over the edge. 

Dazai wants to sear the image of you behind his eyelids, watching as your nails drag against his thighs, drawing red lines even through the bandages, back arching, head tossed back—your body is trembling violently as you cum on his cock, expression twisted and entirely blissed out, sobbing over his name. He chokes and gasps at the feeling of your cunt tightening around his sensitive cock again, jaw tight and spots dancing in his vision as he’s so abruptly pushed over the edge a second time, the coil in his abdomen tightening and snapping all within the span of a few seconds.

He’s still reeling when he feels you slump forward onto his chest, burying your face in the crook of his neck, shivering in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He’s only half aware as he instinctively brings his hands up to rest on your hips, rubbing soft circles of your hip bones to try to soothe you. 

He shudders when you press a kiss to his neck right at the edge of his bandages, and then tilt your head up to press another on his jaw. One of your hands comes up to caress the back of his head, fingers carding through the dark locks in a way that has his eyes drooping shut. 

“We’re not done with this conversation,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, voice soft, breaking the silence. Dazai stiffens a bit, lips parting to respond but no words leave them. “... but let’s just lay like this for a while first, okay?”

He lets out a shaky breath, still not entirely convinced that he’s not going to lose you, so he lets his eyes flutter shut as he nods. He may as well bask in this for as long as he can, and if you notice the way his fingers dig just a little deeper into your skin after your words process, you don’t mention it. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “okay.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning and you’re nowhere to be seen. The bed is frighteningly cold next to him and his heart is instantly in his throat. He doesn’t waste a second before he’s sitting up in bed, looking around, eyes wild and heart racing. He doesn’t settle down, not until his eyes fall upon where you’re sitting curled up on the chair of the desk he never uses, eyes trained on the dark clouds outside the window, the beauty of the sunrise wilted by a morning storm.

“His intention was to make me leave you.” You’re not looking at him, but you must have heard him sit up. “Fyodor Dostoevsky. The things he told me, they were to make me leave you.”

Dazai doesn’t move an inch, throat swelling. He forces himself to ask, “What did he tell you?”

He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say—Dazai thinks that it definitely does, but he bites back the questions that rise to his tongue because you’re clearly not about to budge on your answer. “Who is he?”

“A monster,” Dazai bites out, bitterness seeping into his tone as he leans back against the headboard, eyes still trained on where you’re curled on his chair, gaze distant. “You have to stay away from him.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on seeking him out,” you say it so dryly that Dazai nearly finds humor in it. Nearly. The smile that rises to his lips is mirthless at best. You turn to look at him, finally, and Dazai finds only cool indifference on your face; the fondness, the softness, the gentleness from last night are all gone. He wonders if you regret it, but he doesn’t let that thought linger, it’ll only make him sick. “... He doesn’t seem like the type to give up.”

“He never is,” Dazai murmurs, ignoring the brief, questioning look you direct toward him, mind drifting off to all of the Russian’s incessant attempts to take you from him in all of the other universes. “Did he tell you what his plan was?”

Dazai doubts it, but maybe there was something he said to you that shed some light to it.

“He didn’t have to,” you say quietly. “He wants Yokohama, for whatever reason—couldn’t figure that out, I think he’s looking for something—and clearly, he has to get through you to get it. He thinks the best way of getting through you is by taking me away from you first. That’s what I’d gathered from how he was talking at least, what he was saying about you, the way he was phrasing it. I’d put together enough on my own during the night to fill in the blanks. He told me things about what you’d done as… what you’d done as boss of the Port Mafia—things you’ve done to enemies… to allies. He told me that I’d see the real you as soon as you realize that the meeting he set up was a farce; that the mask you put up would crumble and I would see you for the demon that you are.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tight as he averts his gaze to the window—he’d played right into Dostoevsky’s hands. He can hardly bring himself to look at you; he wonders if you do see him differently now that the cloud from the night before has worn off, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Now’s not the time anyway, there are more pressing matters.

“... He’ll come after me again, won’t he?” you ask quietly. “Getting me to leave you willingly didn’t work. If he’s so set on me being the trigger to your downfall, then he’ll come after me again.”

He would. As he always has. Of course, Dostoevsky would try to get to him through you, he’s tried it in every universe, and Dazai hadn’t been careful enough. He hadn’t been smart enough. He’d known this was going to happen and was still arrogant enough to believe he could somehow prevent it. He was a fool, and he was a fool at the cost of your safety. He doesn’t know how to respond to you, he doesn’t want to confirm your suspicions, he doesn’t want to admit that this is all his fault, that he knew this would happen and was selfish enough to pursue you anyway.

“... I’m scared, Osamu,” you finally say quietly, and you suddenly look a lot smaller from where you’re sitting on his desk chair, hunched over with your knees tucked to your chest. “I’m really scared.”

Dazai’s heart claws up to his throat and he pushes himself out of bed, still dressed haphazardly in his suit from the night before. He makes his way over to you and kneels in front of you, hands curling around your ankles as he looks up at you.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he tells you, voice a bit more raspier than he intended for it to come across as. “I don’t care what I have to do to ensure it, how low I have to stoop. I will not let anything happen to you, do you understand?”

Your eyes meet his, and he can’t help but notice that doubt still riddles your gaze as you search his face, as if you want to believe him but can’t bring yourself to. A pit starts to grow in his stomach, wide and gaping as he realizes that this is all really about to happen, and one mistake on his part could lead you to the same fate you’ve met in so many other worlds because of him.

Finally, the doubt slowly clears as you let out a soft breath, nodding, and Dazai inhales sharply, laying his forehead against your shin as he lets his eyes slide shut.

He won’t let it happen. Not again. 

again there was NO plot development in the smut - you guys didn't miss out on anything, pinky swear. i restructured the scene to fit the only notable scene (bandage removal) into the part before the smut, so if that felt a little forced, that was why </3 it wasn't supposed to be there. i was struggling trying to figure out how to move it upward a bit. the only arguable "plot" development was dazai letting go of his control freakiness to let her take the lead

[princesskenny1998]

MHA | Bakugou Katsuki x f!soft!reader ~ Background

Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t the type to notice people outside of his small circle. If someone wasn’t powerful, competitive, or didn’t spark his interest as a rival, they were simply background noise. And yet, there you were—a quiet, soft-spoken girl who had somehow caught his attention, despite everything that would have normally kept you invisible to him. You weren’t even in the hero course at UA. You didn’t attend combat training, nor did you possess some flashy quirk that screamed for attention. Instead, you preferred to stay in the background, almost as if you belonged there. But the more he caught glimpses of you around the school, the more he found himself intrigued.

It all began when he noticed you in the library one afternoon. You were sitting by yourself, reading a thick novel with the edges frayed, your brow furrowed in concentration. Katsuki had been searching for a book on battlefield strategy, but his attention drifted over to you. He hadn’t meant to stare, but he’d found himself watching as you turned each page with care, as if you were savoring every word. Your quiet, unassuming nature was foreign to him. Katsuki was so used to the loud, the bold, and the ambitious that you seemed almost unreal in comparison. Still, he tried to brush it off. But after that day, it felt like he saw you everywhere.

One rainy evening, he saw you sharing an umbrella with a younger student outside of UA’s dormitory. The way you stood there, holding the umbrella high enough to keep the kid dry while you got soaked yourself, struck a strange chord within him. You didn’t seem to mind being wet, either, as you smiled and patted the kid’s head, laughing quietly when he waved goodbye and ran off. It was such a simple act, yet Katsuki found himself dwelling on it long after the rain stopped.

It wasn’t until a few days later, in the hallway, that he got the chance to actually speak to you. He’d been rushing to his next class, not paying attention to his surroundings, when he nearly ran into you. You looked up at him, startled, with wide eyes that quickly turned into an embarrassed smile. Katsuki raised an eyebrow, half-expecting you to freeze and stutter some kind of apology, but instead, you just stepped aside, keeping your head down, and let him pass.

“Sorry about that,” you murmured, so softly he almost didn’t hear.

For reasons he couldn’t quite understand, he paused, watching you walk away. Something about your quiet demeanor, the way you seemed almost invisible but held a quiet strength, intrigued him.

“Hey,” he called, before he could stop himself.

You turned back to look at him, eyes widening slightly. “Yes?”

“Uh…you’re… in the general course, right?”

You nodded, looking a bit surprised. “Yeah. I am. Second year.”

He shifted awkwardly, trying to ignore the strange, unfamiliar feeling tugging at his chest. “I’m Bakugou. Bakugou Katsuki. Third year, hero course.”

