#because he just isn't used to playing pretend for more than a few hours

[midnightwind]

thinking about dnd vampire lore because of course I am and I am Losing My Mind over how normal food works for them

like they drink wine so they can clearly process some foods (or I guess consider wine Worth It for whatever fall out it may cause) and pretty boy mentions liking steak as rare as can be so it sounds like raw meats work well enough too

if they eat a normal meal, does it just sit in their stomach and slowly rot if they don't puke it back up later? like not being able to eat anything a normal human can would make hiding the whole vampire thing way harder, so from a narrative point it feels more fun and fulfilling to either make them have to get rid of it later or just be sick once their body finishes trying and failing to digest it

AND ANOTHER THING not having a heartbeat or breathing also makes covering up the undead thing super hard so like, they gotta have something in place there right, I know fake breathing is probably easy enough to pull off but

I personally like subscribing to the whole "a well fed vampire has a very, very faint heartbeat and warmth to them" and that they all do actually need to breathe to talk because otherwise how would the vocal cords work, but they can stop breathing otherwise especially if they just straight forget to outside of conversing

but also like little vestiges of being mortal linger so maybe they still get out of breath from running or laughing because their body remembers even if it doesn't need it, maybe because they've spent so long back with the living they're reclaiming the little useless pieces that scream they're alive still, even in these small ways

and also what about rest? maybe they don't need to at all unless they're constantly over exerting themselves and/or getting hurt, but like imagine your buddy who seems a little sickly laying down to sleep and just not breathing and there's no heartbeat, homie is a corpse, but they wake up when you nudge them and get annoyed you're bothering them but then right back to corpse land, how do you deal with that lmao

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 BLIND TO THE PURPOSE OF THE BRUTE DIVINE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're finally in a position to make your first, and hopefully final, move, but the guild isn't your only enemy that's actively working against you. you were foolish to think things would be so easy.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy friday lil guys, i struggled with this chapter unfortunately and i'm not sure if i'm happy with the results </3 hopefully you guys will enjoy it more than i did hahah. comments & reblogs appreciated

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

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. suggestive language. reader is a bit of a cunt to fitzgerald & takes advantage of his love for zelda. she also takes advantage of zelda's fragile state to manipulate her. repin's ability (memory manipulation) is now going to be heavily in play for the rest of the series so keep that in mind. mentions of gore (blame klaus).

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

The human mind is terribly fragile, but some are more so than others.

You don’t even need to use your ability on Zelda Fitzgerald to make her crack.

One conversation to plant the seeds of trust.

Three conversations to make her believe you’re a friend of her husband.

Five conversations to convince her that Fyodor Dostoevsky was the one who had her kidnapped from her home in Manhattan, and that you, as a favor to Fitzgerald, were the one who had her rescued. 

In the seventh conversation, you hinted at knowing something about her daughter before you left for a meeting with the other executives. You let her stew on it for a few hours before returning. By the time you came back, she’d worked herself up into a mess. 

In that eighth conversation, you acted apologetic, pretended that you’d misspoke, you backpedaled and bit your tongue. You made it seem like you were reluctant to speak, like you didn’t want to betray Fitzgerald’s trust. She begged you for hours to just tell her what you meant; you refused and left.

You came back three hours after that, and you put up a nice facade of guilt when you did. You told Zelda that you didn’t like lying to her, that her husband is a dear business partner of yours and you’ve come to think of his family like your own just from how much you hear about them through him. You told her that this wasn’t your secret to share, but she begged and pleaded, and you still made sure you came across as reluctant, but this time you gave in and told her.

In that ninth conversation, you told Zelda Fitzgerald that her daughter was still alive and her husband was keeping her away, because the last time Zelda spoke to her daughter, they’d gotten into an argument that drove Frances away. Her husband thought it would be easier for Zelda to think she was dead, because for all intents and purposes, Zelda was dead to Frances. You told her that you got your information through Nabokov, because Frances was living in Russia now under a new name with Dostoevsky’s help.

She believed you.

It took four days.

