#and taylor from the PORT shoot

[alexsleftbicep]

Nick and Tay as psycho hitmen who fall in love with each other when they get assigned the same guy to go after PLEASE

[chuuyrr]

AND I HOPE I NEVER LOSE YOU — DAZAI OSAMU & NAKAHARA CHUUYA

౨ৎ CW(s): f! gojo! reader, spoilers for bungo stray dogs season 5 and jujutsu kaisen shinjuku showdown arc

౨ৎ SYNOPSIS: in which they almost lose you as you fight against the special grade curse, ryomen sukuna

inspired by: anon's angst request + my urge to write justice (somewhat) for canon! gojo satoru in jjk + taylor swift's cornelia street live in paris !

the fight was going smoothly, he thinks as he observes from a distance with the armed detective agency.

he had never been this terrified before, especially since the curse had used his malevolent shrine earlier. he couldn't handle the sight of a thousand cuts and your own blood on your skin as a result of your opponent's ability.

you failed to destroy mahoraga with a single shot with your limitless: reversal red. you were now suffering from severe nosebleeds and dizziness as a result of having to use your domain expansion against the sukuna, and the three versus one play against you was beginning to wear on you.

you were able to take care of it by reversing your limitless ability, your innate infinity, allowing you to continue battling, but unfortunately, mahoraga was summoned right in front of their eyes, and the tide had changed.

most importantly, the untouchable was now touchable.

and then those tides came crashing down the sukuna utter, "i will never forget you, gojo [name],"

DAZAI OSAMU was generally calm. he was capable of studying and predicting any circumstance, in fact he had always had everything under control, but even with his trust in you, a part of him couldn't help but feel terrified.

he was practically chewing on his nail with the skin on the sides picked on from nervousness.

at first, dazai couldn't believe it as the ringing in his ears drowned out the cries of his colleagues, the armed detective agency, for you.

he stood there, stunned, forced immobile by the macabre image of you being practically ripped in half in the most terrible way possible by sukuna, but then he was overcome with a rage he had never felt before.

the former port mafia executive's bloodlust was felt by the armed detective agency, but they were overtaken by the same great emotion of wrath. you weren't a member, but you were now a part of them, and you were also dazai's one and only.

there was a knock at the door as you stood in the brightly illuminated classroom, surrounded by your colleagues, such as nanami and haibara, and even your missing partner, suguru. you took a breather from the discussion and smiled.

your yaga-sensei was already shaking his head, but with a smile, "looks like you've got to go."

you wave them all goodbye and turn to face the door, elbowing suguru when he teases you, but the door slid open.

and when you heard his voice, dazai's voice, you felt more alive than you had in a long time.

your eyes shoot open with a sudden gasp, and the first thing you notice is dazai's tearful brown eyes staring down at you. you'd never seen him so vulnerable or full with emotion before.

you were still a little dizzy, but his touch was enough to ground you.

the way you were just now reminded him too much of oda before he died in his arms. dazai cups your face in his hands and continues to cry. he was literally shaking as he held you tightly for dear life.

"osamu..?" you muster out softly, glancing about at the damage you wreaked before with the sukuna, but he couldn't care less right now.

all that mattered to him right now was that you were alive and breathing again.

"w-wait, sukuna. where the hell is he?" you grunt, sitting up to prop yourself up.

you were ready to get back on your feet now that you've regained consciousness and gotten your body back in shape despite your ripped clothes, but dazai stops you.

his pair of strong arms tighten around your torso, causing you to lose your balance and collapse on top of him.

"osamu—" your eyes open for a brief moment at his movements, but you soon return to silence as he cuts you off.

dazai presses his lips into yours, silencing you as he kisses you hard. your hands reach towards his shoulders and grab them. you close your eyes as the only thing that mattered right now was the feeling of his soft lips against yours.

a wordless groan escapes from him as he sought to hush any more words that dare to escape your lips with his own.

"don't ever leave me again!" dazai exhales as he breaks away from the kiss, resting his forehead against yours and stroking your cheek.

you can't help but cry as the realization of nearly dying settles deep into your skin. however you didn't need to know anything more because you already knew it was yosano's doing given your knowledge of her ability

you rest your head against his chest, sighing deeply, "i'm so sorry, osamu. it's okay, i'm here now. okay?"

dazai becomes quiet, burying his face in your hair, kissing the top of your head, and inhaling your scent as he continues to cling to you, frightened to let go, believing you would vanish the moment he does.

he was just so glad and relieved to be able to feel your warmth on his own flesh again, and see you breathing with such life, that he couldn't help but pepper urgent kisses on your face as he cups your face in his hands, as if he wouldn't be able to shower you with his love again ever again.

"i love you," he whispers as he stares longingly into your eyes, "please don't ever scare me like that again, sweetheart."

"you won't lose me again," you reply with a smile tugging your lips before kissing his own lips again as you pull yourself closer to him, wanting to feel his warmth and embrace all over again.

NAKAHARA CHUUYA's heart was pounding so hard that he couldn't breathe. his chest clenched to the point where he couldn't move when he witnessed sukuna's ability work against you, cutting through you as if you losing arm wasn't awful enough.

it was a horrible, horrible feeling.

perhaps it was worse than having to resort to corruption, especially when that goddamn curse says he will never forget you.

you lay there on the ground, staring up at the sky, slowly losing your breath, and for a brief moment, you could hear ringing in your ears—a white noise, as if telling you that it was all over.

in any case, you couldn't feel the pain anymore, and it was beginning to seem like heaven for some strange reason, and the way the sky looked reminded you of chuuya's gray-blue eyes, which made you chuckle.

when your eyes become heavy, you close them, and the voices in the background become muffled. you find yourself in a familiar setting. there was your old partner, suguru, as well as colleagues like nanami and haibara.

despite the injury to you and the blood you were gushing, you already had your eyes closed and a smile on your face, and it left chuuya in ruins.

the port mafia executive runs screaming towards your body as soon as it touches the concrete. his hands trembled as he drew you to him.

"no, no, no!" he screams urgently for your name as yosano, a doctor from the armed detective agency, rushes into action, briefly abandoning the others and the fight they were having against your opponent to administer to you.

yosano screams for her ability, activating it and a swarm of butterflies flutters about you. chuuya was sobbing now, and he didn't care. he doesn't care if a member of the detective agency or anyone else sees him in this state.

"fuck, come back to me! [name]! damn it, come back to me, will you?!" chuuya desperately cries for you, shaking you violently, as the ability of the doctor courses through you.

"please, please. don't you fucking die on me like this, sweetheart," chuuya's voice crumbles even more as he cradles your body against his.

you can't help but feel so at peace. everyone else was discussing the upcoming assignment, but you were joking with your companion, who was once again arguing with you.

it not like you two ever had the same ideology in the first place, but it had always been like way for you and suguru.

right now, you were surrounded by the people you cared about, including riko, the girl you swore to protect when she was given to you for a mission. she, too, was cheerful and content with her own family, her carer, kuroi.

everything was in place, except for one thing. as though there was a void in your chest. suguru notices when you stop talking and sighs.

"you know, you should go, [name]," suguru says with a shake of his head.

"and where do you suppose i go?" you grumble and roll your eyes, folding your arms.

a sad expression crosses his face for a short while since he knows you can't be with them yet, which causes you to raise your brow.

but then suguru suddenly laughs and shoves you off your chair, causing you to tumble, "oh, you know where. now get out of here, idiot!"

and that's when you heard him right then and there. chuuya.

your chuuya is reaching out to you.

chuuya was already fatigued, bloodied, and in pain, yet the feeling of only using corruption against that damned curse couldn't compare to you. not after what sukuna has done to you.

he was still out of breath as he opened his mouth, unable to formulate any proper words. chuuya peers down at your motionless form, his chest aching.

the feeling was so overwhelming to him that red marks began to appear on his skin again, his own body unconsciously activating corruption.

"oh grantors of dark disgrace," the sentences were already running from his lips in yearning to be with you, but his heart skips a beat for a split second just as he was about to continue it.

"chuuya, stop," it was your voice.

the red markings on his skin fade the moment he hears it, somehow finding the strength to stop it on his own. he raises his face in great disbelief. yosano's ability had pushed through.

"[name]? [name]!" chuuya exclaims as he sees you standing with yosano supporting your back and dazai holding your arms to keep you steady.

chuuya is dizzy from the immense relief that pours over him, but he rushes towards you nonetheless, nearly falling as he throws his arms around you, bringing you to his body.

your entire body was now entirely healed, thanks to the detective agency's doctor's capacity to treat any bodily exterior damage for as long as the target was half-dead. however, your body was slackened with exhaustion.

white dots danced about your peripheral vision as you acclimated to your surroundings after being on the verge of death seconds before, but all you could focus on right now was the fact that you could still hear, see, and feel chuuya.

"you idiot!" chuuya shouts, worried and angry, though it sounded like nonsense because he had been sobbing the entire time. he was also aggressively squeezing your body with his arms, trapping you against his chest.

"what if you fucking died, huh?! what would i fucking do?" he rambles on, his hands desperately clinging to you.

"i know, i know," you breathe heavily, placing an arm around his shoulder and drawing yourself closer to him as if your current proximity wasn't enough.

chuuya opens his mouth to raise his voice once more, but the words that come out of his mouth are softer and tinged with discomfort. he shifts one of his hands, tenderly touching your cheek as he kisses your lips with a groan.

"don't you dare die on me like that again.." he mutters quietly, planting another kiss on your lips, kissing you as if it were his last one with you before burying his face into your neck, feeling your now warm skin against him,

"i love you too much, sweetheart."

niki says ! i'm sorry if the scenarios are kinda repetitive, and i'm also sorry for being inactive. my pre-med course has been kicking my ass. i honestly feel like my writing is also rusty :(

join my taglist, perhaps ! @trashfox @magpiemissy @anqelically @96jnie @lovesick-fairy @soleelia @celestair @irethepotato @nianre @bloobewy @itz-stuts @17chuuya @achlysyo @youdidntseemehere21 @atomi-mi @idunnomynamesince2005

[calypsocolada]

I FEEL YOU FORGET ME | akutagawa

synopsis: your forced to share a space with your enemy, akutagawa. authors note: i am sorry in advance. i was in a mood when i wrote this. loosely based off the song last kiss by THE taylor swift, also a bit of cardigan by miss taylor. i'm a swiftie i apologize. cw: blood, violence, suggestive, spoilers for s5 of bsd, kissing, ANGST, character death (apologies) wc: 5.8k

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You didn’t think you’d sleep a wink. Just beside you Akutagawa breathed softly, his eyes closed. It felt strange looking at him like this. His face wholly unguarded. His brows not furrowed in annoyance, or eyes squinted to shoot daggers.

He looked… peaceful.

You swallowed dryly, looking away. It felt like you were seeing something off limits. Akutagawa was your enemy, usually… but right now everything felt paused. Like outside these walls you two could go back to pretending to hate each other's guts but here, with the white noise of the tv and the roaring of the ac, your bodies close under the warmth of the covers, it felt… nice. Like a suspension in time.

A few nights ago the agency was attacked, it left everyone scattered. Dazai gave you coordinates and when you found a clearing in the middle of a forest you saw Akutagawa leaned against a rock. You two stared at each other for a moment. Heat and tension sparking. You never got along before. Akutagawa had attacked you on your first day with the agency months ago, he left you with a scar just on your cheek. A reminder of the fact you two were enemies anytime you thought differently. There were times you thought things would change. It wasn’t the first time you were forced to work with him and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. Now you two were forced into a standstill and had to work together again just until the agency and the port mafia found their footing. Dazai gave you both clear instructions, you two were to wait things out in a hideout. 

It was tense at first, there was only one bed and you two had to share. Akutagawa was a blanket hog and you figured it was because he was so cold hearted. The first morning you woke up you two had found yourself tangled in each other’s arms. It was embarrassing. The second night you built a bit of a fort between you both so you’d stay on your own sides. That night you stayed awake a bit longer than him and found out something you weren’t sure you should know. 

Akutagawa has nightmares. Bad nightmares.

The kind of nightmares that spring tears to his eyes when he woke up. You pretended to be asleep when he woke because you thought if he knew you’d heard him ask someone ‘not to leave him’ he’d be embarrassed. You weren’t as cold hearted as him, you could use descretion. When you woke up that morning you said nothing as Akutagawa made breakfast and surprisingly shared it with you. He was a good cook and you wanted to thank him but things were still tense between you both. You wondered, besides being on opposing sides, what really made Akutagawa dislike you? 

You blink in the darkness of the room, pulling your covers up more to shield you from the cold of the room. Akutagawa liked the cold, he had the ac on high. You were damn freezing. 

“Please… Don’t.” Akutagawa's voice pleaded beside you. Nightmares again. You looked down at him, his once peaceful face was pinched in discomfort. You couldn't help but feel for him. The pillow wall between you both was forgotten this time as Akutagawa tossed and turned in his sleep, slowly shrinking the space between you both. “No… No, don’t,” His sleepy voice begged. You closed your eyes, settling down into the bed. You wished you could comfort him but you didn’t think he’d want that. You're not even sure why you wanted that. “Please,” You could hear the pain in his voice, the tears. You sighed, turning over, you knew this would end badly but you didn’t care. Slowly you reached over the space between you two. Your hand barely touches his shoulder when suddenly a black flash of his powers whipped out, slicing you across your forearm. You gasp in pain, blood trickling down your arm as Akutagawa springs up, his face wet with tears. 

“Wha- what the hell?” He asks groggily, wiping his face harshly. 

“Fuck!” You groan, stumbling out of the bed. The sight of blood has Akutagawa springing out of bed, clearly still half asleep because he’s grabbing you.

“What happened?” His features twisted with worry. 

“You,” You growled, yanking out of his grasp and stumbling to the bathroom sink. Akutagawa blinks in confusion as he watches you run cold water over the cut, your skin paling to a ghost white. You were never good with blood. You blew out some labored breaths, tears welling in your eyes. For all your bravado you knew you needed to ask for help otherwise you would hit the floor unconscious. You grabbed at a towel and wrapped it around your arm, spots in your vision had you sinking down and sitting on the edge of the tub. You breathed in and out slowly. 

“Not good with blood, hero?” You heard Akutagawa’s condescending voice in the doorway to the bathroom. You shook your head, knowing your voice would convey just how bad you were with it. You wanted to keep just a small bit of pride. You heard Akutagawa walk across the floor, bending down to look you in the eye. “Let me see.” He cautioned, your grip on the towel tightened, your eyes finding the floor. 

“I can handle it.” You heaved, embarrassed at just how affected you sounded. Akutagawa scoffed a laugh and that made you look up. 

