#and this time I'm not scared!!! I hope that won't change but if it does. well I've got meds now so if everything goes horribly wrong I'll be

[zoomzooml]

Redesign concepts of Webmaster and Feathers

After a year

WEBMASTER

My biggest problem with the Webmaster design is how cluttered it seems; there's just a lot going on here. So I tried to calm it down a bit; I took away one pair of legs to make him less cluttered but keep (more or less) original body lenght. And I know that in his episode Jun says “if something has eight legs, she doesn't like it,” refering to spiders, but I think eight limbs works too.

I also played around a bit with his colors and markings. As well as body structure and proportions, noting this dragon's show-off skill - spinning webs.

When he puffs up his “cheeks” just before he spits, you can hear a sticky, mushy sound - you know that something is going on inside. The muscles are moving and pushing something with a sticky, gluey consistency. I would like it to be somewhat repulsive.

When he spits silk in attack it does not come out as big ball of burning web. It's more like net in "V" shape, in form of many separate threads of silk shooted at the same time. Similar to actual spiders, but on the bigger scale. His webs also don't burn; I feel like it's an overkill.

I changed the arrangement of his forelegs slightly. I know it's not quite in line with the style of HTTYD (see Speed Spingers' front limbs) but in his case I think arranging his hands in a similar way to therizinosaurus gives him a more menacing look.

Deadly Spinners are dragons that give a very unpleasant first impression. They are not the most beautiful dragons around (at least not by the standard) and their behavior can be repulsive to some. The type of dragon that people are willing to pin an unfriendly, sometimes unfair patch on more easily than on other dragons - as many people do with spiders or snakes and other similiar animals.

Deadly Spinners don't live in large groups - either small groups or solo. But when they are in a group they have very close bonds and spend a lot of time socializing among themselves.

FEATHERS

She is a challenge to me, not gonna lie. She definitely is the most changed among my redesigns so far. She just seems very basic to me.

The most bothering thing to me about her are those "feathers". Because, Alex in s1ep3 calls these "feathers", as well as Olivia in s5ep2, wiki calls these "feathers-like scales", but they can move and are thick what implies they are more like Furies'/Night Light's head numbs? I absolutely can pass the crowns as feathers, but Queen's horns and holes in her meaty tail were here the last straw to not to

And yes, I made a shitty video because I'm really confused and wanted that confusion express lmao. I hope Tumblr won't take it down.

So idk, I wanted to clarify what the frick those things are and go from there. I had two main ideas - either give her actual feathers or quills similiar to those of Bewilderbeast. When drawning I wasn't sure about either idea but finally decided for the latter one. Feels more HTTYD-like I think? And very flammable feathers don't seem like the best survival choice when almost every other animal around can spit fire.

I reimagine Featherhides as way more nervous and skittish dragons. Changewings were mysterious but usually seemed calm and strategical. Featherhides' nature is more in type of "flee" than "fight" (tho they can get so smoke when needed, they are not defensless or smth). They are very easy to spook and sometimes will flee in panic from something very trival just to return seconds later when they realise there was no danger at all, or are curious of whatever scared them. They often make rapid little movements, much like birds - especially if something catches their eye and they are not sure what it is.

Featherhides also live in large flocks without a complex hierarchy. If they can - they run, if any of them can't - at least some of them also stay behind.

Once Feathers bonds with Alex she would be very protective of her little human.

When Featherhides mimic sounds they do not do weird things with their faces like in the show. It looks much more like like some birds do that. But that's just a sidenote.

[visdiefje]

I feel like I'm going to explode with stress. How do other people do this. There is a knot of anxiety in the back of my throat, in my chest, in my stomach. I have not slept enough and can't calm down enough to sleep. This is so stupid. Nothing is even happening. This is just from the confirmation that I will be moving out in a month and a half

[running-in-the-dark]

listening to Toto and realising I'll see them live again in five months 😭🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[churipu]

hi i wanted to ask since your requests are open but can u write abt jjk guys (gojo, geto and maybe megumi as well) and how it would be like arguing with them? thank youuu~

ARGUMENTS WITH JJK MEN ˚｡𖦹

featuring. gojo satoru, geto suguru, toji fushiguro x reader

warnings. cursing on toji's :)

note. hi nonnie, megumi's been done and you can just click right there to be directed to the said post — so, i'm going to change him to his father jsksdjdk. anyways, i'm so sorry this came out so late, i hope you like it. i was going to focus on my 1k event but then i realized that i'm holding up the requests in my inbox, so i'm going to try to upload them together one by one. / and ngl, i just did my nails done for the first time, aND I AM STRUGGLING TO DO ANYTHING. including typing, but i'm trying my best skdjs.

GOJO SATORU. arguments with him are just plain loud. for instance, we all know how gojo is, he'd be so petty during arguments. despite that though — i feel like he won't ever raise his voice at you, he's petty, yes. but he won't do anything that could scare you, raising his voice.

believe me when i say that he won't back down when he isn't in the wrong. he will argue back if you're wrong; and even with all that banter, both you and gojo will always resolve it together. he won't let you leave or turn away to discard the argument. gojo hates it when you give him the silent treatment — so he tries his best to not let you leave unless everything is talked about, face to face.

"satoru, i'm just saying that i didn't mean to do that. okay? i didn't even realize it!" you tell him, voice loud and bold.

gojo looks at you, brows furrowed, "this is the second time y/n, i'm sure you realize that — you're not a child anymore." you grumbled under your breath.

the past few days have been stressful. hectic for you. you knew though it wasn't an excuse, but when things get too caught up — you lose track of things, and honestly, you wanted nothing to do but to sleep and take a rest. work has been taking a big toll on you, both mentally and physically — and you can't bring yourself to argue with gojo right now.

"satoru, i know. it's just, things have been stressful at work. i'm sorry i forgot to turn off the stove," you tell him genuinely sorry that you almost, possibly burn the whole house down if he hadn't been the one to realize that, "i'm sorry, okay?"

his gaze softened. regaining control over the rhythm of his breathing, gojo reaches out to you, "d'you wanna talk about it?"

you shook your head, "i just wan' to sleep, satoru. i'm tired." he buries his nose into your hair before tossing you over his shoulder, you didn't complain at the way he decided to carry you — you just wanted to go to bed and sleep the night away.

the male held you close as he climbed your shared bed, "'m sorry too," he mumbles, grazing his lips over your forehead.

"you don't have to be, it's my fault for being reckless," you replied, draping an arm over his torso, clutching his black shirt, "can we sleep now?"

gojo chuckles, "mhm. good night," he whispers, "i love you."

you smiled at him, burying your face into his chest, "good night 'toru. i love you more."

GETO SUGURU. arguments with geto can be pretty frustrating, although he never raises his voice at you. he just knows what to say, and he's always right too. whether it being about you forgetting to throw the trash out (once), or you being forgetful about some things — geto just knows the right words to say to you, without making you feel like you're doing something wrong.

see, the thing is in the house. you both divided your chores, geto does the dishes, and the mopping. you do the laundry and vacuuming. while the morning trash is yours, and he does it nightly.

he's usually never in the wrong. most of the time. but when he is, he will admit so. in conclusion, you don't argue with him often, because he will apologize if he knows he did something wrong. but this was on rare occasions.

today is one of those rare occasions. you swore you had left the house clean — and you remembered throwing the trash before you leave for work. yet, here he was, asking you about it.

"suguru, i promise i threw it in the morning. before i left for work," you tell him, taking off your shoes and putting it neatly on the shoe rack. having to come back home from work, you just wanted to eat dinner, have a nice warm bath, and sleep.

god, you hated arguments. you admitted that you sometimes forget to throw the trash out while rushing to go to work, but that was not intentional at all.

geto had asked your prior about it. you knew he wasn't sparking an argument, but the thing is — you remembered it well. going out of the door this morning while holding a plastic of waste, hell, you even remembered bumping into a neighbor on the way out.

"just . . . let me throw it out again—" geto has been awfully silent for the past few minutes, and when you approached the trash can, he immediately stops you.

his hand latching around your wrist gently as he pulls you over, "no, no. it's my fault, i remember now. i was the one who threw that in the trash can after you left," he said to you in an apologetic tone, "'m sorry."

you shook your head, "it's okay, it's just a misunderstanding. and it's not like you intentionally forgot about it, right?" he nods his head mutely, pulling you into a silent embrace, "y'okay sugu?"

"the next time i do that — i want you to smack me in the face, okay?" you chuckled, placing a wet kiss onto his lips.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. i don't know how to say it — he's just accepts his fate and does whatever you want him to do. he thinks arguments are a complete waste of time, it's not like he likes arguing with you in the first place. he just doesn't see a point to it since he never initiates the talking; you always do. but that's because he did things that sparked the said argument. you reap what you sow.

toji can be lazy sometimes. scratch that. most of the time. clothes sprawled out in the living room, on the kitchen counter which he claimed he forgot when he was grabbing water, on the couch, on the headboard of your bed, on the bathroom sink. and honestly, he's a grown man — he knows better than that.

"toji, how many times do i have to tell you—"

"put the dirty laundry in their place, yeah, y'reminded me that like . . . three times today." he grumbled under his breath as he yawned out loudly.

"then why are you still leaving them everywhere? god, this is so childish! it's like 'm taking care of a fucking baby," toji lets out a sigh, "i'm so tired of telling you over and over again. you're a grown man, why can't you act like one?"

toji's not dumb. he knows it's his mistake, and sometimes he genuinely forgets about leaving his shirt out while being too preoccupied with other things. he loves you, he really does. the last thing he'd like is you leaving him because he can't stop his habit of leaving his shirt everywhere.

he approaches you, taking the shirt out of your grip, "my fault."

"damn right it is. the next time i see another shirt, i swear to god, you're sleeping on the couch." you muttered out, crossing your arms — watching as the male meekly trotted into the bathroom where the laundry basket rested beside the bathroom cabinet.

"is that a threat?" he chuckles, peeking his head out.

"no. it's a warning."

he walks out of the bathroom, slithering an arm around your waist, hoisting you up onto his shoulder as he walked towards the couch. prepping you on his lap, "mm. noted, can you stop getting mad at me now?" he comments, grazing his finger over your neck.

and he did it again at night (and slept on the couch like you warned him, he still hates you for that).

© CHURIPU 2024 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE

[mcflymemes]

THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT - THE ANTHOLOGY BY TAYLOR SWIFT PROMPT LIST *  assorted lyrics from the album, some lines slightly adapted for meme purposes but feel free to adjust as necessary

even if it's handcuffed, i'm leaving here with you.

trust me. i can handle a dangerous man.

i love you. it's ruining my life.

does it feel all right to not know me?

i am who i am 'cause you trained me.

quick. tell me something awful.

i loved you the way that you were.

we were just kids, babe.

i can fix him.

you and i go from one kiss to getting married.

you said i'm the love of your life.

way up there, i actually love it.

i just don't understand how you don't miss me.

do you hate me?

did you think i had it in me?

what if i told you i'm back?

i still miss the smoke.

i'm not trying to exaggerate, but i think i might die if it happened.

you look like stevie nicks.

it's hell on earth to be heavenly.

i still can't believe it.

this happens once every few lifetimes.

didn't you hear? they called it all off.

it's happening again.

my friends say it isn't right to be scared.

i might just die.

fuck you if i can't have us.

tell me about the first time you saw me.

are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?

no one's ever had me... not like you.

stay away from her.

there wouldn't be this if there hadn't been you.

i don't think you've changed much.

that's where i was when i lost it all.

life was always easier on you than it was on me.

i hoped you'd return.

do you believe me now?

what if your eyes looked up and met mine one more time?

what are the chances you'd be downtown?

is it something i did?

oh, we must stop meeting like this.

they say what doesn't kill you makes you aware.

i'm not a donor, but i'd give you my heart if you needed it.

looking backwards might be the only way to move forwards.

the story isn't mine anymore.

what a charming saturday!

none of it is changing.

wild winds are death to the candle.

one bad seed kills the garden.

i'm bitter, but i swear i'm fine.

this place made me feel worthless.

i didn't want to come down.

everything had been above board.

blood's thick, but nothing like a payroll.

you can mark my words that i said it first.

the professor said to write what you know.

all of this to say, i hope you're okay.

your words are still just ringing in my head.

i built a legacy which you can't undo.

who do i have to speak to to change the prophecy?

the effects were temporary.

no, i'm not coming to my senses.

babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it.

you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart.

i guess a lesser woman would've lost hope.

thought of calling you, but you won't pick up.

you're a professional.

long may you reign.

you're an animal. you are bloodthirsty.

now i seem to be scared to go outside.

i don't believe in good luck.

i hate it here.

if i'd been there, i'd hate it.

only the gentle survived.

i'm lonely, but i'm good.

you have no room in your dreams for regrets.

i thought it was just goodbye for now.

are you still a mind reader?

let it once be me.

i haven't decided yet.

i still dream of him.

i'm so afraid i sealed my fate.

it was always the same searing pain.

i can't forgive the way you made me feel.

it wasn't a fair fight or a clean kill.

she used to say she wished that you were dead.

tell me all your secrets.

they tried to warn you about me.

you're in terrible danger.

i'm the life you chose.

yes, i'm haunted, but i'm feeling just fine.

no one asks any questions here.

tell me i'm despicable. say it's unforgivable.

i'm running back home to you.

you should see your faces.

you knew the price going in.

was any of it true?

who the fuck was that guy?

i don't ever want you back.

did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?

you don't get to tell me you feel bad.

you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

am i allowed to cry?

there's no such thing as bad thoughts. only your actions talk.

they're going to crucify me anyway.

i know i'm just repeating myself.

that's the closest i've come to my heart exploding.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 FRANCESCA

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: fate will always find a way. {wordcount: 22.1k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: wow guys i can't believe it's over. i won't lie this chapter was an absolute monster to write, i cried and rewrote several times, but i think it came out the way i was hoping. i'll leave some more notes at the bottom so as to not spoil, but i hope you enjoy, it's been such a crazy ride, ily all lots. as always, reblogs appreciated

GENERAL WARNINGS: mcd. dissociation. explicit mentions of past self-harm & suicide attempts. dazai describes his scars as "gross" and "ugly". implications of child abuse. suicide. i believe that's all, if there's any i'm missing, pls let me know, this is a heavy chapter obviously.

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“... You said you have a brother?” 

You look up from where your head is resting on Dazai’s chest, peering at him with furrowed brows. He raises his eyebrows, hoping the curiosity on his face comes across as innocent. In his defense, it mostly is—Dazai only wants to know because he’s wondering if he’s correct in assuming the mentions of your brother were in the present tense because he’s still alive. 

If that’s the case, then that’s another first in this universe, he thinks. As far as Dazai is aware, in every other universe, your brother has been long dead by the time Dazai meets you and if that’s changed, it had to have been because of something Dazai unwittingly did, otherwise what else would’ve led to such a drastic change from the norm.

He doesn’t recall if you ever mentioned anything of significance about your brother in any of the other universes. The most he remembers is that in some, he passed away when you were sixteen and that he was involved with some shady business. You claimed that it was something to do with underground rings but if Dazai’s right in assuming that he is still alive, then Dazai thinks that the underground ring business was a cover for Port Mafia business, because the only thing that so drastically changed in the years your brother would have died was Dazai coming into contact with the Book and upending the Port Mafia’s operations.

“I do,” you say, shifting to prop your chin up on his shoulder, you lean in to brush your lips against his jaw and Dazai’s eyes flutter shut, lifting his hand to caress the small of your back. “We don’t speak anymore.”

God, Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, watching as you lean into his touch. He lifts his shoulders up off the bed to tilt his head down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He can feel you smile against his and he swears his heart is in his throat, hand sliding to hold the back of your head as he lets his fall back against the pillows. You settle back against his chest and Dazai cards his fingers through your hair as his mind spins.

It’s been two weeks since the event, and while the upcoming conflict with the House of the Dead and their allies has been eerily quiet, Dazai thinks it might be for the best because things with you have not been quiet. The past two weeks have been tense and strained, once the fog of the night the two of you spent together finally disappeared, the realization of your situation hit you hard. 

It’s been cycle after cycle of you shutting yourself off from him—curling up in the corner of his bedroom and staring out the window before sending yourself into a steep spiral of fear and paranoia. You haven’t dared to leave the headquarters in two weeks, even when Chuuya and Atsushi and half the Black Lizards offer to escort you, too scared to even step out of his apartment and go down to the lower floors. Sometimes you lash out at him, angry and accusatory; other times, you just cry, terrified sobs that rip Dazai’s heart right out of his chest, and he can only hold you until it passes. And it does pass, it always passes, and he gets a day or two with you like this, peaceful and pleasant. He can pretend that the two of you are just a normal couple in love with each other and not have to face reality.

He hasn’t been much better off. Every day that passes, the corners of the pages of the Book edge further into his vision. He knows it’s coming—his face-off against Dostoevsky, the first trial he has to face to ensure you can live in this universe—and he knows he can’t let himself falter even once or make a single mistake. He’s good at putting up a front around the executives—although he’s sure that Chuuya and Kouyou are realizing just how anxious Dazai really is—but he has to keep his hands beneath the table to hide the way his fingers tremble. He thought he would have more time to prepare for this, he doesn’t know why the timeline sped up so much in this life.

He tries to distract himself from the growing fear by keeping his attention focused on you because you need him right now. Desperately. He’s never seen you like this before. And it’s his fault, he knows it. In most of the other universes, you never knew his enemies were hunting you down; and in the ones that you did know, you’d been eased into a life with him already, you’d known what you were getting into. He threw you into this life without any regard for how it might affect you, like tossing someone who doesn’t know how to swim into stormy waters.  

Guilt claws at his throat again, as it always does when his mind drifts to what he’s dragged you into, so he forces his mind back to the conversation at hand. Another welcome distraction from the anxiety, a way to keep his fear at bay—trying to figure out who your brother is, a mystery that he hasn’t solved in any other universe. It’s easier to actively avoid the creeping fear than to face it upfront, especially when he’s not sure he’ll be able to overcome it.

“Why is that?” he finally asks, and then after a moment adds, “... I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say, but he can hear the strain in your voice and Dazai understands that it’s entirely not fine, and if your brother does happen to be part of the Port Mafia, Dazai is going to put him through the most excruciating and uncomfortable missions before forcing him back into your life because how dare he make you feel this way. “It’s been like this for like six years now. He cut off contact with me, I don’t know why, he never explained. He still sends me money but I don’t care for any of that, I just want to see him.”

Interesting. Six years ago. When he usually would have died in all of the other universes. Dazai’s mind spins as he tries to narrow it down. So many things happened that year. The Dragon’s Head Conflict, the incident with Verlaine-

The incident with Verlaine.

No.

Dazai shifts a bit and you instantly shoot him a disgruntled look, the apologetic smile he gives you in return is only half-hearted. He ghosts his lips across the top of your head before wrapping an arm tighter around you, fingers rubbing absent circles against your bare skin.

Of all of the events that occurred after Dazai came in contact with the Book, the incident with Verlaine had been the one that changed the most. Dazai had gone out of his way to ensure that the Flags survived the incident so Chuuya would still have people after Dazai finished the final stage of his plan, just like how he made sure to put things in place for Atsushi and Kyouka, Gin, pushing Akutagawa to the Armed Detective Agency. Everything would fall into place after the final stage, everyone could have their mostly happy ending.

Everyone but him.

His mind drifts a bit at the thought of his original plan, the phases that he’d enacted to ensure the preservation of this world—long, happy lives for you and Odasaku. Dragging you into his life shattered that and he still hasn’t figured out how exactly he needs to adjust everything to account for this.

You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow

Your words ring through his head. His eyes slide shut and the reminder of Phase Five flashes before his eyes. He can feel a headache coming on already, his throat swelling with frustration. No. Now’s not the time to focus on this. 

The incident with Verlaine. The Flags. Is it possible…?

It doesn’t necessarily have to be one of the Flags. He’s sure that dozens upon dozens of subordinates managed to live in this universe with the Flags still around, Doc especially, butterfly effect and all, but Dazai can’t help but hesitate, a gut feeling drawing him to them. You didn’t recognize Albatross or Piano Man, obviously it can’t be Lippmann. That only leaves Doc and Iceman. Doc doesn’t have a family, Dazai remembers the man mentioning it offhandedly after he was wrangled down into the infirmary for a checkup a few years ago, but Iceman…

“Nah, Iceman ain’t gonna be around this weekend, his kid sister’s graduating uni. He’s going to the ceremony. Hit me with whatever you needed him for, I’ll get it done.”

Albatross’s words from a year and a half ago echo through Dazai’s head. He fully sits up this time, eyes widening, ignoring the way he jostles you around. You scowl at him and shift into a sitting position yourself but Dazai is already fumbling for his phone. You claim you haven’t seen your brother since you were sixteen, and Dazai supposes that doesn’t entirely fit in with the fact that if his theory is right, Iceman went to your graduation, but he also supposes that the man didn’t necessarily have to make himself known to you to attend your graduation.

What other pieces is he missing?

Dazai should have recognized Iceman in the picture on your wall, shouldn’t he have? 

Not necessarily, he thinks—you and your brother had been young in the picture, no older than ten and fourteen, and Dazai doesn’t even deal personally with Iceman anyway. The man reports to Piano Man, and Piano Man reports to Dazai as the middle-man. He hardly sees Iceman more than once or twice a year, if even that. 

And…

Oh.

Dazai exhales, realizing that Iceman being your brother might explain more things than just some oddities in this universe. His mind races as he tries to mentally flip through the pages of the Book, remembering some of the stranger universes out there. Some are so distinct from this one that there are hardly any similarities to this one—universes where the world is still being torn apart by the Great War, universes where you and he had been born hundreds of years prior during an era of warring feudal lords, universes where the world is entirely flooded and universes where the world has become a wasteland.

But there are other universes so similar to this one, with just a few distinct differences, that Dazai struggles to understand what makes them turn out so outrageously different. Everything is functionally the same until the two of you are thirteen or fourteen, where it’s as if the timeline abruptly branches off into countless routes for no apparent reason. Sometimes, he ends up with Odasaku rather than Mori, but in that same universe, you somehow end up with the Port Mafia. In other universes, he ends up with the government as a member of the Hunting Dogs, you end up with the Port Mafia too in that one. Sometimes you have an ability that manifests, sometimes—like in this universe—you don’t. 

He never understood what causes the timelines to go down these routes when everything else is fundamentally the same. He assumed that he was somehow the root of it: it was a decision that he unwittingly made that caused the abrupt branching off of the timeline, but he was never entirely convinced of it because he couldn’t make sense of how him ending up somewhere other than the Mafia led to you joining the Mafia, or triggering the manifestation of your ability.