You gave him a shy smile, nodding politely. “I know who you are. Everyone does. You’re one of the top hero students.”

Something about your words made his chest swell with pride. But the fact that you hadn’t said it in awe or admiration, just as a simple fact, somehow made it more…meaningful.

“Do you…like it here?” he found himself asking, almost surprised by his own question.

You hesitated, clearly not expecting him to ask something so personal. “It’s…fine. Different from what I’m used to, but fine.”

He didn’t know why, but he felt the urge to know more. “What did you do before coming here?”

“Just normal school stuff, I guess. I didn’t really stand out.” You smiled a bit self-consciously. “I wasn’t trying to become a hero, so I guess I’m just here to learn what I can.”

There was a sincerity in your tone that made him feel oddly at ease. Katsuki wasn’t sure why he was continuing the conversation, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing. Hero work isn’t for everyone,” he muttered, almost to himself.

You laughed softly, and he looked up, surprised by the sound. It was a quiet laugh, but there was warmth in it that made his heart skip a beat.

“You’re probably right,” you replied, smiling. “But I think people like you make the hero course worth it.”

Katsuki blinked, taken aback by your words. He was used to people admiring him, even fearing him, but something about the way you said it, so matter-of-factly, struck him. You weren’t trying to flatter him or seek his approval; you were just being honest.

As you walked away, he found himself staring after you, feeling a strange warmth in his chest. For the first time, Katsuki felt something he couldn’t quite put into words—something that made him want to see you again.

After that, Katsuki found excuses to cross paths with you. He’d linger in the library, where you usually spent your free periods, or accidentally end up in the same cafeteria line. And somehow, each encounter led to a few more words exchanged, a few more glimpses of that quiet smile that left him feeling both annoyed and fascinated.

To you, Katsuki was a mystery. He was intense, with a reputation for his explosive temper and arrogance, yet he always seemed softer when he spoke to you. It was almost as if he had two sides—one for everyone else and one just for you. And you couldn’t deny that you found yourself looking forward to these chance encounters, even if they made your heart race and left you blushing.

One afternoon, as you sat in the library, buried in a book, you felt a shadow loom over you. Looking up, you found Katsuki standing there, hands in his pockets, looking unusually serious.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, his tone surprisingly polite.

You nodded, gesturing to the empty chair across from you. “Sure. It’s a public library, after all.”

He smirked at your joke, pulling the chair out and sitting down, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made you blush.

“So, what’s so interesting about these books?” he asked, nodding toward the stack of novels you’d collected.

You shrugged, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze. “They’re just…an escape, I guess. I like getting lost in other worlds.”

“Huh.” He leaned back in his chair, watching you with a thoughtful expression. “Never thought about it like that.”

There was a pause as you both sat in comfortable silence, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze softened whenever he looked at you. It was as if he saw something in you that no one else did, something that even you didn’t fully understand.

As the days went by, your encounters with Katsuki became more frequent, and soon it became clear to both of you that there was something more between you. One evening, as you walked together down a quiet corridor after class, he suddenly stopped, his hand reaching out to gently grasp your wrist.

“Hey,” he said, his voice surprisingly soft. “I…I like you.”

You looked up at him, your heart pounding as you searched his eyes for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. Instead, you saw a raw honesty, a vulnerability that he rarely showed to anyone else.

“I like you too,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his hand moving to gently cup your cheek. “Then…can we…try this? Whatever this is?”

You nodded, your cheeks flushed as you smiled up at him. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And from that moment on, Bakugou Katsuki became a part of your world, his presence a constant source of warmth and strength. Though he was still his usual brash self around others, he was always gentle with you, always careful to keep you safe and happy.

As the weeks passed, the two of you became inseparable, your quiet strength balancing out his fiery temper. And though Katsuki wasn’t one for grand gestures or flowery words, he made it clear in his own way just how much he cared for you.

One evening, as you sat together under the stars, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, murmuring, “You’re mine, got it? No one else gets to see this side of me but you.”

You smiled, feeling your heart swell with happiness as you snuggled closer to him. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

[footygirl114]

Respaldar (Alexia Putellas X Reader)

Did anyone actually expect me to get the second part out so soon? I bet not, but here we are so enjoy. Part one can be found here

The first week of work was pretty low key for you. Alexia had gone from home to the training ground and back, it was an off week for games so it was relatively quiet. You had spent your first day wondering the training facility and learning the buildings. It was nice that the security was pretty decent and covered the areas you wanted already. 

The staff was very friendly and they left you to your own devices, which meant after you did a lap of the facility you found a spot higher up looking down on the field and you got to watch them train. As much as you tried to deny it to your self, it was hard to take your eyes off anyone that wasn’t Alexia. The more you watched her the more you could see why she was the captain and the best football player in the world, she was unreal. 

You had played football growing up but at 18 when you decided to join the army instead of school, you stopped playing. It didn’t mean you weren’t a fan but you didn’t have the time to follow it anymore, so this job was actually becoming a treat. 

The other benefit of this job was it gave you a lot more down time, you were able to use the facilities gym when the team was on the field. You took advantage of it and generally got a good workout in during their training session. Having perfected your routine you were able to get a work out in and zone out to the music blaring in your ears, which meant you quite often didn’t notice the others in gym. 

What you didn’t know was that they noticed you, it was the injured players that couldn’t train with the team, but they told the team all about the hot visitor that was in the gym. Within the week every player had known who you were and the brave ones were teasing Alexia about her hot babysitter. They made sure you weren’t around but when they walked out of the door talking about you and noticed you leaning on the SUV waiting for Alexia the conversation immediately dropped you knew something was up. 

“Hola Ms Putellas and teammates” You smiled a them, refusing to lift your sunglasses. It has been warm so you have taken to wearing button up shirts and dress pants, leaving the suit jacket in the car. 

You can see the blush on Alexia’s cheek and watch it deepen as her blonde haired tattooed teammate says “Oh hi gorgeous, you know Alexia is super boring, I will make sure to keep you more entertained.” 

As she finishes a tall dark haired teammate whacks her across the back of the head and says “Shut it Maria, and start the car.” 

The tattooed one is throughly chastised and moves to the car park with the tall dark haired one following with a smirk. You feel a small smirk lift the corner of your mouth as you watch Alexia walk towards you. You move to open the back door and when she stops at the door she says “the blonde one is Mapi Leon our centre back, and the tall one that put her in her place is her girlfriend Ingrid Engen, one of our Defence midfielders.” 

“thank you, I think?” you say to her, as you turn to her asking “you know there is no need to be embarrassed.” 

“I am not embarrassed Y/N.” she says and you see the blush creep on to her cheeks again as she moves to get in the back of the car. 

As you close the door you chuckle and move to get into the driver seat, you meet her eyes in the rearview mirror and say “The blush gives you away Mrs. Putellas.”

Before she has a chance to respond her phone rings and when she looks down with it, she says “I have to take this” and she answers and start talking in Catalan to someone on the other end. 

You smile to yourself and put the car in gear starting the drive home, you have to think about the upcoming event and the logistics that you need to handle in order to get her cute blush off your mind so that you can focus on the job and not her. 

**

The next two days you spend trying to focus on work only, and keep any conversations with Alexia to pleasantries only. When Saturday rolls around, the team has an early training and by lunch Alexia has a whole team in her apartment getting her dolled up for the event she has tonight. You had ran down to change and get yourself ready when Alexia was in the shower, and you had spent the last 3 hours sitting in Alexia’s kitchen with your laptop open, but also watching the people move around Alexia. 

It was fascinating to watch, you thought she looked the most gorgeous without all the makeup, but watching the crew doll her up was an experience and she looked gorgeous like this as well. When they disappeared into her room to get her into her dress, it was a formal fundraiser event where Alexia was in attendance to represent the woman’s game, you took the moment to collect yourself and remind your self how professional you need to be. 

When the team files out without Alexia, they all say their goodbyes and you walk them out leaving you alone in her front entry way. You check your phone and see a text from the driver saying he is out front ready, Turning you step back into her living room and say “Alexia, driver is here, we should be heading” before you can finish you meet her eyes from across the room and are speechless. 

You are sure you look like an idiot as you take in the way she looks in the deep blue dress fully dolled up, your eyes are running from head to toe. She moves closer and asks “Is it too much?” 

Without thinking about it you answer “No you are absolutely stunning.” 

“Thank you” she says with a blush and steps closer to you. “I have to say, the full suit is working for me Y/N” as she runs her eyes up and down your body. 