“Don’t be stubborn, come on.” He said listlessly. You clenched your jaw and his stare sharpened, brows dipping slightly. You sighed, the adrenaline was starting to wear off so now you felt the pain in your arm tenfold. You pulled the towel off, instantly seeing the cut, blood trickling from the wound. You sunk backwards, as white as a sheet of paper. Akutagawa grabbed you before you could slump into the tub, his strong hands helping you stay put. “If I had known you were this bad with blood I would’ve given you a papercut months ago.” He quipped, his lips smirking as he helped you sit on the floor, leaning your back against the tub. 

“Screw. You.” You sibilated, pointedly looking away from him and your arm. He inspects the wound carefully and quietly, his warm fingers keeping you grounded. 

“It’s not that bad. Wait here. And don’t look at your arm, I dont wanna have to pick you up off the floor.” He says, slipping out of the bathroom. He’s back in seconds, you're still looking away. He works quickly, wrapping up your arm with care. Against everything you're glad he was able to help because god knows you wouldn’t have been able to. “Alright, you’re good.” He intones, you look at your arm and blow out a breath, letting your head fall back against the tub. Akutagawa pushes off the floor, running a cup under some water then handing it to you. “Here, drink.” You take the cup and do as told, drinking the entire thing. “Can you stand?”

“You cut my arm, not my legs.” You gripe, trying to push off the floor but you're still a bit woozy so Akutagawa ends up wrapping an arm around you and hauling you up. You let him hold you until you're steady and then he pointedly moves away like he’s noticed who he’s helping. You lean against the bathroom sink. 

“What happened?” He asks, standing across from you in the small space of the bathroom. 

“I was gonna ask you the same thing.” You blow out. “You attacked me.” 

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to.” He says and you look up at him, swallowing dryly. Tension sparked and you're not sure whether it was a good or bad thing. He breathes out as though exhausted. “I have nightmares and sometimes they activate my powers.” He says looking away from your eyes. You bite your lip, wondering if he’d snap at you if you asked what they were about. Your fingers instinctively run across the bandage on your arm and his eyes track your movements. 

“I- I noticed.” You said and his eyes shot up to yours, you could tell he was embarrassed by the look in his eyes. 

“You- don’t you dare tell anyone.” He growls angrily and you roll your eyes. 

“I won’t.” You sighed. “What’re they about?” You ask, eyes cautiously floating back to him. He shakes his head, pushing out of the small bathroom back into the main room.

“That’s none of your concern.” He scowled. You take a few steps back into the main room. 

“Okay fine.” You growl back. “Forget I asked.” You two both climb back in bed and he whips his powers out to flick the light back off. You sat in uncomfortably silence, both of you very awake. You sunk down into the covers and turned away from him. It was a fitful night but you finally fell back asleep after about an hour.

The sun shone brightly through the blinds like blades of light across the room. Your eyes slowly opened as you raised your arm up to shield them from the brightness. You blinked sleepily, stretching when you suddenly felt heat radiating beside you. You were facing away from Akutagawa who had, sometime in the night, moved closer to you, practically pressed against you. His breath tickling the back of your neck, his hand around your waist. In your sleep riddled mind nothing seemed wrong as you let your eyes fall back closed, feeling his heartbeat against your back. This was the second time in a row your guys sleeping conscious’ had drifted to each other. Your eyes shot back open at the realization. You carefully and quietly squirmed out of his arms, the warmth and comfort you felt moments ago slowly slipping away. You were almost out of his reach when suddenly he shifted, sighed in his sleep and pulled you by the waist back into him, resting his chin on the top of your head, practically trapping you. You almost laughed at the insanity of the situation. There was no way out, you had to wake him before his powers skewered you. 

“Akutagawa.” You whispered not wanting a repeat of Rashomoun slicing you up again. When he didn’t move you tried again. “Akutagawa, wake up.” You hissed still in a whisper. He groaned softly and nuzzled into you, holding you even tighter. Some part of you twisted, something in your heart and chest. You were sure you didn’t want to know what that meant. One last time you said, “Akutagawa!” In just a slightly louder voice. He stirred awake this time, you felt him lift his head up and then suddenly he was yanking away from you, taking his warmth and the covers warmth with him.

It was extremely awkward the rest of the day so you took your book and sat out on the balcony. Only an hour passed as rain started to pour suddenly so you ran back inside, thoroughly soaked. Akutagawa had fixed something to eat and was holding two plates when you came in. He stared at you, cheeks blushing. 

“Is that for me?” You asked and he didn’t meet your eyes. He just nodded his head and as you stepped forwards to take the plate he cleared his throat. 

“You might want to change.” He says, you furrow your brow, looking down. Sure enough your white, soaked through, tank top was leaving nothing to the imagination. You didn’t say a word as you slipped into the bathroom and quickly changed. When you came back out he was sitting at the little table, your food just across from him. You grabbed out a bottle of wine and two glasses, sliding into the seat across from him. You silently offered him a glass and he nodded his head very quickly. You pour you both substantial glasses as you start to eat. The food was delicious, it was outrageous how good of a cook he was, especially when it was probably just something he had to heat up on a stove. 

“How’d you get so good at cooking?” You ask into the dead space. 

“It’s not hard. You just follow the directions on the back.” He says and you give him an exasperated look. 

“If I cooked this it would’ve been barely edible.” 

“That says more about you than me.”

“Screw. You.” You punctuated, taking a gulp of your wine. 

“How’s your arm?” He asks and you caution a look at him but really he hasn’t met your eyes since he used you as a pillow. You turned it over and flexed your fingers. 

“Think I might live.” You said and he reached across the table without a word, turning your arm over, you bled through the bandage a bit. 

“I’ll have to change that.” He says, pushing to his feet. 

“You can eat first,” you say but he ignores you and grabs some more bandages. When he walks back he kneels beside you and you blush heavily. He doesn’t say a word as he grabs your arm gently, undoing the bandages with precise movements.

“Are you wanting to pass out?” He asks, pausing his movements. You hadn’t noticed you were watching his fingers so you blush even more and turn away. He’s swift with his movements, gently dabbing on something that makes you jolt. “Are you okay?” He asks and you nod your head. He wraps your arm back up and tosses the old bandages in the trash. You swallow down a lump in your throat. 

“Thank you.” You saw and he just gave you a small nod. “Where’d you learn to do that?”

“My sister.”

“You have a sister?” You echo and he nods but doesn’t give you any more explanation than that. You start to wonder a lot more about him. What his parents are like, if they’re still around. Was his sister still around? Did he have any more siblings? You keep those thoughts to yourself and he sits back across you. 

“She reminds me of you.” He says suddenly, your eyes snap up to look at him, thinking that he might look embarrassed but he’s still and relaxed as he brings the cup of wine to his lips. 

“In what way?” You ask, watching him closely. He shakes his head, thinking better of something. 

“Forget it.” He says, gulping the rest of his wine. 

Later that night you both are laying back down, it’s quiet in the room but not super uncomfortable. Rain beats against the glass pain of the window by his side of the bed and for once he’s turned off the AC, opting to have the window open instead. You close your eyes listening to the rain, it’s soothing. It reminds you of home, you were so far from it, so far from anything familiar. Akutagawa shifts in the bed beside you. He built the little fort again between you two this time. It felt silly but considering how you woke up this morning it was probably for the best. You felt yourself slipping to sleep when you heard him mumbling again. The same thing. Pleading that someone doesn’t leave. You don’t reach across the space between you, you learned your lesson. You shut your eyes, trying to ignore it but his voice trembled like a kid and your heart lurched. Fuck it. 

“Akutagawa.” You whispered. In the dim light you could see tears on his cheeks. 

“Please— stay,”

“Hey.” You cooed a bit louder and he roused awake, jolting upwards. You sat up as well and he swiveled around, eyes scanning the room for danger. 

“What? Are you okay? What happened?” He fired off groggily and you pulled your knees up to your chest, reaching over and grabbing some tissues. You hand it to him without a word. He grabs it, averting his eyes as he wipes his cheeks. 

“I won’t tell anyone.” You whisper in the silence stretching between you both. You hear him suck in a breath, letting it out shakily. 

“How long have I kept you up?” He asks, not looking back at you. 

“Not long.” You answer, his hair is messy as he runs a hand through it, pulling it away from his face. “What do you dream about?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He says sharply. 

“It might help too.” You say and he looks back at you, eyes like daggers. You're reminded just then that he’s Akutagawa, he tried to kill you, that scar on your cheek that you’d been ignoring all weekend was from him. You swallowed, steeling your nerves. “What? You can help me but I can’t help you?” You argue, raising your bandaged arm. 

“I caused that.” He pointed out as if you’d forgotten. 

“And you fixed it up.” You shot back. He sighs heavily, leaning back against the headboard. 

“I really- don’t want to talk about it.” He said but he didn’t sound angry like you thought he was going to sound. He sounded exhausted. 

“Okay.” You say softly. You both lapse into silence again. A comfortable silence. 

“You should try sleeping first, so I don’t wake you.” He says, you clench your jaw, you wanted to argue, to pick his brain but you weren’t friends you shouldn’t care about what ails him in the middle of the night but you did and it was so frustrating. You slid back under the covers, pulling them up to your chin. It’s quiet for a few moments. “You snore by the way.” You hear Akutagawa say and a laugh bubbles up in your throat. Maybe he didn’t need to talk things through, maybe he just needed to distract himself.

“I do not.” You argue.

“Yes you do, hero.”

“Stop calling me that!” You call over your shoulder, yanking the covers closer to your body. He’d called you that since the first day you two met, you weren’t sure if he actually knew your real name. 

“And you hog the damn covers.” Akutagawa yanks it back so you spin around to face him. 

“You're impossible.” You groaned, the pillow fort destroyed in your guys tug off. When he pulled it back you huffed. You throw your head back in annoyance, scooting closer to him, he eyed you in the darkness.

“What’re you doing?” He asked.

“Relax,” You sighed. “I’m tired of playing tug of war.” You said, you were now inches from him, you could feel heat radiating from his body. Your heart speeds when he doesn’t answer you but instead slowly sinks into the covers. It’s dark so you're not sure if he’s facing you or turned away. You close your eyes and will sleep to find you. You inhale a shaky breath, slowly exhaling it.

“I can’t sleep with you breathing on me.” Akutagawa sighs as you clench your jaw. 

“Shut up, I’m trying to sleep.” You hissed, shivering under the covers. 

“Are you seriously cold?” He asks and you huff. 

“Yes! I don’t know how you're not.”

“Maybe because it’s not cold in here.”

“It is! You’re just used to it because you're cold hearted.”

“Ah, good one, hero.”

“It was a good one.” You pulled the covers just a bit higher and shivered beneath them.

“For god's sake,” You suddenly felt warm hands grabbing you. 

“Hey! What the-”

“Relax.” Akutagawa retorted as he pulled you flush against him, his arms wrapping around you. You're not even sure what to say as he pulls the covers and rubs his hands up your arms to warm them. This is all having too much of an affect on you, your heart races around your chest, your throat drying. You let out a shaky breath as you try to focus your mind on things other than Akutagawa’s hands on your body, on things other than your bodies pressed together. It was damn impossible. “Better?” He intones, her voice making you shiver. “Seriously? You're still cold?”

“It’s better.” You say quickly. For someone who freaked out this morning over something very similar, Akutagawa seemed damn calm. You could hear him swallow, his chin slowly resting on the top of your head. 

“This stays between us.”

“Yeah.” You agree, your body moves of its own accord, settling even closer to him, basking in his warmth. When you thought of Akutagawa you thought of winter, of ice and snow. He always seemed far from anything sunny and warm. But you were wrong, so wrong. He was calm and quiet and warm, like a nice cup of tea on a rainy night. “Akutagawa?” You whisper. It’s quiet and for a second you think he’s fallen asleep. 

“Hmm?” He hums. 

“What’s your sister like?” You dare, you're already wrapped in his arms, you wanted something more from him.

“You want to know?” You hear him ask, his voice mellow and soft. You let your eyes drift closed. 

“Mhm.”

“Or do you want to know why I said you reminded me of her.” He asked playfully. 

“Both.” You say and you feel his arms slightly tighten around you. 

“You’re very… caring. You care about so many things and you fight hard for the people in your life.” Your heart swoons at his words, you find yourself smiling. 

“So you can be nice.”

“Don’t ruin the moment.” He says.

“We’re having a moment?” You ask, pulling your head back with a teasing grin on your lips. You underestimated just how little space was between you two, your face is inches from his. You feel his fingers flex, his lips parting in a held breath. “Akutagawa.” His chest heaves a breath in and you realize it’s not often that you say his name. “You know what I think about you?” You ask, you're not sure where your confidence is coming from but you let it take over. You hear him swallow. 

“Nothing good?” He asks, his arms are around you and he thinks you only think bad things about him, it’s almost laughable. 

“I think about you often.” You say and the amusement on Akutagawa’s face melts, his eyes intense on yours.

“Is that right?” His voice is like molten lava. You nod your head. It's suddenly too hot in here, your confidence is melting. You were hyper aware of every body part that touched him, how his fingers felt on your hip, you gulped, biting your lip hard. “Leaving me in suspense?” He asks.

“I’ll keep my secrets.” You say because you're not even sure exactly what you were going to say because to be honest you liked a lot of things about Akutagawa. His strength, the way he looked calm in the face of danger. You two worked together a lot, he was quick on his feet and a damn good fighter. You secretly admired him and a deep part of you wondered if you ever impressed him. 

“I think of you too.” He whispers, just barely audible. You wonder if he even wanted you to hear that. 

“Nothing good?” You joked, trying to ease the tension but it didn't work. Because his  hand is sliding up your body, you feel his fingers smooth your hair back out of your face.It takes everything in you not to shiver, or to even more. 

“Quite the opposite.” He demurred, his hand finding your cheek. This night had taken quite the turn. You found yourself chasing that touch, the pad of his thumb barely brushed against the corner of your lips. You're glad the lights were off because you were sure you were as red as a cherry right about now. HIs thumb pauses at the edge of your lips before he slowly drags it across your bottom lip. “You,” His breathing is labored, it sends a sort of jolt through you to hear how affected he is. “You’re hard not to think about.” He uttered.

“Akutagawa.” You crooned and the other hand around you pulled you even closer into him. He must’ve liked it when you said his name, liked the way you said it. Breathy and sweet. “We shouldn’t.” You wondered if you were being presumptuous, if this was somehow all in your head. His fingers on your cheek paused. 

“Tell me to stop.” He coaxed but your words were flat, it was clear you didn't want that and if you said you wanted this all to stop you'd be a filthy liar.

“I- I can’t.” You confessed. 