It makes a lot more sense if you already have a connection to the Mafia that he was unaware of.

That would leave your brother as the variable affecting where you end up, and whether or not your ability manifests. Not Dazai.

“What’re you doing?” you complain, flopping back onto the bed and tugging at his shirt as he puts together the mystery that’s been plaguing him for almost seven years.

“Gimme a second,” Dazai murmurs, only half-listening as he shoots a text toward Piano Man, telling him to summon Iceman back to headquarters from where he’s been dealing with a slippery target abroad for months, not bothering to wait for a response as he tosses his phone back onto his dresser and returns his attention to you, significantly more pleased than he was moments before.

The best way to test his theory is to drag Iceman back to base and see the man’s reaction to you being here. Is it smart? Maybe not, but Dazai doesn’t really care.

“What’s got you so happy all of a sudden?” you ask, eyes narrowing a bit in suspicion.

Dazai’s lips tilt upward as he leans down, half-rolling on top of you as he ghosts his lips against your forehead, nose, and then your lips before resting his head on your chest. “I’m spending my day with a beautiful woman.” He tilts his face up to kiss your jaw, relishing in the giggle you let out. “Of course, I’m happy.”

“Yeah?” you ask, nuzzling your face into his hair as you wrap your arms around him. Dazai thinks that if he died now, he would die in a state of bliss—tucked away in your arms with no threat of the outside world to weigh over him. You trace over the thin cotton shirt he’s wearing, drawing absent patterns over with the tip of your finger, up his chest to his shoulder, trailing down his arm.

“Mhm,” he agrees, eyes fluttering shut momentarily as he basks in your touch. He glances back down again when he feels your finger brush over the bandages covering his forearms, hesitating for a moment.

He peers up at you through his lashes, watching the curious expression cross your face as you look down at them, not noticing that he’s caught you staring—he knows what you’re thinking, how could he not? He’d known this was going to come sooner or later, that one day you’d wonder what was beneath the rest of the bandages. You’d never looked at him differently for it in any other life, but Dazai can’t help the lump that rises to his throat as he prepares for you to ask.

You don’t.

Instead, your gaze lifts back to his and you lean down to press your lips to his forehead. He hums lightly and tilts his head up, waiting to see if you’ll say something, but you only lift your hand to brush your fingers through his hair.

“Aren’t you going to ask?” he murmurs, eyes sliding shut again as you trace your fingers over his face, drawing along the slope of his nose down to his lips.

“I don’t plan to, no,” you say lightly, smiling as Dazai nips at your finger when you press it against his lips lightly.

“Why not?” he asks, gaze lidded as he looks up at you again. He almost frowns, wondering if you don’t want to see what’s beneath the bandages, but that would be ludicrous and makes him feel a bit insecure, so he waits for your answer instead.

“Because I figure you’ll show me on your own when you’re ready,” you tell him and the lump returns to his throat, bigger this time as he catches sight of the soft expression on your face.

He’ll never get used to it, he thinks again, breathless.

“What if I’m never ready?” Dazai questions quietly, watching your face carefully for a response.

You’re entirely unbothered by the prospect. 

“I hope one day you will be, but if you’re not, that’s okay,” you say as your arms tighten around him, leaning down to bury your face in his hair again—he can feel you smile against the top of his head.

His lips part to respond but no words leave them. Instead, he lets out a sigh and takes one of your hands into his, smoothing his thumb over your palm. “What did I do to deserve you?” he says more to himself than anything else as he lifts your hand to his lips so he can kiss your knuckles.

His eyes flutter shut for a second as he considers what to do, but before he can make a decision, he feels you shifting a bit behind him. He glances back at you, brows furrowing in confusion when he catches the sudden conflict plaguing your expression. He twists around to face you, lifting his hand to cup your cheek, frowning at the downcast look in your eyes as you lean into his touch.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, wondering if he said something wrong but he has a feeling that it’s something running deeper than that. He keeps his voice soft as he searches your eyes for an answer. You don’t respond at first, and Dazai feels significantly more concerned, shifting to his knees to kneel on the bed next to you, tilting your face to make you look at him. “Talk to me.”

“... I have orientation in a few days,” you finally say and Dazai instantly knows what has you suddenly on edge, swallowing thickly. “For school. On Friday. I can’t not go.”

He runs his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping that the small smile on his face does not convey the nerves that eat at him—he doesn’t need to stress you out any more than you already are. A part of him wants to curse himself for being so selfish; none of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to live out your life happily without this weight hanging over you; you were supposed to go to school and graduate, not be so scared to leave the bedroom that you hardly even want to go anymore.

God, the guilt is suffocating; it takes all of Dazai’s self control to keep himself grounded here with you and not lose himself in regret.

“Sounds exciting,” Dazai hums, careful to keep his voice light. “You’ll meet all of your new classmates, you better not forget about me.”

He finds a small victory in the way your eyes turn up slightly at his comment, but it’s only brief, returning back to that downcast expression that makes Dazai feel sick to his stomach. He brushes his lips between your brows before pulling back to look at you again, the tips of his fingers running through your hair.

“I’m scared,” you admit softly, “what if-”

“Don’t be,” Dazai cuts you off, doesn’t even let you finish the what if that’s been haunting his thoughts since he came in contact with the Book all of those years ago. If you voice it out loud, he’s scared that it’ll shatter the dam that’s been holding back all of the fear threatening to consume him. “You have nothing to be scared of. Nothing will happen to you.”

“You can’t promise that,” you say, trying to look away, but he forces you to look at him again. His heart feels like it’s in his throat when he sees the way your eyes have welled with tears, one spilling over to trickle down your cheek—he leans down to kiss it away, trailing his lips up to the corner of your eye before hovering over you.

“I can,” he corrects gently. He tells himself the same thing he told you the night he decided to see you again—he has the knowledge, power, and resources, and Dazai is never as motivated when he has you as an incentive. Already, his mind is racing, making plans to get his own men into the building, trying to figure out what would be the best course of action to maybe have Chuuya pose as another enrolled student so he can keep someone close to you. “I can.”

You don’t look convinced, your bottom lip wobbles as you look up at him doubtfully and Dazai is instantly leaning down to press his against yours. Softly. Gently. It’s an innocent kiss, a plea for you to trust him to protect you because he will protect you.

“Do you trust me?” he asks and then falters instantly, reminded of the argument the two of you had two weeks ago. He amends the question and instead asks, “Do you trust me to keep you safe?”

You stare at him for a moment and for a terrible second, Dazai thinks you might be about to say no, but after what feels like an eternity, you nod, and Dazai lets out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. He has to go talk to Kouyou, and the Black Lizards, and Chuuya. He doesn’t give a fuck if he turns this into the Mafia’s biggest operation since the Dragon’s Head Conflict, if that’s what it takes to keep you safe. 

Dostoevsky won’t win—not this time.

When he comes back to the penthouse after spending nearly the whole day trying to work out plans for your orientation on Friday, he can already tell that you’re teetering off of the edge. Dazai lingers in the door frame for a moment, the corners of his lips turning down and all thoughts of the upcoming operation fizzling away as he lets out a soft puff of air, studying you.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed staring out the window blankly, hands sitting loosely in your lap. You’re still wearing the pajamas he’d left you in this morning, but there are stains on the front of it—he wonders if you tried to cook something but gave up halfway, it would explain the sudden influx of dirty dishes in the sink. 

You look beautiful—you always do, even when you’re littered with stains and half out of it—but you look so fragile that it makes Dazai sick to his stomach. He’s never seen you look so fragile before than he has the past two weeks. You’ve always been willful, the most fearless and headstrong person that Dazai has ever known. Seeing you like this because of him, nonetheless, breaks something in Dazai that he didn’t even know was still capable of being broken.

“I’m back,” he says quietly, so as to not startle you, but you don’t react to his words anyway. 

In fact, you don’t acknowledge his presence or even blink as he brushes his hand against your shoulder before coming to kneel in front of you, eyes searching your face. His throat tightens as he reaches up to cup your cheek and it’s only then that your gaze tracks down to him, but he can tell from the distant look in your eyes that you’re probably not even really seeing him.

“What’d you try to make earlier?” he hums, resting his free hand on your knee, drawing absent circles over your skin.

You stare at him for a moment and when your lips part to respond, he can barely hold back the sigh of relief—if you’re still responsive, maybe he can catch it before you steep down into your spiral, he just has to figure out how. He needs to distract you, obviously, drag you back from the ledge as you’ve done for him—not him—so many times before. 

“… Cupcakes,” you finally tell him softly. “They burned.”

His lips curl upward into a smile, hand sliding up your thigh to grab your hand, lifting it to press a kiss upon your palm. “We can try to make them together later, hm?” he offers. “I’ve never made them before.”

“... Okay,” you respond quietly after a few seconds of silence, and Dazai considers it a win—or, well, he does until you start speaking again: “I don’t think I should go on Friday, Osamu. Maybe I should just unenroll… at least until things calm down, then I can figure it out. I’ll just start later. It’s fine. A lot of people do it.”

Dazai’s eyes slide shut. He holds your hand to his face and rests his forehead against your knuckles—this time he can’t hold back the sigh that slips from his lips. This is his fault, he did this to you. In a world where you’re supposed to be free of the dark, fulfilling all of the dreams you couldn’t because of him in other lives, you’re too scared to even start school, wanting to drop out rather than step outside his penthouse.

God, what has he done?

He drops your hand back to your lap and looks back up to you, hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers intertwining with your hair as he looks up at you. Your expression hardly shifts, watching him absently as you wait for a response, but he doesn’t know how to convince you yet so instead he gives you a soft smile that he’s sure doesn’t meet his eyes, but he doesn’t think you notice in your distant state. 

“Come take a bath with me,” he says, half a request, half a plea as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Then we’ll talk, yeah?”

You avert your gaze from his again, but you nod, so Dazai considers it another win. He stands up quickly, helping you to your feet before guiding you into the bathroom. You’d do this for him sometimes in the other universes; when he goes through really bad slumps and can barely bring himself to eat or move, you’ll coax him out of bed and into the bathtub, bringing him a tray of breakfast and letting him rest against your chest as he soaks in the hot water and picks at his food. Sometimes it brings him out of the slumps, sometimes it doesn’t, but it never fails to make him feel less alone so he figures it’s about time he’s able to return the favor to you. 

He hums a familiar jaunty tune as he leans over to get the water running in the tub—hot, you always like the water just a bit less scalding than he usually has it—before turning to you. He crosses the bathroom in three long steps, standing in front of where you’re still leaning against the counter. He cups your cheeks and purposely smushes them so he can lean down and place an obnoxious kiss right upon your squished lips. You don’t look amused by his dramatics, but your eyes are tracking him now—another win. He’s on a roll now, maybe he’ll be able to pull you out of this before it spirals.

“Let me help you get undressed?” he proposes, smiling as he lifts a finger to his cheek and waits for your response. 

“Okay,” you agree—a quicker response than the last ‘okay,’ a good sign. 

Dazai doesn’t waste time as he presses his lips to your forehead, fingers curling around the hem of your soft cotton shirt. He carefully pulls it up above your head, placing it on the counter behind you. You’re not wearing a bra beneath it, so Dazai only lets his hands settle on your hips before he props his chin up on the top of your head.

He lets out a soft breath, eyes tracing the smooth skin of your back in the mirror before he lets them flutter shut. Just as he’s about to kneel down and slip off your shorts and panties so he can get you in the tub, he feels your arms wrap around his waist, and oh. Dazai’s throat tightens as you lean your head against his chest and press your bare body against his clothed one; one of his arms curl around you, large palm splayed against your lower back, while the other cradles the back of your head.

Dazai would do anything for you. Build empires or burn them. He’d gift you the sun and the moon and the stars. He can feel your body trembling against his and he knows that he’d rot in the depths of hell if it meant keeping you safe. There’s no length he wouldn’t go to, no depths he wouldn’t stoop to. His arms tighten around you and he presses his lips back to the top of your head, letting out a shaky breath.

Fyodor Dostoevsky will die. Agatha Christie will die. Both of their organizations will burn. Anyone who’s a threat to you—whether it’s ten bodies or ten thousand, he doesn’t care.

“C’mon,” he says softly, “let’s get you in there.”

He feels you nod against his chest and with much reluctance, his arms drop from where they’re wrapped around you as he kneels in front of you. He kisses your navel as his fingers curl around the hem of your shorts; he pulls them down until they’re loose on the floor around your ankles. When he scoops you into his arms, your eyes widen and he tosses you a playful wink before easing you down into the tub.

Once you’re mostly submerged in the water, you draw your knees to your chest and prop your chin on top of them, staring ahead. Whatever light had managed to return to your eyes fizzles out almost instantly and Dazai bites back a sigh, intent on getting into the tub with you and distracting you from the thoughts plaguing your mind. He slips off his jacket and drops it onto the floor, pulling off his tie haphazardly. He reaches up to unbutton his shirt and-

Oh.

Oh.

Dazai has made a fatal mistake.

His vision tunnels in on the bandages peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt, envisioning the mess of ridged scars that stain the skin beneath them. Slowly, his gaze draws back to you. To the tub. To the water. If he wants to get in with you then-

You don’t seem to notice his sudden predicament, too focused on whatever spot on the wall you’ve been staring at since he set you down, but Dazai thinks that his world might be on the verge of collapse because he loves you, he does, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to take off the bandages. Not yet. Maybe the fear is irrational, maybe it’s not—you’ve already done things in this universe that you’ve never done in any other, and he’s terrified that when you see the deep, ugly scars that litter his skin, you’ll look at him differently.

Shit.

His eyes slide shut, trying to figure out what to do.

He could leave the bandages on—he could, but they’ll become soggy and loose and they’ll probably slip off anyway, not to mention it’ll irritate his skin. And he’ll feel gross after. And he’s sure you’ll take notice of the fact that he won’t even take the bandages off to take a bath with you. He’s evaded it pretty casually up until now and the conversation yesterday morning, but this would be so glaring that there would be no denying that he’s actively trying to not let you see beneath the bandages. Yes, that is what he’s doing, but he doesn’t need you to be aware of that, though distantly, he notes that you probably are already at this point.

Or he could just… take them off. He’s going to eventually, he knows that; he’s not going to hide his body from you forever, but he thought he’d put it off for as long as possible. But maybe this is for the best—it happening now. Him putting it off for as long as possible is exactly what he tried to do with telling you about his position in the Mafia and that obviously blew up in his face—not only did it not happen on his own terms but it happened in the worst way possible. At least now, he can control the situation.

It is with great reluctance and severe anxiety that he finally starts unbuttoning his shirt. He fumbles a few times, fingers feeling extra clunky, but he pushes through because his comfort doesn’t matter right now, helping you does. He reminds himself of that over and over again. He can hardly even count the number of times that you’ve put aside your own comfort for him in all of the other universes, even in this one; he shouldn’t even hesitate to do the same for you. His shirt hits the floor and Dazai’s heart leaps to his throat, the first plate of his armor shed. His pants are next, and Dazai feels sick with nerves as his fingers brush the pin holding the bandages of his left arm in place.

Just do it.

His fingers work to unfasten the pin—he tells himself that he’s being ridiculous. That this is you. He wears his bandages like armor, a shield to hide himself from the rest of the world, but you’ve always been exempt from the ‘rest of the world.’ You’re you, the woman he’s loved since he laid hands on the Book when he was fifteen, the only person in the world who has accepted him for all of the good and bad and-

“How could I accept any of this?”

Your words from two weeks ago ring through his head and Dazai freezes from where he’s about to unwrap the bandages. Doubt sweeps through him—fear, cold and debilitating because he really doesn’t think he can handle your rejection. Not now, not ever, especially about this.

You won’t reject him, he insists again and forces himself to continue, but instead of looking down at the scars that line his arm, deep and discolored, lumpy to the touch—gross, he thinks again, ugly—he looks at you. You’re still staring ahead, oblivious to his rising anxiety and Dazai uses it as motivation to keep unwinding the bandages, letting them fall to the ground carelessly. 

First, his arms, then the bandages around his calves and thighs, his abdomen and chest, and finally his neck—he grimaces as his fingers graze the rough scar that circles his neck, one of the more prominent ones that mar his body, a reminder of his near-successful attempt at fifteen after he first got his hands on the Book and couldn’t cope with all of the knowledge of the different universes. With the knowledge of Odasaku. With the knowledge of you. He was fifteen. Lonely. In the worst mental state of his life, desperately searching for a reason to live and only finding more and more reasons why he should die. He’d found out he was just as isolated from the world in every other life as he was in this one, just as empty—and that the only people who could fill the gaping hole in his chest died because of him in every other universe. 

He was fifteen. It had been too much.

It’s still too much.

His gaze tracks down to the floor again, a heavy feeling settling over him. He’s second-guessing himself again, he’s feeling guilty again. He’s tired.

He’s so tired.

When he moves forward to join you in the tub, he’s hardly present; his body is moving on autopilot and it’s only when his toes dip into the hot water—a few degrees short of his liking, but the perfect temperature for you—that he’s finally drawn back to reality. He’s already in motion, so he can’t stop himself from joining you in the tub, but he is very hyper-aware now of the scars on his body, making an active effort to not let them brush your skin so as to not draw attention to them.

Luckily, his tub is large enough that you can sit comfortably between his legs without being too squeezed between them, so the deep scars that are littered across his inner thighs are not necessarily pressed against your outer thighs. But… the scars on his chest and abdomen are not as easy to evade, nor are the ones that line his wrists. His fingers brush your shoulder from where he was about to pull you back to lay against him and wrap his arms around you, eyes fluttering shut. 

There’s no way you won’t notice them when you lay back.

The largest scar that mars his body runs from his shoulder to his opposite hip—he doesn’t remember how he obtained it. It was from before he found himself in Mori’s hands, and everything before his time with the Port Mafia is vague and blurry, if not entirely blank. Either way, it’s deep and ridged, discolored. Gross. And there’s no way for you to lay against him without feeling it rough against your skin.

He barely withholds the sigh that nearly escapes his lips, but he forces himself to close his fingers around your shoulder to pull you into him. He reminds himself that your comfort comes before his insecurity, you’ve put your own wellbeing to the side for him so many times before—it should not be so hard for him to do it once for you.

For better or for worse, you don’t react when your back lays flush against his chest. For better because you didn’t have an adverse reaction to feeling the worst of his scars against your bare skin. For worse because he thinks it might only be because you’re still half spiraling into a dissociative state. He presses his lips against your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your body, and instantly he flinches because he realizes that he’s just rubbed the scars on his forearms right against you and that has seemed to catch your attention. For better or for worse.

He’s frozen when he feels you shift against him, head turning down toward where his arm is tucked against you. He’s angled it so that you can’t see them, hidden in the water and against your skin, but you’re undeterred and Dazai can hardly bring himself to breathe when he feels your fingers curl around his wrist, gently easing his arm off of you to cradle it between your hands like it’s something fragile, turning over so you can look at scars that litter his skin.

He can’t see your face. A part of him is glad, still plagued with the terrible fear that you’re going to see the scars and be disgusted, but the larger part of him wants to know, wants to see you, wants to-

His breath hitches when you bring one finger to his skin. Soft, gentle, you trace your finger across the ridged lines. Dazai’s lips part to speak, he has the distinct urge to say something, to explain even though you haven’t spoken a word, but he doesn’t know how to explain the emptiness that has plagued him ever since he was a child, that only became even more exacerbated once he made contact with the Book. He doesn’t know how to explain that he was so desperate to feel something that he resorted to this to distract himself from the void. He doesn’t know how to explain that the only reason he never actually killed himself was because he knew he had to survive to ensure you and Odasaku’s survival in this universe. 

But he doesn’t have to speak, because all of the air in his lungs whooshes right out of them when he feels you lift his arm up out of the water to your face—you brush your lips against the pulse point on his wrist before settling back against him, wrapping his arm back around you and covering his hands with your own. 

Dazai’s cheeks suddenly feel wet—it was a simple action, short and sweet, you didn’t even say anything, and he doesn’t know why it affects him the way it does. He should have expected this, right? You’ve never looked at his scars and found them off-putting, you’ve always accepted him for how he is but-

“How could I accept any of this?”

“No amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily.”

Again, your words shatter his thoughts and Dazai has to force himself not to physically react. As if you can sense his distress, you shift in his arms a bit to tilt your head back to ghost your lips against his jawline before settling back against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. His arms tighten around you, heart steadying in pace to match yours. He rests forehead against the top of your head, shivering when he feels you nuzzle your face into his skin, nose brushing the wretched scar that mars his neck.

“Osamu,” you finally say, voice soft. He hums in response, waiting for you to continue. “What I said the night of the event…”

Dazai’s throat spasms. He swallows thickly and tries to play off your words with another soft hum and a brush of his lips against your temple. He’s careful to keep his voice light as he speaks. “You had every right to be upset, I-”

“I… have had a lot of time to think the past two weeks.” You don’t even let him finish his sentence and Dazai is suddenly frozen, no air gets to his lungs as he waits for you to speak. “What I said that night… it doesn’t reflect how I actually feel. I said them in the heat of the moment.”

“… Yeah?” Dazai’s voice is too raspy, too quiet, the vulnerability in the single word is so palpable that it almost makes him want to curl in on himself. Without his bandages, without his masks, he feels as if he’s been stripped bare to his core, his rotted heart laying in your gentle hands, thumping erratically as he awaits your judgment.

“The past few months I’ve spent with you have been the happiest I’ve been since my brother left,” you admit, lacing your fingers with his. “No matter what happens, I wouldn’t give this up for anything. If I could go back in time and redo all of this, I’d still choose to meet you that night at the club, and every time after that.”

He’s grateful that you’re not looking up at him now. He stares ahead at the wall blankly, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks. His chest is warm, breath a bit shaky, and he thinks he might be holding you too tightly but you don’t complain.

“Nothing will happen,” Dazai promises you, voice cracking. “Nothing.”

“I know,” you say quietly, and he can feel the small smile on your lips as you kiss his neck gently, right over his scar. “I trust you.”

“I’m so nervous,” you laugh as you smooth out the dress shirt you’re wearing. Dazai watches as you keep glancing at yourself through the window of the elevator leading down to the first floor. He smiles to himself as he leans against the wall, observing you. “Are you sure I look okay? I don’t even know what the dress code is for this thing, they didn’t say in the email. What if people are just wearing jeans? I’ll look dumb all dressed up.”

“You look beautiful,” Dazai murmurs, lifting his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You worry too much.”

“I’m not the best at making friends,” you say, voice quick and riddled with anxiety. Dazai raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up because he thinks that might be the silliest thing he’s ever heard you say. “I hope I can at least find a few people to talk to. I hate going to events where I don’t know anyone. I wish you could come with me. What if they all hate me?”