Immediately you can feel the blush move up your neck and you have to dig your nails into your palm to make yourself focus back on the job at hand and you say “we should go.” 

She nods and moves to grab her bags and slip on her shoes as she says “let’s go.” 

You both get down to the car without another word and you move to open the door, you offer her your hand to help herself get into the car and she takes it with a small smile. The sparks that run up your arm are hard to ignore but you get her into the car without incident and then move to get in the other side to sit beside her in the back seat. 

When you are about half way there, you turn to her and say “Ms Putellas, I need you to understand that if I say something about your safety here, you need to listen to me. My job is to make sure you are safe, and I need your cooperation to ensure that happens.” 

“Nothing is going to happen Y/N.” she says as she turns to you. 

“Humour me then, if something happens and I need to step in, let me and listen to me.” you tell her and you add a bit of pleading to your voice. 

She looks at you for a moment and says “okay, Y/N, but nothing will happen.” 

You smile and say “Thats the hope.” 

The car stops and you look out to see some cameras pointed at the car trying to see who’s getting out. “Damn, I didn’t think there would be this much photographers.” she says with an eye roll. 

“I can get you through them Ms. Putellas” you tell her. When she nods you say “put your hand on my back and follow me through the crowd okay?” 

“okay” she says in a small voice, before you can get out of the car, she reaches across and puts her hand on your forearm and with a small voice she says “I really dislike crowds.” 

You smile at her and move your hand to her cheek, your thumb rubbing circles as you say “I got you Alexia, just trust me.” 

She smiles and nods and says “okay, let’s go.” 

You move to get out of the car and you elbow your way through the crowd to get to her door, you open the door and make sure your body is blocking the view as you ask “you ready?” 

Nodding she says “I know you got me.” With a smile you turn and wait for her place her hand on your back. You start moving slowly and wait for her to balance behind you, she’s got a hand on your shoulder and one on your hip balancing her self. You have to dig your nails into your palm again to focus on the job and not how nice her hands feel through your suit jacket. 

When you look back and meet her eyes with a smile and she nods you start to move forward. As soon as she’s in the view you feel the hand on her hip drop as her name is shouted from every side, the one on your shoulder squeezes and you can see her free hand waving to the crowd. You use your training and push through the crowd and when you get about halfway there you can feel two more security guards from the venue push their way through and make you both a path through. 

When your free of the crowd she squeezes your shoulder and moves to stand beside you on her own, meeting your eyes for a moment with a soft smile you see her facade fall into place, and the soft moment from the car is forgotten. She moves into the venue and you follow behind, once she’s in the main banquet room you do a sweep of the room with your eyes and keep your attention on the exits noting security at every one. 

Smiling internally you know she should be okay here, and you wait till she’s seated before you move to the wall behind her table but a bit away and lean on it watching, but out of sight of most of the guests. Before the speeches start Alexia turns her head and looks around and when she meets your eyes you see the small nod and smile, and you can’t help but to wink at her with a smile. 

The rest of the night is uneventful, until it’s time to leave, you see Alexia move to get up and she meets your eyes and nods towards the bathroom. You nod back and watch her disappear through the door where there is a security guard in place. A few minutes later you have your eyes locked on that door waiting for her to come through them, when she doesn’t you trust your instincts and move to pass through them. 

When the security guard on the door moves to stop you, you flash him a glare and push past him. What you see in the hallway makes your blood boil. Alexia has her back flat against the wall with two men in her space with recording devices held up to her face, you notice their free hands holding her wrists on the wall. You take stock of how to handle this, you aren’t worried about your safety just hers. 

Moving closer to them, when you get within arms distance you say “hey you” and when the first turns to you you grab him by the shoulder immediately pushing the heel of your hand into his nose and he howls in pain and grabs his nose releasing his grip, once he’s bent over you raise your foot and kick him hard in between the legs where he falls and gasps. 

Unfortunately it took you a moment to deal with the first one, that the second noticed the commotion and turns once you stand and says “you bitch” and you see the punch coming and you have a second to brace yourself against it to lessen the blow. 

The force makes you step back and when he moves to you, you can see Alexia over his shoulder looking with wide eyes and you yell out “Alexia go back to the ballroom now” as you finish he tries to throw another punch and you immediately grab is arm and duck back using his own momentum to put him in an arm hold behind his back and you press him against the wall. 

You have your body weight pining him to wall as you hear footsteps behind you and 3 security guards coming towards you. Once you turn and see the guard who came out to help you with crowd control you nod and let him take control of the guy you attacked you. 

Stepping back you wipe you nose and lip and see the blood on your hand as the second guard grabs the guy whining on the floor and the third steps up to you and says “we called the police, they should be here soon, they were on standby for anything to happen her.” 

“thank you” you say. 

He chuckles and asks “need a job? I am impressed you could take out two guys double your size.” 

Smiling you nod saying “Most people underestimate me that way.” 

Before he can answer you, you feel someone move right up to you and press a clean towel on to your face and hold it to your bloody lip. You meet Alexia’s eye as she says quietly “they’re bringing you ice.” 

You nod and move to grab it but she shakes her head holding the towel to your face still and you tell her “I am okay. Are you okay?” 

“You saved me Y/N” she says with a small smile. 

Before you can say anything else you hear footsteps and look up to see the police coming towards you. Moving to grab the towel from her hand, you step past her and meet the officers. 

Almost an hour later, where you refused to let Alexia leave your line of sight you are both done with the police and they release you to go home. They had allowed you to clean up your face and you noticed how your eye was going to bruise, but you do not need any stitches which is a relief. Once you are both sat in the car on the way back, you take a moment to relax back in the seat and close your eyes. You can feel her watching you but you know this is not the time for this conversation. 

After a tense ride, you follow her into the lobby and move to go to your apartment, but she reaches out and squeezes your forearm and asks softly “I don’t want to be alone tonight, will you come up with me?” 

“Is there someone I can call for you Ms Putellas?” you ask trying to maintain the professional side. 

Shaking her head she says “You make me feel safe Y/N, I can sleep on the couch, I just don’t want to be alone.” 

Nodding you hold your arm out letting her go first to her elevator as you both wait for it you say “But only if I take the couch.” 

Chuckling she smiles and you both ride the elevator in silence. Once you get into her apartment you silently follow her as she kicks off her shoes and goes into the kitchen, where she grabs two glasses and a bottle of wine, she pours you both one and then hands it to you saying “I am going to change, I’ll be right back.” 

You nod and grab the glass, removing your blazer you roll your sleeves up and unbutton the top button. Other than that you stay standing in her kitchen, the whole scene running through your head wondering why the heck you didn’t protect her. You can feel the tears in the corners of your eyes and when she walks out in pjs you have to look up at the ceiling to control the tears. 

“oh Y/N” you hear and when she moves closer to you, you meet her eyes and cannot take the comfort you see reflected in them. 

You shake your head and say “no please Ms Putellas I can’t” as you move away from her and press your back against her cabinets. 

She steps closer and softly says “It’s okay Y/N, you do not need to pretend here.” 

Shaking your head again you look up at the ceiling as you say “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.” 

Feeling her step closer but not touch she says softly again “you did Y/N.” 

“It shouldn’t have come to that.” you say but you still haven’t looked at her. 

She steps closer and reaches up to put both hands on your cheeks, she softly pulls your face down to meet her eyes and says “you did Y/N, I am here un harmed because of you.” She then uses her thumb to run over the cut on your lip and she softly says “you put your self on the line for me, you could have been seriously hurt, so thank you for protecting me.” 

Looking into her eyes, you can see the comfort reflected and you want to lose your self in them, when she leans in to close the distance you can feel her breath on your lips. Before they meet you slowly push back and say “I can’t right now Alexia.”

She lets you pull away, but only far enough to meet your eyes as she says “its okay Y/N, tonight has been a lot. Since I saw you come to rescue me all I wanted was to wrap you in my arms to thank you.” 

You chuckle and pull her into you wrapping her up and you whisper into her ear “I will always protect you Alexia” and you press a kiss to her hair. You stand there thinking about how things could have ended differently, but you are glad the night ended with her in your arms. 