Slowly his hand slid to the back of your neck and the little space between you vanished. His lips brushed against yours, hesitant and sweet. You didn’t want hesitation or sweetness as you pushed forwards, your stomach sick with want. There was too much history, too much tension, it was so hot in this room you could barely think. You weren’t gentle like him, you wanted more, wanted it all. You enveloped his lips with yours and had him whimpering in your mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair as you sweep your leg over top of him, his hands sliding down to your hips, pulling you fully on top of him. You pressed against him, tugging his head to the side as you kissed the side of his mouth to his cheek then down to his neck, kissing at his open throat. His breath stuttered in his throat as you took control of the situation, pinning his body beneath yours. You kissed him breathless, your hips moving against his. He made a sound, a breathy mewlish sound beneath you and you melt. His fingers dug into you as you kissed your way back to his lips, muffling the whimper you caused. It was clear he didn’t expect you to be like this, to be so desperate to take control. But you couldn’t help yourself, something about him drove you mad, you wanted all the control. You wanted to be all over him, you wanted control but felt completely out of it. His arms wrapped around your back, hugging you against his chest as he pulled you to the side, your hip hitting the bed as he kissed at the side of your lips.

“You just can’t help yourself, can you, hero?” His words send shockwaves all over you. Suddenly you were being pressed into the sheets as he kicked his leg over yours, the weight of his body trapping you beneath him. It felt nice, the covers had been thrown off as cold air caressed your hot skin. He kissed you softly, pressed slow pecks to your cheeks and forehead as he trailed kisses to your throat. You swallowed, his hand sliding up to your cheek. He was gentle with you, the fire in your stomach learning to like that. He was handsy, his fingers trailing across your hips as you both rolled onto your sides, lips locked. HIs fingers threaded through your hair and he pulled back, breathless, lips kissed pink. 

“I've wanted you for so long.” He practically pants and the confession has you hot and bothered because you felt the same damn way. You pull him back, his kisses growing desperate by the second. A phone rang across the room and before you could even think to react, Akutagawa's powers skewered the phone, the ringing stopping instantly. 

“That-- could’ve been Dazai,” You sputtered, voice hoarse but Akutagawa’s lips cut off the rest of your sentence, he swallowed your gasp.

“Don’t stop.” Akutagawa murmurs against your lips.

You’ve lost the little bit of control you held as Akutagawa takes charge, his slender fingers grabbing at the meat of your thigh, driving his hips forwards, cutting off any rational thought you held in your head. You’d forgotten where you were, why were you in this bed? Akutagawa’s pressing his lips against yours, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip. Where was this hotel located? You open your mouth, letting his tongue slide in. He kissed you like a man starved. Were you waiting on someone to call? None of that shit mattered. Because you both wanted each other so desperately, your bodies curving into one another, a slim line of clothing the only thing keeping you apart. His fingertips trail down you back, slipping under your tank, warm as they touch you. One hand slides back up to your face and you feel his thumb trace the scar on your cheek, the scar he gave you. He pulls back momentarily, your breathing mingles with his. In the dark you can see the cogs in his brain turning. 

“You gave me that.” You say, his thumb halts. Your legs are tangled together. 

“I know.” He says and his voice sounds so remorseful it physically hurts your heart to look at him in this dim light. “When I saw you again after it, saw this,” He traced the scar again, carefully as though somehow after months it could reopen. “I hated myself.” He says. “I never-- I never actually wanted to hurt you. I wanted to hurt Dazai. You were just-- an extension to him.” You knew a little about Dazai’s past but not much. You knew Dazai was a sort of mentor to Akutagawa but what kind of mentor you were unsure. 

“When you have nightmares you ask someone not to leave you,” You swallowed. “Are they about Dazai?” He didn’t answer, he averted his eyes from yours. That was an answer all in itself. You slowly pressed your palm to his cheek, your thumb gently caressing his cheek. “You don’t have to answer that.” You say, leaning and pressing a sickeningly sweet kiss to his lips, you feel him smile softly against your lips. And when you pull back he presses his forehead against your own.

“Forgive me, Y/n.” He asks, desperation in his voice. So he did know your name. How could you not? You nod in the darkness and let him pull you back against him, long fingers tugging the covers back over your cold skin. You cool off just enough, feeling your eyelids droop. He held you against his chest, his heart beating steadily in his chest as it lulled you to sleep. 

Akutagawa listened to you snore softly, letting his eyes drift close. This would be the first night he went without the nightmares in years. There was something about you, something comforting that chased them away.

When you wake up you’re freezing again. You must’ve kicked the covers off in the middle of the night because they’re just barely hanging off your feet. You sit up, light assaulting your eyes. You feel the bed beside you but it's empty. You yawn, stretching as you push out of bed, stumbling towards the kitchen. It’s empty but there's a plate on the counter. You grab it, plopping down in a creaky wooden chair as you shovel food into your mouth. Suddenly the front door is kicked open and it scares you so bad you almost vault out of your chair. You turn and Kunikida is rushing inside, his eyes meet yours and he blows out a breath of relief. He’s across the room in seconds, you stand just as he throws his arms around you, cradling the back of your head. 

“You scared the hell out of me kid.” He exhales, hugging you so tightly you can barely breathe. 

“Sorry,” You gasp out, he doesn’t let you go for a long moment as your arms slowly come up to hug him back. “What happened?” You ask, he pulls back. Looking you over, he sees the bandage on your arm. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, you nod your head. Kunikida brought you into the agency, he was like family to you since he practically saved you from death. 

“I’m fine, it’s just a scratch.” You wave off. “Kunikida, did something happen?” You ask. He lets you go, but squeezes your shoulders, swallowing. 

“A lot of somethings happened, too many to name off now. You need to pack your stuff.” He says and you nod your head, suddenly realizing what was missing. 

“Wait, but Akutagawa-”

“That’s… that’s something we're going to talk about. Come on, kiddo, we gotta hurry.” He says but something makes you stop, unable to move. How long were you asleep?

“Kunikida,” He saw the look in your eye and his jaw tense. He runs a stressed hand through his hair and guides you back to the chair you were previously sitting on. Dread fills you. “What happened?” You insist. 

“Dazai sent Akutagawa to keep an eye on Atsushi several hours ago. They were attacked, and Atsushi barely made it out with his life.” You blinked, unable to process things. 

“Atsushi is okay?” You asked and Kunikida nodded his head, but then looked down, away from your eyes. “What about Akutagawa?” You ask. The quiet was the worst part of the whole thing, that and the sympathetic look Kunikida provides. 

“I know you two never really got along but-- but he saved Atsushi in the end.” The air rushes right out of you.

“In… in the end?” You echo, your voice hollow. Kunikida bites the inside of his cheek, his jaw clenching. Just hours ago he was beside you, all warmth and life. You shook your head in disbelief. “Is he…” Your words fell from your lips and your voice stopped forcefully in your throat, tears springing to your eyes. Kunikida reads your expression and slightly cocks his head. That pain started from the bottom of your stomach and ripped through your chest. 

“He was killed by the enemy.” Kunikida says and that’s like a final snap. The words to final, to visceral to hear. Hot stinging tears slide past your eyes rolling down your cheeks splashing onto your tank top. Kunikida doesn’t question your reaction, he just pulls your body against his in a tight hug. Your earth tilted beneath you. 

“He was-- he was just-- here.” You forced out, choking on your tears. Kunikida held you even tighter as you spoke, probably trying to squeeze the hurt out of you. The pain aches worse than anything you ever felt in your life. Like some stabbed you in every part of your body and twisted the blades continuously. How could the first time you kiss Akutagawa also be the last?

You're not sure how long you sobbed but the rest of the day felt like a blur. Kunikida packed up your things. You couldn’t even stand. He helped you into the car and buckled your seatbelt. In the side mirror you caught sight of the scar on your cheek and the pain started anew. The scar was the only thing you had left of him, the only reminder, and even then it looked like it was starting to fade. You wouldn’t let it, you’d carve that same damn spot up time and time again.                                 

[inviisiiblelee]

The Beginning of a Lifetime

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Word Count: 2,030 Rating: Teen and Up Audience Relationship: Alastor/Vox Additional Tags: Vox is named George Taylor, Vox is Brand New, Alastor Has a Heart (Hazbin Hotel), Fluff, First Meetings, i love writing about first meetings, Vox died in the 40s, Probably only a handful of years after Alastor at most, Alastor Takes Vox Under His Wings, porting from AO3, link included above if prefered. Notes: Always based around headcanons. I named him George Taylor simply because its a really non-unique and generic type of name. Meant for a boring, plain little man. I thought about V names like how Angel is Anthony, but I was looking up popular names for boys born in 1890's when I headcanon Vox was probably born and wanted to stay within the top of popularity. A (late) entry for RadioStatic week day 1. Enjoy! <3 Meant to rival in name my other work, The End of a Lifetime, too.

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

George Taylor was not a violent man in life, and to be faced with so much violence immediately in Hell? He was absolutely not ready. Not only was he unprepared for the levels of pure chaos, but even his own body was beyond a little different. He couldn’t say it didn’t make some sense, he’d only died with a large television set dropped directly onto his head. Turns out that’s quite enough pressure to cause the skull to give in and be crushed completely. He had enemies, sure, while alive, it wasn’t something that could be easily avoided in the line of business he had pursued, at the end of the day. And some of those people were more temperamental than he was, but that was where his disarming charm was used the best. He could talk a majority of people down from a direct conflict, could sugar his words just right so that they would feel reassured. White lies, little seeds of doubt or warmth, a way of wriggling into their hearts and minds. He was good at it. He was just a plain, simple man, anyway. What was intimidating of someone as plain as him? Dressed well and groomed, with an easy smile and all the patience in the world. A soft voice, dulcet tones, easy airs of confidence and pleasantry. It worked.

Usually. 

His life’s final confrontation was impossible to ease down, and George was not a fighter in any way. He could be quick on his feet, but fear, while motivating, didn’t make it easy. It wasn’t as though it wasn’t a fair experience - he’d gotten the man booted from his job, needled down with debt, and serving time for something he definitely did not do, as a star witness who lied on the stand in full confidence and with the performance of a lifetime. It made sense he was murdered, and it made perfect sense he found himself here in Hell, something he did, at least, gather quickly.

He didn’t anticipate some sort of warm welcome, of course, no group of happy campers to explain how things worked or to help him out, but he also didn’t quite anticipate being jumped and pushed into an alleyway by a small group of three rough looking demons (he had to guess? Surely that was what they were called?) who threw him to the ground, searched his pockets, slammed his head against a wall, and took his slightly worn out jacket and his shoes of all things, considering he had nothing else to offer. He wasn’t sure how a television of a head could lead to the pain shooting through his back and limbs, and while he was unsure of anything else that was injured, it hurt more than he liked to admit, and trying to stand led to such severe vertigo that he slid down against the wall and just stayed there. 

He had never been so beaten down so fast while alive, even as a sickly sort. He was often ill, pushing through regardless and a little less than sturdy as a result, but he’d always been able to keep some sort of victimization at bay. Yet here he was now, exhausted already, in pretty poor shape and relative thundering pain, hazy vision and some sort of buzzing in the back of his mind that was steadily growing. It was a little distracting, really, and he sort of leaned into the sound, trying to follow it, the odd tones and shifting noise. It reminded him of an older time, before he was a television personality, back when he worked in the industry fixing problems with the tech. It was a sound mostly associated with audio problems, really. He wondered how deep the effects of having such a … changed physical form went. He hadn’t even had the opportunity to really look or examine it much before things went down, anyway.

Static was building in his head, and George was finding it hard to think. The sound of it shifted and changed every moment, pitch and tone flowing up and down like someone trying to tune an old instrument, except interspersed by buzzing and screeching of something electronic. Like a speaker ruined by water, or being in general interfered with. He tried reaching out to it mentally in some way, a sort of … internal troubleshooting. It felt weird and almost nauseating to explore, but he was trying to make any sense of it. He found he could sort of lower the volume of it, but it kept rising even when he did, steadily, and eventually he gave up, letting the buzzing, shrill feedback take over his mind. 

He barely noticed a shadow tower over him.

But he did. He saw it projected along the ground and over his person, and his heart dropped into his stomach. A soft little plea for mercy escaped him, and he realized he had been whimpering quietly for a little while now. He hadn’t noticed in the whirlwind of emotion and sensation, and something akin to tears appeared to be dripping from his screen. It felt weird. A chill settled over him, and he felt fear sink into his soul. 

George looked up at the person causing the shadow. Shades of red, black accents, a demon dressed rather formally and holding something that looked like both a cane and some sort of … microphone? The buzzing was so loud in his ears, and then it abruptly cut quiet as the looming form spoke.

“Good to see you, old friend.” A hand was outstretched to him, the friendliest gesture anyone had shown him so far, at all. 

Old friend? For a moment, all George could do was stare at him, this strange … person? Man? Devil? And then it clicked. 

Was that Alastor? They had met a couple of times over the years they lived on Earth simultaneously. A radio host, whose voice George was fairly familiar with when he would make his trips through his area. They’d met in person only a handful of times, at various functions that George ended up at per his workplace. The two had shared a few conversations, and he remembered them well, one of which being recommended to look into broadcasting himself, a compliment that George had taken quite seriously. Alastor had been a hell of a man when alive, certainly, in spite of what he thought he knew of his potential crimes. It wasn’t as though it was his job to judge, and it wasn’t as though he felt he had been in any danger. He remembered hearing about his death, finding it quite regrettable and sad, even. It was quite the accident to learn of. But Alastor was far from who he expected to run into, let alone to be recognized by.

“Alastor?” 

Idiot. It was the only thing he could seem to say, even as he reached forward and placed his own hand in the other’s. His blue fingers contrasted so starkly against the red of his old acquaintance’s. But he found support and strength in the grip of his friend’s, and Alastor helped him stand and steadied him easily when he swayed. He was smiling wide, and George wondered if he was really that happy to see him. He couldn’t help but feel a little relief - okay, a lot of it. A weight was being lifted from his chest, seeing someone familiar, someone he would happily trust in this moment. Maybe a little naive, or a dangerous line of thoughts, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“The one and only!” Alastor replied, chipper energy in the words. “You look an absolute mess, friend, what happened?”

“Oh, uh,” George hesitated to respond, but it was hard to miss the clear evidence of an attack, anyway. Or at the least, the torn clothing and dazed expressions. “Someone stole my jacket and shoes.” He said it with a shrug, and he offered his own easy smile. It was something he could do, at least. He could pretend, in this moment, that it didn’t matter. 

“How shameful of them! Come along, I’ll get you sorted out straight away. What did they look like?” The question had him blinking, and then scrambling to remember. It hadn’t even happened more than an hour ago, so he gave what description he could. Alastor simply nodded, looking away in what he thought was some sort of consideration. He placed a hand on George’s back, urging him out of the alleyway finally, leading him down the sidewalk.

“Sorry, I’m just a little out of it still,” he said quickly. “Just got here and I didn’t quite think it would all be so … immediately exciting.” Carefully chosen words as he examined his surroundings, peering around to finally get a sense of where he might be, the state of things around here. He’d barely made it a few blocks on his own, before. 

“Worry not, we’ll get you right as rain in no time at all,” was all Alastor offered, and George fell into step with him cautiously. 