Dazai has an answer to that question, but he doesn’t think you’ll like it, so instead he hums softly, fingers brushing your cheek and smiling lightly to himself as you lean into his touch. “I wish I could come with you too. If only to make sure you don’t forget about me when you find yourself surrounded by all your new friends.”

Dazai wishes that he could tell you that you’re worrying over nothing. That in every other universe, you were quite literally the center of your class. Brilliant, beautiful, kind, Dazai sometimes struggled to get you away from people because you always had someone wanting to grab coffee with you. Struggled even more to understand why you wanted him when you could have any man of your choice. But he can’t say that, and he’s definitely not going to be pleased if he suddenly loses all of his time with you to a bunch of undeserving nobodies, so he resigns himself to just making you feel better.

“Dazai Osamu,” you giggle as you turn your attention toward him. “Nothing in this world would ever make me forget you.”

Dazai’s cheeks heat up, lashes fluttering as he averts his gaze from you. You grin at him and hook your arms around his waist, tilting your head up to look at him. He leans down to press his lips against yours, letting out a pleased sigh against your lips when he feels you kiss him back, smiling against him.

You’ve been better the past few days, a bit more excited over starting school, spent all of yesterday trying on new clothes for him to pick out something to wear for today. Dazai, on the other hand, has been a nervous wreck, although he’s been doing his best to ensure you don’t realize that. 

Everything has been put in place—Chuuya should be waiting at the train station already, Albatross will be driving you there, the Black Lizards are going to escort you into Tokyo, and Mishima offered to have his men do sweeps of the streets to scope out for any enemies before your arrival. As long as everything goes according to plan, it’ll be fine. The riskiest part will be the train station with how busy it is, it’ll be easy for you to get separated from your escorts, but so long as Chuuya gets to you, no one will be able to touch you.

“Everything will be fine,” he unintentionally says out loud as he separates his lips from yours to kiss your forehead.

You look up at him, eyes searching his face for something, and he prays you can’t see his growing anxiety. Finally, you say without any doubt, “I know.”

Dazai lets out a soft breath as his eyes slide shut, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his as the elevator comes to a stop at the first floor. He leads you out of the elevator and across the vast lobby, various lower-ranked members still linger around the room, but much less than there usually is considering he’s sent almost all of them out to ensure everything goes according to plan. For a moment, Dazai’s head throbs painfully—there are so many variables. He starts to question his decision of making this such a large operation but he knows that this is the only way. 

He knows Dostoevsky. He knows that he’ll leap onto this opportunity. Keeping this a small, secret operation would do more harm than help when Dazai is sure that Dostoevsky is about to use the full force of the Three Deaths, the Pale Flame and the House of the Dead to make his move. He’d be shooting himself in the foot if he didn’t use all of his available resources to keep you safe.

“Can I ask a silly question?” you suddenly ask, playing with his fingers as the two of you walk across the lobby.

“Ask away,” he says.

“Do you think there are other universes out there?”

Dazai almost laughs, but he refrains. “I do,” he agrees, and then smiles a bit to himself, repeating words spoken to another him by a different you, a joke only he’s privy to. “String theory, multiverse. I think the world’s a lot bigger than just ours.”

“Yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, a soft expression on your face. “Do you think we’re together in all of them?” 

This time Dazai does laugh, squeezing your hand gently when you jolt in surprise, giving him a dirty look. “I’m sure of it,” he says, trying to push away the smile that keeps threatening to rise to his lips. 

Your smile softens at the edges, gaze averting from him, but before he can ask what’s wrong, you ask: “Do you think there’s maybe one where things aren’t so hard?”

Dazai suddenly has no inclination to laugh, smile falling and throat swelling. He doesn’t know how to respond to that, but luckily, he doesn’t have to.

Kouyou and Piano Man are waiting at the entrance of the building, both having remained behind to guard him while most of the Mafia’s other forces are elsewhere. Kouyou doesn’t look pleased, Dazai can see it in the way her brows are furrowed and her lips are tight, but Piano Man still has the same easygoing expression on his face that he always has, gaze focused on you.

“Lippmann told me to pass along his regards,” Piano Man sighs. “He’s been lamenting all morning not being able to be here himself to send you off. The struggles of celebrity life, I suppose.”

You laugh. Dazai can tell from the way your lashes flutter that you’re flustered by the comment. “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s only orientation. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“It’s exciting though,” Piano Man sighs whimsically. “We never have normal things to be excited about around here. It’s only ever bloodbath after bloodbath. It’s a nice change of pace.”

Dazai’s smile tightens and thins, eye twitching at Piano Man’s blase reminder of their occupation, noticing how you cringe a bit. Piano Man catches wind of Dazai’s irritation and his casual smile widens a bit.

“Sorry,” Piano Man hums, sounding not at all sorry and entirely amused. “But honestly, if you think this is bad, wait until your graduation. Iceman didn’t let any of us attend his kid sister’s graduation, we’ve all been dying to see what one’s like. I’m sure Lippmann and Albatross are already plotting out some type of party.”

“I haven’t even started yet,” you complain, but you look a bit giddy and Dazai can’t help but let his gaze linger on your soft smile, one rising to his own lips as he observes you. “It’s so far out. It’s a three year program.”

“I think they plan on making it the grandest event of the year, so it’s never too early to start planning,” Piano Man says easily, tossing you a wink before focusing his gaze on Dazai. “Speaking of Iceman, he’s on the way back now. Should be back in Yokohama in the next hour or so. Are you going to deign us with the reasoning as to why he’s been called back so abruptly?”

“Nope,” Dazai says dismissively, letting go of your hand to press his hand to the small of your back, leading you out of the building and toward the sleek, black car waiting for you.

Albatross instantly is rolling down the window, grinning wildly. “There ya are, doll. C’mon, let’s get out of here. We gotta make it to the train in ten.”

You suddenly look a bit nervous, turning back to look at Dazai as Tachihara steps out of the car and holds the door open for you to slide in the middle seat between him and Hirotsu. Dazai tilts his head, questioning as he lifts his hands to cup your cheeks gently. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say with a sigh. “I just wish you could come.”

Dazai leans in to kiss your forehead one last time, hands settling on your hips, ignoring all of the gazes of his subordinates watching the two of you. “I know, I do too.”

Dazai thinks that the next six hours are going to be the worst of his life, only able to sit back in the meeting room with Kouyou and Piano Man and watch the CCTV, unable to do anything if something happens to go wrong.

“Stay with Hirotsu and Tachihara,” he finally tells you, voice taking a more serious tone. “They’ll stick with you the whole time. Chuuya is at the station already, went early to scope things out, he’s going to meet you there.”

“Mkay,” you agree, giving him one last long look before making your way into the car.

Tachihara nods deeply at Dazai before entering the car and shutting it behind him. Dazai feels a weight on his chest as soon as you’re out of sight, and he stands there waiting for the car to pull off.

It doesn’t.

After a few moments, the window rolls down, and Dazai watches fondly as you lean over Tachihara to prop yourself outside of it.

“I’ll see you later,” you say, leaning out the window of the car with a soft smile. For the first time in weeks, you look alive. Your eyes are shining, your lips curved upward, and Dazai falls in love with you all over again. The smile on your lips takes a more teasing edge as you push yourself out the window a bit more to grab his tie and drag him closer so you can brush your lips against his and whisper, “I love you.”

Dazai’s eyes shoot open, lips parting to speak but no words leave them, your words leave him caught off guard and dizzy, hardly even registering in his head. You let out a giggle and before he can even think of formulating a response, you let yourself fall back into the car, urging Albatross to start driving already. 

“To think I’d ever see the day that the infamous Demon Prodigy is ever rendered lovesick,” Kouyou hums, fanning herself as she watches Dazai curiously. “You’re actually happy now, aren’t you?” 

“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Piano Man sighs. “Now, we don’t have to worry about being shot in the head if he has a sudden mood swing.”

Dazai looks to the side to give Piano Man a look so withering that it has him instantly giggling to himself.

“Or maybe we do,” he sings, retracting his words. “Come, let’s go back inside. It’s gross out today.”

Piano Man instantly starts making his way back into the building. Dazai sighs as he casts one last long look to where the car is disappearing around the bend in the direction of the train station, gaze lingering before he turns his attention back to Kouyou, who’s still watching him with a contemplative look. Dazai is suddenly reminded of her late lover, who the old boss had killed after Kouyou tried to escape with him, and Dazai wonders if she’s feeling bitter.

As if she can hear his train of thought, she shakes her head and says, “I’m glad you’ve found someone, boy.” Then hesitates before adding, “For all of our sakes, I hope it lasts.”

Dazai doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he frowns and turns to make his way inside, but he doesn’t get more than a few steps before he’s freezing midstep, the sound of a familiar engine roaring down the street in the direction of the main tower reaching his ears. At once, everything tunnels around him, vision blurring and body stiffening. He can’t even bring himself to turn around. Distantly, he hears Kouyou asking him what’s wrong, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He swears that his bones creak and ache as he physically forces himself to look over his shoulder, unfocused vision falling upon a familiar head of fiery red hair skidding to a stop in front of the building. Chuuya doesn’t even bother to turn his motorcycle off or prop it up, it thuds hard against the ground, metal screeching against the pavement as he rushes toward them.

“Chuuya,” Kouyou asks, as confused and caught off guard as Dazai feels. “What are you-”

“Get him inside,” Chuuya shouts. “Get him inside now.”

“Why are you here?” Dazai speaks the words so quietly that he doesn’t think anybody hears him. He feels Kouyou grab his wrist, Chuuya reaches them and pushes Dazai from behind, but their touches only feel like faint tingles. His chest suddenly feels cold, numbness spreading from his core to his limbs. “Why are you here?”

“Tolstoy just blew up our main port, Dazai,” Chuuya hisses, and just before Dazai’s shoved into the safety of the building, a bullet whizzes past his head, lodging into the sign behind him. Only a graze, but it stings, and Dazai can feel the blood seeping through the bandages of his left eye, sticky and uncomfortable. “This is happening now. I thought I could make it before they left. All cell lines are fucking down. That rat bastard Dostoevsky did something.”

No, Dazai thinks, head twisting to the side to look back toward the road you disappeared down with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu, but before he can even force any words from his lips, he’s pushed into the building, listening as Chuuya gives sharp orders to immediately lock it down.

Dazai shakes his spinning head, body on autopilot as he’s ushered to the elevator and up to the most protected floor of the building. He tells himself to think, that now is not the time for him to start slipping up, for him to freeze. You’re out there—in danger—he has to think, he can’t afford to make a single mistake. 

“You have to go. Chuuya, you’re supposed to be at the station,” Dazai says, finally focusing his attention on the one person who is not supposed to be here. The one person he trusted to protect you. 

“You’ve sent three quarters of our forces out on a protection detail for her. She’ll be fine,” Chuuya spits, eyes wild as he turns to face Dazai. “You’re here in this building alone with a handful of men, Ane-san and Piano Man. You’re the one in danger right now. I told you—your head is mine to take one day. I’m not fuckin’ letting you go off and get yourself killed because you’re hyper-focused on your girl.”

“Get to the train station,” Dazai repeats, voice low and cold and entirely too steady compared to the way his mind is falling apart.

It’s happening.

It’s happening.

He knew this was going to happen. He knew it. He knew this was coming. He knew Dostoevsky would take this opportunity to make his move, that’s why he had everything planned so carefully. That’s why he sent everyone out. That’s why Chuuya was supposed to be with you, because Dazai isn’t Dostoevsky’s target. He never is. You are.

Chuuya ignores him, stepping into the executive meeting room. Dazai’s blood pressure spikes. Fear begins spreading through him, cold and debilitating. The mindkiller. He needs to focus, he can’t let himself freeze up. Not now.

“Chuuya,” Dazai says. “That’s a direct order. Go back to the train station now.”

At that, Chuuya finally turns a furious look into him. “Me not being there isn’t going to make a difference. Me not being here might. You’re all but fucking defenseless and Tolstoy and Nabokov are coming now. We don’t have time to argue about this. Hirotsu and Tachihara, Atsushi and Kyouka, all of the fuckin’ Black Lizards—they’re all with her or at the train station, she’ll be fine.”

If Dazai was any less riddled with fear and rage, he might laugh or maybe even cry, or both—he feels close to hysterics, really—because of course now, of all times, is when Chuuya decides to grow a fucking brain for himself. 

“And if you’re wrong?” Dazai doesn’t even want to speak those words, but Chuuya leaves him no choice. “If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master? What then, Chuuya?”

Chuuya all but snarls at him, taking a step forward, but before he can say anything else, Kouyou clears her throat.

“Boys,” she calls quietly, eyes trained on one of the screens streaming the city’s CCTV feeds

Dazai follows her gaze.

On the top left corner of the wall of screens, one of the live footage is flooded with static—gray, shifting into a deep purple before a familiar symbol flashes onto it. The coldness in his chest spreads so quickly that Dazai almost shivers, dread anchoring his feet to the ground.

Dazai doesn’t have to look at the screen to know what’s coming next. 

Oda Sakunosuke is a patient man.

He is. He really is. It’s just that Ranpo Edogawa enjoys testing the boundaries of said patience. He bites back another sigh, watching as the man—man, he questions—complains loudly about an ‘entitled mother’ who had the nerve to ask for his candy to calm her upset child down. Oda has half a mind to step away out of embarrassment, acutely aware of all of the eyes on them, but he knows that if he steps away even for a second, Ranpo is going to find himself lost and then Oda is going to have to track him down again.

Oda sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he tilts his head up to look at the ceiling, listening to the announcements over the loudspeaker, signaling the arrival of the next train. Two minutes until it pulls into the station, an hour to get to Tokyo—gives him plenty of time to go back over the files for the mission. Should be a quick in-and-out case, probably won’t even have to stay the night in the city; a string of ability-user murders in Tokyo that have the TMPD in shambles trying to figure out, so they reached out to the Agency to come take care of it.

Oda doubts it’ll take more than half a minute for Ranpo to put the pieces together once given the known evidence by the TMPD, but the issue will be actually getting the ability user in custody. From what Ranpo theorizes, he has some type of invisibility ability that makes him slippery. 

With Oda there, it’ll be an easy grab—with his ability, speed and reflexes, few people can outmaneuver him—but it’s just a matter of when he decides to show himself.

Oda frowns when he notices that Ranpo suddenly stopped rambling, gaze cutting to make sure that he didn’t wander off again, but he’s hardly able to turn his head halfway to the side before his ability is activated. Everything blurs out around him, watching as a girl a few years younger than him—panicked and not looking where she’s going—crashes right into Oda while he’s already off-balanced reaching for Ranpo, sending the both of them hurdling over the edge of the platform and into the tracks just as the bullet train comes barreling into the station.

Oda’s jaw tightens as he’s flung back into reality, surroundings reappearing. His head snaps over to where the girl had appeared from and he catches sight of you just as you’re about to throw yourself out of the crowd, eyes wild and anxious. He watches you trip, hands darting out to steady you before you crash into him; you look up at him, eyes wide and a bit starstruck, lips parting to speak but no words leave them.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice a low monotone as he helps you stand back up straight on your own feet. His head tilts to the side curiously as he watches the way you stand a bit closer to him, eyes peering around as if you’re reaching for someone. “Hm?”

“Oh!” you suddenly say, looking up at him with a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry. Sorry. That was so rude of me. I… got separated from my friends. It’s really busy today, isn’t it? It’s not usually so busy.”

Oda hums, looking around curiously. It is a bit busier than it usually is—Friday trains are usually busy, but midday like this, people are usually at work. The late night trains are the ones typically packed and impossible to get on, people leaving from work and traveling for the weekend. Today’s not a holiday either, as far as he’s aware.

“It is, isn’t it?” Oda says, scanning the crowd once more before letting his gaze settle back on you. “You look rattled, is everything okay?”

Your smile wavers at the edges, and Oda frowns, eyes trailing over to Ranpo, who’s already frowning, green eyes squinted and trained on you.

“I’m just… not used to traveling alone! I’m nervous,” you answer, a blatant lie, but you don’t seem like a threat. In fact, you seem more scared than anything else. “I want to find my friends.”

“Is someone bothering you?” Oda asks carefully.

You hesitate, smile straining. Your eyes flicker around again, seeking someone out and Oda can see the despair in them when you don’t find whoever you’re looking for. 

“I’m okay,” you say finally, nodding. “I’m trying to get to Tokyo. I have orientation today for grad school. I don’t like traveling alone.”

Oda tilts his head to the side, he takes a step closer to Ranpo than you as an experiment, watching as you immediately match his step, sticking close to him as you continue seeking out your ‘friends.’ You don’t seem like a threat, and his ability has yet to be triggered, but it wouldn’t be the first time underground organizations use civilians as decoys to set up traps for the Agency. He spares another look at Ranpo, knowing the man must’ve figured out whatever is going on, only to find him staring at you with a tight jaw and an uneasy expression.

“What school are you attending?” Oda asks in an attempt to calm your nerves and hopefully get some answers out of you. 

You look at him, a bit more clarity in your eyes and smile more steady as you say. “Waseda,” you say, brighter now, more relaxed. “Their school of political science.”

“You tryna go into politics?” Oda asks curiously.

You nod. “One day, hopefully,” you say with an easy smile before giving him your name. “What’s your name?”

“Oda Sakunosuke,” he greets. “Nice to meet you.”

“You’re heading to Tokyo too?” you ask curiously, and Oda doesn’t sense any ill intent behind the question so he answers.

“Yes,” he says. “Going there for work.” 

“Oh? What do you do for work?”

Oda pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully on the off-chance this is some sort of setup, before saying: “I’m trying to write a novel.”

You light up. “Really?” you ask, delighted. “That’s so impressive, what about?”

“… Humans. The human experience,” Oda answers, glancing back at Ranpo again with furrowed brows, but the man hardly budges, gaze pinned on you.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, the smile on your lips becomes a bit teasing. Oda finds his own lips twitching up in amusement. “What’s your take on the human experience then, Oda Sakunosuke? Will your story have a happy ending?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he tells you honestly, and then tilts his head to the side and asks curiously, “How would you end it?”

You click your tongue as if to chide him. “Shame on you, Oda Sakunosuke, trying to poach ideas from broke grad students,” you say, voice taking a dramatic lilt, but there’s a light to your eyes that hadn’t been there before, so Oda thinks his plan at least partially worked.

“Almost grad students,” Oda corrects, matching your tone as he lets his eyes drift around again, trying to pinpoint what exactly had you so frightened before running into him. “Take pity on an old man plagued with writer’s block, won’t you?”

“I suppose I can grace you with my boundless wisdom,” you quip, and Oda snorts to himself, eyes drifting back down to you as you grin up at him. After a few moments, your smile falls a bit. “I think a happy ending is nice to imagine… We like to indulge in such fantasies because real life is never so easy. I think if you’re going for an accurate telling of the human experience, a bittersweet ending would be more realistic.”

“Bittersweet?” Oda questions.

“Bittersweet,” you agree. “I think many people die content, or even happy… I don’t think many people die without regrets. So, I think a story on an accurate telling of the human experience should have a bittersweet ending to reflect that.”

“Hm,” Oda hums, considering you in a new light now, the way your eyes are a bit sadder, the smile on your lips soft on the edges. He finds himself far more into this conversation than he expected to be, so absorbed that he hardly even realized that the train has finally pulled into the station. “What about you, then? Do you think you’ll die with regrets?”

“Who’s to say?” You shrug with another bright smile. “I think if I were to die right now, I’d die with one regret. But I’d be happy.”

“Only one?”

“Only one,” you confirm. “I… wish I’d met someone sooner. That’s all. What about you, Oda Sakunosuke? If you died right now, would you die with regrets?”

“Countless,” Oda says quietly. “... But I think I would also be happy.”

“See.” You wink. “Bittersweet.”

Oda’s lips flicker up into a ghost of a smile, lips parting to speak, but suddenly someone is calling your name frantically, loudly from across the train platform. You light up, head twisting in that direction and Oda follows your gaze to where a young man with short orange hair is waving his hand, perched up on a garbage can, looking around for you.

“That’s one of my friends,” you say, looking relieved. “I’m going to head over to him. It was nice meeting you, Oda Sakunosuke.”

“Nice meeting you too,” he replies.

You toss him another wide smile before turning to leave, but before you can even take the first step, Ranpo finally moves, fingers curling around your wrist to stop you in place. Oda looks down at him, alarmed, and you look back, surprised.

“You should… be careful,” Ranpo tells you, more serious than Oda has ever seen him before, and Oda feels a sinking feeling in his gut as Ranpo lets go of your wrist.

You look a bit disturbed, but you nod. “I-I will. Thank you.”

“What was that?” Oda asks, voice low and concerned as he looks down at Ranpo, whose brows are still furrowed. He still looks uncertain, and Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ranpo Edogawa uncertain before.

Dread weighs heavily on Oda’s chest, his gaze turns back to where you’ve started to quickly make your way across the platform along the yellow line in the direction of your friend, who has finally caught sight of you and is rushing toward you, looking too panicked for someone who’d just found someone they lost.

“Something is wrong,” Oda murmurs more to himself than Ranpo, and at once, he activates his ability.

The world slows and grays out around him, but his gaze remains focused on you. He watches. 

One second passes, you take another step forward, your friend is still too far away. 

Another second passes, another step forward. 

A third second, and something is shimmering right next to you, a gold circle to your left, swirling with patterns—an ability.

A fourth second passes, and you turn, eyes wide and fear painted on your face as a gloved hand darts from the circle and wraps around your wrist; your friend reaches down to his waistband, revealing the gun strapped to his side. 

A fifth second passes, and you’re gone. 

His ability fades away, leaving him back reeling in reality, ready to act on what he’d seen. He rushes forward, heart racing in his chest, and he can hear Ranpo giving chase after him.

One second passes—you’re still too far away, you’ve made it across half of the platform already, Oda knows he won’t get to you in time, but he tries anyway.

Another second passes—Ranpo is yelling for him, Oda ignores him. 

A third second passes—the swirling gold circle appears to your left, and Oda knows that it’s too late.

Oda Sakunosuke is fast, but this time, he is not fast enough.

Chuuya knows that this is his fault.

The sickening scene taking place on the screens set up in the executive meeting room has his stomach turning inside out. He has to manually force himself to breathe, slow and steady, because if he doesn’t, he won’t get any air to his lungs. Next to him, Kouyou stands stiffly, gaze trained on the damning video and on his other side, Piano Man looks resigned, head turned to the side, attention focused on the blacked out windows looking over the city. 