[fuutaprotectionsquad]

Am I the only one who doesn't think Shidou's gonna snap at Amane? Like ive seen so many people taking his "it's my job as an adult to teach you that throwing a temper tantrum isn’t going to make everything go your way" line as indication that he's going to hurt her in some way and like?? What, is he not allowed to be annoyed that she's literally threatening him? That doesn't mean he's gonna beat her up. He literally follows this by saying "If it’s a test of endurance you want, I’m happy to oblige." Aka "I'll continue as I have been." I don't think he's going to do anything to her. In fact, it'd be more in character if he let her kill him. Which, with the way he's making sure theres someone else to handle Mahiru + the kids if he's not there (Yuno / Kazui), it's totally possible he's preparing to die or be gravely injured by her.

I've seen a few people dismiss Amane's threats towards him because "if he can't defend himself against a child, thats on him" and I- Firstly, the victim blaming mentality on that one is baffling. Secondly, has Milgram taught you nothing about underestimating children?? And finally, Shidou still sees Amane as a kid, he's not gonna fight back. Do you know how hard a fight is when you're trying not to hurt the other person, who has a weapon and also will not hold back like you are? I'd imagine it's pretty difficult.

The Shidou hate has gotten so unreal its almost funny. Like the people saying he doesn't actually care about / value the opinions of children. As though he doesn't go out of his way to ask Muu how Haruka (a child) is doing because he's worried about him. As though he doesn't have two timeline conversations about how he believes children are hope for the future. As though he doesn't admit to being upset that Amane doesn't like him, and then proceed to get sentimental on her birthday. Not to mention that he says he specifically wants a child like Es to tell him he's guilty, instead of the law.

And people saying he doesn't care about Mahiru / is being forced to help her. Meanwhile he's literally risking his life to do so, and has no reason to listen to anyone telling him to if he didn't genuinely want to. Someone said something about his smoke break with Kazui showing that he didn't value Mahiru's health because he was... taking a break?? And that if she was in such dire health that he couldn't handle much else in the prison, he shouldn't be taking that break. Even though we've seen that Mahiru doesn't need to be monitored 24/7, and has Yuno to help even if she did. Because news flash, people need to take breaks in order to function? That's the point of the timeline, Kazui telling him to rest and not overwork himself.

I just. take psychic damage every time someone grabs a random Shidou line/action and twists it to make him seems like a selfish asshole. Like by all means, you can hate Shidou, I don't particularly care for him myself. But at least hate him for reasons that are actually canon to his character.

Its likely something will happen with Shidou in T3 that makes him seem more guilty. Thats just how Milgram is, he seems really innocent now so they'll sprinkle in a lil guilty to keep it balanced. But Milgram also doesn't switch up characters out of the blue, every new reveal is led up to. I'll be genuinely surprised and probably kinda annoyed if he ends up hurting Amane or Mahiru purposefully.

[daydreaming-in-letters]

Hiya! Have never made a fic request before, but here goesssss:

You and Andy met through mutual friends in Nashville during the summer of 2022 while he was recording some tracks for Unreal Unearth. You spent nearly three months in each other's beds before you abruptly "ghosted" him by moving to LA for your dream marketing job w/ Warner Music Group.

Now here you are, at an engagement party of your childhood best friend Stephanie to one of Andrew's childhood mates, sitting across the table from the man you never thought you'd have to see again - one who's staring at you like this:

🫣😬🫠

Wow, ehm, this was quite the specific request. I usually don't do these, as I find that my creativity works best with a bit of freedom. I somehow managed to come up with something, I don't know if it is any good though.

So please, for future requests, be a bit less specific. The idea was to just send a pic with a request for fluff or smut. It's absolutely fine to ask for a certain outfit, hairstyle, setting, trope, etc., but please don't get mad if I choose to ignore detailed requests like this in the future.

warnings: talk about past ghosting

 Gloomy eyes bore into you, staring you down from across the table with a resentment you had never seen in them before. Was he sulking? Or trying to read your mind? Or did he hope his gaze would turn into actual daggers and pierce right through you on the spot?

Whatever it was, it was working and even though you had given it your all to hold your ground these past hours, your walls firmly pulled up all evening, you could steadily feel the inner storm build that tugged on your nerves from both ends until they would eventually snap.

But beside all the grim looks he had shot your way, he had not said a single word. Not to you, anyway, and also not to many of the other guests. But as he leant in now, eyes narrowed, his elbows supporting his weight against the table, you knew that the dangerous clenching of his jaw could only mean that he was finally ready to fire his venom your way. 

You rose to your feet in an instant, the blatant noise as your chair scraped across the floor silencing every single conversation in the room. And even though all eyes were collectively resting on you now, it was that one familiar set of green orbs that forced the heat into your cheeks.

“I’ll just,” you stuttered, pointing across your shoulder to the nearest escape route into the garden. “I just need some fresh air. Be back in a sec.”

With one last apologetic look at your friend, you wasted no more time on half-hearted excuses and hurried your steps to get away from the table—from him—as far as possible. 

A cool breeze welcomed you as you stepped through the large glass doors, but you did not hold your steps until you had crossed the entirety of the terrace and your feet touched the pliable surface of the lawn. The silence was heavenly, allowing you to properly breathe for the first time tonight. 

Sadly it was disturbed by hurried steps all too soon. Probably Stephanie’s, who must have come to check on you after that suspicious stunt you had pulled mere moments ago. Good, you thought, you had a bone to pick with her anyway. How could she, after everything that had happened, invite that man without at least giving you a heads up?

“Is this your idea of a joke?” you blurted out, hoping she was already close enough to hear you. You did not care to turn, being far too angry to face her yet.

“Can’t really say it is, no.”

But the voice that answered you was not Stephanie’s at all. You spun around on instinct, wide eyes finding the outline of his familiar form against the lights that fell from the house behind him.

“Andrew.”

What a stupid thing to say. Of course it was him. However much you wished it was not. And his reply made it unmistakably clear that he did not care for your presence either.

“Why are you here?” “What do mean, why am I here?” you snapped. “I was invited, just like you, I presume.”

“You didn’t need to come,” he stated plainly, and the cold in his voice made you shiver.

“I might not have if I had known you’d be here.”

“That’s rich!” he spat. “Especially since you are the one who chose to leave.”

“I chose to, yes,” you defended yourself, taking a step towards him. Why, you did not know. Were you getting ready to throw hands with him? You would, if provoked. Or did you just succumb to the need to look into his eyes while you said what you had been needing to say for so long. “Because I wanted that job. You know how much it meant to me. But even more so,” you paused for a moment, reluctant to finally reveal the full truth. A truth you had never been able to tell before. The real reason why you had so cowardly deserted him almost two years ago. “I needed space.”

“Space?” his brows furrowed as he pondered the revelation. “So, you were running from me?”

“No, not from you.” How could he ever think you were running from him? And if that was not enough to make your heart heavy, the broken look in his eyes almost killed you. It tempted you to give in, to reach out and touch his cheek to ease the harsh creases in his forehead. But you could not. “I ran from whatever it was that you and me were. It…I couldn’t do it any longer.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

He sighed, the frustration in his tone was apparent now. “No, I don’t.”

“Because I wanted you,” you blurted out. “I wanted you so much.” And then your voice broke underneath the weight of your confession. "But not like that.”

“Like what?”

It was your turn to sigh now. Why did he have to make this extra hard for you? Why couldn’t he just understand?

“Andy, I wanted a life with you. Not some casual sex whenever I fit into your busy schedule.”

“That’s not fair. You knew who is was, what I do.”

He was right of course. You had known all of that from the start. And still you had clung to that frail thread of hope that this, you and him, would somehow be different.

“I did. But I didn’t know…” You could not bare to look at him. Not when your vision was already starting to blur. He would notice, and you could not allow that on top of everything else that was already turning this night into your personal living hell. And so you spun around.

“What? What did you not know?”

The sudden softness in his voice finally made your eyes spill over. Hot streams of tears ran down your cheeks freely now, and when he touched you, so tender, just like you remembered, there was nothing left inside of you to resist. As if your soul had left your body, you watched the scene unfold, watched him turn you back around, your heart almost leaping out of your chest when his formerly furious eyes softened instantly. It was time.

“I did not know how much I would…” you sniffled, “how much you would come to mean to me.”

There, you had said it, and it had not nearly hurt as much as you had anticipated. Actually, you were feeling a little better, lighter, somehow. But at the same time it was almost unbearably clear to you that your fate now hung in the balance of the deafening silence that loomed in the darkness all around you.

Time trickled by torturously slowly, but still no words had left his lips. You were almost beginning to wonder if he would ever speak to you again, if you should just walk away and leave it all behind. But things were different now than they had been two years ago, you were different, and so you stayed put. 