Things were odd. Alastor brought him to what seemed to be a tailor, offering to cover him getting repaired and refreshed clothing for the time being. He didn’t ask for anything from George as they left, but he couldn’t help feeling relieved. He noted that many seemed to shy away from Alastor for some reason, fleeting glances and then people crossing the roads, as if to get away from him. It was a weird thing to see - Alastor was still only smiling, seemingly unbothered by any of it. 

“What’s with the parting of the crowd?” George finally asked after a little more walking, entirely unsure where they were even going, now. 

“Oh, they’re merely getting out of the way,” Alastor said simply. “I’ve made a few waves here, they know to move pretty well.” He said it so jauntily, George couldn’t find a reason to mind it. If Alastor had made a name for himself already, then all the better, right? Good for him. 

They walked only for a few blocks before George realized they were within sight of the group that had attacked him. Stepping a little closer to Alastor, without realizing it, he tensed up. Alastor seemed to notice, however.

“Is that them?”

“I- I think so? The one on the right has my jacket, at least.”

“Stay here, yes?”

“Uh. Okay.”

Alastor broke away from him with a few strides and approached the small group of other demons. Alastor’s height towered over them, and they seemed very startled by his presence. George stayed where he was told, unable to hear the conversation, though it was clearly mostly Alastor speaking to them at length before holding out one hand, palm up, expecting something. A moment passed, and then something in the air changed, and the buzzing static and feedback roared in his ears all of a sudden. He saw the space around Alastor darken, saw a long, strange set of antlers begin to grow from his temples. Dark shadows formed around the trio, and those around otherwise were quick to clear away at the display, but George could only seem to stare. The shadows traveled up and wrapped around each of the demons, and he snatched George's jacket and shoes from them, as well as other belongings. The shadows squeezed harder and harder, until they were certainly pleading desperately, before being abruptly consumed into the ground without further showing. Alastor draped the jacket over his arm and returned to George’s side, holding his things out.

George blinked a few times before remembering himself, taking them from him with a rushed set of thank you’s, which Alastor only waved away with a quick dismissive comment. They fell into step together again, and Alastor asked if he felt fine enough to join him for lunch.

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’ll be fine, thank you.”

“No thanks necessary. What else are friends for? You must catch me up, I’m sure we have plenty to discuss, so stay close, hm?”

“Definitely will do.”

And, well. Vox would be a man of his word, for as long as Alastor wanted him there.

[writing-blocked-me]

Would've Could've Should've

Taylor Swift Lyric fic - PM! Dazai x Reader (minor Chuuya x reader)

CW: Angst, hurt no comfort, Taylor Swift, Dark Era, PM!Dazai, unrequited love, BSD spoilers, Sadness, heartbreak

Pairings: Dazai x reader, slight Chuuya x reader

Summary: Taylor Swift Lyric Fic, I recommend listening to Would've Could've Should've from Midnights.

‐---------‐----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you would've blinked, then I would've

Looked away at the first glance

You looked at Chuuya, your former leader, who simply nodded, then turned to the boy in the oversized black mafia cloak. He was looking back, irises so dark they blended with his pupils to form an abyss. Dazai Osamu, the demon prodigy. He stared at you, intensely, unwaveringly, commanding you to gaze back, head hitting ever so slightly in curiosity. After what seemed like hours of staring him down, his lips curved into a smirk.

" We'll get along just fine I think "

If you tasted poison, you could've

Spit me out at the first chance

A year had passed and you were now stood outside the Port Mafia executive's door. 2 knocks. 3 knocks. Wait. Then finally.

" Come in"

The door opened and you stepped into the office. In a second, lips were on yours, hands moving up and down your sides as you were backed up against the very door you just walked through. You broke apart to see that same abyssal stare boring into you again. This time, however, you were equal parts afraid, entranced and enamoured. You lost yourself in his sweet taste, oblivious to the poison disguised in it.

Ooh, all I used to do was pray

Would've, could've, should've

If you'd never looked my way

Stolen glances in the corridors of that huge building, wanting gazes and lingering touches, he always left you wondering what if, savouring the could have been. They left you wanting more, begging for more, worshipping the man who gave you so little attention.

I would've stayed on my knees

And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil

Then that attention disappeared, along with the man. The night he left, your soul shattered. In agony you fell to the ground, tears flooding your vision, regret filling your heart. Bitterness filled your mind as it played through all your fond memories together.

And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven

And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts

Memories feel like weapons

And now that I know, I wish you'd left me wondering

You could never hate him, despite your best efforts. Nor could you forget him. Not when his time with you made you feel the way you did - as if all the stars had

finally aligned for the sole purpose of bringing you two together. Heavenly. Until he left. You'd long left behind hope he'd return, especially not for you, and now every memory of him cuts into your soul like a knife, shoots through you like a bullet and infects your insides with poison. You could never hate him, not fully, but you could regret him and ponder the what ifs.

If you never touched me, I would've

Gone along with the righteous

If you simply walked away that day at the cliffs, maybe you would've been with him now - in whatever way that was friendship or romance. You'd heard around the office he was a detective now, working for good. You laughed. He had dragged so many, including yourself, into darkness but only managed to save himself. Clearly not much had changed.

If I never blushed, then they could've

Never whispered about this

The new job was not the only gossip spread around Port Mafia headquarters. Looks of pity flashed your way whenever you travelled outside your office. Though years had passed, Dazai's sudden reappearance clearly reminded everyone of the history you'd rather stayed buried.

And if you never saved me from boredom

I could've gone on as I was

You'd been called in with Chuuya to help on a mission, retrieving Q. Never would you have expected to see him there too, acting as if nothing had happened, cracking jokes and poking fun, entertaining you once more.

But, Lord, you made me feel important

And then you tried to erase us

The moment ended when Steinbeck and Lovecraft appeared. Soukoku swiftly defeated them, While you tended to Q. When the fight ended, Chuuya collapsed and he two of you carried him and Q to the rendezvous point, all the while joking and flirting, as if nothing had changed, as if he hadn't left. He set Chuuya down and started to walk off, but this time you were there, you could catch him. You did catch him; you were met with disappointment.

Ooh, you're a crisis of my faith

Would've, could've, should've

If I'd only played it safe

You didn't beg, you didn't plead, you simply offered up a single word.

" Stay."

Hope filled you for the first time in years. Soon again it was dashed as he turned to you with a glare, one you'd only seen turned on the Port Mafia's enemies. It froze you in place, how could he ever turn that gaze on you. If you'd only stayed where you were. If you'd only stayed silent.

I would've stayed on my knees

And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil

You could've continued believing he still cared. Now you have the truth. Regret fills you once more as the memories flood back. This time with the rose-tinted glasses off.

And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven

And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts

Memories feel like weapons

And now that I know, I wish you'd left me wondering

All the pain he caused with his presence in you like rushed through you, but even that couldn't erase the moments of softness that caused your heart to flutter. Each memory a different bullet piercing your soul, shattering it all over again. You wished you hadn't spoken to him.

God rest my soul

I miss who I used to be

The tomb won't close

Stained glass windows in my mind

I regret you all the time

Sat in the bar, you nursed your glass. You hadn't cried, despite all the sadness welling in you. You haven't been the same since he left the first time, but this was worse. You hadn't spoken in weeks. Your subordinates were incredibly concerned, as was Chuuya. You were one of his oldest friends, sticking with him even when the Sheep betrayed him. He had been aware of your relations with Dazai, but had wanted so little to do with the mackerel that he shut it out of his mind. After Dazai left, he assumed you had done the same. Clearly that was not the case. Clearly whatever happened hadn't given you the closure you so clearly deserved.

I can't let this go

I fight with you in my sleep

The wound won't close

I keep on waiting for a sign

I regret you all the time

You couldn't get over it. You couldn't get over him. You replay that night on repeat, thinking of how you could've gotten him to stay, of how you could've broken him like he broke you. The memories won't go away and neither will the pain.

If clarity's in death, then why won't this die?

Years of tearing down our banners, you and I

There was no sign of an end to the pain and no light at the end of the tunnel. No matter how hand you tried, your feelings would not go away. No matter how clean you got, how new your clothes and furniture were, how much you tried not to think about him.

Living for the thrill of hitting you where it hurts

Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first

You spent your days wishing for his warmth, and working for his demise, hoping for a freedom that would seemingly never come. Desperately, you yearned to go back in time and walk away.

And I damn sure never would've danced with the devil

The demon prodigy would never be this hung up on her. Their memories don't haunt him. He surely wasn't filled with regret. In fact, it was doubtful he ever thought of you at all.

And the God's honest truth is that the pain was heaven

And now that I'm grown, I'm scared of ghosts

The pain of knowing he never cared haunts you, you can't get the memories out of your head, even years later.

Memories feel like weapons

And now that I know, I wish you'd left me wondering

The memories of your time together hurt you, but they were also hurting others. Cutting them out before they could ever get close. In the end, you weren't the only one left thinking what if. A certain redhead was left wondering what if he had gotten to you first, what if he could have saved you from that pain.

[maximumcatpress]

Her Violet Empire #1 (Title Coming Soon)

I thought as an introduction to my work, I'd post a snippet of the Prologue of my first book. It was released with the title Her Violet Empire, but I'm planning to relaunch it in the new year with a new title. Anyway, here's a couple hundred words to spark some interest.

Sebastian Taylor hated his first name and allowed no one to use it. Many suggested that he should use his middle name instead, but, in his estimation, Friedrich was a less-than-significant improvement. He insisted everyone call him Taylor. The dreary afternoon in Felixstowe crept toward a dreary evening. The sky seemed unable to decide if it was going to rain or not; instead, it proffered only a noncommittal drizzle. The damp never crossed Taylor’s mind anymore—it was always wet in some form or another here, and he had acclimatized to it. The docks had become busy since the Chiarbola arrived, but this was the natural and happy state of a container port. Forklifts and gantry cranes hummed their diesel tunes, punctuated by the heavy, echoing clank of the shipping containers hitting their marks. As he strolled through the stacks, supervising the effort, he waved acknowledgments at the passing drivers and stopped to chat with a clutch of stevedores, who were awaiting the next lorry on which to load a shipment. “Evenin’ Mr. Taylor. Dreadful night shapin’ up, eh?” one worker said. “Not to worry, Thompson. You’ve already grown all the mold you’re likely to,” Taylor replied in jest. Thompson grinned an unpleasant grin. Taylor had never sussed out whether it was the expression that was unpleasant or the face that wore it, but, either way, it seemed affable enough. He was about to continue his stroll on the docks when a klaxon sounded. Raised, shouting voices erupted from behind him. He spun to find the source and spotted one of the nearer container cranes flashing with warning lights. He fished the radio out of his pocket and turned up the sound. The chatter came fast and furious, and was almost indecipherable as English, but he could make out a couple of things: someone unauthorized was on Crane 4 and the container it held was now loose. He didn’t remember starting into a full sprint, but that’s where he found himself, heaving toward the crane as fast as his legs would carry him. He looked ahead and up and saw the container dangling from the crane. It didn’t take a trained eye to spot that this was no accident, even though he was well below the massive, pivoting load. Something or someone had let two of the twist locks go on the spreader. Not good. The spreader wouldn’t hold a fully laden container on only two for long before they would shear off. If the container let go, the spreader, the container, the cargo, and the crane itself would all be total losses. He pictured the scenarios playing out in his mind as he ran and envisioned the crane toppling onto the deck of the ship. As the supervisor on duty, he could allow none of this to happen. He had almost reached the crane’s base when he first noticed a pair of armed security men already climbing up the access ladders. One of them had gotten thirty feet up when Taylor hit the deck. “Did I trip?” he thought. He heard a man yell just before the second gunshot. When he lifted his head, the security men both lay motionless on the concrete under the ladder. “Why is someone shooting people on my docks?”

Let me know what you think!

[thedaveandkimmershow]

We knew it was gonna be a day because we were gonna see The Little Lies at The Bite of Seattle and we hadn't been to the Bite so long ago I can't remember.

It was an even bigger day than we imagined because,turns out, it was a HUGE day for Seattle.

For Seattle?

Yeah. Three departing cruise ships. A Storm game. A Mariners game. The Capitol Hill block party.  The Bite of Seattle, of course. And the first of two Taylor Swift concerts.

The city was packed.

We at least, had the good sense to not drive to the Seattle Center. That would've been madness. Instead we drove to Northgate and caught the light rail to Westlake Center. The light rail station at Northgate, by the way, is where we remembered the Taylor Swift concert as her fans dominated the station platform from one end to the other. They made for quite a sight.

From Westlake Center we took an elevator to the Monorail platform three(ish) floors up and rode the Monorail to the Seattle Center, something we also hadn't done in so long I can't remember. But, if I had to guess, it would be whenever the last time was we took Linzy and her high school friends to the Center to shoot a music video.

We arrived at the Fountain Stage around 630, gotta chance to say hi to Linzy as the previous band finished their set, then headed off in search of food which was kind of a bust 'cause the app didn't work on my phone so we went to the Center House, got in line, and then it was like well... this is taking long and the show's about to start so we got out of line even though Kimmer was super hungry and, on our way back to Fountain Stage, we scored a large bag of popcorn that, by all measures, was a small bag of popcorn.

So that was dinner at The Bite of Seattle.

Go figure.

We did get back in time for the start of The Little Lies show, sat down on the grass with a fellow Little Lies fan and, you know, ate our popcorn.

Which brings me to how different the Little Lies crowd experience was this time around. For example, the performances we've been to so far—which I think is about 90% of all their gigs since the beginning—normally features crowds packed to the front of the stage. The only time this isn't so is Olympia's Summer Nights at the Port and Chateau Ste. Michelle Winery where a space is naturally left in front of the stage for people (a lot of people) to dance. In both cases, the crowds skew older: people who grew up with Fleetwood Mac in the seventies.

With this year's Bite of Seattle, however, the crowd skewed younger, mostly families with children as well as twenty- and thirty-somethings also leaving a large area open in front of the stage. The families with children were the first ones we spied dancing with their kids. And when parents eventually sat back down on the grass, their children would continue dancing, often finding dance partners with other children who were there or dragging a sibling out onto the grass with them. There were, of course, older fans who naturally took to the grassy dance floor. But what really struck me were the twenty- and thirty-somethings who sang along, seated on the grass, even though I know Fleetwood Mac fans span generations. Somehow, the reality of that fact always surprises me. It was soon apparent, though, age wasn't the only measure of diversity in this Fleetwood Mac versed audience. There was a diversity of race. And not everyone there was from America.

And yet they all knew the songs.

Now, most of the performances at the Bite of Seattle except for the headliners are forty minutes in length. The Little Lies, however, scored an hour and a half at the end of Saturday. An hour and a half that started with the crowd from the previous band and grew to fill the available space. In fact, with twenty minutes left in the set, I ran up to the front of the stage to grab some of the most iconic Fleetwood Mac songs for YouTube: "Gold Dust Woman" and "Tusk". And while my back was turned from the audience, the audience numbers surged behind me so that I had to actually navigate my way back to Kimmer when the two songs were done. Then I navigated again to the front of the stage once I realized there was still time for a performance of "The Chain" and, during the two times I swung my camera around at the audience, I could see everyone was on their feet. There was even a young woman on the shoulders of her husband or boyfriend a few feet behind me, thoroughly engaged with the music and The Little Lies performance.