Chuuya can’t see Dazai’s expression from where he’s standing, and he’s glad for it. 

You’re sitting at a table with Dostoevsky. It’s a small, square table in an equally small, unassuming room. Tiled walls, a thick steel door, no windows—it’s an abandoned office room down in the lower floors of the metro, emptied out besides the table, two seats, and you and Dostoevsky.

A small room. Unassuming. Enclosed and suffocatingly confined. Cold and damp. There is no sun, no warmth, and no life.

Not a place where anyone should die, much less someone as bright as you.

“Ah, there we go!” Dostoevsky smiles as if this is all some big game to him and Chuuya’s temper spikes, blood simmering in his veins and eye twitching as he glares at the Russian. “The cameras should now be connected.”

Chuuya did not hold you in high regard for a long time. He thought you were a pretty face, but more than that, you were a distraction. You showed up one day and suddenly Dazai couldn’t focus on anything but you. He evaded important meetings, and the ones that he attended were spent either zoning out or tapping away at his phone talking to you. It left Chuuya as the one to pick up the slack, so yeah, he certainly did not hold you in high regard, and he’s not entirely sure when it began to change.

Or, maybe that’s a lie.

He thinks back to the day he ran into you coming out of the elevator, when you dragged him around half of the city looking for a very particular brand of white chocolate for whatever sugary concoction you wanted to make Dazai; and the way you pouted and begged and pleaded with him to try some when you make it for Dazai to the point that he wanted to agree, if Dazai wouldn’t have tried to blow his head off for intruding on his time with you. 

He thinks that’s when his view on you started to shift, because it’s not often that Chuuya is treated like an actual human being, a twenty-two year old with a love for fine wine and music, instead of the mafia executive he is, a weapon of war that can bring down nations. As irritated as he was having to take time out of his day to babysit Dazai’s new plaything, he found you made for good conversation and that it was nice talking about things other than missions, politics and violence. 

You like talking about music with him and you ramble a lot about conspiracy theories and history—he thinks he’s learned more about the classical era of Europe and the Sengoku period the past few weeks joining you on outings than he’s learned in his entire life. Chuuya thinks you might be the first real friend he’s made since the Flags. You have more life in you than anyone Chuuya has ever met before, and Chuuya thinks it’s fucking sick that you’ll be drained of it by the likes of a soulless bastard like Dostoevsky. 

Chuuya also thinks, again, that this is entirely his fault.

“I had a nice talk with your lover, Dazai,” Dostoevsky says with a facetious smile. “She’s quite enchanting. It’s a shame that she ended up with the likes of you.”

Chuuya thought he’d be able to make it in time. He really thought he did. He thought he’d be fast enough to get back before you took off with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu; he thought he’d be able to drag you with him and Dazai, lock the two of you up in the most well-protected room in the headquarters to wait out the assault of Dostoevsky’s tripartite alliance; he can still hear the gunfire now as they bombard the lower floors of the building. Chuuya should be down there helping his subordinates but he can’t bring himself to move, staring at what his decision had caused with a heavy heart and more guilt than his mind can come to terms with. It was never his intention to leave you out there to die. 

He wouldn’t do that to you.

He wouldn’t do that to Dazai. No matter how much he can’t stand the asshole, he wouldn’t fucking do that.

“I have offered a deal to her, Dazai,” Dostoevsky muses, head tilted to the side as he looks up at the camera in the corner of the room, thin fingers wrapped neatly around your wrist. “A fair exchange. But I leave it in her hands, not yours. Either way, I will get what I want.”

How the hell does that work? 

Chuuya lets out a shaky breath, gaze flickering over to Kouyou, who stares at the screen with a tight expression, brows drawn together and lips cut downward. He can hardly bring himself to look at Dazai, but he forces himself to shift to the side, looking down to where Dazai is sitting in front of the wall of screens, eyes trained on where you’re sitting with Dostoevsky.

Dazai’s expression is eerily blank, more so than Chuuya has ever seen it before. It makes his throat swell, the air to his lungs catching in his windpipe. He’s seen Dazai distraught before—the night on the roof years ago when he was drunk and screaming at Chuuya to just let him jump. He’s seen Dazai upset before—a few months after his sixteenth birthday, before the Dragon’s Head Conflict commenced, when he returned to headquarters with an expression so haunted that Chuuya didn’t dare utter a single snarky word to him.

He’s never seen him like this before. Visible eye entirely void of life as if whatever part of him that had been reanimated by your arrival in his life has been killed off. As if he knows exactly what’s about to happen, as if he knows there’s no stopping it. But Chuuya can see the way the corner of Dazai is pinched, the way his face, while blank, is hard, and Chuuya knows Dazai well enough to know exactly what that means: that if there’s any chance of preventing this, Dazai is going to do whatever it takes.

“Fair exchange is a funny way of saying I’ll die either way,” you say softly. Your voice is bitter; you’re not looking at Dostoevsky or the camera, instead your gaze is set on the wall next to you, an unreadable expression on your face. 

Dostoevsky turns his attention back to you, eyes curious. “I am no liar, I gave you my word that you’ll leave this room alive, myshka,” Dostoevsky hums, lips curved up into an entertained smile. Chuuya’s eye twitches at the pet name. “Go on and tell Dazai what I ask for in exchange… I am quite curious to see how far he’s willing to go for you.”

How far? 

Even Chuuya knows the answer to that, and from the expression on Dostoevsky’s face, he must know the answer too.

Ah, Chuuya realizes, his own question now answered. How does that work? Dostoevsky tells you the deal, and you have to make the decision of whether or not to tell Dazai. If you tell Dazai, there’s no lengths he wouldn’t go to fulfill Dostoevsky’s demands if it means saving you. And Chuuya suddenly understands why Kouyou looks so grave, because there’s only one thing Dostoevsky wants: Yokohama and the Port Mafia out of his way. Dazai out of the way. 

Dazai would hand it all to him on a silver platter if it meant saving your life. Yokohama. The Port Mafia. He’d let Dostoevsky put a bullet through his head if it meant you’d get to live.

“Dazai,” Kouyou begins, and her voice wavers. Chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kouyou’s voice waver in the seven years he’s known her. “You cannot-”

Kouyou doesn’t finish her sentence. Doesn’t need to. They all know what she’s going to say, and Chuuya doubts that Dazai is listening anyway. He looks at Kouyou from the corner of his eye and she meets his gaze, a heavy expression on her face.

“You gave me your word that I’d leave this room alive. What happens when I step outside?” you ask with a sigh, looking back over to meet Dostoevsky’s eyes. “You’ll get what you want from Dazai and kill me anyway.”

You look tired and Chuuya’s stomach weighs down with guilt again. God, what the fuck has he done? You were on your way to your fucking grad school orientation and Chuuya signed your goddamn death warrant. You had so much ahead of you. You never belonged in this shitty world, and an instinctual part of Chuuya wants to curse Dazai for it, for dragging you into this and putting you into this situation.

But even as the thought crosses his mind, he tosses it away, because how the fuck is he supposed to condemn Dazai for clinging to the only damn thing that makes him happy as if Chuuya doesn’t do the same? His gaze turns back down to Dazai, frowning when he sees that he’s no longer staring at the screen intently. He’s leaned back in his chair, still looking at the screen but his eyes are glazed over, as if he’s not fully present.

As if he’s given up.

“So meticulous,” Dostoevsky murmurs, he reaches to brush his knuckles against your cheek. The noise that Chuuya lets out is close to a snarl when he sees the way your lips tighten in disgust as you turn your face away from him only for him to pinch your chin between his fingers to force you to look at him. He glances down at Dazai, only to find that he’s hardly even reacted to what’s happening. “You are very intelligent… I would have loved to have a woman like you at my side.”

“People like you are fated to be alone, Fyodor Dostoevsky,” you reply, lips curved down as you stare at him. “What a terrible fate. I’d always prefer a short and fulfilling life than a long and solitary one.”

Your gaze draws back up to the camera as if you’re desperately trying to convey something to Dazai: I don’t regret this. If I had the choice, I’d do it all the same.

Chuuya doesn’t even think Dazai can understand it in the state he’s in.

Chuuya’s stomach twists and turns, he has to take a step away, breathing in a shuddered breath as he pulls his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. He presses his hand to his face, trying to calm himself down, but his ears are ringing and the black coffee he’d downed before heading over to the train station is threatening to come right up his throat.

And if you’re wrong? 

Dostoevsky’s hand drops from your face, but his other remains wrapped around your wrist. He smiles as if telling a joke that only he understands. “Maybe in another universe you and I can work together.”

Dazai jolts at the words and Chuuya looks at him again, watching the way he draws in a sharp, shuddered breath. Chuuya’s lips part. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to speak or force himself to breathe, but his eyes land on Dazai just as the man finally breaks.

If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master?

It’s brief. His expression crumbles and he quietly wheezes for air, hand flying to his chest as if trying to claw his own heart out, as if his brain has only finally registered what was happening. Kouyou and Piano Man are too focused on you and Dostoevsky to notice, but Chuuya thinks if he stares any longer at the screen, he might fall apart. His expression smooths out again immediately after it shatters, his eye takes that distant look again, as if he’s totally separated himself from reality.

“Is that your decision then, myshka?” Dostoevsky asks, voice deceptively soft. Chuuya has to drag his eyes back to the screen, teeth grinding together when Dostoevsky’s hand leaves your wrist to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your bottom lip. 

To your credit, you don’t look scared and for a second, Chuuya doesn’t know what the fuck you’re doing. Dazai would do anything for you, give up anything, you have to know that. All you have to do is say what Dostoevsky wants and Dazai will do it no matter the cost. The irrational part of him, the one riddled with guilt and regret, almost wants you to just say what Dostoevsky wants, tell them and maybe they can figure something out, buy enough time to get you out of there. 

(Another part of him, deep down, knows that it’s hopeless. With Dostoevsky’s hand in contact with you, your fate is sealed. No one will get there fast enough to get you away from him before he can trigger his ability.)

Chuuya realizes, a bit dully, maybe you do know that and maybe that’s exactly why you’re not saying anything. Whatever Dostoevsky wants of Dazai is not something that you can allow him to give up.

Chuuya also realizes, chest sinking, that Dazai probably knows you well enough to know this too. To know that you’d give up your life for his. He looks over at Dazai, the vacant look in his eye and the hopeless air about him. He knew this would happen the moment Chuuya showed back up on base, desperately trying to get him to go back to you.

A crash against the heavy metal door leading to the room that you and Dostoevsky are sitting in shocks Chuuya out of his thoughts, gaze snapping up as Dostoevsky lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“It appears our time is up,” Dostoevsky hums. “What a pity. I would have liked to talk with you more.”

What then, Chuuya?

Chuuya’s vision spins as Atsushi and Kyouka burst into the room you’re being held in. Atsushi, half-transformed, throws himself at you, trying to get you away from Dostoevsky. Kyouka, with her cell to her ear, commands Demon Snow to sever Dostoevsky’s hand from where he’s touching you, trying to sever the physical connection between the two of you before he can activate his ability. 

Behind Dostoevsky, a gold swirl appears, a hand reaching out to grab his arm.

For a moment, Chuuya’s chest swells with hope, breath catching as watches raptly.

And they do it. 

Dostoevsky’s expression twists as Demon Snow cuts through his elbow, severing his lower arm from the rest of his body, Atsushi’s arms wrap around you as he tackles you away from the Russian onto the ground. Dostoevsky is dragged backward into the gold swirl—Gogol, the teleportation ability—and Kyouka and Atsushi focus their attention on you.

He watches with bated breath, waiting as Atsushi fumbles to shift you into a more comfortable position. He leans forward, eyes a bit wild and nails digging into the palms of his hands.

Kyouka kneels next to Atsushi, blue eyes wide, and Atsushi’s expression crumbles as he finally turns you over in his lap. Chuuya’s breath slows, he takes a step back as he shakes his head. 

What then, Chuuya?

Blood stains the corner of your lips, eyes empty, body limp in Atsushi’s arms. No one is faster than the triggering of an ability. Chuuya knew this. How many people have tried to kill him only to be thwarted in a split second by Tainted Sorrow? Still, he had allowed the hope to claw its way up into his chest, clinging to the thinnest thread that maybe, just maybe, his decision won’t have cost you your life, and in an instant, that hope is stripped and Chuuya is forced to face the consequences of his actions. 

Next to Chuuya, Piano Man lets out a shaky breath, turning away from the screen and pacing over to the window. Kouyou makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, eyes sliding shut.

Chuuya’s eyes drag from the screen back down to Dazai. Dazai stares ahead blankly, eye so black and void of light that if Chuuya didn’t know any better, he’d think he was staring into the eye of a corpse. 

Dostoevsky might’ve been your executioner, but Chuuya had been the judge to impose the death sentence.

Onto you, and onto Dazai.

You thought that you would be scared of dying.

Your mind is distant and dazed as you fall backward to the ground, familiar hands wrap around one of your arms and your waist as you’re dragged away from Dostoevsky. You taste iron in your mouth, red tints the corner of your vision, you don’t feel any pain but from the way your limbs become numb and heavy, you know what’s happening.

Maybe you’re just in shock, mind unable to comprehend what’s happening, but you don’t think that’s it. You’d known what was going to happen the moment you were pulled through that ability into this room, the moment Fyodor Dostoevsky told you the only way you’d make it out of here alive is if Dazai offered his own life in exchange.

Dazai would’ve done it. You know he would have. He would’ve accepted the deal and laid his life down for yours in an instant, but you couldn’t let him do that. He’d face pushback from his executives, they might even lock him up to prevent him from following through, and then he’d have to live with the fact that he had the chance to save you but failed. 

You couldn’t force that choice on him.

Your vision blurs and tunnels, eyes fluttering shut, but your body jolts as someone flips you around, hazy gaze focusing in on someone kneeling next to you, whoever is holding you in his lap. Two vaguely familiar wide swirls of violet, gold, and blue hover above you and your surroundings start to bleed out, the white tiles of the walls around you and the two people who’d barged into the room disappear, the violets and golds and blues spread across your vision, melding into a sunrise painted across the early morning sky.

The hand on your body falls limply to the ground next to you, the tips of your fingers brushing through soft white sand. Your head tilts to the side, something warm trickling down your cheek from the corner of your eye. 

You let out a weak breath, your vision clouds red and for a second, you swear there’s a figure laying next to you—lips curved up into a small, sad smile, dark eyes soft as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Dazai wears tan instead of the black you’re used to, both eyes uncovered as admires you. You can feel the ghost of his touch against your skin, warm and familiar.

Osamu… 

You can hear the commotion around you, more people bursting into the room. You can feel your body weakening, but all you can think of is him.

Maybe in the next life.

Dazai doesn’t know where he is. Doesn’t know when he is. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. Doesn’t know who he’s with. Doesn’t know who he is.

Every step he takes, every second that passes, his surroundings become more and more indecipherable. He can hear the vague sounds of Chuuya, Kouyou and Piano Man talking around him but he can’t make out what they’re saying or what’s going on. He finds himself walking but he feels like he’s trudging through slush, as if time has slowed around him and he’s trying to impossibly push through it.

“Pull yourself together,” Piano Man murmurs as Dazai mindlessly moves forward, unsure of where he’s even being led to. 

Every time his eyes slide shut, he’s faced with the image of you in that room with Dostoevsky, the sight of his fingers on your skin. He turns to look at Piano Man and for a moment, he’s lost, wondering how a dead man is standing before him. His lips part to speak but no words leave them, the black walls fade into the vaguely familiar tan and brown walls of the Agency, the coat he wears lightens and Piano Man’s face morphs into Yosano Akiko’s as she tries to snap him out of the stunned stupor he’s left in after finding your body in your apartment. He’d figured out Christie’s plot, but he’d been too late, and his mind had been entirely unable to come to terms with it. Because Dazai never fails, everyone relies on him to know what to do but-

But when it comes to you he just can’t win. No matter how hard he tries, he’s never enough. He’s never quick enough. Never smart enough. Never enough. 

“...ey, hey, boss, are you even listening?” 

Dazai blinks, gaze focusing back on Piano Man and he notices that he’s in the elevator, heading down. Chuuya and Kouyou are watching him carefully but Chuuya doesn’t meet his eyes. Dazai realizes Piano Man must have said something—asked something—but he doesn’t know what.

“We’re heading down to the first floor,” Piano Man finally says again. “The onslaught from Tolstoy and Nabakov ended-” Of course it has, Dostoevsky got what he wanted. “Albatross and-Albatross and the others are on the way back… We must be there to meet them.”

Dazai doesn’t respond. Doesn’t think he’d be able to if he wanted to. His brain is slow, still hasn’t comprehended what happened, still doesn’t entirely know where he is. The pages of the Book keep piling around him, endless and suffocating. He jumps from one reality to the rest, each time seeing the same scene in different fonts. He sees Piano Man and Kouyou exchange a look with one another but Dazai’s gaze is already pointed ahead again, staring through the reflective surface of the elevator doors.

Dazai doesn’t even recognize himself.

They still talk around him but all of the words sound muffled and faraway, like he’s underwater and they’re speaking above the surface. As Dazai stares into the doors, he swears he can almost picture you standing next to him, tucked beneath his arm and leaning into his side as the two of you wait for the elevator to reach the first floor. You smile up at him, he watches it through the reflection, heart in his throat as you lean up on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw and he swears he can feel the ghost of your lips, the warmth.

But then the elevator doors slide open and the illusion of you is shattered.

Dazai’s breath shakes as he forces himself forward but he’s careful to keep his expression flat, ignoring the lines of subordinates already awaiting his arrival. They kneel as he walks past but Dazai hardly takes notice of them, eyes trained ahead.

And then-

And then Dazai sees it.

Hirotsu is holding you, your body is limp and lifeless. Dazai stops dead in his tracks. You look small in his arms and Dazai feels bile rise to the back of his throat, threatening to burst from his lips. Even from a distance, he can see the blood staining the corners of your lips and eyes, can see the way one of your arms dangle loosely from your body, can see how you’ve been entirely drained of life by Dostoevsky.

He wants to move forward, wants to pull you in his arms and shield you from all of the prying eyes around you, hates the way everyone is staring at you, wants to scream and curse the gods above who play with human lives like they’re some sort of game, who are laughing at Dazai for thinking he could get away with defying fate.

Most of all, he’s tired, and he wants to be with you.

The crowds of subordinates who’ve gathered on the lower floor of the building whisper amongst themselves. Some of them, who havent seen you around the base with him, are trying to figure out who you are. Others, who know exactly who you are to Dazai, let out low murmurs as they watch Dazai carefully, waiting for some type of reaction from him. A few, likely those who’ve spoken to you personally, lower their heads in respect.

Dazai tries to make himself take another step forward, pull you away from Hirotsu into his arms, hold you close, stop them from taking you away, but his feet are rooted to the ground.

One voice rises above the whispering crowds.

“What the fuck?”

Dazai’s gaze slides slowly to the side, watching as a vaguely familiar figure pushes to the front of the crowd, walking in the direction of you and Hirotsu. He blinks slowly, not recognizing who it is until Chuuya and Piano Man start moving toward him, both with furrowed brows and concerned words.

Ah, he realizes. Iceman.

Dazai had called him back to headquarters from abroad—but why? The cogs in his mind move slowly as he tries to remember why he brought Iceman back, why the man is having such an adverse reaction to the sight of-

To the sight of you.

Dazai’s eye shifts back to you, all of the air pushes out from his lungs when he notices the way your head has fallen to the side. Your eyes are shut but your face is tilted toward him and you look so-

You look so dead.

Everything around Dazai begins to tunnel and crumble. The buildings around him blurting into indistinct blobs and all of the crowds of his subordinates melding into the background. Iceman’s arrival, Chuuya and Piano Man trying to settle him down, it all becomes white noise as Dazai stares at you blankly.

How did this happen?

He’d-

He’d done everything right, hadn’t he? He’d done everything to make sure you would be protected. He’d clawed his way to the position of boss, annihilated all of the Mafia’s enemies to ensure that Yokohama would be safe for you. He’d sacrificed everything, how did it still turn out like this?

The white noise, the buzz of people around him, it all slowly shifts to laughter. The sight of Hirotsu holding your body turns into Dazai—a different Dazai—hunched over your limp form screaming his throat raw in your apartment. It turns into him sprinting through knee deep water with Yosano Akiko at his heels to get to your lifeless form floating face down in the water of the same beach you met him at. It turns into Chuuya catapulting himself through the air, desperately trying to get to you as you fall because Dazai can do nothing but watch—he fails. It turns into Mori stepping out of the hospital room he was treating you in, Dazai can’t hear what he’s saying but he knows—then Mori turns into Fukuzawa, Fukuzawa into Ango, all the same grave expressions, all the same fate. 

It was never the Port Mafia’s enemies that were at fault for your death. Wasn’t Mimic or an affiliation with the Mafia, like it was for Odasaku. Wasn’t Dostoevsky. Wasn’t Christie.

It was Dazai.

Dazai is the reason you die in every universe. 

The only way for him to save you from your fate is to stay away from you, and he couldn’t even do that. The only chance for him to give you a normal life—a long life—squandered because of his own selfishness.

The laughter gets louder, more manic—they laughed at him when you stumbled into him at the bar, when he tried to stay away, when he gave in to meeting you again. They laugh louder now that things have played out exactly as they knew it would. Dazai danced along perfectly to their marionette strings, as they knew he would from the beginning.

Fate. 

Fatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefate.

The word that’s haunted him since he was fifteen years old tears apart his mind, claws open his rotted heart from the dark crevice it’s slipped into the past thirty minutes. His vision goes spotty and his head feels light. He knew better. He knew this would happen. He knew-

“That’s my sister.” Again, Iceman’s voice rises above the laughter, a broken gasp that jolts Dazai from his spiraling thoughts. “That’s my sister—what the fuck?”

Ah. Dazai suddenly remembers why he called Iceman back to headquarters. Remembers laying in bed with you a few mornings ago—you were in his arms, warm and happy and alive, and Dazai was excited, figured out the mystery that’s been plaguing him for years. He put together who your brother was, wanted to give you the chance to see him again. Wanted to do something good for you.

And now-

Iceman whirls around, eye wild and expression feral as he focuses on Dazai. Dazai doesn’t know what Chuuya and Piano Man told him, but whatever it was has the man unhinged as he pushes Piano Man hard out of the way to throw himself at Dazai.

“What did you do?” Iceman roars. “What did you do?”

He reaches for the gun at his side, pulls it out and clicks off the safety in a split second—quick and efficient, as expected of the Port Mafia’s best assassin. Around Dazai, other members of the mafia raise their guns in defense of the boss, Dazai only distantly has the mind to raise his hand to order them to lower their weapons.