And then he moved. Carefully, as if he was afraid to scare you away, he reached out for you. His hand felt heavenly against the cool skin of your cheek and the gentle brush of his thumb as he wiped away your tears made your heart flutter. Yet it was nothing compared to his words.

“And you think you did not mean just as much to me?”

You could not speak, your tongue heavy as lead. And so you simply shook your head instead. You were still trying hard to process his words, so afraid your foggy brain might have misheard that you did not notice at first. It was only when you felt his breath crawling along your lips that you realised he was pulling you in. 

With the point of no return long passed, there was no going back now. Fisting the cool leather of his jacket, you closed the small gap that still remained and with the long lost taste of him fresh on your lips, you lost all control.

Lips moved in a fevered frenzy, tongues dancing, exploring, tasting what they had dearly missed all this time, glad to find that nothing had changed, even though everything was different now. 

You both broke away with a gasp, panting heavily as he rested his forehead against yours, your face still framed by his large hands.

“I’m sorry I fucked this up,” he pushed out between two harsh breaths.

“We both did.”

But you did not think it mattered anymore, all the pain and frustration and anger washed away as you buried your face in the soft cotton of his shirt and let his familiar scent calm your racing heart. You had no idea how long the two of you had stayed like this, his arms wrapped around you, tender lips pressing a kiss to your hair every now and then. All you knew was that you never wanted this to end. And there was only one question left to ask.

“Where do we go from here?” your words came muffled against his chest.

“How about back inside?” He must have felt you stir upon his words and so he was quick to add, “Just for a start. We can figure out the rest along the way.”

[wayfayrr]

Ok, so someone came up with this cute headcannon lol

https://www.tumblr.com/crazylittlejester/751872276831649792/ok-so-i-saw-your-headcannon-about-the-chain-and

And I thought, alright, so he just learned all these languages. Obviously English isn’t one of them, so does he even understand us? I be yelling at him for falling off a cliff, but does he understand?? Or is it like a dog where they don’t know r language but by tone of voice I’m obviously not happy w him. Or also maybe after time he picks up on certain words. Either way still reminds me of a dog lol.

So when I mentioned if I ever take a phone call in front of him, how will he react? Not to what I’m doing but my speaking? Will he also not understand that and just be absolutely confused, or if he understands will he be “on my side” in the conversation even tho he couldn’t hear the other side? Like him I’m talking w my best friend and we’re talking about something stupid but hilarious, would he think it’s funny too? Or if I’m annoyed at the person on the phone and I’m in the mood of “I really don’t wanna talk to u, can u shut up??” Would he be glaring and thinking “if I could get rid of this person for u I would.”?😂

🐰

(it's very funny seeing people have wild as a British accent because a friend once told me that my voice was their hc for wild and I in fact am British and get told I have a 'posh' voice lmfao)

I think that they understand english because hylian isn't the language the games are in yk? they're alive game characters so even if the lore declares that they speak other languages what's actually used for the players is what's seen - English and the other programmed languages are what's used

this is more prominent with botw/totk because there are actually voicelines in the game but for the others too our spoken language is what appears in the text boxes <3

if hyrule was a separate entity and not this shallow empty dead code void in the self aware au I think the multiple language thing would happen - but hyrule doesn't technically exist in the ones where the links get out of the game (different case where reader goes to hyrule ofc but even then hyrule isn't real real, think that lamp looks weird unreal yk?)

only link (and any other sentient characters) are real in this scenario, the second the console is off it's like they're thrown into the void (like pomni at the end of the pilot sdfsv)

I think he'd be insanely curious about what's being said on the other side tbh, he's on your side if there's an argument or anything emotional but other than that he really just wants to know how it works more than anything - it's pure curiosity on his end

[shiraishi-kanade]

One last thing today before I go to sleep: Resonant Town actually brings so much depth to Akito & An's relationship it's not even funny.

And I know a lot of the fandom is still stuck in the main story perception of them, but there's just... So much going on between those two now. Even outside of being similar in the way they're both insecure and feel outshined by their partners, even outside of Akito constantly being the voice of reason & the first (or only one) to notice An struggling, there's also just... An unreal level of understanding and trust, especially from Akito's side.

Obviously we have this conversation in the event itself:

Which is already sweet as is, but then it actually repeats in An's second side story, too.

An lies (badly) about being busy later when she actually goes to do solo practice, and while we're not shown the team's reaction, we can see Akito's - and he's absolutely not buying An's attempt at covering it up.

Like, that is a face of a guy who immediately knows what's up - partially because he's done it, he's been there, too.

And because be did, he also knows An needs her space and time to do what she feels is right for her in that moment. He's not stopping her, because he trusts that An knows what she's doing. But still, from a place of someone who's done the same and ended up pushing himself way too far, he still warns her:

I trust you. I trust that you know your own limits and that you're doing what is right for you to move forward, so I am not going to try to stop you. But don't be too hard on yourself and take care.

And An responds with: I know, and you don't need to sorry about it, but I'm thankful you do anyway.

Just. How cool is that?

[spencerxvampire]

⋆♱ Blood & Brains ♱⋆

Chapter 1 : Ghost Stories🕯️๋ ⭑𓍯𓂃

word count : 1.5k

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

Spencer was on his way home from yet another late night's work after a long case. He was tired but didn’t want to go to sleep and be all alone yet so he took his time walking home, lost in thought and that’s when he noticed the bookshop. Everything was closed at this hour but the lights were on and someone was inside. He walked closer, intrigued because he can’t say no to a good bookshop. A sign said: “Open Monday to Saturday 8am - 6pm + nights Tuesday to Thursday”. He stepped inside like in a whole other world, every wall lined with bookshelves from floor to ceiling.

Spencer had rarely seen so many different kinds of books in the same shop. Every genre you could think of was here. Old, new, rare, popular, in different languages , anything you could imagine.

He was drawn to the horror section, ghost stories were his favorite and surely he would find something special here.

“Need help finding something ?”

Spencer jumped, she was right there and he hadn’t heard her coming. Yet she was right there standing next to him somehow, striking ice blue eyes staring into his soul. He was speechless. Him, Dr Spencer Reid, speechless. 

She was a tall, slender woman probably about his age with long wavy silvery white hair and was wearing a dark red satin button up shirt, black high waisted pants, lots of rings on her fingers and dark lipstick. He had never seen someone so breathtakingly beautiful. 

“Sorry, did I scare you ? I didn’t mean to.” She said,

“Ehm that’s... That’s okay I was so focused on those I didn’t hear you coming.”

“Ghost stories huh ?” she said before picking up one of the books on the shelf without actually looking at it “Here check this one out.” she said, staring into his eyes again as if she knew it was exactly the book he wanted. 

“Thank you, this… does look like something I’d enjoy. I’m… I’m Spencer by the way.” he stuttered.

“I’m Camilla” she smiled and he noticed she didn’t try to shake his hand. He never shaked hands, he was a bit of a germaphobe and it felt like she knew for some reason.

“Is this your place ? I’ve never seen a bookshop open at night. That's pretty cool. I mean it's really convenient for people like me who a lot of the time work late or don’t have time during the day and still want the actual shopping experience and not to have to buy books online. You know I never buy anything online, I love to go to bookstores and look at everything, take the time to appreciate the beauty of the place and… Sorry, am I rambling ? I do that a lot…” he said looking down at the book in his hands. 

She laughed and it was the best sound he had ever heard.

“It is my place, you’re right I find it unfair that most shops close for the night. Like do they even think about vampires for example, are they not allowed to get a normal shopping experience ?” she joked.

He laughed and it was the best sound she had ever heard.

“I’m gonna take this one.” he said, holding up the book she had given him and they walked to the register. 

“Do you need a bag ?”

“No thanks I’m good I’ve got one.”

“There you go.” she smiled, giving him the book.

Their hands touched and the book dropped on the counter. She looked into his eyes again and he couldn’t look away.

“Shit, sorry I-.”

“That’s okay Spencer, come see me again soon, I’m sure I’ll have what you need.”

He couldn’t stop thinking about that girl. He was focused on his work but anytime he had a second to stop she was creeping back into his mind. He needed to go back and see Camilla again. They didn’t even have an actual conversation and yet there she was taking so much more space than she should in that genius brain of his. He told himself he was smarter than this, he couldn’t let some pretty girl he barely talked to take over his thoughts this way. But was she just some pretty girl or was she the most beautiful and unreal woman he had even seen ? 