So yeah. It was a straight up rock concert. The only difference from the ones of old I grew up with being the smart phones actively capturing video of the band's enthusiastic performance.

Now... that's only the crowd I'm talking about. As for The Little Lies themselves, they were all over this music. They were feelin' it. The passion. The emotion. The joy. The fun. The epic nature of the song.

They were feeling all of it live, on stage, and the audience couldn't get enough.

And then me, at the front of the stage on the lead guitarist's side, I'm looking up at The Little Lies with their wild onstage energy and I realize that, from the angle I'm watching, their background is the Space Needle, from its knees to the top of its head, bathed in the last rays of the day's sunlight.

So yeah, of course. All of it—all of it—really is a helluva thing to experience.

After the show, we're all gathering up our stuff to call it a night and chat with Linzy before we head home when I hear it. More than once.

Hear it?

Yeah. The sound of someone asking What's the name of that band?

The Little Lies.

What's the name of the band?

The Little Lies.

Wow. Yeah.

We had a great night.

☺️☺️☺️

[lonestarbattleship]

Smoke clears away after a five-gun salvo from Turrets 3 and 4 of USS NEVADA (BB-36) at Jaluit Atoll, Marshall Islands. "The primary target was the island [Japanese] command post, a well fortified, bomb proof shelter. The NEVADA's big guns chipped away and completely demolished the objective."

"Shortly after leaving Oahu, the Skipper passed the word to all hands that the destination of the ship was Jaluit, a Jap stronghold in the Marshalls, and after giving the [Japanese] our respects, by the 14-inch salvo method, we would continue on to Saipan.

Early on the morning of June 18, 1945, NEVADA, [USS MURRAY (DD-576) and USS TAYLOR (DD-468)] arrived off Emidj Island. Shortly thereafter a Marine air group came over, making a perfect strike with no loss of planes or personnel. The bombardment force then moved into 9,000 yards and commenced firing. The first and primary tar get was quickly ranged and the chopping away process began. The [Japanese] undertook to shoot it out with the NEVADA and succeeded in getting off two two-gun salvos, resulting in splashes a scant 200 yards from the port bow.

Our five-inch battery then opened up and the enemy's guns were quickly silenced, to the intense relief of all hands.

NEVADA then moved into 4,000 yards and com menced a steady rain of murderous fire. Target after target was eliminated and the cease fire order was given. As the Nevada pulled away from the scene of action an enemy ammunition dump blew up, thus bringing a fit ting climax to a perfect day -- for us.

Several days later Saipan was reached and after fuel ing and provisioning, the ship proceeded to Okinawa, a place we had been to before, and would not soon forget. On June 30, 1945, the Nevada joined forces with USS CALIFORNIA (BB-44) and USS WEST VIRGINIA (BB-48) to become a part of a patrol that would last until the end of the war."

USS Nevada Cruiser Book: link, link

[beardedmrbean]

The first of three White men who chased and killed Ahmaud Arbery in a Georgia neighborhood in 2020 was sentenced Monday to life in prison for committing a federal hate crime – just months after he and the other defendants received life in prison for state murder charges.

Travis McMichael, who killed Arbery with a shotgun after the street chase initiated by his father and joined by a neighbor, was the first of the three defendants to be sentenced on Monday, when he was ordered to spend life in prison. U.S. District Court Judge Lisa Godbey Wood scheduled back-to-back hearings to individually sentence each of the defendants. Hearings for Travis’ father, Greg McMichael, and neighbor, William "Roddie" Bryan, followed. 

Arbery's killing on Feb. 23, 2020, became part of a larger national reckoning over racial injustice and killings of unarmed Black people including George Floyd in Minneapolis and Breonna Taylor in Kentucky. Those two cases also resulted in the Justice Department bringing federal charges.

The McMichaels and Bryan faced possible life sentences after a jury convicted them in February of federal hate crimes, concluding that they violated Arbery's civil rights and targeted him because of his race. All three men were also found guilty of attempted kidnapping, and the McMichaels face additional penalties for using firearms to commit a violent crime.

A state Superior Court judge imposed life sentences for all three men in January for Arbery's murder, with both McMichaels denied any chance of parole. Federal life sentences "give you a backstop in the event that an appellate court decides there was some kind of error in the course of the state trial," said Michael Moore, an Atlanta lawyer and former U.S. attorney for the Middle District of Georgia.

All three defendants have remained jailed in coastal Glynn County, in the custody of U.S. marshals, while awaiting sentencing after their federal convictions in January.

Because they were first charged and convicted of murder in a state court, protocol would have them turned over to the Georgia Department of Corrections to serve their life terms in a state prison.

In court filings last week, both Travis and Greg McMichael asked the judge to instead divert them to a federal prison, saying they won’t be safe in a Georgia prison system that’s the subject of a U.S. Justice Department investigation focused on violence between inmates. 

The McMichaels armed themselves with guns and jumped in a truck to chase Arbery after spotting him running past their home outside the port city of Brunswick on Feb. 23, 2020. Bryan joined the pursuit in his own truck, helping cut off Arbery's escape. 

He also recorded cellphone video of Travis McMichael shooting Arbery at close range as Arbery threw punches and grabbed at the shotgun.

MEN FOUND GUILTY IN ARBERY MURDER WILL GO TO FEDERAL COURT ON HATE CRIME CHARGES

The McMichaels told police they suspected Arbery had been stealing from a nearby house under construction. But authorities later concluded he was unarmed and had committed no crimes. Arbery's family has long insisted he was merely out jogging.

The McMichaels and Bryan were arrested after the graphic video of the shooting leaked online and the Georgia Bureau of Investigation took over the case from local police.

During the February hate crimes trial, prosecutors fortified their case that Arbery's killing was motivated by racism by showing the jury roughly two dozen text messages and social media posts in which Travis McMichael and Bryan used racist slurs and made disparaging comments about Black people. A woman testified to hearing an angry rant from Greg McMichael in 2015 in which he said: "All those Blacks are nothing but trouble."

Defense attorneys for the three men argued the McMichaels and Bryan didn’t pursue Arbery because of his race but acted on an earnest — though erroneous — suspicion that Arbery had committed crimes in their neighborhood.

[ailendolin]

Fluff alphabet ask

C for Thomas

K for The Captain

X for Pat

I am so curious to read your opinions ☺️

Thank you for these! 💙 This was the first time I did some sort of headcanons for Cap and Pat and I really hope I'm not too off here 😂

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

I think depending on the situation, Thomas would either try to make the person he loves smile or quietly sit with them and hold their hands. If he knows it’s nothing serious, he will make up the most ridiculous poem on the spot and go completely overboard with the presentation. Alternatively, he’ll start singing horribly and deliberately off-key as loud as he can and pull silly faces. As long as there's a glimmer of hope it will make his special someone smile and perhaps even laugh, he's very much willing to make a spectacle of himself.

But if it’s something serious, perhaps even a panic attack, he does the complete opposite. He goes quiet and still and becomes a safe port in a storm for his loved one. He will reassure them with words and touches if those are welcome - and if they're not, he'll keep his distance but stay with them until they’re ready to talk, silently letting them know they are not alone.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

I think the Captain’s first kiss was with a girl. It was what was expected of him so of course he held Lisa Taylor’s hand after school and gave her a kiss. She seemed to enjoy it well enough. In that moment, it did not matter that there were no butterflies in his stomach or that his heart did not leap into his throat whenever she smiled at him. She was still lovely and kind. Just the kind of girl his mother had always wanted him to bring home.

Over the years, he brought other girls home too. The uniform certainly played its part in that but no matter how many girls he kissed, the butterflies stayed dormant. He learned what girls liked and didn’t liked – but never what he himself enjoyed. It was alright, though. At least that's what he'd always told himself until he met Havers. For the first time in his life the Captain wanted. He had dreams and hopes and butterflies - but they all came crashing down when Havers left.

The Captain’s first kiss was with a girl, but the one that would have mattered never happened.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

I can definitely see Pat being very affectionate with his special someone. I think he truly loved Carol but just kind of forgot to show it over time. He was probably the man of her dreams when they were first met – and then his scheduling started to take over more and more of their lives until everything they did was completely planned through. It sucked the joy out of everything and in the end Carol missed the man she loved even though he was right next to her every day.

Pat wouldn’t make that mistake again. He knows his lack of spontaneity drove Carol away so even though he holds onto his Clubs and still plans nice dates for himself and his special someone, he will make sure not to let it get the better of him. He reminds himself to listen, so when his loved one says something like, “Look at that sunrise. Isn’t it magnificent?” he will turn away from his television program and make a conscious decision to live in the moment for once. They will spend the rest of the evening outside, away from everyone else, and cuddle under the stars until one of them spots a shooting star. Pat’s wish? To never forget how precious a gift it is to spend time with someone.

[contemplatingoutlander]

Marjorie Taylor Greene Harassing Parkland Shooting Survivor and Gun Control Activist David Hogg

What is truly astonishing to me is that this was posted by Marjorie Taylor Greene (MTG) herself. She’s proud of it.  This is what she wrote:

Needless to say, this really upset people like Fred Guttenberg, whose daughter died in the Parkland shooting.

Besides the video showing Marjorie Taylor Greene to be an awful, insensitive human being, it also shows that she is very ignorant about guns and schools.

*   *   *

Armed Guards at Schools Don’t Deter Mass Shootings 

For instance, there is no evidence that armed guards at schools deter shootings. According to Alex Yablon, writing for The Trace:

But the record usually doesn’t back up the deterrence theory — gunmen have often targeted schools with armed guards. In four high-profile 2018 school shootings — Kentucky’s Marshall County High School in January; Florida’s Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in February; Maryland’s Great Mills High School in March, and Santa Fe High School in Texas in May — attackers stormed campuses despite the presence of armed guards. In all four of those cases, guards failed to stop the gunman from killing. [emphasis added]

According to Yablon, there are only “a handful of documented cases in which an armed security guard or police officers have stopped a school shooting.” Furthermore:

In the 25 shootings in the [Texas State University’s] ALERRT study that targeted schools, none were brought to an end by armed staff, guards or police officers returning fire. These shootings most commonly ended when the shooters were restrained by unarmed staff. [emphasis added]

*   *   *

If Americans Wanted to Stop Mass School Shootings They Would Ban Military-Style Assault Weapons

According to Clifton Leaf, writing for Fortune, following a 1996 shooting where 35 people died in Port Arthur, Australia, “semi-automatic and other military-style weapons” were banned in Australia. Leaf goes on to say:

So what happened after the assault-weapon ban? Well therein lies the other half of the story twist noted above: Nothing.

Nothing, that is, in a good way.

Australian independence didn’t end. Tyranny didn’t come. Australians still hunted and explored and big-wave surfed to their hearts’ content. Their economy didn’t crash; Invaders never arrived. Violence, in many forms, went down across the country, not up. Somehow, lawmakers on either side of the gun debate managed to get along and legislate.

As for mass killings, there were no more.* Not one in the past 22 years.

[emphasis added]

_________

*More accurately, there were no more Australian mass shooting deaths in the double digits since 1996. The highest number of Australian mass shooting deaths since 1996 happened in 2018 when a grandfather killed 6 of his family members and then himself.

[maria-scribbles]

glitter + crimson (let’s start a riot)//part two

summary: the pogues get up to a few shenanigans, burn the shit out of some marshmallows, and have a group hug of epic proportions. the dynamic duo of kiara and sailor brings out girl power in full force before getting real about a certain golden group rule. 

word count: 4.2k+ 

ship: jj maybank x oc (sailor flynn)

warnings: mentions of abuse/neglect/parental abandonment/anxiety, underage drinking, weed usage, more fluff, flirting, reference to absolute legend kobe bryant

a/n: hello again! thank you all for the great response to part one, i’m seriously blown away and so grateful for your support! <3 i’m happy y’all enjoyed reading about sailor’s adventures with the pogues! here’s part two, which had previously been combined with part one but i decided to split it because it was getting wayyyy too long (over 8k words, oops). also i’ve never even seen weed with my own two eyes before so my bad if that part’s not realistic, i did my best lol. unbetaed, so i apologize for any mistakes. enjoy!

gif credit goes to @toesure​

~Masterlist~

part one | part three | part four | playlist

part two: treading water 

The pogues spend the next few hours among the waves, surfing their hearts out until they’re waterlogged, exhausted, and hungry. As the sun starts to sink over the island they pile into John B’s beat up Volkswagen, all their boards tied together on the roof, and head to The Wreck, where Kiara’s dad begrudgingly feeds his daughter and her ‘delinquent’ friends.

That word seems pretty harsh at first but as the evening goes on and the group gets a little louder, it’s kind of well-deserved. Pope can’t seem to stop dropping his fork, sending the rest of them into hysterical laughter each time, and everyone knows when Taylor Swift comes on the radio, Sailor has an obligation to get up and dance. The fact that she knocks a chair over in her haste to show off her moves only makes them laugh harder. When they finally leave and head back to the Chateau for the night, she makes sure to put forty bucks on their table for the food and the twelve pack of beer Kiara swipes from behind the bar when Mr. Carrera isn’t looking.

While it may not look like much, John B’s house if home for more than just him. It’s a safe port for all the pogues when they get lost in the storm, a place where they can all be themselves, be real, without judgement, and it’s Sailor’s second favorite place on the island. She’s lost count of how many nights she’s spent here, sleeping in the spare room, on the pull-out couch, and the hammock in the yard (sleepovers have become even more common in the eight months since Big John’s disappearance at sea, no one willing to leave his son all alone in an empty house.).

The hammock is where she finds herself now on this warm June night, sitting beside JJ with his arm around her shoulders, clad in his sweatshirt that she unashamedly stole last year, passing a joint back and forth while the others lounge around the small bonfire, roasting the old marshmallows John B found in the very back of one of his kitchen’s cupboards and drinking beer. One of her long legs dangles over the edge, toes pushing against the cool grass as they lazily swing back and forth, watching Kiara burn her third marshmallow in a row.

“Kie, what did those poor things ever do to you?” Sailor asks, exhaling smoke through her nose before passing the joint to JJ, and the brush of his fingers against hers sends warmth through her whole body. Kiara just shoots her the bird in response as she stabs her fourth marshmallow and holds it over the fire. The redhead laughs and rests her head against JJ’s shoulder, her limbs light as air. In the distance, lightning arcs between the clouds and creates a dazzling show over the water as thunder rumbles but none of them care enough to notice.