You don’t really have anything against Dostoevsky. You’ve met him a handful of times during events and he was pleasant enough, but his rats have been seen a bit too frequently in Port Mafia territory and since he and Tolstoy are both Russian, it’s easier for you to help Zelda confuse them. You figure this will be enough of a warning for him to leave Yokohama. If not, it’s just another issue for you to tackle later.

Nabokov, on the other hand—he pissed you off you. You’ve never thought highly of the man, even when you visited him in Saint Petersburg, you thought he was quite despicable, and the more you heard from Klaus about the things that happened in the fighting rings, the more your distaste grew.

Now, he backed out of a critical transaction with the Port Mafia which fucked over one of Piano Man’s deals with the Family in Rome and one of Ace’s casinos, so he’s turned just about the whole round table of executives against him and you think this is a quick way of getting even with him. He would be quite unhappy once Francis Fitzgerald turned all of the resources of the Guild onto him in retaliation for spreading lies about his daughter. The man's one weakness has always been his family, he wouldn't think twice once given a name and reason.

All of this is the reason why you prefer to work from behind the scenes. There are many pros, of course, to being in an organization like the Guild where each executive member is an influential, internationally known public figure, but there’s one big con that you just can’t get over: the lack of privacy. 

The Fitzgerald family has been headline bait for all of the world’s most popular tabloids for years, and when his daughter passed away five years ago, you made sure to follow each and every story. You figured one day that the Port Mafia would end up in conflict with the Guild—Fitzgerald’s reach has always been endless, Yokohama was one of the few places out of it, and you knew one day he would move to gain a foothold here and you didn’t want to be scrambling for information about the man once it happened.

Chuuya always rolled his eyes at you when he found you surfing the tabloids, but look how handy it is now. There’d been several popular theories circulating when Frances Fitzgerald was killed in a car accident. Some people thought it was an assassination—the tabloids speculated that Fitzgerald was the intended target but his daughter got caught in the crossfires; the people that knew of the Guild’s ties with the underworld tended to think that his daughter was the intended target as a means to try to break Fitzgerald.

You didn’t buy either of those theories.

You’ve witnessed many assassinations—assassinations gone wrong, assassinations gone right; assassination attempts on you and assassination attempts on enemies. You are very well versed in the art of assassination. You’ve plotted many of them yourself with Albatross and Iceman, and the ones you didn’t, you still oversaw.

You don’t think Frances Fitzgerald was assassinated, by accident or otherwise. 

No one bought into your theory when you tried to place bets on it with the Flags—not until one of the American tabloids released an insider scoop from a relative of Zelda Fitzgerald who claimed that the mother and daughter had gotten into a blow out fight the night she died in the car accident. 

You think that was the last bit of information you needed to confirm your theory: Frances Fitzgerald was not assassinated, she was a stupid and reckless teenager who was upset after a fight with her mother and drove too fast down a road that was too windy and ended up driving herself right off a cliff. It was a gamble to bring it up now to Zelda, because you couldn’t be entirely certain, of course, but it paid off. 

You’d been right—some type of argument had broken out between them the night of her daughter’s death, and Zelda has blamed herself for her death ever since. The woman, who’d been the face of American socialites for almost a decade, had all but retreated from the public’s eye after it happened. People whispered that her daughter’s death broke her mind, and you think that they were right—this woman is hardly a shell. You almost feel bad for what you’re doing to her.

Almost.

Unfortunately for Zelda, she’s a fair trade in Fitzgerald’s eyes, and until Dazai is back to you, she will be treated in the same way you assume Fitzgerald is treating his guest. He’s lucky that you have a high enough opinion of him to believe that he wouldn’t stoop to physical torture; he’s likely just trying to turn Dazai against you in the same way you have with Zelda, but Dazai will see through his manipulations.

He will.

He will.

He has to.

Your eyes slide shut as you fist one of Dazai’s sweaters—a cashmere one you’d bought for him to wear when you take him to nice restaurants, he prefers them to button ups. It still smells like him. He wore it when you took him to a hibachi restaurant in Nishi-ku a few days before the argument the two of you had that led to all of this and you haven’t had the chance to do laundry with everything going on.