Camilla was thinking about this guy again. The ghost stories guy. She had listened to his brain and it was a scary but wonderful place, he was one of the smartest people she had encountered in her lifetime she was sure of that. He was captivated by the horror section and yet she could tell he was seeing horrors every day. Crimes committed by humans. Why was this random human still on her mind ? She wanted to admire his pretty face again, she wanted to touch his hands again and see if it would feel the same way it had the first time. She wanted to drink from him. She hadn’t drank blood directly from a human in decades, most vampires in the cities these days would get animal blood from butchers because it got too easy to get caught or too hard to get rid of a body every time. She was fine with that, she had settled for this and hadn’t felt the need to bite a human in decades until this guy showed up. She didn’t want to kill him, he was too pretty, he was too smart, too interesting. Just a little drink wouldn’t kill him. 

She only worked nights, she had hired Lucy and Daniel to work during the day and she opened the shop 3 nights a week. Because she liked to work, she loved books more than anything. She wanted other vampires and people who can’t shop during the day to have the normal shopping experience. She would listen to their minds and recommend to them exactly the book they needed. She liked to use her “gift” that way. 

By the end of the week and Spencer had read the book. Twice. He loved it so much he wanted to go back to the bookshop and thank Camilla for choosing it for him. He felt a little silly for wanting to do that but he was so drawn to her and this place. She had to know how much he enjoyed it, how much of a good job she did. So that night after work he went back.

She was busy shelving some new books, even more beautiful than he remembered. She caught him staring. 

“Hey stranger.” she smiled.

“Hey I ehm… I’m just gonna look around while you’re busy.” he managed to say and she watched him walk away.

“Wait, why are your vampire books in the non-fiction section ?” asked Spencer 

“Oh ehm that’s just a joke between my employees and me because we open at night you know.” She lied.

“Oh right” he laughed. “Maybe I should get one of those this time then what do you think ? I wanted to thank you by the way for picking that book for me the other day. I really loved it.”

“I knew you would.” 

Her eyes again. There was something so unreal about them and he couldn’t look away. 

“How did you know ?”

“I guess I’m just really observant and good at guessing what people like..."

“Oh so if we think about it your job is kind of like mine, I’m a profiler for the FBI.”

And just like that started a long conversation about which people would like which books, until 1am when Spencer noticed how late it was and left her promising he would come back. Which he did. Once a week Spencer would go to the bookshop and they would sit and talk about books and anything he felt like rambling about that day. She would listen to his infodumping no matter what it was about. He was so interested in everything and just knew so much, she loved to listen, to admire him and let him go on and on because she also knew no one was ever actually listening to him unless it was for work. 

He didn’t know why she was always letting him ramble but he was so thankful for it, he felt heard and seen which is something he wasn’t used to. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how bewitching she was, she occupied more and more space in his mind which he wasn’t used to either. 

Every week Camilla waited for Spencer impatiently, he brought her joy, he was so much more interesting than any human she’d ever met, he fascinated her and she couldn’t get enough. Sometimes she’d catch herself staring at the veins on his neck or his hands. She wanted to touch him but never did because she knew he wasn’t a very touchy guy and had this thing about germs. “It’s technically safer to kiss” he would say. Which she also wanted to do but her fangs would probably come out and she didn’t want to scare away the most interesting person she had met in years and who brought her so much joy.

He was a genius and worked for the FBI. He would never believe she was an actual vampire would he ? Could she risk trying anything ? Could she risk turning his whole world upside down by maybe revealing what she was ?

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

[a-couple-of-notes]

So the interview with Jac Schaeffer on Episode 5 dropped, and honestly, even though I've still got some reservations on the episode itself, it definitely helped clarify some things. Spoilers for what she says under the cut.

The trial was real, and it was really Agatha's. I think this is the right choice; it would have felt cheap to make it all a vision. I still don't quite know why the aspect ratio didn't change--perhaps Schaeffer's still hiding something? Or maybe it was different because Agatha herself is different, separate from the main four elements?

Alice is really dead (but that's "not the end of the conversation"). This sucks, but it makes sense. Per the interview and the new midseason trailer, they are shifting the tone the way I thought they might, and Alice was the sacrifice for that. Sorry, Alice. I suspect you'll come back when they want to explore how Rio's grim reaper stuff works, and maybe at the end of the road.

They passed the trial because they fulfilled the stated goal of the trial: to punish Agatha. I don't think this was the Road's most helpful goal to get Agatha over her trauma, but I am interested in what Schaeffer says about what the punishment was: "she’s put in a situation where she kills one of her own coven members and then has to look in the faces of the rest of her coven." (emphasis mine). Agatha as a character runs from consequences; she misdirects, performs, pretends. And although the murder of her original coven was accidental and traumatic and born of abuse, Agatha does have to face that she's since hurt and killed lots of people, not all of them bad. She has to feel the weight of it now. That's an important step in the audience and Agatha herself discovering who she really is underneath it all.

Schaeffer confirms a lot of the stuff I've been thinking about: the pacing was at least partially meant to enhance the action and emotion of the characters. They're swinging into a different tone, which is why Alice has got to go. They wanted to juxtapose the coven's ability to bond (scar comparisons) with their instincts to be selfish and stab each other in the back.

On some level, there are always going to be things creators cut and then wish they didn't, interpretations that surface that the writers' room didn't account for. Schaeffer explains that they cut exposition for emotion, and that the audience for this show is really intelligent, but "I think this viewership doesn’t actually want to get into a clear rhythm."

Which, I did want a rhythm, thanks so much, but I get it. I think this episode maybe edited itself into a corner, where they're relying on the audience to do the kind of work that I'm doing right now instead of expositing clearly in-episode; and the episode was meant to break the formula, but the pace was already so blistering from the exposition cuts that it wasn't clear how much of the formula they meant to break. And without the clarity of the entire series, it felt so weird it became almost unreal.

[conceptofjoy]

How is Aranea wrong abt this? It was a loooong when i last read the openbound

misinformation is handled so interesting in hs, the main three perpetrators that i can think of r doc scratch, aranea, and callie. scratch is actively malicious w his misinfo, using deception and his unreal debate bro strats to dance around outright lying.

... i was going to screenshot some of his text but its like actually impossible.

in order he says:

Jokes are only temporary lies. If the falsehood is never exposed, there is no punchline. If the punchline is never delivered, the lie is sealed forever, regardless of initial humorous intent. Lies are not funny.

My joke was objectively funny. Who would know better than I?

Basically.

No, that would be something closer to a prank. I don't play pranks very often.

I am allowed to do whatever I want. I choose never to lie. I also choose to tell jokes now and then, and to play pranks quite sparingly. But I can say that I have never played a prank on you, and no statement I have made to you thus far, or will make in this conversation, will contain any trace of falsehood for the sake of setting up a joke or a prank, with the exception of the joke I just made, and another one I will make very soon.

he plays fast n loose w his speech to get his way, using the audience's automatic trust in a narrator to get away with saying things that feel like are obvious.

like the lecture he gave damara, it was entirely self serving. damara didn't need to hear it, he was talking to US. every bit of twisted information about alternia's "history" was essentially propaganda to insert the world view of LE into our perception of the story. his speech is even ended by him getting jumped by hussie as if it wasn't something he wanted in the first place.

both aranea and callie's information comes from this tainted backlog of history. it's almost comical how aranea wears the signless' symbol despite not being a follower. its not a symbol of the signless to him, but what he wants to strive for regarding ancestors and heroism. despite being genetically the same as mindfang, he looks up to her like saaaaay. dirk does his bro. while dirk realizes its not possible for him (though by thinking that its his fault, and not that its not an attainable nor healthy ideal), aranea goes off the deep end and learns this the HARD way.

he has rose tinted glasses about the happenings on alternia, and the values reflect his view on his friends and their relationships towards one another. he doesn't inspect power structures and how they would manifest, only reading them surface level. his exposition is just like what scratch was doing in the aforementioned speech, but HE'S the sucker here. he believes it.

callie is representative of the fanbase obvs. there's quite a bit of above, being duped by the clown tome right. but she adds something else to her readings. she analyzes general alternia and sburb happenings based off of that misinfo, which um. has some consequences. despite having a viewport into the lives of the humans, her view is tinted by expectations of how they'd act or what she thinks she knows. its rlly funny how so many of what callie said got wedged into fan theories despite being a commentary on said fan theories.

so the lesson is, DO NOT TRUST MOTHER FUCKERS ON THE INTERNET WITH INFORMATION. EVEN ME. GO READ HOMESTUCK AND

[jadeittic]

HS + Y/I: 2022 (SERIES)

EXTRA (8) -- mb i keep procrastinating i swear its not my fault (it is) LMAO

PREVIOUS. NEXT.