Although she never outright asks to smoke, she also never refuses the chance to get high with her best friend and let their problems drift away with every hit, if only for a little while. Lines get a little blurry between them, too, as both become oh so affectionate with each other when their inhibitions disappear like the sun over the horizon. She sighs contentedly at the blissful feeling of his fingers running through her hair and burrows further into his side, turning so she can throw an arm over his waist and curl her own fingers into the soft material of his shirt.

“Damn it!” John B yells as his marshmallow, in the span of a few seconds, catches fire and unceremoniously falls into the flames with a hiss.

“Ha, I’m not the only one on the struggle bus!” Kiara laughs gleefully, delicately turning her fourth attempt to keep it from burning like the other three. “We can’t all be Pope, I guess.”

The other boy looks up at the mention of his name and grins, holding out a perfectly toasted marshmallow on the end of the stick in his hand. “It takes talent, Kie.” He jokes, chuckling as she sticks her tongue out at him.

Sailor can’t help laughing, too when the two of them dive headfirst into a heated discussion about the finer points of roasting things over a campfire, their voices becoming louder and louder as they try to talk over one another while John B, unfazed from his spot between them, just holds another marshmallow over the fire and ignores them completely as he takes a sip of his beer.

“Aaaand JB’s totally checked out of that particular conversation,” She says to JJ under her breath and she feels more than hears him laugh in response.

“Poor bastard,” He whispers back before taking one last hit of the joint, now burnt down to a nub in his hand, and flicking it into the fire with a shout of “Kobe!”

“Nice one, hotshot.” She shifts her head up on his shoulder as her eyes unabashedly trace his profile in the warm orange glow of the fire, from the golden hair falling haphazardly onto his forehead and down the straight slope of his nose to the curve of his lips before she’s caught -not that she was being subtle in any possible way-, his ocean blue gaze holding hers with an electrified energy that would’ve normally set her whole face aflame. She’s not Normal Sailor now though, she’s High Sailor and High Sailor has positively zero shame so she just looks up at him with a saccharine smile on her face and blesses the fact that weed makes her bold as hell. 

The flickering flames throw JJ’s features into sharp relief and highlight the dimples that she loves as he returns her smile, the hand in her hair now twirling a single curl around his finger. His free hand settles on the strip of bare skin at her waist where her sweatshirt has ridden up and her heart beats a little faster when he starts drawing agonizingly slow circles with his thumb. Her hand releases its grip on his shirt and before she even realizes it, she’s reaching up and brushing a finger along her jaw, just like he’d done to her that afternoon on the beach, and she feels the fingers at her waist press against her skin. 

It’s moments like these that make her wish she could freeze time and live in them forever. Just the two of them, looking at each other like they’re more than just friends, touching each other like they’re falling into something beautiful and all they need to do is stick the landing. The possibility of taking that final leap teases her. He’s so close, it wouldn’t take much to just reach up and make that minuscule distance between them disappear and from the way his eyes flick down to her mouth and back, she’s sure he’s thinking the same. They won’t though and for now that’s okay, but deep down she wonders just how long they can balance on the cliff’s edge before they both fall. 

As much as she’d like to stare at his stupidly handsome face all night, the weather has other plans as lightning flashes white across the sky, immediately followed by a big crack of thunder that makes Sailor jump and accidentally headbutt JJ right in the forehead. The stick in Pope’s hand goes flying somewhere into the bushes when he startles, too, and there’s a pause as everyone looks at each other before bursting into wild laughter.

“Jesus, Sail,” JJ says, reaching up to rub at the spot she hit, “you have a hard head.”

Her reply of “speak for yourself!” is drowned out by another clap of thunder and seconds later it starts pouring rain, sending the group scrambling to head back inside the Chateau before they get too drenched. The duo, in their haste, get tangled together in the hammock and nearly fall to the ground in a heap but manage to hold each other up with their hands clasped tight, both laughing so hard she’s sure the water on their faces is more than just rain.

“The beer! Don’t forget the beer!” Someone yells and John B, halfway to the porch in front of them, does a smooth 180 on the wet grass and runs back for the booze sitting beside the dying fire, sending them a lazy salute when he passes by.

“We honor your sacrifice, Captain!” JJ calls over his shoulder before they clamber onto the porch alongside a giggling Kiara.

“Oh my God, you two almost bit it so hard.” She says while wringing out her shirt, adding to the steadily growing puddle of water at their feet.

“But we didn’t, all thanks to me and my impeccable balance.” He says proudly, grinning down at the girl still snug against his side before she lets go of his hand to slug him in the shoulder.

“Ow, what was that for?”

“Oh please, J, I was the one who kept you from falling on your face. Now, hold still.” Sailor orders and places her hand on his arm, using him for balance as she brushes the grass from her feet.

“Yes, ma’am.” His reply is low in her ear, his hand settles even lower on her back, and she pretends the shiver her body makes is just from the cool rain.

“You like being bossed around, Maybank?”

Her hand grips his strong shoulder a little bit tighter, and she feels his fingers tighten on her sweatshirt as he replies, “Depends on who’s doing the bossing, Flynn.”

Kiara coughs pointedly, staring at them with her eyebrows raised and Sailor feels her face begin to flush bright red because, to be honest, she’d kind of forgotten she was even there as they both let go of each other. The other girl snickers and drawls, “If you two are quite done-”

Thankfully, a thoroughly soaked John B joins them and interrupts whatever Kiara was going to say, his hair plastered to his face and dripping onto the soggy carton of beer protectively cradled in his arms.

“Mission accomplished.” He says with a satisfied smile, setting the drinks down on a chair before shaking his head like a dog and splattering rainwater on everyone, including Pope as he emerges from the house carrying a pile of towels. A few drops land on his cheek and he wrinkles his nose in disgust, wiping them away with his own towel hanging around his neck.

“I was just kidding about the beer.” He says, throwing one and smacking John B right in the face, then kindly passing out the rest. Sailor barely grabs the last one before Pope’s suddenly put in a headlock by the brunet boy, yelling something about mutiny and a captain “not standing for this” as they start to grapple back and forth. JJ pauses in the middle of drying his hair and instantly jumps into the fray after tossing his towel to the floor, the scuffle quickly turning into a three way wrestling match.

She and Kiara both glance at each other and roll their eyes before scooting by the melee and heading into the house, leaving the boys to do their thing. They quickly dry off and change into pajamas, hang their wet clothes up to dry in the bathroom, and then tiredly flop onto the bed in the spare room together.

“How long do you think it’ll take until Wrestlemania out there’s done?” Sailor asks, rolling onto her stomach and reaching to pull her phone and glasses out of her bag on the floor; under her newly acquired hat, the lightning whelk peeks through its towel and the sight of it makes her smile softly. Kiara snorts and sits up, crossing her legs and running her fingers through her damp hair. “Knowing those fools, too long.”

The redhead laughs and mirrors the other girl’s position before slipping her glasses on and glancing down at her phone in trepidation, where no new texts block the lock screen picture of her and the rest of the pogues, and she does her best to ignore the hurt coiling in her chest, the smile fading from her face. She places the phone screen down on the bedside table and when she raises her head, she’s not surprised to find Kiara, ever so perceptive, staring at her with sympathy in her soft brown eyes.

“You okay?” She asks and Sailor takes off her glasses, then pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them.

“Could be better.”

Lightning illuminates the room, followed by an impressive crack of thunder a few seconds later as rain continues to pound against the window and down the hall, they hear the door slam closed as the boys finally storm inside after their scuffle, still yelling like banshees. The other girl reaches over and quickly squeezes her wrist before shooting her a bright smile.

“If you ever need to vent, I’m all ears.”

She knows she means it. Aside from JJ, Kiara’s her closest friend and from the moment they met, the two had quickly bonded over being the only girls in the group and their love of the environment: she’s lost count of how many times they’ve volunteered, both themselves and the rest of the pogues, to help raise money for animals. Despite Kiara’s kook year, Sailor considers her a sister and knows that Kie feels the same about her. Having each other’s backs no matter what is just what they do.

The redhead looks away from watching the storm outside and matches Kiara’s smile, then scoots closer to wrap her arms around her in a grateful hug.

“Thanks, Kie.” 

The dark haired girl eagerly returns the embrace. “Any-”

“Comin’ through, gotta get me some of this group hug action!” JJ yells, storming into the room like a hurricane and throwing his arms around them, all but tackling them onto the bed before they even realize what’s happening.

“No, no, you’re still wet!” Sailor cries as his head rests against the back of her neck, his damp hair slowly beginning to soak into her shirt while Kiara growls, “Oh my God, get off!” 

“And miss out on this? No way.” He says cheekily and pulls them both closer, ignoring the dark haired girl’s venomous glare and attempts to pry his hand away from her arm. Sailor, resigned to her fate, just laughs and calls over his arm to John B and Pope as they curiously poke their heads in from the hall, “Get your asses in here!”

She doesn’t have to tell them twice. They throw themselves into the hug faster than she can blink and with such contagious enthusiasm that Kiara can’t fight the affectionate grin making its way onto her face, even as she threatens, “I’m gonna kill all of you.”

Sailor rests her cheek on JJ’s outstretched arm and smiles to herself. This, right here and now, is where she belongs, surrounded by the best friends she could ask for, living each moment to its fullest. No matter what comes their way, she knows this is true: as long as they all stand together, the pogues will be just fine. 

Some time later, the hug comes to an end as JJ jokingly complains about Sailor’s big head making his arm numb, which earns him a swift elbow to the stomach from the redhead.

“Weak.” She replies, smirking at the little oof he makes before grabbing his arm and pulling them both up from the bed. “Now get out.” 

“Please.” Kiara agrees and pushes John B out the door, followed by Pope. “This room is girls only.”

“Since when?” The latter asks, sidestepping to avoid JJ as he’s playfully shoved into the hall by Sailor, who replies, “Right now.”

“Why?”

“’Cause we said so!” Both girls say in unison before they slam the door shut and then lean their backs against it, giggling. On the other side, they hear Pope ask in a very amused voice, “I thought this was your house?”

John B sighs the deepest sigh they’ve ever heard before replying, “Yeah, I did, too.”

“Ten bucks they’re gonna talk shit about us.” JJ says and there’s a not so subtle bump against the door that gives away the fact that he’s got his ear pressed to it, trying to listen in on them; a fact that gets proven when Sailor smacks her hand on it and makes him stumble back with a yelp of surprise.

“Dream on!”

“You wish!”

She and Kiara call at the same time, then glance at each other and burst into another fit of giggles.

“Tough break, dude. You’ll feel better in the morning.” That was John B’s tactless way of saying he’s tired without actually saying it and seconds later they hear his footsteps disappear down the hall to his room as he makes his escape, followed faintly by the sound of his door swinging shut.

“You don’t talk about us at all, Sail? Seriously?” JJ asks and Sailor can almost feel the sheer force of Pope’s inevitable eye roll when he mumbles under his breath, “Oh my God.”

Kiara’s on the same wavelength as him because she rolls her eyes, too and all but yells, “If we say yes will you fucking leave?” 

There’s a pause and then: a slightly miffed “...yes.” along with Pope trying and failing to disguise his laugh as a cough.

“Then yes, we do talk about you. Now go.”

“Okay, okay! Jeez.”

“Goodnight, boys!” Sailor calls in a singsong voice before hearing them retreat to the living room, arguing about who gets the sleeper sofa and who gets stuck with the regular couch. When she’s sure they’re gone she shakes her head fondly (she doesn’t see why they can’t just get over themselves and share the damn thing) and turns back to Kiara, who’s already in the middle of pulling the damp comforter from the bed, her face the picture of disgust. 

“Ugh,” She shudders, tossing it to the floor and then wiping her hands on a discarded towel from earlier. “Don’t touch that.”

“No shit.”

The dark haired girl jokingly flips Sailor the bird and then joins her in lounging on the bed, watching the fan spin in circles above their heads while the storm outside continues to rage on. The silence is comforting, soothing, and goes on for so long that the redhead’s nearly sent off to dreamland by the sound of the rain before Kiara finally speaks, “Hey, Sail?”

She hums in response, slowly turning her head to face her and blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” She replies with an impish grin, but it slips from her face when the other girl shoots her a flat, unamused glance. 

“Ha ha. I’m being serious, okay?”

Well that wasn’t worrying at all. “Is something wrong?” Sailor asks, rolling onto her side to face her friend completely and propping her head on her arm, all traces of lethargy thrown out the window. Kiara does the same with an unreadable look in her eyes as she answers, “No, I’m just a little...okay, a lot curious about something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

“I mean, I kind of have to. You know I suck at lying.”

She frowns when Kiara doesn’t even react to her comment and instead starts to worry her bottom lip between her teeth. “It’s kind of a personal question, though.”

Oh, Jesus. She’s gonna ask about her dad, Sailor knows it, and that’s something she’s just not ready to talk about -she hasn’t even told JJ the whole story yet and she tells him (almost) everything- but before she can think of a semi-decent excuse, or run to the bathroom, or pretend to just pass the fuck out, Kiara blurts, “What’s the deal between you and JJ?”

Okay, that’s decidedly not what she expected to hear and it completely throws her for a loop, her brain blowing a fuse in epic fashion. A long stream of gibberish comes from her mouth as she tries and fails to articulate a response because holy hell she’s so not prepared for this; she’s a listener, not a talker! She’s the confidante not the confider, the asker not the answerer, and she can feel herself getting a little sweaty at just the thought of talking about her feelings, even with someone as close to her as Kiara. She almost wishes the other girl had asked about her dad.  

To be honest she should’ve seen this coming, considering the looks Kiara’s been sending her recently and especially today, the ones that clearly meant that the dark haired girl’s seen what’s been happening and wants. that. tea. What Sailor doesn’t get though, is why she’s being so serious about it: she expects at least an overexaggerated wink or a teasing comment or two from her friend but she’s just waiting patiently, the slightest hint of mirth in her eyes. 

Finally, the redhead manages to collect her panicked thoughts enough to squeak oh so eloquently, “Me-him-nothing!” 

Kiara arches one eyebrow. “Sail, you really do suck at lying.”

Sailor flops back onto the bed and slides her hands down her furiously blushing face with a groan. “I’m not lying.” She mutters insistently but even she can admit it sounds weak as hell.

“It’s obvious there’s something-”

Something in her snaps and before she can stop them, words just start coming out with the force of a wave crashing against the shore, rough and callous. “It’s obvious there’s nothing going on, okay? Nothing. And even if there was -not that I’m saying there is- it can’t happen. That’s the golden rule, Kie.” 

Kiara looks momentarily taken aback at the redhead’s outburst and then rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling for a moment before she whispers quietly, like a secret she’s reluctant to share, “Maybe I think that rule is stupid.” 

“Stupid?” Sailor glances over incredulously, the brief flash of anger aimed at her friend slowly morphing into confusion. “You’re the one who came up with it in the first place!”

“I know...” The dark haired girl sighs, tiredly running her hands through her hair, “I wanted to keep things from getting weird! It’s worked pretty well so far but I’m kind of, sort of, maybe starting to think it might not have been the best idea.”