Chuuya stops Iceman before he can steady the gun at Dazai’s head and pull the trigger. He wrangles the larger man to the ground, using his ability to keep him down, yelling at him to calm the fuck down and explain himself. Iceman clearly has no intention of doing that from the way he futilely tries to throw off Chuuya and go for his gun again.

Dazai watches absently until Kouyou ushers him back into the building, not even giving Dazai the chance to hold you one last time. His chest caves in as soon as you’re out of sight, breath weak and ragged. Kouyou pinches his arm hard.

“Pull yourself together, boy,” she warns. “You cannot let them see you weak.”

Dazai wishes that Iceman had pulled the trigger.

Iceman has never been a good brother. 

He was four years old when you came into his life, and when his mother tried to introduce him to his newborn sister, he’d turned his nose up and pouted, upset at no longer being the only child. 

He was nine years old when his mother died, sacrificing herself to save a child in Motomachi Shopping Center when a drunk driver barreled down the sidewalk. When you tried to cling to him and cry, he pushed you away to mourn by himself, angry and grieving.

He was eleven years old when his father started to see his mother in you, taking out the bitterness he felt for her decision on you with cruel words and crueler hands when he would come home drunk after a long night of gambling away all of his money. A good brother would have stepped in to protect his little sister, but Iceman chose to turn a cheek and plug his ears when you would curl in bed at night and cry.

He was thirteen years old when he came home to you physically hurt for the first time, blood trickling down from a split lip as you curled in the corner of your shared room. Iceman had already started involving himself with the underworld by the point, so it only took a few sniffles and your fingers curling around his wrist for him to stay up all night, waiting for his father to fall asleep so he could press a pillow to his face, smothering him to death and leaving the two of you homeless without a dollar to your name.

He was fifteen years old when he officially joined the Port Mafia, desperate to get a roof over your head. Sixteen when he killed his second man. You never asked questions when he came home covered in blood and wounds, even though you definitely should have. He lied and told you he’d joined an underground fighting ring to try to make some money for you. You took care of him in a way that he never did for you, patching up his wounds with an easy smile and tender hands.

He was eighteen when he met the rest of the Flags after making a name for himself as one of the Mafia’s best assassins. He stopped coming around as much, spending his time at bars with the Flags, afraid that one day you’d figure out what he’s been doing for money, afraid that you would start to see him as a monster instead of the brother you still loved for whatever god forsaken reason.

He was twenty when he cut you off. After his near death experience at the hands of Verlaine, Iceman realized his life was much too dangerous to keep you in it. To provide for you and give you the life you deserve, he had to abandon his name and leave you behind, otherwise you would forever be at risk of people trying to kill you to get to him.

The best thing Iceman ever did for you as an older brother was cutting you off to let you live a long, fulfilling life away from the dark. Away from him.

And for what?

Iceman sighs as he fumbles in his pocket for another cigarette, already on his second pack of the day. He tilts his head back against the tree he’s leaning against, the muddy ground staining his pants. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, tilting his head down as a heavy feeling sweeps over him.

And for what?

It’s been two and a half weeks since he came back to Yokohama.

Two and a half weeks since your death.

Your death, the words still make him sick to his stomach, make him feel as if the world is collapsing around you. Iceman had always been sure of the two of you, he’d be the one to go first. The thought of outliving you—his little sister, the one person in the world he’d sacrifice everything to protect—was never even an option in his mind.

He’s spent just about every waking hour with you, trying to make up for the times he didn’t while you were still alive. You’d always hated the dark; he used to bitch and complain when the two of you shared a bedroom because you couldn’t sleep without a night light, and now he feels sick to his stomach thinking of you stuck out here in the dirt alone and in the dark. 

The Flags have tried to drag him away, Lippmann pleading with him to come inside and sleep and Piano Man trying to coax him back with promises of drinks and fine food, but Iceman refused to budge. Chuuya sometimes joins him, brings a nice bottle of wine, cracks it open and after three glasses, starts choking over air, apologizing and begging for forgiveness—sometimes to Iceman, sometimes in front of your headstone. 

Iceman enjoys their company—he does—but he thinks he prefers to be alone with you.

Which, unfortunately, seems to be a rare occurrence.

He sighs as he hears leaves crunching on the path leading up to your grave, gaze drawing to the side. At first, he figures it must be Chuuya dragging himself back to your grave, ready for another round of drinks and regret, but he pauses when he recognizes the long black cloak and red scarf donning the figure making his way over to your grave.

His fingers twitch down to the gun holstered down to his side, resentment and anger simmering dangerously beneath the surface.

Dazai Osamu kneels in front of your grave for the first time since your death. He did not attend your funeral. Didn’t come to see you laid into the ground. Didn’t pay respects. He’s spent two and a half weeks holed up on the top floor of the centermost building of headquarters with only Chuuya and Kouyou as company. 

Iceman thinks he has some fucking nerve, being the reason that you’re six feet under and not even bothering to come see you.

His first reaction is to make himself known, rise to his feet and pull out his gun—an offense worthy of execution in the eyes of the rest of the Mafia, pulling a gun on its boss, but Iceman’s self-preservation was thrown out the window the moment he came back to headquarters to see you dead in Hirotsu’s arms and Dazai Osamu standing there like an emotionless statute as if he didn’t cause this.

But he hesitates when he sees the expression on Dazai’s face, lips trembling and visible eye glassy. Iceman doesn’t think he’s ever seen the boss in such a sorry state before—his bandages are yellowed and grimy as if he hasn’t changed them in weeks, his coat is wrinkled, scarf dirty, lips chapped and cracked. Dazai Osamu is a man that most people see as untouchable and unflappable, and even Iceman, riddled with grief and fury, can’t help but pause at the sight of him breaking.

“I thought I could stop it,” Dazai breathes out. Iceman startles a bit, irrationally thinking that the man is talking to him, but settles down when he realizes that he’s talking to you, eyes slid shut as he kneels before your headstone. “I tried so hard. I tried so hard to stop it.”

Iceman’s eyes lower at the sheer pain in Dazai’s voice, the hoarseness of grief that has his throat red and raw, has him stripped him bare to the bone. From where Iceman is sitting out of sight, he can see the way Dazai’s fingers are trembling in his lap, shoulders shaking.

“All of this was for you,” Dazai’s voice wavers as he speaks, cracking over his words. “All of it was for you-I don’t-what am I supposed to do now? Shit. What do I do? It’s all gone to waste, I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have-”

The noise that escapes Dazai’s throat is more belonging of a wounded animal than of a human. He curls over at his waist, blunt nails digging into the marble of your headstone, forehead resting against the cool stone. 

Iceman squeezes his eyes shut, throat swollen, letting out a full body shiver at the sound. He forces himself to his feet, fingers enclosing around the grip of his gun, and makes his way over to where Dazai is kneeling. The man stiffens when he hears Iceman approach, straightening and tilting his head to the side to look at Iceman from the corner of his eye. His mouth dries a bit when he sees the tear streaking down Dazai’s pale skin.

“Are you here to kill me?” Dazai asks, voice raspy and throat sore. There’s a mocking edge to it that makes Iceman’s jaw click, as if Dazai is purposely trying to antagonize him. “Go on then, I left Chuuya behind. There’s no one to stop you this time.”

“You think you deserve to go see her already?” Iceman asks coldly.

He stares down at Dazai, watching as the facade cracks at Iceman’s words. The corner of Dazai’s lips twitch downward and his eye goes a bit hazy as it tracks back down to your headstone. He takes in another shuddered breath and Dazai’s shoulders finally slump over, lashes fluttering.

“I knew this would happen,” Dazai finally croaks out, voice weak and wavering. Iceman’s lips tightens at his words, flicking the safety off on his gun and pulling it from his holster. “I knew this would happen and I still sought her out.”

“Even a blind person could’ve seen how this would turn out,” Iceman spits out, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the back of Dazai’s head. He doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t react at all. A part of Iceman wonders if this is what he wants—to be put out of his misery. “This is on you.”

“I know,” Dazai says hoarsely. “... I know.”

Iceman knows that you loved Dazai Osamu for whatever fucked up reason. The same fucked up reason you probably still loved Iceman even after all of the bullshit that he did, and didn’t do, during your childhood. He forced Chuuya to get him the tape after he’d calmed down, watched the way you sat there with Dostoevsky, accepting your fate. Heard that you were given a choice, and the choice you made. He hadn’t been able to understand it at first—you’ve always been so full of life, excited for the future even at your lowest, he couldn’t fathom what could’ve possibly made you so accepting of death.

So he dug further, got Piano Man and Lippmann and Albatross roped up in his schemes. Heard the way you would act with Dazai, how happy you were and how happy he was. Forced Piano Man to get him tapes from around the base; he saw the way you looked at him and the way he looked at you. 

You loved Dazai Osamu, and Dazai Osamu—a man that everyone had been convinced was incapable of emotion, a demon without a heart or conscious—loved you.

He takes in the dark bag beneath Dazai’s tired eye, the glassiness and lack of life within them, the sickly pallor of his skin, and the dirtiness of his clothes. His nails bleed from where he dragged them against the marble of your headstone and he can see a murky redness staining his yellowed bandages, peeking out from where his coat rode up his arm.

Iceman has not been the only one grieving you.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Dazai finally rasps out. Less of a question, more of a beg, a far cry from the cold and brutal mafia boss that Iceman has come to know, and Iceman knows that Dazai Osamu died in the same moment you did, only a walking corpse remains in his place.

Iceman scoffs, holstering his gun. “Nah,” he says. “Whatever you’re doin’ to yourself. That’s worse than death.”

“…oss. Boss.”

Dazai’s gaze drags from the photo on his desk to where Chuuya has entered his office, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever he came here to say. Chuuya hesitates and Dazai’s jaw tightens in annoyance. He’s been like this since you-

For three and a half weeks. He’s been like this for three and a half weeks. Constantly hovering, afraid to leave Dazai alone for too long. If Chuuya isn’t hovering, Kouyou is. Dazai can hardly get a moment alone and it’s becoming increasingly hard to continue the preparation for phase five, the final part of his plan. Everything is set in place, if all goes according to plan, tomorrow morning will be the long awaited moment. 

In a little over twelve hours, he’ll be able to be with you again at last.

Four hours until Atsushi is to go to the Armed Detective Agency with the files that will antagonize Akutagawa into attacking the Mafia headquarters. Dazai expects that by three in the morning, the Agency would have managed to fully infiltrate the building, and Atsushi and Akutagawa will be clashing on the roof of the headquarters. 

By dawn, it’ll be time.

But one major obstacle remains. 

Dazai’s gaze draws back to Chuuya, who’s still standing in the door of his office, becoming increasingly more irritated by Dazai’s lack of a response. As long as Chuuya is around, Dazai is going to have trouble following through with the final step. The executive will do whatever it takes to prevent Dazai’s death, so Dazai needs to get him out of the way.

“Chuuya,” Dazai hums, “Wh-”

“We’ve captured Gogol.”

Dazai halts, fingers pausing from where they’d been thrumming against the desk as he thought. His gaze sharpens as he tilts his head to the side, “Is that so?”

Gogol. Gogol. The one who captured you, handed you to Dostoevsky on a silver platter. Dazai might’ve been the cause of your-

Dazai might’ve been the one at fault for all of this, but that doesn’t mean he can let your executioners get off scot-free. He rises to his feet, the pads of his fingers pressing into the dark wood of his desk. For a moment, he doesn’t move, his ears ring and his eyes slide shut. Dazai didn’t think he’d get the chance to handle either of them—he’d resigned himself to accepting that he would have to forfeit personal vengeance to ensure that at least Odasaku will be able to live out his life in this world.

But now…

From the corner of his eye, Dazai swears he can see you barge into his office from his apartment, a wild smile on your face as you wave around the TV remote, claiming you found a good movie for the two of you to watch. It’s only for a split second, but Dazai’s heart leaps from his throat, breath catching. He hasn’t dared step foot in the apartment since… everything happened—it’s too big now, too empty. Your coffee mug still sits on his kitchen table, clothes strewn across his room from where you’d been having a fit trying to find the perfect outfit for orientation.

“Dazai.”

Chuuya speaks and the mirage of you is gone. Dazai lets out a heavy breath before shaking his head and making his way toward Chuuya. Neither of them speak again as they make their way into the elevator—they’ve hardly had a full conversation with one another since… since Chuuya chose to disobey orders—heading down to the belly of the headquarters where Gogol will be held. Dazai’s mind spins, lashes fluttering as he thinks.

He knew that Dostoevsky would be well out of reach, that he would have to leave your justice for when the Russian makes his real move in the hands of Odasaku, Akutagawa and the Agency, in the hands of Chuuya, Iceman and Atsushi. There’s no way that Dazai would be able to get his hands on the man in a timely manner, and Dazai can’t risk being in this world any longer than he’s already been. The longer he remains, the more Odasaku is at risk of meeting the same fate you did, and then all Dazai has done and sacrificed over the past seven years would be for nought. The only chance he had to protect the two of you squandered because of his own selfishness and incapability.

But Gogol. He hadn’t dared hope—Dazai lost any semblance of hope the moment he saw Chuuya show up at the Port Mafia headquarters—but he couldn’t help but want.

Kouyou and Piano Man are already waiting in the torture chambers when Dazai and Chuuya finally arrive. Gogol has silver shackles around his wrists, military-grade ability nullifying cuffs that the Mafia had stolen from a government shipment a few months back, and when he sees Dazai, he laughs wildly as if he’s just been told a hilarious joke.

“It’s really you,” Gogol cackles. “Dostoy thought for sure you’d have offed yourself by now.”

Dazai hums, but otherwise doesn’t react to the words. He supposes that they’re not too off the mark, Gogol is only unlucky in that he managed to get himself captured the day before it’s meant to take place.

“Are you going to kill me?” Gogol coos. “Avenge your pretty little thing? Not many people manage to catch Dostoy’s attention, y’know? I was so curious about her.”

Dazai tilts his head to the side and smiles thinly, a cold one that makes Gogol look impossibly more entertained.

“I hear that you enjoy freedom,” Dazai says more to himself than to Gogol, but finds a bit of sadistic pleasure in the way Gogol hesitates. “What makes you think I’d ever give you the mercy of death? The ultimate freedom?”

Gogol does not respond, so Dazai continues, “So long as you live—and you will live—you’ll never take another breath of fresh air or feel the wind against your skin ever again. My men will ensure you live to a ripe old age. They will feed you when you try to starve yourself, force water down your throat when you refuse to drink, they’ll heal you when you try to kill yourself to free yourself of this prison. For the rest of your life, until you rot of old age, you’ll be caged in the basement of this building. A bird clipped of its wings, trapped forever behind gilded bars… I think that’s quite the fitting fate for you.”

Dazai relishes in the way that Gogol freezes at his words, but even that is not enough to heal the gaping wound in his chest caused by your absence. The pleasure is hollow, like the hole you left in him. Dazai is so tired, he just wants to get back to his office so he can finish finalizing the last step for the final phase.

He just wants to be with you.

Dazai turns to leave, motioning for Chuuya to join him, but as soon as he turns his back, Gogol is speaking again, letting out another manic laugh: “Aren’t you curious as to what the deal was? I can tell you.”

Dazai stills, Gogol laughs louder. 

“It was a life for a life. Your life for hers. I thought Dostoy was crazy for it, I mean, who would think a random girl’s life would be equal to that of the boss of the Port Mafia,” Gogol snickers. “But looking at you now?” 

Dazai’s jaw tightens, he looks over his shoulder as Gogol doubles over laughing and then says quietly, “Her life was worth ten of mine.”

He doesn’t hesitate this time as he walks back toward the elevator, ignoring the way Gogol howls with laughter even as Piano Man has his men drag Gogol back into the most secure cell in the Mafia headquarters. Chuuya follows behind Dazai dutifully, and it’s only when they reenter the elevator does he finally speak.

“You sure you don’t just want him killed?” Chuuya asks, voice a bit stunted and awkward.

Dazai doesn’t respond. “I have a mission for you.”

“Hah?” Chuuya demands. “Now? What’re you talking about?” 

“A meeting with Goldoni of the Family in Rome, he’s insistent that it’s done in person. It’s essential that it takes place as soon as possible. I’ve booked a flight for you, it leaves in two hours.”

“Two hours?” Chuuya hisses. “What are you planning, Dazai?”

Dazai doesn’t respond again. Instead, he turns his head to the side, looking at Chuuya dead on. “That’s a direct order, Chuuya.”

Chuuya draws back as if he’s been slapped, but he doesn’t speak up after that, and Dazai knows that he’s won. By the time Chuuya lands in Rome, everything will be over—the last step of the plan will be complete. His eyes flutter shut as he leans back against the wall of the elevator; he feels a type of contentedness that he hasn’t felt since he watched you drive off with Albatross, Hirotsu, and Tachihara.

Soon, he sighs to himself softly, eyes reopening to focus on his reflection. He swears he can see you again, feel the ghost of your touch against his skin as your fingers lace with his. All he has left to do is talk to Odasaku, and then he can be with you again. 

We can watch one last sunrise together.

“I had someone once, y’know?” Dazai Osamu says, expression distorted and eyes distant, drawing to invisible figures sitting at the stools with them. Oda stares curiously, watching as he opens and closes his mouth, as if trying to figure out what to say. “It was hard. Without you and her, everything was so much harder. I tried so hard to do things right, to protect this world; I did what I could, but I couldn’t stay away from her.”

Dazai’s words disappear with his ragged breathing, dozens of emotions crossing over his face as he stares at his lap. Oda doesn’t speak, trying to put together whatever piece he’s missing—figure out who this her is that Dazai is referring to so that he can understand what’s going on. He keeps his gun steady, pointed at the boss of the Port Mafia in case this whole thing turns out to be a trap even if he’s slowly starting to doubt it.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to her,” Dazai says airly, talking more to himself than to Oda. “She said she’d see me later. Told me she loved me. I didn’t say it back. Do you think she knew, Odasaku?” 

The man in question chooses his words carefully when Dazai looks at him, black eye wide and imploring, much like a child seeking out advice from a trusted adult. After a few moments, Oda finally says, “Women are a lot more intuitive than men. If she said it, I’m sure she knew you felt the same.”

Dazai lets out a quiet laugh, a soft smile on his lips and a fond, but faraway expression on his face. “You always know what to say, Odasaku,” he murmurs softly, saying that odd nickname again. Oda frowns, but Dazai only continues. “She was good. A lot better than me… Deserved better than me. She was so smart, Odasaku, I think you would’ve liked her. She got into one of the best grad schools in the country, y’know? Was on her way to orientation when-”

Dazai stops talking suddenly, takes in a sharp and stunted breath, eye going a bit wild as if he can’t even force out the words. Oda is suddenly frowning, recognition sparking in his head as he remembers you, the sharp girl from the train station that he’d failed to save; the one who's been haunting his mind since the moment that golden swirl appeared and dragged you away. Ranpo had deduced it was mafia business rather quickly, but Oda couldn’t convince himself of it because he couldn’t figure out how someone like you was affiliated with the mafia.

This… It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Still, Oda couldn’t imagine you with someone like the man sitting before him, or maybe he could, he reconsiders, watching the adoring expression that paints the mafia boss’s face as he talks about you, the smile on his lips and the enamored look in his eye, the pride. Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen a man look so entirely lovesick before.

Dazai looks at him curiously, must have caught the spark of recognition on his face. “Do you know her?”

Oda pauses, trying to figure out what to say. He doesn’t know if he should admit to seeing you in the moments before you were killed; Dazai Osamu is clearly not stable, fickle and capricious with his emotions, Oda worries that the mafia boss might abruptly turn on him, become hostile when he realizes Oda could have saved her but failed. 

“You did,” Dazai breathes out, excited suddenly, eye lit up like a child who has been told Christmas is coming early. “You knew her, you did, didn’t you? How did you meet? Wasn’t she incredible? Tell me.”

Oda inhales slowly, testing the words on his tongue before he says: “... I met her at the train station… that day.” Dazai’s smile wobbles at the edges, a glassy look in his eye like he’s looking right through Oda. Oda continues speaking quickly, “She was brilliant. She gave me a good idea on how to end the book I’ve been writing.”

Dazai’s smile softens, the childish appearance disappears as he looks down at his drink. “Will you use it?”

Oda responds honestly, “I think I will.”

Dazai looks as if he’s been given a precious gift and for a moment, Oda hesitates, gaze lingering on the expression that is somehow both sorrowful and content at the same time.

“It’s almost dawn, isn’t it?” Dazai says, a bit distantly. Oda watches carefully as an unfocused look clouds Dazai’s black eye, his head turning to look out the window of the bar. “She loved sunrises… I promised her we would watch one more together.”

The sun breaks the horizon in the distance, Dazai smiles wistfully as the colors spread across the morning sky. Endless pink clouds dance in the dawn, orange paints the skies; he stands at the edge of the roof where you sat with him that first morning, leaning your head on his shoulder as you watch all of the shapes the clouds make.

“Doesn’t that one look like a cat?”

Dazai hums in agreement as his gaze traces the sky; he’s never been able to see all of the figures you point out in the clouds, but he likes listening to you talk. Sometimes, you’d spin stories as you rest on his chest, and he’d doze off to the sound of your voice. He wants to look down to where you’d normally be sitting, but he’s afraid that if he looks, he’ll find you disappointed—sad eyes staring at him as if you know what he’s about to do. 

Worse, he’s scared that if he looks, you won’t be there.

Distantly, he can hear Atsushi and Akutagawa still arguing with one another, shouting questions at Dazai, but it all sounds distant and muffled—he couldn’t make out the words if he tried. He’s hyper focused on the sound of your voice in the billowing wind; he can almost imagine that each brush of the gusts against his skin is your touch.

He waits, even as he hears Atsushi creeping toward him, trying to get to him before he lets himself fall over the edge. He promised you one last sunrise, and it would be remiss of him to not stay long enough for you to watch your favorite part.

“She loved sunrises,” Dazai repeats again, this time for Atsushi and Akutagawa to hear. Atsushi halts at the words and he can hear a wavering ‘boss’ escape Atsushi’s lips. He closes his eyes and he can picture you in front of him, a soft expression on your face, lips curved up, and a dreamy smile tugs at his lips. “I’ve waited for this moment so long. I’m pleased, I really am… I just wish things had turned out differently. I wanted her to live, and I wanted to read his novel when he finished it, but I guess what I want doesn’t matter anymore… It’s enough to know that they were able to meet here.”

“Please wait,” Atsushi cries out, and Dazai can hear him moving again, stumbling as he tries to get closer. “Dazai-san, wait!”