HARRY STYLES + PLATONIC!EX-1D MEMBER!FEM!READER

WARNINGS: will be changing face claims for every post ! hope it won't be a bother.

yourinstagram

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yourinstagram perth, get ready.

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username THE AMOUNT OF HARRY CONTENT IS MAKING ME 😫

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harrystyles We praise the people who get drunk the night before anything.

yourinstagram i'm literally going to die from alcohol poisoning because of you

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ynrry YNRRY spotted walking around tourist shops in Perth, Australia just this afternoon. Are we all ready for the show tomorrow night?

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username PARENTS /p

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yourinstagram rehearsaaaaals

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ynrry first look at ynrry onstage at perth!

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username SUE AND HIS BESTFRIEND AT PERRRTTTTHHHH

--

"Okay, so tonight's dinner will be pizza, as I was informed. "Where are you?" Not knowing what she should be looking for other than a pizza box as she makes her way down the catwalk, YN says, "Is there a pizza box I should be looking for, really? — A sudden cheer could be heard from the other side of the stage, where Harry appeared to be pointing down to someone in the audience. Harry said, "C'mere, I think I found her. I'll even check my imaginary watch on my wrist to see how long it'll take her to get here," he said, motioning for YN to come over to his side.

"I actually believed a turtle was with me on stage," Harry jokes with a smirk on his lips, "YN finally made it over, much slower than anyone, actually." By this time, the two are arguing once more and have forgotten that they were looking for the pizza a fan had promised YN she would get at tonight's show.

"Well, I wouldn't really like the opportunity to slip and fall down as I'm running to you, no? - I'm simply being safe, unlike you." YN says with a cheeky grin plastered onto her face, to which Harry replies with a playful, offended look as he dramatically starts crying and places his hands over his eyes to stop his "tears" from falling out.

YN decides to move on, away from the conversation, and approaches the fan, who is holding a pizza box in the air. "Are you the one who promised me dinner?" The fan's head nodding told her everything she needed to know, even though she couldn't really hear what she was saying due to the audience and the earpiece placed in her ears. She then reaches over to the fan, carefully grabbing the box from the fan's hands without falling. As YN holds the box, her excitement quickly builds as she remembers how hungry she was before the show.

"Better hope it's your favorite pizza. If not, the pizza will be mine before you know it!" Harry approaches YN with a sneaky grin on his face. By turning away from the audience to hide the pizza they would be eating on stage, YN and Harry created needless suspense. — The boy standing next to YN laughs as she says, "Don't let me down, please," into her microphone.

It was YN's preferred pizza, which surprised her. As she crouches next to the fan, YN exclaims, "You are now my favorite person ever, I love you so much." — "You certainly made her happy, I suppose. Sincerely, I believed she would eventually cut off my head." Harry says as he squats down next to YN and receives snarling looks in return.

"Harry, I hate you so much." She pushes him in a playful manner until he falls to his back, at which point she turns to face the fan while grinning widely. — "You have my undying love. I adore you. Because of you, dinner is served!"

"Speaking of Adore You," Harry teases into his microphone as he motions for YN to stand, the upbeat instrumental playing through the speakers.

YN was spotted eating pizza while seated close to her and Harry's band.

--

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celebnews "Y'wanna do it with me?" -- "Pass. I don't want to barf out the pizza I just ate. And besides, you're not even drinking it with beer!" -- "Well, this is a family show, is it not?" YN LN and Harry Styles on doing a shoey at their concert at Perth.

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harrystyles Love On Tour. Perth. February. 2023.

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[darkpoisonouslove]

HotD S02E04

I watched this at 6 in the morning and I have to say that I'm glad I took the risk of ruining my entire day because I loved this episode. It flew by so fast and had me chanting the dragons' names several times. That is not to say that some things weren't questionable or just plain irritating despite actually making sense so lets review:

Daemon was tripping so. hard. These hallucinations are fucking him up real bad and I love it. He's sososososo pathetic. The fucking nerve to just go "Hey, won't you kill your grandfather? It would really help me out." Have fun losing your mind, asshole!

So Alyn and his brother are Corlys' bastards. Corlys gets so little screen time, especially in this second season, and he's still so hateable. At least Otto is funny and a great politician. What does Corlys have? A stubborn refusal to acknowledge his granddaughters despite his wife being denied her inheritance? Anyway, he should have been the one to die instead of Rhaenys.

Alicent, bestie, what the fuck? Not her going around and trying to assuage her guilt by still clinging to the delusion that Viserys might have wanted Aegon to be king. What even is this behavior at this point? Her grandson's death should have confirmed what Otto told her so many years ago - that Rhaenyra pursuing her claim to the throne would kill her children in one way or another. We should be past this by now, my god!

The disrespect to Baela is so unreal. I love that she snapped back. "We StIlL kNoW vErY lItTlE" And without Baela you'd know fucking nothing! The fact that even Rhaenys has to deal with this bullshit and Corlys had to come in after her for everyone to remember their place is just an insult.

Criston haters must be so mad at how he's succeeding despite everyone thinking the odds are against him.

Larys not giving a fuck about Harrenhal is so funny. If he thinks it's useless to them outside of the possibility of it driving Daemon mad, then you know it really is. (I am curious about Larys' feelings on Alys, however.) And the way he bragged about controlling all the finances of Harrenhal. He really drained it and the whole situation back in 1x06 to the fullest, got everything he could and then left the castle and everyone in it to rot.

Aegon at that Small Council meeting, the poor soul! No one gives a shit about him, only enough so to steer him away from messing up their plans. And his brother bullying him back (deservedly so tbh) but I have big question marks about that part. Why would Aegon not know how to speak High Valyrian? This doesn't make sense considering how they later show him being so close and affectionate with Sunfyre. High Valyrian is the only way to control the dragons. Unless Aegon and Sunfyre's bond is so strong that he doesn't even need words to direct his dragon, which is actually such a great implication that I could relinquish my anger about this choice otherwise. For the umpteenth time the writers make choices to make Aegon look bad but the implications just decimate the effect.

Alicent has certainly grown less bothered by Larys or at least learned to hide it better. To be fair it seemed like he'd lost interest in her lately but at the same time, she has been evading him pretty successfully for the last few episodes. Not to the point where he doesn't know everything that's been going on with her but at least enough so that she hasn't had to deal with him. And this conversation was more a veiled communication of the truths they've uncovered rather than her depending on him. I am enthralled with how their dynamic evolves and hope we see a lot more from it. He did run to her first chance he had, though I find it interesting that this conversation is only happening now with Criston out of the way. Alicent's relationship with him is certainly reflecting on the dynamic she has with Larys, much to his chagrin, I'm sure. His behavior towards Alicent is fascinating. He was certainly attacking her, digging into every weakness he noticed, and yet, he validated her "indulgence" and seemed pleased with the conclusions she's reached. It's so obvious he wants to wrest her from her faith and conscience because he identifies with the woman he believes she would be without them. And for the purpose of accomplishing that he's not moving in to decimate her relationship with Criston (tbh they're doing that well enough on their own). He said "It's important that she has sex. Doesn't have to be with me. It just needs to happen to draw her away from clinging to her morals." His obsession with her is so insane and deeply twisted. I can only watch mesmerized. Next they should make him run around trying to fix Alicole, make sure that they're having all the sex. That would be the funniest direction to take this love triangle.

I love how Alys is just toying with Daemon like he's her food. Harrenhal is really not agreeing with him. He is haunted as fuck and it's so funny. Him seeing himself as Aemond especially was 10/10. The implications! Aemond is a kinslayer, who's hurt Rhaenyra the most by taking her child away and the fact that Daemon sees himself as a reflection of that says so much!

Aegon is also having the worst time. The fact that Alicent instantly assumed he's destroyed the books says how much faith she has in his ability to actually consider the consequences of his actions. Unfortunately, I can't defend him because he instantly proved her right about that. However, I believe we're seeing the alternate version of that scene where Alicent found him crying and left play out. This is what would have happened if she'd tried to comfort him back then. She's been angry with him her whole life and it's really been brought to the forefront now when his rash actions have hurt them and she has to face the guilt over her own actions. She's not capable of comforting when she's so angry but while in 2x02 she was looking to avoid hurting him, here she just doesn't care after the realizations of last episode. She's viewing Aegon and his impulsiveness as obstacles (and his temper and recklessness certainly are) but she doesn't care about approaching with care to cultivate the behavior she wants. And I doubt that would work regardless when Aegon has his whole life as proof that whatever he does will never be enough for her but he can't understand the why. He just wants her to love him and he doesn't have all the context of how he - most of all her children - is the embodiment of her pain and suffering. They really are a tragedy and it's heartbreaking. Though, this scene wasn't as bad as I feared. It makes sense for Alicent to act this way despite how frustrating her refusal to deal with her own feelings is. Not to mention the fact that she brought up her own reign with pride and self-confidence. That was more than I could have hoped for!