“Why?” She asks, brow furrowing.

Kiara appears deep in thought as she keeps staring at the ceiling, working her jaw until she seems to come to a decision and turns her head to look Sailor in the eye. “Because I don’t think something as simple as a rule should be able to dictate who you can or can’t...love.”

Oh, God. Anxiety starts to take hold in her chest and she tries to keep her brain from going into five-alarm fire mode, her fingers tapping nervously against her leg. Why oh why did she have to say the L-word? Who said anything about that? Hell, it’s been a few months and she’s still getting used to her world-changing, panic-inducing, everything-clicking-into-place epiphany that made her realize that she does, in fact, like JJ as more than a friend (how and when her feelings changed, she hasn’t quite figured that out yet.). She’s not even close to thinking about love. Noticing her friend’s distress, Kiara reaches over to place her darker hand on the paler girl’s and gives it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I’m not saying you love him, okay? But there’s obviously something good going on between you guys and I’m not cool with some dumb rule we made when we were twelve getting in the way of your happiness,” Her mouth curls into a lighthearted smirk, “even if it happens to be with someone as, uh, distinct as JJ.”

Despite herself, Sailor snorts a laugh and the tight feeling in her chest slowly starts to become a little more bearable as its replaced by a swell of gratitude that she has a person as wonderful as Kiara for a friend. She really did luck out in that department, she thinks, and the corner of her mouth lifts in a small smile. 

“Distinct?”

“Hey, I was gonna say idiotic but I’m trying to be nice here.” The dark haired girl says, laughing as Sailor affectionately rolls her eyes before continuing, “But you do know that if he messes this up I’ll kick his ass, right?”

“Trust me, I do.”

“Good.” She punctuates that with a massive yawn, then rolls away from her and pulls the sheets higher over her chest, mumbling, “Now I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for bed. All this deep talk made me tired.”

“Big mood,” Sailor replies, reaching over and flicking off the bedside lamp, the only light now coming from the occasional flash of lightning through the windows as she rolls comfortably onto her side, tucking her arm under the pillow. Silence settles over them, dark and calm and stretching for who knows how long before she says quietly, “Thanks, Kie.”

There’s no answer. Realizing she must’ve already nodded off, the redhead’s just about to crash herself when her friend’s reply softly cuts through the silence like a knife.

“You’re not the only one I did it for.”

Kiara doesn’t say anything after that and Sailor falls asleep wondering what, or rather who, exactly the other girl meant. 

~

let me know what you think! 

taglist ❤ (i added everyone who’s comments and reblogs made me smile so let me know if you don’t want to be tagged!) : @jiaraendgame @obxlife @sunflowerbecca @maysbanks @obx-adventures @mortifiedposts @sexualparkour​ @coltonparayyko​ @heavensalreadyheres​

[pretchatta]

hear it in the silence

a kanera valentine’s day songfic 💕 thank you taylor swift for writing you are in love

rating: general; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 3.6k words

---

They’re standing in an otherwise empty storage container, waiting for the stormtroopers to move past them to the next hangar. It’s dark, but the box isn’t airtight, and a shaft of light from one of the holes in the top falls over his face. They’re both completely silent, barely even breathing, and there’s a moment when the footsteps stop just outside of the closed, unlocked doors. A moment of suspense, of anticipation, of dread, and he looks at her with an openness she knows he doesn’t show to anyone else.

Then the doors are slammed open, because someone tipped the troopers off to potential trespassers, and the moment is gone. They’re fighting their way out; of the container, of the hangar, of the space port, grappling with troopers and guards and running from blaster fire until they’re racing up the ramp of the Ghost. Kanan slams the controls to close it behind them as Hera scales the ladder to the cockpit, both aware that they’re not truly safe until they’re off the ground.

The mission isn’t a total loss; they have the information they were after and neither of them are seriously injured, though that says more to the competence level of Imperial soldiers than any particular skill on their part. They’ll just have to be careful in this sector in the future, since now the Empire knows it’s a target for rebel activity.

In the cockpit, the transparisteel viewport fills with the swirling blue vortex of hyperspace and Hera finally lets herself relax. Kanan joins her, his presence in the nose gun no longer necessary. At one point in the fighting his hair had come loose from its tie, but he doesn’t seem to notice it fanning around his shoulders.

He struggles to remove his coat, a strand of hair having tangled on one of the buttons on the collar. Hera laughs and reaches out to help him, her nimble fingers quickly freeing the fastening and pushing the coat over his shoulders.

“If I’d known the way to get you to undress me was plain incompetence, I would’ve tried this a long time ago,” he jokes.

She shoots him a look from under an arched eyebrow. “I think you’ll find you’ve been doing that all along.”

She strokes a stray lock of hair back from his face and adds, in a lighter tone, “I guess you’ve finally worn me down.”

She’s not sure what surprised him more, her words or her touch, but for a moment he’s caught off guard. She catches a glimpse of an awed, longing expression before he quickly covers it.

He clears his throat and hastily ducks into the crew quarters to put the coat away. Now alone, she replays those looks in her head: the one he gave her in the storage container, and the one he gave her on the Ghost. It isn’t much, but she has growing suspicions. She tries not to think about how she feels about that; she’s had that conversation with herself several times over the year Kanan has been living on her ship. She distracts herself by placing the datacube they recovered into the terminal in her cabin to start decrypting.

Back in the cockpit, they make small talk as they prepare to land for a supply run. She lets him pilot; it may be her ship, but he has a point about the possibility of him needing to take over if she is incapacitated. She tells him that he needs to practise, and that she needs to know he will treat her ship right, but the fact that she’s letting him in the pilot’s seat at all speaks volumes about how much she trusts him.

It’s only after landing that they realised they miscalculated their arrival. It’s the middle of the night, local time, and none of the vendors are open yet except an all-hours café. It’s quiet, and they have nothing else to do for several hours, so he offers to buy her a cup of caf.

Inside, they take their seats at a table, not quite the only customers there. They talk about space lag, and the planets they’ve been to, and the different systems of measuring time across the galaxy. After a while Hera notices a pair of bright spots on the wall that move when she does; she realises it’s the light reflecting off the goggles on her head. She wears the pilot’s cap out of habit nowadays rather than any actual need for it, and she often forgets it’s there.

Kanan notices her distraction and peers around at the wall behind him.

“Is this another place with a rot-wing infestation?”

“Hm? Oh, no, I’m just playing with reflections.”

He cranes his neck until he spots the dancing lights and chuckles. After casting around for the light source, he gives it a speculative look and then says, “Hey -- look up.”

He scoots his chair around until he’s next to her, and she obligingly points her head towards the ceiling above them. She sees him angling his body out of the corner of her eye, and then there’s a third patch of light next to the two she’s creating. Without moving her head, she looks at what he’s doing, and realises he’s using his shoulder armour. The dark green paint is chipped around the edge, revealing the shiny silver metal underneath.

She laughs at the ridiculousness of what they’re doing, two grown adults playing with reflections like children. They chase each other's little spots of brightness over the ceiling and he laughs too, his unarmoured shoulder brushing hers. It's only a small brush, but she feels something like a jolt of electricity from the contact. From the way he jerks back, she guesses he felt it too.

They stare at each other for a moment, the lights forgotten. The space between them seems charged with a strange energy; neither of them dares to breathe as the moment stretches. He's giving her that look again, and she can't help wondering what it would be like to kiss him. It would be so easy to lean in and find out.

The moment is broken by someone entering the cafe, the door swooshing open with a soft ding. They both release the breath neither had realised they'd been holding, and Kanan's eyes flick to the newcomer while Hera turns back to her cup of caf. The energy is immediately diffused, and they resume their wait. Neither speaks, but it is an easy silence, comfortable and familiar.  

Dawn comes to this part of the planet, and with it, the opening of the market stalls. They shop for their supplies, exchanging their usual banter as they decide what fresh food they’ll eat over the next week, and which scented soap will grace the Ghost’s refresher for the next month.

Despite leaving an early morning behind them, it’s the end of their day cycle, so Hera finds an empty patch of space to drift through. They retire to their cabins, buoyed by the full fuel tank and restocked galley that resulted from their successful supply run.

Alone in her bunk, Hera lies awake thinking back to certain moments of the day. Once again, she replays those looks, and the touches, the soft words, the silence in between. She starts it thinking about Kanan, but by the end, her thoughts have drifted to herself. What it all means, to her. How she feels about it.

She finally confronts the thought that’s been waiting in the back of her head, tired of pushing it down.

“You’re in love with him,” she whispers to herself in the dark.

The fact doesn’t scare her, as she thinks it should; it is simply true.

Continue on AO3 ->

[xtruss]

The Forgotten Tale of the Confederate Spies Who Invaded Vermont

In 1864, Southern soldiers plotted to take tiny St. Albans, rob its banks, and change the course of the Civil War.

— By Michael Tougias | July 16, 2021 | Boston Globe Magazine

Captives, including students from St. Albans Academy, under guard by Confederate raiders. FROM THE VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY

ON OCTOBER 10, 1864, Bennett Young stepped off the train from Canada, and into the train depot at St. Albans, Vermont, 15 miles south of the border. Young, a handsome, clean-shaven 21-year-old divinity student, took a room at the Tremont House on Main Street and spent the next few days familiarizing himself with the town. But Young was not what he seemed. He was a native of Kentucky, not Canada, and a Confederate officer recently escaped from a prisoner-of-war camp. He was here in this bustling railroad center of about 4,000 residents to change the course of the war.

It had been fewer than five days since Young received a message from C.C. Clay Jr., a former US senator from Alabama. Clay, sent to Canada in 1864 by Confederate President Jefferson Davis to build a network of secret agents, had written: “Your suggestion for a raid upon the most accessible towns in Vermont, commencing with St. Albans, is approved, and you are authorized and required to act in conformity with that suggestion.”

Davis himself had approved the bold series of raids. The South was clearly losing the Civil War. Atlanta had fallen to General William T. Sherman a month earlier. General Ulysses S. Grant’s forces were hounding Robert E. Lee’s Army of Virginia. The port of Mobile, Alabama, had been blockaded by Rear Admiral David Farragut. The hope was that several dramatic raids from Canada into the North would at the least force Union troops north to defend the border, easing pressure on Lee. If Union troops chased the raiders into Canada, it might help draw neutral Canada and Great Britain into the war on the side of the Confederates. And if things went really well, it might demoralize Northern voters so much that they would elect a Democrat as president instead of the Republican incumbent, Abraham Lincoln. Plus, the Confederacy needed cash.

Over the next nine days, some 20 more men from Canada arrived in groups of twos and threes. Like Young, they were also Confederate soldiers posing as Canadian civilians in St. Albans for business or relaxation. These men, only two of whom were older than 30, made polite inquiries about horses they could rent and guns they could borrow for a bit of hunting. Some took day trips to nearby towns, to play out the ruse and scout other targets to raid. Others wandered into the town’s banks, striking up conversations with the locals or inquiring about the price of gold. Their real interest was determining how many employees each bank had. Some occasionally met with Young clandestinely at his hotel, to share information and discuss the outlines of their mission.

Young, meanwhile, played his part with flair. He courted a woman staying at his hotel, impressed the villagers with his conspicuous Bible reading, and visited the home of the governor of Vermont, railroad magnate J. Gregory Smith. Smith was in Montpelier at the time, so his wife, Ann Eliza Smith, showed Young around the grounds. She thought Young “a nice mannered man,” not realizing he intended to burn the mansion down as retribution for the burning of Southern governors’ mansions.

Young had determined two potential escape routes for the bold plan, which would turn out to be the northernmost action of the Civil War. But he also saw a threat: Just a couple of blocks west of Main Street was a busy railway station and foundry, employing dozens of men who might leap into action. Still, he was confident — the raiders were going to need 30 minutes, at most, to rob several banks, torch the town with bottles of an incendiary liquid called Greek fire, and run. In the commotion, Young hoped to also set fire to the governor’s mansion, then raid Swanton, another town, on the way back to Canada.

He fixed Wednesday, October 19, as the day of the attack.

A Confederate raider shoots at E.J. Morrison outside Miss Beattie’s Millinery on Main Street in St. Albans.FROM THE VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY

AT 3 P.M. ON THE 19th, St. Albans’ church bells rang to mark the hour. Under leaden skies that threatened rain, Young strolled down Main Street, then climbed a couple of steps onto a hotel porch. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled out his Navy Colt revolver and raised it over his head. “I’m an officer of the Confederate Service,” he shouted. “I am going to take this town and shoot the first person that resists!”

At first, St. Albans residents within earshot thought Young was joking. They stared at him until he pointed his gun at them and other raiders herded them onto the village green. Other Confederates went to get horses, and three groups of them headed to the town’s banks: Franklin County Bank on Main Street, St. Albans Bank at the corner of Main and Kingman, and the First National Bank on Fairfield. They were barely more than a block apart, all near the town common.

Young climbed on a horse and trotted up and down Main Street, overseeing the roundup of prisoners and monitoring his men’s assault on the banks. He knew his two revolvers had only six shots each, and would be difficult to reload while on horseback. So whenever he saw someone emerge from a building, he’d point his gun at them and tell them to get back inside, intimidating them before they made trouble.

Collins Huntington, though, on his way to pick up his children from school, ignored Young’s threats, thinking he was drunk. Young leveled his revolver and shot at him, inflicting a glancing wound along Huntington’s rib cage.

Inside the Franklin County Bank, a cashier saw a neatly dressed man named William Hutchinson approach the counter. Assuming Hutchinson was a customer, the cashier, Marcus Beardsley, asked how he could help. Hutchinson pulled a revolver from his coat. “We are Confederate soldiers,” he said. “We have come to rob your banks and burn your town. There are a hundred of us here. You must keep quiet and hand over all your money.”

A customer nearby made a run for the door but stopped when the raiders threatened to shoot. Two raiders pushed him into the vault, then began filling their haversacks with bills. Hutchinson, meanwhile, told Beardsley to give him the money from the counter, then locked Beardsley in the vault, too. The four raiders left the bank with approximately $70,000, the equivalent of about $1.2 million today.

Down the street in the St. Albans Bank, Cyrus Bishop stood, terrified, as raiders on either side of him pointed revolvers at his head. “If you make any resistance or give any further alarm, we’ll blow your brains out,” one told him. One of the raiders pointed his pistol at an assistant cashier and told him, “Not a word out of you. We are Confederate soldiers, we have come to take your town, we shall have your money.”

Then the raiders took the time to do something unexpected: They made Bishop and the assistant cashier swear allegiance to the Confederate States of America. While three more raiders entered the bank and stuffed as much money as they could fit in their pockets and satchels, one of the Confederates guarding the two bank employees lectured them on the destruction of the South by Generals Sheridan and Sherman.

The cashier was having none of it. He said if the robbery was an act of war, he should be allowed to take an inventory so that the bank could be reimbursed by the federal government. “Damn your government, hold up your hands,” hissed the raider.