“Atsushi-kun, Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai says. He opens his eyes again, watching as the sun finally crosses the horizon in its entirety, basking the world in an ethereal morning glow. His breath catches, and Dazai sees you again standing before him, haloed by the light. He reaches out hesitantly, but draws his hand back before his fingers can graze you, not wanting to taint you with his touch. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Dazai takes a step forward closer to you. He ignores Atsushi’s screams and Akutagawa’s shout. His eyes slide shut as he falls, the wind whistling in his ears and ripping the air from his lungs, but Dazai feels at peace for the first time in weeks. A smile curls to his lips, he swears that he feels your arms wrap around his waist, the familiar weight of your head resting on his chest. 

Dazai hopes, maybe a bit irrationally, that there might be a universe out there that he missed, one where the two of you are able to live out your lives. Maybe if he’s lucky, Odasaku will be around too. He’ll have finished the novel with your help, just like in this universe; and Dazai will pout and whine whenever you push him out of the room to brainstorm with the older man, but he’ll always smile as soon as he’s out of sight, content, happy. He’ll get to read the novel once it’s published—you refuse to let him get any peeks until it’s done and you yell at him and Odasaku when Dazai tries to guilt him into showing him it—and he’ll get to be with you.

He’ll get to be with you.

Find me again. Next time, I’ll make it right. 

I promise.

GUYSSSSSS WATERLOO IS OVER I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO CRY. this series has been my baby for so long i don't even know what i'm going to do with myself now that it's over. :(

some notes to share with u guys:

fyodor's ability. SIGH. the past few chapters fucked up my plans, so we're going to imagine that that his ability is still the kill on touch for the sake of my sanity. or maybe he used someone else's ability to kill her. who knows. i had this scene set in mind from waterloo day one so i didn't want to change it.

THE ODASAKU-READER CONVERSATION WAS ACTUALLY SO ANTICIPATED, i had the idea from side a when dazai chose to bring her to his grave, and then i was like ... wait, what if in side b... and i think it's a neat tie in to the beast movie too, because if i rmr correctly, he sought out fyodor later on and i think witnessing reader's capture & not being able to prevent her would give him even more of a reason to go after the man.

uu!chuuya hurts my heart truly. he really did care sm about reader the more he got to know her, and he blamed himself so much for her death. and then dazai uses the fact that he disobeyed orders and got her killed against him to make him leave so that dazai can kill himself. poor man will never not blame himself for everything

ICEMAN AS READER'S BROTHER. look, i know a lot of you wanted odasaku but it just didn't fit. she would've recognized his name in side a

badlands!reader -> i fear she is dead and gone, as you all probably have come to terms with by now at the end of the uu. but i want to add in HOW she dies because it's touched on in this chapter & i posted an ask about it a few weeks ago.

in badlands universe, fyodor isn't actually the one to kill reader, it's agatha christie when the order of the clocktower finally makes their move on yokohama for the book. for this, i also have to get into christie and what i think her ability might be - obviously we know it's based on "and then there were none" which is the mystery novel that involves 10 people w various accusations against them being killed/dying according to a nursery rhyme. i dont know exactly how i want the ability to be executed, but i know for the purposes of the fic that involves 10 ppl dying in various ways according to how they died in the book. christie targets various ppl that have been close to the agency/pm and reader is one of them. so over the course of 10 hours, the 10 people start dying. it takes to the 5th hour for them to realize that this is an ability user and not coincidences because by that point 2 ppl affiliated with the pm and 2 ppl that have close ties with the ada die and the two organizations approach each other about it, and obviously ranpo figures out during that meeting that it's an ability targeting ppl affiliated with both organizations. and that's when dazai starts getting a really bad feeling, tries to call her but she doesn't pick up, and then ends up ditching the meeting to go find her but </333 he doesn't get to her in time. her death is the death on the 5th hour and it parallels emily brent from the book: injected with cyanide after drinking poisoned coffee. dazai finds her in their apartment </3 he is too late to save her.

also a fun side note about badlands: reader and dazai were, in fact, engaged.

anyways, i love you all, thanks for sticking along the ride with me

(。♡ ‿ ♡。)

[melbatron5000]

It's a 2-man Con

Listen, I think I know a thing.

When Aziraphale comes back from talking to the Metatron and is telling Crowley about being an angel, we've all heard the theory that he's speaking code, trying to ask for help. The more I look at that scene, the more that theory tracks.

Maybe less well-known is the theory that Crowley didn't miss a damn thing, he's answering in his own code. And again, the more I look at that scene, the more this also tracks.

(When my husband, annoyingly observant beloved partner that he is, saw the second season for the first time, he said, "That whole thing was a show for the Metatron. They have a plan. Crowley slipped something to Aziraphale when he kissed him." And I said, "Nah." But now I think he's right, and damn if he isn't smug.)

I'm gonna try to break down what I think they're saying here, because it takes just a hot minute to piece it together. I've been thinking this over for a couple of months now. I think I have most of it. I just don't know when Crowley puts whatever he's handing to Aziraphale in his own mouth. I need more eagle-y eyes, it seems.

First, Aziraphale comes back from his talk. He's pensive as he crosses the road, and anxious when he starts talking, and mouths "I need help!" as he's talking. He's acting like he does when he lies to the other angels, and once it's seen "I need help!" is pretty clear.

He does the whole thing about telling Crowley he could appoint him as an angel, like old times, but even nicer. It's all very uptight and not positive at all. My interpretation? "The Metatron is here, I think he knows we're up to something, we have to go to Heaven right now and put things right before he really does something awful to one or both of us. The time to spring the plan is NOW."

Crowley stares at him. At first it seems like he's staring in disbelief, but if you really look at his face, he's listening, hard, and interpreting as fast as he can:

He asks Aziraphale if he told the Metatron where he could stick it, then. My interpretation? "The plan has changed. I can't go with you to Heaven. You'll have to go alone."

Then Crowley starts his confession -- "We've spent our existence pretending we aren't."

Aziraphale looks at him -- not with shock, or surprise, or love, or hope, but with a "Why are you doing this now?" face. Not "Why did you wait til now to tell me, you love me, oh, I love you too!" But "Why are you telling me SOMETHING I ALREADY KNOW while our ENEMY IS LISTENING??" :

He's confused, but also listening and interpreting. What I'm hearing/seeing: I don't think this is a love confession from our demon. I think they are both well aware they love one another. They can't say it in so many words, and it's a secret from Heaven and Hell, but it's not a secret between them. I'm hearing Crowley set the scene. "The Metatron either wants us together in Heaven under control, or separated. I have things I have to do here or the plan won't work, so we'll have to separate. We need to make it look good. I do love you."

I don't think Aziraphale likes this change of plan. And Crowley can't detail why the plan has changed, not with the Metatron listening. So Aziraphale insists, come with me. The plan we had will work. Do it my way. Crowley says, "You can't leave this book shop." It's easy to interpret that as "You can't leave me," but I don't think it's that. He's saying something about the book shop being safe, or even that he can't leave without whatever they've hidden in the book shop. (I THINK THEY HID SOMETHING IN THE BOOK SHOP!) Aziraphale says, "Nothing lasts forever." I hear him saying the book shop is no longer safe, and they have to move/take whatever they've hidden and they can't speak freely there anymore.

Crowley replies, "No I suppose it doesn't. Good luck." He's gotten that much, but he is still set on his "We need to fake a break up because I can't go with you."

Aziraphale still doesn't like that. "Come back! I need you!" He's scared. Whatever he has to do in Heaven is big, and scary, and he needs and wants Crowley with him. He does not want to go into the mouth of danger alone.

This is when we get, "No nightingales." What I'm hearing? ESPECIALLY since if you listen, you can hear a LARK sing as Crowley goes out the door? It's the line from Romeo and Juliet, by Shakespeare, whose plays they both enjoy, though Crowley prefers the funny ones. "It's too late, that's a lark singing the dawn, not a nightingale singing to the night, we have to part. Our happy ending isn't yet."

Then the kiss. I do not believe this is their first kiss. I don't believe they've allowed themselves many, maybe not even more than one, but I do think they've kissed before. I'm not sure when, but I suspect 1941. (Season 3, come ON!!)

And when they part, Aziraphale stops himself from saying "I love you," and instead says, "I forgive you." I'm hearing so many things in that "I forgive you." I forgive you for leaving me on my own, I forgive you for hurting my feelings like this, I forgive you for changing the plan without telling me, I forgive you because you are forgivable whatever anyone else says, I forgive you because that's what I said when we split up at the bandstand and everything was okay in the end and I hope hope hope that everything will be okay in the end this time too.

Crowley says, "Don't bother." I'm hearing, "yeah, I hope it's all okay, too. Wish me fuckin luck. My part will be hard, too."

And as Crowley leaves, Aziraphale mouths, "No." And we hear a lark sing. A lark, singing to the dawn, and so fair Romeo must away.

Just because the break up is a ruse, doesn't mean it doesn't hurt and isn't hard. It has to look real, and so it's going to feel real, too. Ouch. :'(

And then Aziraphale touches his lips. Not once, but twice. My bad, he only touches his lips once. The first long second is pure emotion. "Why now, I hate this, I want that so badly and I can't have it."

After that, though --

After he pulls himself together a bit, he has a bulge in his cheek. He shifts his jaw to move whatever he has in his mouth to his lips, and then his first two fingers go stiff for a moment as he palms something right before he takes his hand away.

And then, this.

Edit to add: someone on Facebook asked me why a kiss to pass whatever Crowley gave to Aziraphale, why not palm it or drop it in his pocket?

My answers: 1. The kiss is a message. "We're still good, I still love you, I still want this." 2. The item is too important to be dropped in a pocket and hopefully found later. 3. The Metatron is paying WAY too close attention, and will definitely see them touch hands. Seeing a kiss and the angel rejecting the demon, though? Well, the demon forced that kiss on him, the angel didn't want it. Clearly the demon thinks this relationship is different than it is. It's a bigger gesture that sells the ruse. 4. Houdini's wife used to pass him the keys to his cuffs with a kiss before the show. This is a message that magic-loving Aziraphale WILL understand: here are the keys to your cuffs, sneaked to you by your beloved in plain sight.

That's it. That's what I got so far. I still have questions.

What did Crowley pass to Aziraphale? What's the plan? Why did it change? What does Crowley need to do that he can't go to Heaven again?

[warriorofthought]

I did love you, always!

Summary: Bucky broke up with you but the Winter Soldier still loves you.

Word count: 3103

Warnings: sad, sentimental Feelings 

Winter Soldier x Reader

You and Bucky broke up recently, even though you always supported him, even through his Winter soldier phase. It didn't even take two weeks before he got together with Sharon. that made you angry, hurt, betrayed.

You were at Bucky’s house because you had to get your stuff, and you both began to argue again because of Sharon.

"At least she treats me like I'm somebody!" he snapped.

"Yeah, I do too but would she love you if you were the winter soldier?!" You yell back.

"Nobody loved me when I was the winter soldier!”

"I do, i did" you mumble and turn around to put clothes from the shelf in a box.

He stops and just stares at you. You can't tell if he heard it. You look at him. 

You stare at each other for a few seconds and you wonder whether it's even something to say now. 

You wait for him to reply, maybe you shouldn't have said anything, now that you realize you might have spoken out of impulse. 

He walks up to you. 

"What did you say?”

"you have heard me!" You say a bit annoyed.

"I love you, even when you change back into the Winter soldier. The winter soldier is not a complete monster, he is also loveable." You sigh.

"But that doesn't matter anymore" you shake your head disappointed and hurt.

He stares at you and seems to be thinking. 

His grip tightens on his fists. He's angry, frustrated, upset. 

Then he sighs.

"You don't know what you're saying and you're just saying this because you're upset." 

He seems to be thinking again, then he continues.

"If i was the winter soldier, you would hate me too.”

"I would not, i have seen you many times as the winter soldier and i didn't hate you, i love you it doesn't matter which one you are. The Winter soldier loves me, the same as you do. He wouldn't kill me." You say and finish up packing your clothes.

"How do you know?" he asks. He's curious now, maybe he's starting to reconsider.

"You don't know that. You say you love me no matter what, but I don't believe you. You're just saying it because you're angry. Because you can't stand me being with Sharon.”

"Yeah, I can't stand you being with Sharon." You snap.

"But I'm the only one that can change you back into Bucky when you go back into Winter Soldier, Sharon can't protect you from that, the Winter soldier, you. He will kill her." 

Before Bucky can say anything Sharon steps into the apartment, his new love.

You glare at Sharon, who's got her hands all over Bucky.

"She can protect herself, she's a trained SHIELD agent." Bucky is getting defensive now. 

"And I can protect her if she needs me to. She understands this. She's not afraid. We're in love, and she trusts me." 

Bucky's really falling for Sharon's charms now.

"Bucky, you don't need to pretend you love someone else, just because you are scared."  You say gentle.  " We both can manage that, we can work on that, together." 

He stays silent for a bit. 

"I'm not pretending anything. With her, it's..." you can hear the joy in his voice. 

"You don't know what it's like when I'm with her, to feel her touch, to hear her smile... It's different with her, I actually want to be with her.” 

You grab your last items and then walk to the front door. " I hope you won't regret that" you say and leave.

He lets you leave, knowing how stubborn you can be when you're upset. But he will regret it. He already does. 

He sits down on the couch in silence. He should go after you, he shouldn't have let you leave like this. 

But then Sharon comes and sits right next to him, putting her arms around his neck, clinging to him.

Timeskip (Three weeks later, you get a call from Sam, telling you Bucky changed back into the Winter soldier and that he is currently destroying the SHIELD base. Sams wants you to come quickly because nobody comes through to the Winter soldier or Bucky. You sigh but still go to the SHIELD base to see what is happening, you even see Sharon there but the Winter Soldier doesn't seem to like her. You stop beside Sam who looks happy to see you here.)

Sam smiles at you, relieved to see you. He knows you're one of the only people who Bucky would actually care to listen to. 

The Winter Soldier is destroying the SHIELD base, tearing things apart and shouting. 

Sharon's nearby, but Bucky seems to have forgotten about her.

"I thought he wouldn't get near Hydra again, that all of you didn't let him go destroying the hydra base as a mission. How wrong did go your last mission?" you say softly to sam.

Sam shrug his shoulders .

"He was on a mission to destroy a hydra base, the one right here, but apparently something went wrong."

You glance at the Winter Soldier. He's still breaking things and shouting. Sam sighs.

"Sharon's trying to talk to him, so far he's not interested..."

"No wonder, Winter doesn't like her" you grumble with a sigh.

Sam sights too.

"He's not usually this bad when he changes back" he explains.

"This time it's different because of... You know..."

"Because of our break up?" You ask gentle.

"Is he not happy with being with Sharon?"

Sam nods. "He's not happy, and he's not handling his emotions well. And the fact that he's still with Sharon... He's confused, he's trying to deny his feelings for you and it's... just making his mind a mess."

You sigh " I will handle that."

Then you step into the room where Sharon and the Winter Soldier are. Sharon looks like a mess.

The Winter Soldier doesn't even blink when you walk in. He's got a look of determination on his face, and his eyes are fixed on Sharon who is trying to talk to him, but Bucky's not interested.

Sharon's hair is all out of place, she looks scared and desperate.

"Winter, do you really need to be so mean to her?" You ask gently and walk closer.

The Winter Soldier stares at you, his eyes filled with rage and frustration.

"Maybe I do. Maybe I want to be mean to her."

Sharon looks at you, and at first it's relief, but she slowly understands that you're not going to defend her.

"Is it because Bucky wants to be with her and you don't?"

The Winter Soldier looks like he suddenly realizes something.

You notice that he's slightly distracted from the idea of hurting Sharon and actually looking at you.

He raises his voice.

"Bucky wants to be with Sharon, but I hate her..."

You slowly nod. But as you want to answer the jet sways a bit and you all stumble a little to the side as the jet tilts to the side.

You don't see how a few metal pipes threaten to fall on you and before that happens, the Winter Soldier is with you and protects you from the falling pipes with his metal arm.

You're shocked by his sudden change of behavior, and also by his sudden reaction. He protects you, making sure you're safe. His reaction is much quicker than yours, or anyone else's and it's clear that all his attention is now on you.

"Winter" you say lovely, your soft eyes meet his. He doesn't change back into Bucky but you see the love that the Winter Soldier has for you.

His eyes meet yours and you feel like he's looking into your soul. The love and affection in his eyes...

He's still standing in front of you, protecting you.

You can feel his warmth and his closeness.

Sharon is looking at you two, her look of desperation gone now, replaced by something else...

"Winter, thank you." You whisper softly.

He nods slightly, clearly understanding that you're thanking him.

Sharon's starting to look angry and jealous now. She's clearly noticed that he paid no attention to her, and was completely focused on you.

This time Sharon starts to mock you.

She points at you and laughs.

"He's just pretending to care about you. He doesn't love you, he doesn't even like you. He's with me, not with you!" it pains you to hear her say those things, to see the contempt in her eyes and hear the jealousy in her voice.

"Yeah, Bucky is in a relationship with you. But that doesn't mean that the Winter Soldier also wants that" you say calm.

Then you all stumble again as the jet swings in the other direction. Winter immediately stabilizes your stand.

You keep talking to him without even reacting to the movement or the danger. You know Winter will always have your back.

Sharon rolls her eyes and laughs.

"Do you really think he'll choose you over me? He needs someone in his life and you're not even there for him. He wants a real relationship, a real woman, not someone like you!"

“I don't care about your opinion, the only thing that is important is that Winter and even Bucky feels comfortable.”

She stares down at the ground, her jaw clenched and her face flushed with anger.

You wonder if she's realizing that her relationship with him isn't as secure as she thought…

Sharon laughs again.

"You're so stupid if you actually believe that. Just look at him! He's in love with me, not with you."

You notice her tone change from mocking to one filled with anger and jealousy.

The jet wobbles even more and Winter has to tighten his grip on you to keep both of you standing. The Winter Soldier keeps protecting you, making sure you don't fall and get hurt.

Before you can react Sharon points her gun at you, your eyes weiden slightly surprised that she would do that infront of everyone else. You even can hear Sam grasp surprised.

The Winter Soldier notices too and immediately raises his arm to block the bullet with his metal arm. 

His eyes flare when he realizes someone's pointing a gun at you and he won't let that happen. 

Sharon is surprised that the bullet doesn't hit you and glares at Bucky who is protecting you.

Sharon yells at you. Then Winter grabs you, you don't even manage to do something else and flee with you out of the big jet towards a helicopter.

The Winter Soldier moves quickly and efficiently, and before anyone can react he's managed to carry you towards a helicopter. 

You're stunned at his speed and agility, but you also notice how much he's paying attention to you. 

By now Sharon must've realized that she lost.

The Winter Soldier is in charge. Not Bucky. 

You can feel his warmth in your arms. His strength as he carries you to the helicopter and then lowers you in. He still stays protecting you, keeping you safe.

Sharon is behind the helicopter, still staring at you with jealousy and contempt but she no longer seems like the same person.

The Winter Soldier seems almost loving towards you, his anger turned into affection.

"Winter?, are you telling me, where we are going?" You ask and let him buckle up the seatbelt around your body and watch him start the helicopter.

The Winter Soldier is focused on starting the helicopter, and he doesn't respond for a bit. He looks at you and you notice his expression is different. The rage is gone.

He's thinking, and you also realize that he's actually considering what he's going to say for once. 

Then he finally speaks.

"We're going home.”

"home?" You mumble and watch him drive the helicopter away from SHIELD.

"Yes." his voice is even more gentle now but there is still the roughness in it, his expression has softened.

He focuses on flying the helicopter. 

"Home, and then we'll talk.”

Timeskip (A few hours later. He lands the helicopter on a farm that is his.)

The Winter Soldier lands the helicopter next to his Farmhouse. 

This is definitely his safe place, you can feel the peace and the comfort.

He turns around to look at you. 

"We need to talk.” You nod and sit down on the couch. The Winter Soldier also sits down in front of you, close enough that it feels like he wants to have physical contact with you. 

He is still in control, not Bucky.

So far everything is different from before, you can feel how much he's calmed down, how much he likes being this close to you. 

"I wanted to apologize…”

"for that what Bucky did? You can't control your other side, Winter. Bucky and you are both in this body, I don't know why Bucky suddenly stopped loving me but It's not your fault, Winter.”

He smiles slightly. Then he moves closer so that his leg is touching yours. His eyes are intense but soft, as if he's really paying attention to every little word you say. 

You have to resist the urge to move a little bit closer.

Then he replies.

"I know I can't control the other side, but I did hurt you.. and I'm sorry…”

You smile softly and cup the face of the Winter Soldier softly.

You slightly wish he would stay being the Winter Soldier, loving you further. You missed him so much, you don't care how rough his side that hydra had caused is because he always is so soft to you, only to you. Bucky himself will go back to Sharon. But this wish is unethical and mean of you to think. You sigh.

"I love you, i haven't stopped doing that.”

His expression softens even more as you cup his face. 

He feels your hand against his cheek, your fingers gently moving along his jawline. 

He leans his head just slightly to the side, leaning a little bit more into your touch.

His hand is moving, reaching out and he's just about to caress your hand, but then he stops, hesitating.

He bites his lip, his gaze lingering on your hand.

He is still the winter soldier, but he's definitely more in love with you than Bucky ever was…

"My Winter, my love. I have missed you so much." You say lovely and put your forehead against his, breathing his scent in. Your hand intertwined with his flesh hand.

The winter soldier doesn't reply, but his arm moves slightly, his fingers wrapping around your hand and holding it tightly. 

You are both very close and you can almost feel him wanting to draw you closer, pull you to him and bury his face into your neck, but he stops, resisting the urge.

His eyes are deep and passionate, he really missed you and his love for you is shining through them. He's breathing a little bit harder, and you can feel his heartbeat increasing.

"Tell me, do you know that i love you Winter, i love the Winter soldier, i even love you as Bucky. Especially, i love you, your heart, your soul. I don't care how the other sees you, I see you as something special.”

He squeezes your hand, as if you didn't even need to tell him, as if he always knew that you loved him.

Your words have reassured him though, and his heart beats a little slower, his breathing becomes more relaxed.

He wants to say it back to you, to tell you how much he loves you. 

But he's still struggling with his identity. He's still deciding which is the stronger side. 

"I love you too..." he whispers.

Your heart warms immediately, having missed to hear this words out of his mouth.

And suddenly, he pulls you closer. He leans his head against your shoulder and wraps his arms around you, his grip tight and loving. 

He smells like the farm, like open air and fresh grass. 

He's holding you, so close and protecting you.

He's the winter soldier, and he doesn't want to let you go.