Jace being so angry with Rhaenyra is the first interesting thing he's ever done but, of course, they refuse to linger more on these feelings and instead give us a bonding moment where Rhaenyra passes down her father's legacy on to Jace. They could have focused a little more on why she waited so long and why he was so angry but I guess we can't have even a little trouble in paradise. I mean, for someone who wasn't sure she believed the prophecy, she sure made it out to be her whole reason to fight for her claim. It's almost like she's in denial about the fact that she's not doing this out of noble intent but because she wants the crown and the vindication of being queen when so many are against it (which doesn't at all mesh with the sense and wisdom they've tried to imbue her with). Her and Alicent are such mirrors when it comes to that.

Rhaenyra wanting to go into battle herself is legit on the same level of bullshit that Aegon is pulling, regardless of motivations. It's almost like she was hoping to get killed so she won't have to bear the consequences of engaging in this war. Again, I know what they intended for this scene to accomplish but it doesn't really do her any favors. If anything, she should have sent more than one dragon to ensure victory. You know Aemond has Vhagar and you're willing to walk into that alone and later send someone else alone? Girl, be serious! It's just bad strategy.

Sunfyre being so playful with Aegon is the cutest thing we've seen on this show. He's like a big puppy. I was, however, literally yelling at Aegon to stop drinking and he did... only to go driving while fucking wasted. What was he thinking? (I know what he was thinking but, god, he's never beating those reckless fool allegations.)

Aegon being grounded both figuratively and literally so fast was just painful to watch. The way that Sunfyre was screaming in pain hurt me personally and Aegon's attitude changed from "I'll show them all. Fuck Aemond in particular!" to "Thank the Seven, my bro is here to bail my ass out of trouble" to "Fuck, I'm cooked!" so swiftly that you know he was regretting probably all of his life choices. He really doesn't use High Valyrian to communicate with Sunfyre, though. The only word in High Valyrian he used was "dracarys". His part in the battle wasn't long but I sure am living for these implications like I said above.

I do hate what they've done with Aemond. If he'd joined sooner, Aegon probably wouldn't have gotten so badly injured. He certainly had it coming but that makes it practically three times Aemond was looking to have him killed in the span of about as many minutes. But the last scene in the woods with his sword drawn? Wow, okay! They decided to really go in full force on that kinslayer title and I just don't think it makes sense. Not after the way Aemond felt guilty even for killing Luke. Aegon bullying him for a minute surely wouldn't have set him off that badly if he felt regret over killing the boy that slashed out his eye. They're just trying to make you hate Aegon by making everyone around him hate him.

Criston scrambling to do PR and fix their image was so funny, though. You know his inner monologue is just "Shit shit fuck shit" but externally he's giving a motivational speech. XD This is what I wanted to see from him being Hand - having to deal with Aegon's whims. While I'd say he failed there, it wasn't like he could do anything once Aegon was on his dragon, and otherwise his plan was pretty good so... Criston keeps winning, I guess.

I love the way that it was shown how Rhaenys is more experienced than both Aegon and Aemond. Vhagar also took some damage in that fight that would have been more fatal if she just wasn't a whole, entire mountain. But at the same time, it wasn't just Vhagar's size that won this for Aemond (though that certainly did most of the heavy lifting). This man rides the largest dragon in the world and he managed to hide it in the midst of battle and ambush his opponent. That certainly took a little strategical thought if nothing else. And then Vhagar's size did all the rest. The boys certainly are not experts in dragon battle and it will be interesting to see them proceed from here on out, see if they've learned anything from this or not. I'm sad to see Rhaenys go so soon. She should have gone back to Dragonstone when she could. Rhaenyra certainly took a big loss with that.

The way I just knew Criston would get knocked out. I was yelling at him to watch where he's going... and he didn't. He survived AND won the battle but at what cost? The way that soldier crumbled to dust under his touch was bloodcurdling. And Criston's prominent worry for Aegon might be the first time it occurred to him that this war could take away the people he loves.

P.S. Why was Aegon wearing his crown on top of his helm? Unless that's another crown that's specifically designed to go with the armor, it shouldn't fit him both with and without the helm.

[darkangel1791]

Random Thoughts on The Falcon and The Winter Soldier:

I am aware that every line in every scene is there for dramatic and/or comedic purposes. So there's no need to point that out. It isn't that I didn't get the point or the joke. This is also nothing against Amy Aquino, who plays Dr. Raynor. This is just an opinion piece based on the reality that the show wants us to accept.

Trigger warnings for mental health and mental health treatment, and power dynamics.

From an actual standpoint of mental health and therapy, in 2024, Dr. Raynor is a terrible therapist.

So many reasons! Let's start with when she said to Bucky "The government wants to make sure you aren't gonna (mimes stabbing people)". A therapist, of all people, would always use their words! Always! Bucky communicates verbally, so the therapist must also. If she was afraid to say it to Bucky then she shouldn't have brought it up. Also, if she hasn't caught on yet that Bucky's major problem is that he was a killer and that haunts him, Bucky should have a different therapist. So she shouldn't have approached such a sensitive topic in such a flippant way. That would just make him shut down.

I think this plan about making a list and making amends with the 3 rules was something she put in place as part of his treatment plan. Doesn't seem like the sort of thing Bucky would come up with on his own, and I doubt that the government would condone him making contact with former Hydra members or families of his victims unless it was part of a sanctioned treatment plan, at least. That shows that as a therapist, she is results driven. If a results driven therapist asks if you're having nightmares, they will next want to know what you are doing to alleviate the problem. So Bucky most likely says no because he knows she doesn't actually care about the nightmares. They have probably already had that conversation once. When Sam asks the same question, Bucky says "All the time," without hesitation. Also, if she was any kind of a therapist, she would have asked enough questions to know that Bucky isn't having nightmares, he is having flashbacks, which is a different mental process.

"Give me your phone." No, absolutely not! That tramples on so many privacy boundaries, it is unreal! It is also a misuse of power, and the power dynamic, because what if he says no? She has the power to tell the government that he is a dangerous psychopath and get him locked away forever.

But, after invading his privacy in this way, she uses the information she gets to criticize and mock him? No. That is doubling down on the abuse of the power dynamic.

"What do you want now?"

"Peace."

"THAT IS UTTER BULLSHIT!"

Ummmmm, no. If a client is lying to the therapist, or to themselves, you deal with it in a completely different way. Yelling is never okay. Telling a person with mental health problems that you don't believe what they are saying, calling them a liar, is not treatment. She gives no context for why she thinks that is a lie, or why she thinks Bucky would lie to her. Or why she thinks that he would lie about that subject.

Finally, the notebook thing is absolutely passive aggressive. "You don't talk, I write." That is psychological manipulation. I can only imagine that whatever she writes is used in the weekly report she sends to the government. What if she writes that he is being uncooperative? The parole is revoked, he gets locked up. So she is putting him in a situation where he is forced to say something. But not about his true problems, nor will it be truthful information. We see that he lies to her when describing what he did to cross the most recent name off of the list. Which, of course he does! Along with that, step 3, being forced to identify yourself as the Winter Soldier and by name as who you are now, is incredibly dangerous and puts him in a very vulnerable position. That entire thing is completely out of whack with good, safe, mental health treatment.

I'm sure I have left things out, but this is long enough already. I'll do another post on the second session that we see.

Again ymmv, your mileage may vary. Meaning that these opinions are mine alone. They do not invalidate yours, or anyone else's who has written or spoken on the subject. No offense is meant. Your view of the subject is valid and I am not trying to negate that view by expressing my own.

In closing, when you first enter the office of a therapist, take pictures of, or write down, the information on the credentials they have displayed. If there are no credentials displayed, ask why and what their credentials are. If your therapist ever makes you feel threatened or ridiculed, don't go back! Ever! And report them to whatever organization their displayed licenses are from.

Dr. Raynor was a terrible therapist pt. 2