At that point, someone knocked on the bank’s front door, which the rebels had locked behind them. One of the raiders opened it. In walked Samuel Breck, a merchant looking to make a deposit. A rebel grabbed him by the collar with one hand, pressed a revolver to his head with the other, and said, “I take deposits.” He took $393 from Breck and shoved him in the room with the two bank employees.

Suddenly, the sounds of gunfire erupted outside the bank, and three of the raiders ran out. The last two raiders left the bank more slowly, walking backward with their guns raised. They had been in St. Albans Bank for 12 minutes.

Inside the St. Albans Bank, a clerk is threatened at gunpoint by a group of Confederate raiders. FROM THE VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY

YOUNG DIDN’T KNOW where the shots were coming from. There was at least one St. Albans local, possibly more, firing at his raiders from buildings on Main Street. No one had been hit, but Young hadn’t planned for armed resistance.

He had already fired his revolvers three times — at Collins Huntington; at stable owner Sylvester Field, who’d objected to the theft of his horses (the ball passed through Field’s hat); and at Leonard Bingham, a local who had tried to charge him when Young was climbing onto a horse. Young had hit Bingham, but the ball had been stopped by Bingham’s heavy silver watch, and Bingham had escaped. Young had only nine bullets left, but he was going to have to do something to regain control of a situation that was spiraling out of control.

Leonard Cross heard the commotion and stepped out of his photography studio. “What are you trying to celebrate here?” he asked Young.

“I’ll let you know,” Young said, and shot at Cross, barely missing his head. Eight bullets left.

It was time, he thought, to start setting the town on fire. His raiders began throwing their bottles of Greek fire at buildings.

An old editorial illustration depicts William H. Blaisdell of St. Albans accost a raider outside of the First National Bank as another Confederate raced toward them. Blaisdell, like others that day, was taken at gunpoint into what today is Taylor Park. The First National sat at the southeast corner of Main and Fairfield streets, across the street from what is now Taylor Park. CREDIT: VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY (these images originally appeared in Frank Leslie's magazine)

Over at the First National Bank, the third group of robbers had gathered $58,000 (nearly $1 million in current dollars). The four of them left the bank, escorting an employee toward the common, where they were going to put him with the other captives. As they were leaving, they saw a local business owner, William Blaisdell, approaching the bank. Blaisdell quickly realized what was happening and grabbed a raider, throwing him down onto the boardwalk. But other raiders pointed their pistols at Blaisdell’s head, forcing him to surrender.

Buildings should have been burning by now, Young must have realized. But they weren’t — the bottles of Greek fire had hit their targets, but they merely smoldered. Nothing was burning.

More townspeople had realized St. Albans was under attack. Nearby, at the governor’s residence, a neighbor’s servant girl rushed in to tell Vermont’s first lady, Ann Smith: “The rebels are in town, robbing the banks, burning the houses and killing the people,” the girl exclaimed. “They are on their way up the hill, intending to burn your house.”

Smith and a Scottish servant girl sprung into action, calmly closing the blinds and shades of the house and bolting the doors. Then, Smith found one of her husband’s pistols. It wasn’t loaded, but she hoped the raiders wouldn’t realize that. She carried the gun to the front steps, to stand and wait. She wished she had raised an American flag, so if they went down it would be with colors flying.

The Confederate raiders set fire to the bridge over Sheldon Creek, but it did not fully burn. FROM THE VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY

BACK IN THE CENTER of town, Erasmus Fuller, a livery owner, grabbed an old six-shooter, pointed it at one of the raiders, and pulled the trigger. Click. Young burst out laughing. “Fetch me some spurs!” he yelled.

Fuller had other ideas. He ducked into Bedard’s Harness Shop and ran to the back door. He started shouting that the town was being attacked, hoping the men who were building a large hotel nearby would come and help him. E.J. Morrison, a Manchester, New Hampshire, man overseeing the hotel’s construction, heard Fuller’s shouts and ran to the stable owner.

Fuller, with Morrison now trailing behind, returned to Main Street. He saw Young, lifted his pistol again, and took aim.

“Look out Cap’n!” shouted one of the raiders. Then he and Young both fired at Fuller. Fuller ducked behind an elm tree, evading their shots.

Not so Morrison, who dropped to the ground, mortally wounded. He would be the raid’s sole fatality, leaving behind a widow and five children. (What the raiders didn’t know is that he was also likely the only man in town sympathetic to the Confederate cause.)

George Conger had heard the gunshots and come running. Young saw him, and asked, “Are you a soldier?”

“I am,” Conger replied. He had been a captain in the Union Army and had been wounded at the Second Battle of Bull Run.

“Then you are my prisoner,” Young said. But Conger dashed into the American House hotel, next to the Franklin County Bank, ran through the back and then down Lake Street toward the foundry, yelling, “There is a regular raid on St. Albans. Bring out your guns and fight!” Workers at the foundry and at the railroad grabbed weapons and followed Conger back to the center of town.

Young realized his plot was quickly unraveling. He began to move his men north, shouting, “Keep cool boys, keep cool!”

An old editorial illustration depicts cashier Marcas W. Beardsley and Jackson Clark, a woodsawyer who happened to be in the Franklin County Bank, being freed from the vault where they had been imprisoned, even though Beardsley had pleaded with the robbers explaining it was airtight. The men, who understood the Confederates planned to burn the town, feared for their lives either by suffocation or fire. J. Russell Armington and Dana R. Bailey heard their shouts and came to their rescue, however. CREDIT: VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY (these images originally appeared in Frank Leslie's magazine)

Conger, gun in hand, tried to shoot at the raiders, but his gun would not fire. The Confederates started firing on him and yelling the rebel yell, but this riled up their horses, which were not used to battle. Over the din, Young was hollering, “There is too great a crowd gathering round here!” He knew they had to get out of town, and quickly.

Spurring his horse around those of his men, he told them to throw their remaining bottles of Greek fire at the closest buildings. Again, they failed to ignite. It was time to go. Once Young was sure his men were all accounted for, they were off at a gallop, occasionally turning to fire pistols behind them.

Conger shouted to all those nearby, “Bring on your horses, men, and arms and we will follow them. If you can’t get arms there is no use, they are going to fight hard!”

On the steps of the governor’s residence, Ann Smith saw a man galloping to her. The hour has come, she thought, the invaders have arrived. But the man on horseback turned out to be her brother-in-law, Stewart Stranahan, who was home on sick leave from the Army of the Potomac. Stranahan told her the raiders had robbed the banks and killed a man, but failed to set St. Albans ablaze. He had come for any weapons he could scrounge.

“Here, take this pistol, it is all I have yet found,” Smith said, feeling rage build inside her. “And, Stewart,” she added, “if you come up with them, kill them! Kill them!”

Soon, Conger and a posse of some 50 men were in pursuit of the raiders, followed quickly by 40 more men led by Stranahan. The Confederate party split up before it reached Canada, to increase the odds of escape. Conger’s militia reached the border and kept going, joining with some Canadian constables. They were able to capture about 13 raiders, including Young, and some of the $208,000 ($3.5 million in today’s money) that was later determined missing.

THE PLAN OF THE St. Albans group was to bring their prisoners back to town to face charges of murder. But as they neared the border, more Canadian authorities arrived at the scene and demanded charge of the rebels. Conger reluctantly agreed. The prisoners were first brought to St. Johns and then transferred to Montreal on October 27. The raiders were well received by a contingent of Canadian Confederate sympathizers, cheered as they were brought to jail.

They gave Young and his men food, clothing, and even liquor. Some of Montreal’s finer restaurants sent over meals and scores of citizens visited them at the jail, where they had been given a large room rather than cells. A relaxed Young wrote to the St. Albans Messenger requesting two copies of the paper be delivered each day. “Your editorials are quite interesting and will furnish considerable amusement to myself and comrades,” he wrote.

Young’s taunting infuriated many Vermonters, and for a short period of time it appeared that the Confederates might succeed in dragging Canada into the war against the Union. The St. Albans Messenger editorial page stated that if the prisoners were not handed over, “The sooner we declare war on our neighbors to the north, the better.” Lincoln’s secretary of war, Edwin Stanton, later called the St. Albans Raid “one of the most important events of the war,” with the potential to draw both Canada and Britain into hostilities.

But over the next few months, a series of contentious court proceedings went against extradition, as Canadian judges ruled that the raid was an act of war, not murder and robbery. All the raiders were eventually freed.

Some of the Confederates in jail in Montreal. Bennett Young is seated at right, William Hutchinson is at left. FROM THE VERMONT HISTORICAL SOCIETY

But Bennett Young’s gambit had failed. Perhaps if the Greek fire had worked and more damage had been done, it would have enraged Vermonters more. Or if there had been follow-up raids on Swanton or other towns. But the St. Albans citizens had forced them to abandon those plans. No Union troops were diverted to the border, Canada and Great Britain did not enter the war, Lincoln was reelected, Sherman reached the sea in late December 1864, and on April 9, 1865, Lee surrendered at Appomattox Court House. The Canadian government even reimbursed the Vermont banks for the amount of money it found on the raiders, approximately $88,000. The other $120,000 was not accounted for.

After the war, Young was specifically excluded from an amnesty for Confederates. He fled to the United Kingdom, where he studied law. He returned to the United States after a full amnesty was granted in1868, becoming a successful lawyer in Louisville, Kentucky, and was regularly applauded at Confederate reunions and parades.

In 1911, when he was 68, Young took his wife on vacation to Montreal. He contacted the people of St. Albans, saying he would like to meet with them. The town sent a four-man delegation to the Ritz-Carlton, where he was staying. Young put on a Confederate uniform for the session, and told his visitors that “the raid was only the reckless escapade of a flaming youth of 21 years, steeped in patriotism for the South.” Perhaps it was something like an apology. The get-together was friendly and lasted well into the night.

— Michael Tougias is the author of more than 30 books for adults, most recently “The Waters Between Us,” and five for middle readers. He is currently working on a book about the St. Albans Raid. Send comments to magazine@globe.com. In addition to reporting and eyewitness accounts from the St. Albans Messenger and other periodicals, significant sources for this story include materials from the St. Albans Historical Society and The St. Albans Raid, Complete and Authentic Report by L.N. Benjamin.

[seaglassandeelgrass]

Tagged by @tam--lin to do their custom-crafted bespoke tag game wherein our cozy little tumblr backwater is actually the target demographic.

What sort of music were you into circa age 12?

An unholy amalgam of my parents’ music libraries, so old-school punk ala The Ramones and The Undertones, folksy singer-songwriter ala James Taylor, John Denver, and Peter Paul & Mary, and 80′s poprock ala Billy Joel and Cyndi Lauper

Favorite fantasy or sci-fi thing media released in the last 5 years:

Uh, I just came to the galaxy-brained realization that Weird West is a niche genre in its own right that combines all the best things about fantasty, sci-fi, steampunk, alternate history, speculative fiction, and pulp westerns, and also everyone should go read Sarah Gailey’s books; their American Hippo novellas are great fun.

I also really enjoyed Becky Chambers’ Wayfarers series; it was the first specifically sci-fi thing I had read in a long while (sci-fi as a genre unduly Intimidates me)

Favorite pair of boots:

Bean’s Katahdin Iron Works Engineer Boots; they were an INVESTMENT which I am going to wear for the rest of my LIFE

Song you blare loudly, windows-down, that confuses fellow drivers:

Most of my music tbh. Queen of Argyll by Silly Wizard? Casey Jones (the Union Scab) by Pete Seeger? All you Fascists Bound to Lose by the Tillers? Sacred Harp hymn Idumea? All of which have been broadcast at speed and volume to assorted rural NE rtes

A thing you don't understand about US dating culture:

All Of It. Also how in the joe hill are multiple of my former classmates/colleagues married with actual human children wtf

Vests, y/n:

Yes. I should wear more of them tbh; my two faves of mine are my tincloth down vest and a vintage-ish herringbone tweed waistcoat

Underrated musical artist you think we should listen to:

I need to listen to more of Peggy Seeger’s work, I’ve been remiss in fully appreciating my lady protest folk singers and need to make an effort to fix that.

You have to give up one forever: oceans or mountains. (Personally. You do not affect the world in any way.)

This is a inverse Burridan’s Ass paradox; both choices are EQUALLY HEARTRENDING how am I to choose. O-oceans; PROVIDED I can use brackish estuaries and other liminal tidal zones as a loophole and, if needed, resort to becoming a Great Lakes sailor to fill the GAPING VOID in my soul

Unpopular food opinion:

Ketchup on things as a condiment is bad actually.

Also I willingly drink and enjoy Moxie. OH ALSO liquorice is GOOD y'all are just cowards

Favorite museum:

Port Clyde Marshall Point Lighthouse museum, from a nostalgic point of view. I also quite like the Peabody Essex Museum. I’d really like to go to Chicago’s Field Museum though

How many swords have you owned in your life:

Discounting childhood handmade stick-swords, one(1)- my great-great grandfather’s light cavalry sabre Civil War officer’s sword, which lives under my bed at home

Most obscure word you know in a foreign language you don’t speak:

montgolfier is hot-air balloon in French

Dream cosplay(s):

I never really got into cosplay; all my recreational costuming was RevWar reenactments back in high school. Although there was a Generic Steampunk Person With Surplus Soviet Welding Goggles And Superfluous Belts one year for Halloween in middle school, so someone from Girl Genius could be fun

(actually no, my Theodore Tugboat costume lovingly-crafted by my parents for Halloween when I was three can never be surpassed)

Would you shoot a man to save public libraries, y/n:

If libraries are funded in perpetuity, we can kneecap him, just a little bit?

[libertariantaoist]

News Roundup 5/19/20

by Kyle Anzalone

US News

Police carried out a no-knock raid on Breonna Taylor’s home in the middle of the night. Her boyfriend fired at the armed men breaking into the home. Once he fired at the officers, police fired several shots back, killing Taylor. The man the police were looking for had already been arrested. [Link]

The fired State Department Inspector General was investigating Secretary of State Pompeo’s decision to sell weapons to Saudi Arabia against the will of Congress. [Link]

Trump gives the WHO 30 days to make changes or he plans to cut US funding. [Link]

The Pacific fleet announces its subs are carrying out forward contingency operations off the coast of China. [Link]

Afghanistan

Trump tweets that he is not acting impulsively by attempting to withdraw US forces from Afghanistan. [Link]* The US Envoy to Afghanistan is traveling to the region for talks with the Taliban and Afghan government. [Link]

Middle East

Rockets landed near the US embassy in Iraq for the first time in a few weeks. [Link]

The Washington Post reports Israeli carried out a cyberattack on an Iranian port. [Link]

Gareth Porter debunks claims that Iran supported al-Qaeda. [Link]

In Libya, the Government of National Accord seized a key airbase from the Libyan National Army. [Link]

Read More