“I hated what Bucky did to you, he feared things, but that doesn't give him the right to push you away, my lovely flower. I hated it that he tried to suppress me, hated it that he stayed with this woman. I don't like her. Sharon is not you, she doesn't have this glimmer in her eyes as you have when you look at me.”  his voice is rough but soft at the same time and it sends a shiver down your spine.

You hug him back and softly pet his back.

“Don't worry, we have enough time to figure this out.” You say lovely and lean your forehead against his.

He hugs you even tighter, burying his face in your neck, and breathing in your scent.

He has finally decided. The winter soldier is in control. Not Bucky. The moment he's been wishing for has finally come. 

He's not struggling with his identity anymore. He knows who he is.

His hand touches your face, gentle, caressing.

"I'm not letting you go. I don't want to share you with anyone anymore.”

His voice is filled with affection as he looks at you. 

"I've missed you. I've missed being with you. I've missed feeling you..." 

He leans his head against you again, and your breath is intermixed. 

Sharon definitely cannot compare to you in his eyes, she was always just a replacement for you. He doesn't even want to think about her right now. 

His arms are still around you, and your body is pressing against his. It feels so natural that you almost want to stay like this forever…

"I know she's not you." his voice is even rougher now, almost feral.

He presses his face into your neck, his lips just below your ear. 

"She's nothing compared to you... I hate her."

He holds you tighter and you can feel the pure hatred and possessiveness coming out of his every pore. 

This is the Winter Soldier's way to tell you how much you mean to him.

"I don't want to turn back into Bucky. I want to stay the Winter Soldier with you.”

“Winter, we will figure it out soon. Alright?” 

You feel him nod against you, then he moves his body on the sofa and quickly pulls you into his embrace.

You know someday you have to let the Winter Soldier change back into Bucky, but for now you can enjoy your love back in your arms, healing your heart.

Part 2

[just-some-trans-nobody]

Naga boyfriend head cannons

Gender neutral reader

Warnings:light NSFW, brief mention of kink choking, biting, mentions of eating rodents, snakes

Minors Don't Interact!

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

You are his personal heater I'm sorry I don't make the rules. Your body is warm and he wants that warm. It's a bonus that it comes from you, he loves you.

Ha you have cold hands? So does he don't worry about it.

Oh you have warm hands? Let him hold them. Hold his face in your hands he will melt into them this poor touch starved man.

At the start of the relationship he couldn't stand you touching him. It wasn't that he hated when you touched him oh no no no he absolutely loves when you touch him. He's just scared he's not used to being touched so gently before and he's terrified that he'll hurt you with his large size and not realize it. It doesn't help that once he started to get sexual feelings for you everytime you touched hin turned him on. Your pinkie could have lightly grazed his shoulder and he would hve grown aroused.

Further into the relationship he knows how much you can handle you and will absolutely man handle you. You'll be walking past him and he'll use his tail to swoop you in so he can cuddle you. He still gets turned on real easy but it's more tame now. Doesn't mean he won't be tame when having sex though.

Home boy is kinky will choke you if your also into and biting is a must. If it's agreed too and he's not venomous he'd love to bite you, really sink his fangs in. There will be times you'll be completely wrapped up in his tail will he fucks you.

If you manage to top him he'll be leaning on his own tail draped out on it begging and panting. He didn't know he could be so sensitive before.

Times he's being a grumpy pants he'll snap right out of it if told you'd top him. Instant good mood.

Whenever it gets even slightly cold he's super clingy. Will do grabby hands at you until you set down whatever your working on and come cuddle him.

Owns 700 heating blanket, hope one or both of you have a good paying job cause the electric bill is oit if this world.

Don't insult him by offering to feed him mice or rats thats gross. Guinea pigs have more meat on them any way. Just give him a BLT you weirdo he eats normal foods.

Hates broccoli though. Introduce him to cheesy broccoli and it's a whole new ball park for him.

Will be so confused on why you have a pet reptile, doesn't see the appeal.

Pet snake you say? Your mistake that's your guys child. Will refer to as himself as dad when talking to the snake.

"Now Junior be a good boy for dad and let me change out your water. Junior? Junior please get out of your water... Yes I see you blowing bubbles it's very cute."

The snakes name isn't junior he just keeps calling him junior.

Will get himself a shirt saying number one dad and wear it any time he picks the snake up.

Loves soaking in the tub, join him he'll love it.

He'll wash your hair and die from bliss if you wash his it feels so good.

Shedding is a cranky embarrassing time for him please be patient he's feeling very uncomfortable. If it's early in the relationship he won't want you near him, it's not you it's him he's not comfortable enough to have anyone bear him during this vulnerable time. If it is further into the relationship he'll be more comfortable with you being around him but just don't get to close to him, just be there for emotional support. Now if the relationship is a good amount of years in he'll act all spoiled asking you to peal his shed off for him after he soaked for a few hours at the least. He'll get all whinny and clingy demanding cuddles and snacks.

Bundling in a ball with way to many heated blankets on, this man is a fire hazard. Fire men hate him.

Can't cook for shit. Will order every meal out if you let him. Hates doing the dishes but he's good at vacuuming and dusting. Likes tidying up, not a fan of messes. He'll make sure he does his fair share of the chores and if he sees your having a bad day he'll take on more chores. Will buy your your favorite foods and snacks in hopes of making you feel better.

[inswatiable-lesbian]

hello!! I answered in the comments of your post for asking of requests so here am i!👋🏻

OKAY SO, yk how usually readers are written to be short and they have to look up towards their S/O or get on their tiptoes and all that? While I find the idea cute and have no dislike or hate towards it (or towards short people, we love and accept everyone here🫶🏻), as a tall girlie I get S O excited when the reader is written as tall. Unfortunately, there aren't a lot of content like that soooo would it be too self-indulgent to ask for Haikyuu boys with tall!reader?👉🏻👈🏻

Thank you so much in advance and have a lovely day~♡

OMG TOTALLY!!! thank you so much for requesting, i hope you have a lovely day as well

tw/info: tall!reader (reader is about 6'1, just because I want to lol, but you can imagine it however you want), the haikyuu boys are too tall in my opinion😿, a little fluff for our soul, not proofread!! Literally my first time writing for Haikyuu.

pairings: Tobio Kageyama, Kei Tsukishima, Hajime Iwaizumi, Takahiro Hanamaki, Wakatoshi Ushijima, Shinsuke Kita, Osamu Miya, Kōshi Sugawara, Yū Nishinoya, Shoyo Hinata, Morisuke Yaku, Ryūnosuke Tanaka, Daichi Sawamura, Asahi Azumane, Tadashi Yamaguchi, Lev Haiba, Issei Matsukawa, Keiji Akaashi, Eita Semi, Tetsurō Kuroo, Kozume Kenma, Tōru Oikawa, Atsumu Miya, Aran Ojiro, Kōtarō Bokuto, Rintarō Suna, Kiyoomi Sakusa x tall!reader (sorry if I didn't add your fave)

He finds it so attractive when you are wearing high heels and you are the same height or even taller than him. Fragile masculinity? No way, not when his partner is the most beautiful thing on earth he's ever seen

"Don't worry, there's no need to rush" He speaks in a calm voice, waiting for you to finish getting ready so you can leave the house

"I'm so sorry..." You murmur as you struggle to tie your heels. And as soon as he notices, he is quick to kneel in front of you and tie them for you like the gentleman he is, stealing a kiss from you after standing back up.

"You look beautiful, darling." He states, smiling in your direction. "Now let's go"

— Tobio Kageyama, Kei Tsukishima, Hajime Iwaizumi, Rintarō Suna, Wakatoshi Ushijima, SHINSUKE KITA, Osamu Miya.

This guy is stunned. And not in a bad way, far from it, being the one who occasionally had to look up (even if it is a lot or just slightly) to kiss you wasn't a problem for him at all.

"Babe, do you know where my coat is? I can't find it anywhere."

"This one?" You turn to him, with his uniform jacket in your hand.

"Yes, thank you" He says while grabbing his jacket and looking up at you, waiting for a kiss.

"Love you shortie" You respond before kissing him

"Oh come on, I'm not even that short."

— KŌSHI SUGAWARA, Yū Nishinoya, Shoyo Hinata, MORISUKE YAKU, Ryūnosuke Tanaka, Daichi Sawamura, KOZUME KENMA.

He will always be there when you are insecure about your height, it doesn't matter if you are "too tall" in your pov, he will always tell you that you are amazing, your height won't change any of that

You invited him to sleep over at your house for the weekend, for a cute slumber party, you know? But there you were, looking in the mirror with a less than positive expression, disappointed in fact, while he made popcorn for the two of you in the kitchen.

"Is something wrong?" He asks, making you startle because you thought he hadn't come back to your room yet.

"Geez, you scared me!"

"Sorry" he says laughing, "but that doesn't answer my question"

"It's nothing, I just... I've been feeling uncomfortable, people in my class look at me like I'm weird just because I'm taller" you sigh "It's not like I care that much! But it gets frustrating after a while... you know?

He smiles calmly and goes to your side, handing you a bucket of popcorn. "You are the most beautiful, kind and fun person I know, your height doesn't change any of that, does it?"

— ASAHI AZUMANE, Tadashi Yamaguchi, Lev Haiba, Issei Matsukawa, KEIJI AKAASHI, Eita Semi, Kiyoomi Sakusa.

He brags a lot about dating someone like you, saying that his girlfriend is practically a supermodel.

"Who is she?" one of his friends asks, curious as to why he hadn't stopped looking at you since you stepped into the cafeteria.

"The gorgeous supermodel across the room? My girlfriend" He proudly states, with the biggest smile on his face as he waves at you from afar.

"Wow, you were lucky"

"Yeah, totally.. Have you seen her? she is perfect! And she-"

God knows how long he spent talking about you to his friend, but after a few minutes you were sitting at a table eating something together while he talked about practice.

— TETSURŌ KUROO, Tōru Oikawa, ATSUMU MIYA, Aran Ojiro, KŌTARŌ BOKUTO, Takahiro Hanamaki.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stolen Goods 3

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. Lloyd Hansen, petite!pregnant reader

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You hit the back of the trunk with your fist, the tires put to the limit as the man drives without caution. He's honked several times and screeched to many jarring halts. You're trapped in more than just that compartment, bouncing around with the groceries, you're enshrined in a fervour of fear and despair. 

Why is this happening to you? Who is this man? What is he going to do to you? 

Well, what has he already done? 

“Please, sir, I won't tell anyone,” you beg through the back seat, "please. Just take me back--" 

"Do you like classic rock? Jazz?" He asks as the car swerves and he switches lanes. Holy shoot, is he on the highway?  

"What? Please, I promise--" 

"You're distracting me, sweet stuff, you're gonna get us both pancaked by a sixteen-wheeler," he clucks, "just calm down and enjoy the music." 

He flips on the stereo and the local pop station plays. He hums along for a moment, "Ariana, nice." He turns up the familiar top ten and you whimper. 

This is surreal. You really can't believe it. It all happened so quickly. The way he touched you, the way you just stood there and let it happen, then how he just locked you in here! Who does that? Who lets someone do that? Who doesn't raise her voice and tell him to stop? Or ignore him and get in the car and drive away? 

You. You're stupid. You should have been patient and waited for Jake. You should have done so much differently.  

Your tears spring as easily as ever. Your hormones have you always ready to overflow and now seems as suiting as that cat food commercial. You crumble completely, giving up on begging, and bawl. You're going to die, your baby too. 

Maybe that's your fault too. You were so scared when you saw the positive. When you realised the condom broke. There was that split second you wished it wasn't true. When you hoped that it might undo itself. Then you wanted it. You still do. Your baby. Things aren't perfect but you can make them better. 

You jostle with the paper bags, wallowing in your resignation and dread. Time throttles you until it feels like the whole world is on your chest. You hug your belly and apologise to your child. You're supposed to take care of them. 

When the car stops, the sudden dearth of sound slaps you in the face. You sniffle and listen with breath bated. The driver's side opens and dips. He stands and his footfalls stride undaunted towards the trunk. 

You brace yourself. You can't give up yet. The lock clicks and the lid lifts. You push it up before he can open it all the way but he has his hand on your neck before you can leap out. 

"Oh, baby cakes," he squeezes and you cough, "you don't think I'm that stupid, do you?" 

The dimming sky shrouds his figure and he puts cold metal to your cheek, "you don't wanna get yourself hurt. Or the kid, huh?" He presses the metal barrel firmly to your temple, "I don't wanna hurt you either but you gotta give a little." 

"S-sorry," you choke out and latch onto his thick wrist, teetering on your knees as the rest against the edge of the trunk, "I---I--" 

"I know, baby. You're scared. Change is terrifying but I heard you talking to the deadbeat," he pulls the gun away and holsters it. He eases you forward and helps you put your feet to the ground. He keeps a strong hold on you, "you can do better." He smirks, "hi, I'm better, but you can call me Lloyd." 

You gape at him. Is that a joke? 

“And you are...” he enunciates your name. “Sorry about your purse, I tossed it some ditch, but I got the important shit out of it.” 

“Huh?” You blink at him dumbly. 

“Phone’s wiped too. So, I’ll probably just break that down for parts--” 

“Wait, what? Why—please, why are you doing this?” 

“I’m not too sure myself, shortcake, but we’ll figure it out.”  

He slips his hand down to your wrist and pulls you away from the car. He shuts the trunk and the noise echoes off the high ceiling. You look up at the interior of the garage. Several cars are parked in the space. What kind of place is this? 

“Come on, you don’t wanna hang out in here,” he snorts and tugs you to follow him. 

All you can do is let him guide you. You keep your free hand on your stomach as your eyes burn. You can’t give up. You have to keep going for your baby. 

He takes you up a short set of steps and into a house just as colossal as the garage. He looks down at your feet as you stand on the mat. He tuts. Your slides were lost somewhere in your struggle. Your feet are cold and dirty. 

“Hm, well... what now?” He asks. 

“What now?” You squeak. “What do you--” 

“Look, honey buns, I’m not asking you,” he turns and keeps his hand around your wrist, walking you forward as if you’re on a leash. 

You’re confused. What does he mean? He doesn’t even know what he’s doing. What kind of man just does this spontaneously? 

“Erm, Lloyd,” you say softly, “it’s... not too late to take me back.” 

“Ah, but you’re wrong, sweet stuff. It’s way too late,” he snickers. “I scrubbed the traffic cams and the surveillance at the grocery store. It’s all gone. You’re gone.” He stops you in a bright foyer and faces you, “I don’t give my toys back.” 

[cloudyskydreams]

How they act when crushing UT,UF,US!

This one was fun I might do a part 2 eventually because I love how people change their behavior while crushing on someone think next is gonna be confession head canons or a drabble. Anyway requests are open! Just wanted to put that out there I love getting them ::> and I'm pretty open to writing most things I love getting different inspo from different people. Anyways I'm done rambling hope y'all enjoy!

Undertale: Sans: Trys to make you laugh as much as possible. He loves hearing your laughter and is super proud when he can get you to full on laugh with his shitty jokes. He's a daydreamer and often daydreams about you when it's slow at work or he's in bed alone. He won't admit how nice he sleeps when he sees you in his dreams. You motivate him to get out of bed easier on days he gets to see you so that's a plus

Papyrus: He likes to be around you as much as he can. Like doing menial things together?? Oh you have a doctor's appointment, sure why don't I come and we get lunch afterwards. He just likes spending time with you! "Accidentally" making too much food for meals so he has a reason to see you and make sure you're eating something.

Underfell:

Red: Heavy denial before reluctantly accepting. He's a flirty guy he thinks it's all fun and games until he's thinking about you at 3 am with a blush in his face imagining a future and doing cute relationship things with you. He knows he's fucked. He doesn't really believe someone would like him so from his perspective it's one sided attraction all the way and that hurts. He still flirts but it kinda hurts him inside too. Teasing himself with something he thinks he'll never have. He doesn't distance himself but he's a bit rougher maybe trying to scare you off a tad.

Edge: Denial worse than his brother. He doesn't have time for crushes or anything of the sort. It's improbable that he does like you that way anyways it's just a passing attraction he simply likes the way you say his name, and the way your legs look when you walk and stretch out, and oh … He's fucked. He'll continue to deny it to himself until someone ,most likely his brother or his version of Undyne, points it out. Then he's trying to hide it, trying to play it off. The passing touches he lets linger too long, how even though his days are scheduled he still somehow ends up running into you occasionally.

Underswap:

Stretch:We got another daydreamer and he's 50/50 with risque and wholesome daydreams. He finds any excuse to touch you and let's the touches linger. He's flirty and loves if you flirt back, kind of easy to fluster flushing a gorgeous marigold shade as he nye he he's. He invites you over for gaming or movie nights, wanting to share his interests with you and find some shared interests in shows and such. He definitely has written a song about you that he keeps hidden in a folder in his closet. There's a doodle of you on the back of the page and he's a little embarrassed of it.

Blue: He can tell when he likes someone like that he's pretty intune with his emotions. He likes to hang around you taking time out of his day and dedicating it specifically to you. He writes you little notes and reminders and hides them around your space to find, knows where you hide when you're sad and hides a bunch there. He blogs about you on occasion never mentioning your name but simply writing about you. He likes to find two player games for you two to play together mainly team working puzzle ones.

[kimbap-r0ll]

Hi there! Can i request TWST housewardens (seperate) finding out that their S/O likes to hold their breath everytime they cry because they dont want anyone to hear them crying and worry. (The said housewarden was trying to find them when they stumble on them crying)

You are an amazing writer and i hope you have lovely day/night! ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

Hey, thank you for the ask and the lovely note, hope you have a great day/night too! I low-key feel like I needed some comfort headcanons so I'm glad I can write some haha. Hope everyone's doing well or things get better too

Dorm leaders finding their s/o trying to hide their crying

Riddle

He looked everywhere for you but couldn't find you — he looked at places he knew you liked to hang out, some of his own favorite places, but you were nowhere to be seen. When he was about to give up, he heard some noise in the storage closet in Ramshackle.

"Y/n? Are you in there?" no response. He assumed you would be in there even if you weren't making a sound, so he just yanks open the door. He's about to ask you (not in the nicest way) why you didn't respond to any of his texts nor did you let yourself be known when he passed by the closet fifty times, but he holds all of that back when he sees you on the floor with your hands over your mouth. You had tears in your eyes and just looked at him and the door.

Riddle probably knows what's going on since he's been through situations like this before. He just sits on the floor with you and asks if you're alright. "If you need some time alone, I can give you that, but if you want me to be here, I'll stay." Depending on what you want, he'll do just that. If you ask him to stay, he'll also let you know it's fine to cry, saying it's healthier for you to let it out.

He's extremely gentle when he hugs you, doesn't say much but keeps you close to him. He's not the best with words because he himself never got comforting phrases that often when he was a kid, so he just does what he can. Riddle also tells you not to worry about crying when he's around, he wants you to feel safe and that he'll worry more if he sees you scared of getting attention for crying

When you're a bit calmer, he might get some tea for you two and might ask if you want to talk about it. If you don't, he'll try to change the topic into something you're interested in, whether that is a new book that you two started reading together or something funny he saw that day. Riddle's not the best with comfort, but he wants you to know it's fine, no, much better if you cry since it can help you de-stress. He just wants you to feel better soon, and if you need anything from him he'll do his best to provide.

Leona

I feel like he wanted to ask you about hanging out together but forgot to and took a nap. A few hours later, he woke up and was like "...where are you?" He went looking but it seemed like no one knew where you were, not even Ruggie who usually finds people really easily. Leona was about to give up and just call you on his phone but he swore he heard some muffled sobbing from a darker section of the library.

I feel like it would be hard to hide your crying from him because his hearing's too good. Also, he does what you hoped he wouldn't — worry, alot. Leona pulls you up from the floor where you're sitting and asks you what is going on. Did someone hurt you? Does he need to go find this guy? Honestly, whatever caused you to tear up he's extremely upset about. You won't really notice him worrying because he has a very calm face. "...Did you want to talk about it? Also what are you doing here all by yourself?"

He'll notice you're trying to stay quiet. Sighing, he pulls you into a hug and pushes your face closer to his chest, he'll tell you to more or less "let it out" and that no ones around because it's like midnight. He'll just hold onto you until he can tell you've calmed down a bit. Even if you try to push him off I feel like he'll tell you "No you're clearly trying to hold all of the emotions in, that's not healthy."

Also someone who's not good at comforting others, he'll do what he can while being respectful. You two might just sit in the library in complete silence while he just keeps an arm around you, if you choose to speak to him about what upset you he'll listen 200%. After this, he might ask if you want to walk back to Ramshackle together, or if you look super tired you two might just sleep at the library

Either way, he's similar to Riddle in that he has no idea what to say to help you other than to listen to you. If it turns out someone upset you he might throw some fists but before that, he wants you to know it's fine to cry. He'll make sure you know he doesn't think it's weird to cry when he's around, and it's healthy to let some tears fall from time to time.

Azul

He cries often, so he probably knows what it's like to not want others to see you crying. He thought you might be having a bad week (he's just really good at reading people) but decided against asking you about it. However, when you went missing and the Leech twins said they have no idea where you ran off to, he starts to panic. Did he scare you away? Did someone kidnap you? Did you decide to leave Twisted Wonderland and not tell him anything?! He spirals a bit but decides to go looking for you before he goes into his octopot and de-stresses

Literally almost turns the whole school upside down but finds you in the Ramshackle closet. "Oh, darling I was worried sick about you! What are you doing—" he stops, noticing you shaking and not facing him, you were crying. Azul curses himself for complaining first thing and immediately sits down on the floor, placing a hand on your back. "...Is...is everything alright? Do you need some time by yourself?"

Extremely careful with you, honestly you might start worrying more because he seems super cautious. But if you ask him to leave, he'll say he'll be in the Ramshackle lounge in case you want to talk to him later. If you want him to stay, he'll pull you closer and stay with you. He won't tell you to cry it out since he thinks it won't do anything, but he'll at least let you know it's fine to cry and he himself cries often. He doesn't care if you want him to stay by your side for the next six hours, he'll do just that because you're the person he cares about the most

After you've calmed down a bit, he'll ask if you want to talk about it. He wants to know if there's a way to help you out with whatever situation you're in (of course no contracts are involved). If you don't want to talk about it, he's like Riddle in the sense he'll just try to switch your attention to something else. He'll try to make you something warm to drink since it's always helped him feel better. He won't leave your side no matter what though, so if he goes to the kitchen you'll be with him

Azul's actually not that bad with kind words since he's really good at talking to people. The issue is he's not sure if he's overdoing it or if he's helping you. The best thing he does is hug you because it's the right amount of pressure (he's really strong) and he tells you it's healthy to cry. "I'll be by your side, even through tears."

Kalim

He worries immediately when you can't be reached in like two hours of him looking for you. He almost goes to a different country because he's worried you might've been kidnapped (Jamil stops him from using his carpet). However, he does find you in the graveyard area of Ramshackle. Immediately, he runs over to you, shouting your name and with a big smile since he's relieved to see you, but that small drops when he sees you hiding your face and trying to stop yourself from making any sounds. You're crying.

At first he's lost, he thinks back to how Jamil used to cheer him up but has no idea how to replicate that since he's never really done it himself. I feel like Kalim might want to just ask you if you're fine and try to get you to cry it out at first but he knows that's probably not going to work. After standing there for a few seconds, he crouches down and tries to get you to look at him. If that doesn't work, he'll at least sit closer.

"H-hey, what's the matter? Are you okay?" he might seem clueless but I feel like he would be one of the best when it comes to comforting his s/o. He pulls you closer, tells you to cry it out and if it's cold outside he'll help you get back into the dorm. Will tell you variations of "it's alright, don't worry it's perfectly fine to cry" while patting your back. He doesn't let go of you until he feels your breathing come back to a calmer pattern.

He sits down with you, holding your hand and asking if you wanted to talk about it. He's a bit more pushy about it since he thinks it's much better to let it out than bundle it up, but if you don't want to then he'll understand and respect your decision. He tries to cheer you up by talking to you about something funny or turning on the tv to watch something while he gets some snacks from the kitchen. Tries to divert your attention away from whatever is stressing you out until you're ready to talk to him about it. If that never happens, that's fine too, he just wants to know what he can do to help. "Good food helps me feel better, want some?"

I think Kalim is misunderstood as someone who doesn't really know boundaries. True, he forgets about them from time to time, but when something's serious he'll take it extremely seriously, maybe even more seriously than anyone else in NRC. He wants you to know you can be safe with him, he would never judge you for crying. If you need anything, he's the type of person to drop everything and run over, no matter what time of the day it is.

Vil

He noticed you were more stressed than usual, but he didn't ask since he didn't want to overstep. However, you went missing one day and you weren't responding to his texts. He asked Rook if he saw you, and to Vil's surprise the hunter hadn't seen you in a few days. Vil low-key panics and also almost turns the whole school upside down looking for you.

He eventually finds you in the library in a quieter, less noticed section. At first, he coldly asks you what you are doing there late at night, not responding to him, and sitting on the floor. "Do you know how worried I was?" He would ask but then he senses something's off, you aren't making any noises, it's like you're holding your breath. He's seen this before, perhaps something he used to do as a kid, but whatever it is he drops his usually cold aura and gets closer to you.

He's at a loss of words at first, not knowing if he'll be able to comfort you with anything he says. Vil will ask you if you want him to stay. If you want him to leave, he'll say he'll be outside of the library or if you want him to stay then he'll pull you closer. He's extremely gentle with you too, telling you to let it out and not to worry. It pains him to see you hurt, he'll let you bury your face in his uniform and just hold you. "Don't hold it in, it's fine, I'm here for you."

When you're a bit calmer, he won't immediately ask if you want to talk to him about it. Instead, he asks if you want to go back to his room and have some tea. The two of you might have a little bit of a self-care session along with it. While you two are having tea, he'll listen to you if you choose to talk about what was causing you to cry. Vil also assures you it's perfectly healthy to cry and he's teared up multiple times himself.

I feel like what scares people around Vil is his usually stoic, cold persona but when he's with you he's extremely gentle. He wants to be someone you can go to when you need help. He's had to bottle up feelings so many times, but he doesn't want you to go through the same things. If anything, he would rather you express your emotions, tears or laughter.

Idia

Also someone who was super worried at first when you disappeared. He wondered if he creeped you out to the point where you left, but Ortho assured him that wouldn't happen. Idia runs over to Ramshackle to see if you're there, but he doesn't find you. That's where he starts to panic.

Eventually, he finds you in one of the towers of the school, a place where the stars are clear and no one would find you. "Y-y/n! I was looking for you everywhere I was so worried—" he runs over but notices you're crying but your holding it back. I feel like he would feel his heart skip a beat because the panic he's feeling doubles. Why are you crying? Did someone hurt you? Was it him? No, it wasn't time for him to worry about that, he had to make sure you were alright first.

He sits down next to you, taking one of your hands and asks if you're alright. You squeak out a little "don't worry about me" but he doesn't take it. He then pulls you into a tight hug and asks you to cry it out. It's always helped him to cry when he was stressed, though yes it wasn't with anyone around he wants you to know it's perfectly fine to cry in front of him. Hell, he might tear up a bit because he's just so worried about you.

After you (and maybe him too) calm down, he asks if you want to talk about it but doesn't pressure you. "We-we can go back and watch some movies? I have a few I wanted to watch with you," he might suggest, it's a way to divert your energy away from what is bothering you. When you two do go back to his dorm, you he'll bring a ton of blankets and the two of you can wrap yourselves in them. He'll have an arm around you, keeping you close.

He's not too confident with his own words, so he might not give out as much comforting words as others. However, he tries to show his care through his actions, either through the movies you two watch or keeping you close. He also lets you know it's better to let yourself cry and if you need anything he'll be there for you. He doesn't want to see you sad, he'll do whatever he can to help.

Malleus

The school probably saw a thunderstorm when he realized you weren't anywhere to be found that day. He tries to keep calm but there's just so much going on in his head — did you leave him without saying anything? You're the most important person to Malleus, and that's what causes him to react much larger than any of the other dorm leaders. He basically looks for you everywhere until he finds you in the woods.

He notices you crying, even if you try to hide it from him he's really good at reading people. "Y/n, is everything alright?" he ask, placing a hand on your shoulder. You're sitting on the grass with your head buried in your arms. He's seen this before with himself, he's tried to hide his tears before and it pains him to see you like this too.

Picking you up, he pulls you into his chest and tells you it's fine to cry. "You're safe with me, it's alright to cry do not worry." He hugs you tightly and doesn't let go of you until you calm down. He might kiss the top of your head a few times too while whispering to you it's going to be okay. While he might not be the best at words, he does his best to calm you down with what he's seen Lilia do with Silver, Sebek and Malleus himself

After you calm down, he might ask if you want to talk about it. If you do, he'll listen and continue to hold you close. If you don't want to talk about what's been bothering you, he'll respect that too. He'll also ask if you want to go back to Ramshackle since he doesn't want you catching a cold (he caused a thunderstorm and it was raining) or back to Diasomnia. Either way, he'll carry you back to either dorm. Until he sees you smile or at least show you're feeling much better, he won't leave your side.

Malleus cares deeply about you and will let you know it's much healthier to cry than to keep yourself from it. He wants you to feel safe with him and will drop everything and run over if you need his help, no matter how big or small the issue. You made him feel comforted first as a friend and now as a boyfriend, he wants to do the same to you.

[bettymylove]

hello! I really love your work and I was thinking if you could write a one-shot of theo inspired by the song " Open Arms by SZA ". but somehow make it a good ending? idk 😓 ( like a slow burn or something ) reader had to let theo go but theo is kind of begging..? for reader to stay in his life and so on! idk if I explained it good enough but you can search up the song and take a look at the lyrics, you'll see what topic I'm going for!

thank you if your write this! you're an amazingg writer ‼️

never leaving

pairing: theo nott x reader

content: your insecurities push you to break your friendship with Theo, only to realize you were wrong all along.

a/n: hope this matches your expectations, I'm sorry if it didn't<33 (also I feel like I'm apologizing in every a/n)

You could say that Theo took you in, he was the only person in your life that ever made you feel too comfortable. When you were on the train, he had befriended you and he never let his friendship falter.

Theo was everything, he was all you could ever need and it scared you how much you were dependent on him. You had never needed anyone, always doing everything by yourself but you could see that changing.

Friends weren't a usual sight in your life and Theo had changed that, but you still had your doubts and maybe that's why you had decided to tell him.

You always had a lingering feeling, that he was taking pity on you because who would willingly spend so much time with you, call themselves your best friend, he had no reason to do it.

You spotted Theo in the hallway along with Mattheo and Enzo. The former two were smoking, and Theo's eyes met yours, and he immediately threw down his cigarette, crushing it using the sole of his shoe.

His eyes stayed on you while yours diverted here and there, ashamed to even meet his gaze. You wanted to be with him, but he was ruining his life for you, he was way too enamored and you wanted to help him.

You reached the group and scrunched your nose at the nicotine smell, Theo noticed this and dragged you away. Why does he have to be sweet and make this harder? you thought.

"Theo, I-" You questioned yourself, he was the only person who knew you but it would be too selfish to make him stay, so you continued, "I don't think we should be friends anymore"

Maybe friends wasn't the right word to describe you two, you weren't dating but he never dated anyone else and it's not like you could. You always hoped it was because he harbored some feelings for you but that had been a foolish fantasy.

"Y/n, I'm sorry sweetheart, I won't ever smoke again, I mean this was the first time in weeks, I really am trying" what? he thought this was about him smoking?

"No, Theo it's not about that." you simply stated trying to make him understand about you suddenly pulling away. He stared at you, his mouth opening and closing as if he wanted to say something but really could find the words.

"You can't do this, you cannot wake up on a random day and decide to remove me from your life as if I'm a pawn in your chess board" he was almost yelling, Theo had never yelled at you nor had he ever gotten angry at you, it was always you being mad and him picking up on it.

You remembered a scenario from second year and how different times had gotten now, you had changed and him not so much but you guess it was for his better.

"Where's y/n?" The twelve year old Theodore Nott asked his friend and said friend just shrugged in response before saying, "She hasn't been talking to anyone."

You're mad, he knew you were you always shut everyone out when you were, falling silent and Theo knew just how to better your mood and so he headed in your direction.

Your flashback stopped when you saw a tear fall from his eyes, you had never seen Theo cry either, only once and that too not intentionally. He was showing every emotion of his and you stood there unable to think, mumbling a sorry before leaving him stranded in that hallway.

Theo was shocked, hurt, angry and was feeling all these emotions at once. He had known you for six years and you had left him in six minutes. He loved you and you couldn't see it.

He knocked on your door for the fifteenth time, and you finally opened it. Your eyes were red and puffed up, you were crying.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked in a small voice unlike the one he used in the hallway, he was scared to lose you.

"You don't need to take anymore pity on me, Theo, go live your life" you said with a sniffle in the end and your statement had only made him more confused.

Pity? he had never taken pity on you, and it hurt himself that you believed that nonsense. "You can't replace me y/n, I'm forever, no matter what."

You so wanted to believe him, you so wanted to be in his arms right now, you so wanted him to stop as he was doing right now but you just couldn't.

"I'm sorry Theo, but I have to" Those were last words to him before you shut the door and Theo couldn't sleep that night.

It had been 2 months, 18 days of you ignoring him and he thought he might go mad, you were driving him crazy, you not being there was so much worse than he had anticipated.

It was late in the night when he spotted you leaning against a railing, breathing hard, and when he got a bit closer he noticed you were crying.

He went to stand beside you, you flinched but then sort of relaxed when you noticed who it was. You laid your head in your hands and started crying even harder and without missing a beat or saying something spiteful, Theo took you in his arms.

It was much later that you realized that you could not live without him, he was your Theo. Your tears wet his shirt but he didn't seem to mind, he never seemed to mind.

"You won't leave again, would you?" He asked as if he knew you were coming back and he was right. "You could try, but this time I won't let you."

You smiled at him, god he was the only person in the world who would never make you feel bad about what you did, and you realise it was only your insecurities holding you back from him.

He kissed your forehead lovingly and hugged you even tighter, "I love you" he whispered, half hoping you didn't hear him, but you did.

[dantakeyoman]

I would reallyy love if you could write about how when the Sully family reaches the new tribe all of the Metkayina girls are trying really hard to get Neteyam to notice them (Cause you know he's the oldest, a good warrior and is gonna be a leader soon) but they dont know he already has a mate and the reader gets jealous. So neteyam has to comfort her and when she realizes she is being silly and has nothing to worry about...this one metkayina girl really pushes it....(im talking getting touchy with neteyam, always finding ways to get him alone and is rude to the reader) and she loses her absolute shit and you can decide what she does but i want it to be very possessive like behavior😏 sorry this is long😅

Metkayina Girls Start Falling At Neteyam's Feet and You, His Mate, Get Jealous (SFW)

Reader is Fem! Omaticaya

CW: a story of jealousy with aa twist, these girls are really shameless, Kiri and Lo'ak duo, sorry im posting so late, my stomach actually really hurts rn, but not writing for so long has been driving me crazy, anyway, enjoy <3 ( i barfed in my mouth a little bit writing some of this cringey shit )

"Humans?! That must've been so scary for you! What happened next?" Leyelu asked as she stretched, laying herself stomach-down in the sand in front of Neteyam, batting her eyelashes.

"Yeah, did you fight them? I'm sure you did, since you are such a strong warrior," Nayat smiled, scooching her seat closer to the boy.

"Um...well, I didn't-." "Impossible. I can imagine you swooping in and saving your family. All heroic-like," Srraza smirked, openly raking her eyes up and down Neteyam's body, not caring how uncomfortable he looked.

Their shameless display made you want to vomit, and possibly scream, at the same time.

There were a total of three girls. Leyelu, Nayat, and Srraza. And all were practically throwing themselves at Neteyam.

It had been about a week and some change since you and the Sullys arrived at Awa'atlu. And every day, without fail, these girls managed to tail Neteyam, following him and showering him in praise whenever they could.

You hadn't had not two seconds alone with him before one of them, or all three, came barging in with some fake excuse of a heavy basket they needed help lifting or a boat they needed help loading.

You knew Neteyam never entertained their advances, and were thankful for it.

But being his mate, you couldn't help but feel frustrated. (and maybe a little jealous)

"If you scowl any harder, it's going to become permanent," Kiri playfully warned, your face amusing her.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," you curtly answered, tearing your eyes away from the scene angrily.

"Yes. I'm fine is stretched tightly across your face right now," Lo'ak smirked from his spot in the sand, hands behind his head as he subathed.

"(y/n), I hope you know that Neteyam would never-." "I know," you sighed, already guessing what Kiri was going to say.

"I trust Neteyam completely. It's just-."

You couldn't finish the sentence. It was embarrassing.

"Just what?" Lo'ak asked, ears perking in intrigue.

"Give her a minute," Kiri shushed, smacking him in the arm, earning an annoyed ow! from the boy.

"It's not that I'm scared Neteyam will leave me. It is just...I don't see why he won't," you started, staring down at your feet in shame.

Kiri and Lo'ak both whipped their heads towards you in disbelief, their expressions contorting into ones of confusion.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lo'ak asked, confused.

"Lo'ak!" Kiri scolded.

She was thinking the same thing, but he could've been a little easier on the delivery.

"Look at them," you sighed, holding out your hand to the girls, who were still fake listening to Neteyam's story.

"Leyelu's father is one of the best hunters in the clan, only second to Tonowari. Nayat's mother is incredibly skilled on the loom, who is now teaching Nayat everthing she knows. For Eywa's sake, Srraza is studying under Ronal to be a healer."

The brother ans sister's expressions slowly softened, the meaning behind your words now coming to light.

"You are the best dancer the Omaticaya have ever seen. And the best the Metkayina have seen, as well," Kiri tried to comfort, a warm smile on her face.

"Oh, yes, because dancing can help me hunt for food. And dancing can help me make clothes. Let's not forget, it can help me heal as well," you sarcastically agreed, snippy.

Kiri sighed.

She didn't take it to heart, not one bit. She understood your frustration.

"They all have spent their years learning skills that can be of use, be important. All I have to show for mine are a couple of dance moves."

Lo'ak looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it until you were finished.

"And the best part of it is they are all gorgeous, the most sought after girls in this village. And I'm just...me."

Kiri felt her heart ache.

She had no idea you had been feeling this way this whole time.

She thought it was just a small case of jealousy. But it seemed to be much deeper than that.

"So, no. I'm not frustrated or scared of Neteyam leaving me. I am frustrated and scared because he has every reason to."

You turned back to the scene, only to see Leyelu resting her hands on Neteyam's chest, leaning into his face.

"Hey, Neteyam. Have you ever given thought to who could possibly be your mate?" she asked with a smirk, peering up at him through her beautiful eyelashes.

It was as if you didn't even exist.

"(y/n), wai-." But you ignored Kiri, abruptly standing up, not wanting to watch the scene any longer.

"Dammit, (y/n)! Sit down and look," Lo'ak groaned, roughly pulling you back down and turning your face to watch Neteyam.

"Do not touch me," Neteyam sternly ordered, grabbing the girl's wrists and pulling her hands of him, harshly.

"I know that you know I already have a mate. And you trying to make advances on me while knowing that is incredibly disrespectful."

The girls were giving him puppy dog eyes, as if that would guilt him into stopping.

It made you gag.

"I do not appreciate how you've been disregarding (y/n) this entire week. Especially when she has done nothing to you."

"That's exactly the point. She does nothing. She is just there with you. You two do not even act like mates," Srraza scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"That is true. I never see you two hug, or kiss, or embrace each other romantically at all," Nayat agreed.

"Because any time I get alone with her is interrupted by you three!" Neteyam exclaimed, annoyed.

His sudden burst shocked you.

You didn't know he felt this.

"I only get time to myself every once in a while, and I like to spend it with (y/n). But ever since I've gotten here, you three have used every mean under the sun to keep that from happening. For Eywa's sake, that was what I was on my way to do now before you all came along!"

"But why? She doesn't hunt, she doesn't loom, she doesn't heal, she can't even carry a tune. She's boring, plain. Why would you willingly want to spend time with her?" Leyelu asked, cocking an eyebrow s she crossed her arms.

Ouch.

"That's why you look like a dead fish, bitch!" Lo'ak loudly called, making you and Kiri die in snickers.

The girl whipped around, glaring daggers at the boy.

"Lo'ak!" Kiri tried to scold, but couldn't through her laughter.

"It's true! If her eyes were any farther apart, she'd be able to see the back of her head," he huffed.

You were his friend. And he didn't like people talking shit about you.

Meanwhile, Neteyam was using every ounce of his strength to not bare his teeth at the girl.

"I don't care about what she can't do. I love what she can. She's a phenomenal dancer, and has forgotten more moves than you three will ever learn. She's funny, she's kind, she's caring, the farthest thing from boring. And her beauty makes the three of you look like a patch wet sand. I am lucky to call her my mate, and if you all would excuse me, I'm going to spend the rest of the day with her," Neteyam angrily corrected, pushing past them and walking towards you.

And as he drew closer, you smiled, wider than you had in a while.

You felt foolish for thinking he could do better than you.

Especially after he just confessed that he believed he could do no better than you.

It made you feel happy, and loved, and secure in your relationship.

There was no one that could take your place because you were the place, and the only one who could ever be it.

And now knowing that fact, sent you over the moon.

…

taglist !!

@vane28282, @remutoast, @p1nkprint, @ladyorchidia, @anthonys-viscountess, @karmz-7319, @cantbuysophialove, @scarabruhs, @an0th3rsss, @deloe18, @mariiyoushi, @av1xar, @alexxcorona113, @may-and-lay, @overlyfancybreakfastfoods, @harshita-hiranyamayi, @qui-02, @myheartfollower, @morks-watermelon, @bangtanxberm, @adavenus, @sweetdayme4427, @lilac13, @torchbearerkyle, @dazedshoon, @rovckwell, @wonieee, @0710khj, @multifandomreader73, @kadu-5607, @la-cey, @roseazura, @sophiejiro, @angelbeari, @bludyl

[violexides]

before people get vicious i want to remind you all of a few things, starting with the fact that third party voters are not to blame for the results of the election, but rather that (1) the democratic party refused to end their genocide at every opportunity and, most influential in this specific case, (2) there has been a substantial rise of right-wing sentiment in this country that is what contributed most directly to the Republican victories we have seen in Congress and in the executive office.

regardless of who entered office, there would have been a substantial need to organize, and we are seeing that now more than ever. this is obviously horrifyingly scary shit, but queer people are resilient, Palestinians are resilient, the Black and Brown and Indigenous people of this country are resilient, the colonized people of the world are resilient. we will be able to organize until every last one of us is dead, so know that there is always something you can do. and that hope is a stronger thing than something one tyrant can end.

this is an interconnected struggle and at no point does our work stop. we don't owe candidates or politicians shit. volunteer with a hotline. call/sign petitions. go out into the streets. create art. form connections with people you may not have talked to before. cook for your friends. connect with unhoused people in your area. talk to the elders in your community. find sanctuary online if you cannot find it in person. politically educate, starting from the absolute basics because that is what is most lost in discourse sometimes. take everything one painful step at a time. maybe you got out of bed, maybe you brushed your teeth, maybe you ate breakfast, maybe you changed clothes-- these are all substantial things, and the movement suffers without you so keep doing them.

this is a terribly scary time in the world for all of us, but it has been a terribly scary time for a while across the world. don't let hopelessness stop you from fighting for the end of the genocide in Palestine, Congo, Sudan, and many other places in the world. know that if you are queer, we have survived worse shit throughout our history, and there are so many more options now for us. we need mutual aid for queer people but also and especially for our siblings of color and our disabled siblings and our poor siblings and our altogether marginalized siblings, from here to Palestine, from Sudan to West Papua, from Tigray to Kurdistan, from Armenia to Congo, from the world to the world.

i don't take a second of my time on earth for granted and i haven't for a few years. i am really fucking scared right now, i have been for months and months but it's taken a new form. but, today, the sun is out and shining on my bedroom floor. i brushed my teeth and i'm going to eat some grapes now. my professor sent a kind email. i have a lot of work to do. i have to get busy loving a lot of people.

eat what it takes to survive. sleep what it takes to survive. talk what it takes to survive. learn what it takes to survive. love what it takes to survive. live where it takes to survive. these are our fundamentals. and know that from there, we organize and we fight for something better than survival.

i am not losing my family, my found family, my friends, my peers, my professors, my roommates, my community like this. we gotta get busy.

take as long as you need to grieve. i have been grieving for a long time (this past year, for Palestine; my lifetime, for Iraq) and will grieve these results for the next four years. but understand that no matter who wins any presidential election, we have to organize. we can learn from our past here. i don't care if it's a bush in office, an obama in office, a trump in office, a biden or a harris in office, we have work to do because they won't do it for us.

Palestine and the occupied nations and people of the world will be free. they will not make martyrs of all of us. the struggle will continue so long as we are all free. victory is assured so long as the struggle continues.

i love you. i love you. i love you. i love you as hard as i hate the empire. this hate and this love forges what we need to keep this struggle alive, until victory and liberation for us all.