You know that you don’t have time for this—there are more things you have to do to prepare Tolstoy’s subordinate, Ilya Repin, for what you’ll need him to do. You haven’t even met the man yet; Tolstoy is embarrassed over it, he keeps apologizing and saying that Repin is fickle when he’s in the middle of projects, but you’re not exactly in a position to make demands when they’re doing you a favor. 

“Should you be laying around right now?” a familiar voice hums from the entrance to your bedroom. Your gaze flickers up to see Chuuya's concerned face staring down at you, head tilted to the side. “You look like shit, y’know?” 

Your lashes lower as you look away. “I didn’t even hear you come up,” you say quietly. “Shouldn’t you be going to the meeting with the Family envoys with Piano Man?”

You’re the one that usually handles negotiations with the Family, but Piano Man brushed you off when you said you would go. Told you to focus on getting things settled here with the Guild. Told you to get Dazai back. You almost wish he would’ve let you go so you could busy yourself with something other than torturing yourself with reminders of Dazai.

Chuuya exhales as he tosses his hat onto your dresser before sitting down on the bed next to you. You almost want to turn away from him, but he doesn’t let you. He wraps an arm around your shoulder and drags you a little closer to him, and your eyes slide shut as you sink into him, hiding the way your vision blurs against his shoulder. Your breath shudders when you feel his hand running up and down your back, slow and soothing—Chuuya is always warm, but somehow, even with his arm wrapped around you and your body curled up against his, you still feel cold.

“Piano Man’s fine,” Chuuya murmurs. “He and Albatross are handling it. Wanted to come check on you.”

Ordinarily, you would make a snippy comment about him being sappy and he would get mad, smacking you over the head with a pillow. This time, you only let out a shaky breath and a noise of acknowledgement that’s far too weak, and evidently, concerning considering how Chuuya’s hand tenses on your back.

“Why are you here, Chuuya?” you ask tiredly, voice a bit raspy, before he can say anything. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“Never that mad at you,” he says quietly. “Not enough to leave you alone. Especially right now.”

The next breath you take in is wet and ragged, the tears that mist your eyes threaten to spill over. You’ve been on the edge of collapse for over a week now and every time you find yourself alone, you think it’s finally going to happen, but for better or for worse, someone shows up and you have to pull yourself together. But now… Chuuya’s arms are so familiar, too comforting—living in a world like you are, casual comfort is a rare delicacy, one that you can rarely allow yourself to indulge in.

“I’ve got you,” Chuuya whispers. His arms tighten around you and he pulls you more firmly onto his chest, shifting so you could wrap your arms around his waist, your fingers digging into his gray waistcoat. Oh, you realize, desperately trying to bite back a sob bubbling in the back of your throat, it’s happening. “We’ll get him back.”

“I’m tired, Chuuya,” you say, the words wobbly as you fight off tears. Your breath hitches when his hand slides against your shoulder blades gently. “I’m so tired. I don’t know how you did it.”

Your words don’t register until you feel Chuuya pause in the absent strokes of your back.You look up at him, about to speak again to change the subject because you hadn’t meant to bring up what happened two years ago, but he answers before you can.

“I didn’t,” he says with a wry smile. “I destroyed a ward and shut down. You handled it, remember?”

 And you failed, you finish, but Chuuya can certainly hear the thoughts running through your head from how his arm tightens around you. He pushes himself up into a sitting position and shifts you to sit upright in the bed. You sigh when he reaches out to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“What happened back then, it wasn’t your fault. That shit was out of your control, you know that. Don’t let it start getting in your head now,” Chuuya tells you firmly. “You didn’t fail back then, you’re not going to fail now. Yeah?” 

You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel Chuuya wiping the tears away. You avert your gaze and whisper, “I miss him, Chuuya. You were right. I never should have-”

You never should’ve let this happen. You knew from the beginning that you couldn’t let this go far, but you did. And even then, Chuuya warned you. He told you what would happen if you continued this, but you did.

Chuuya stares at you for a moment with an indecipherable expression before nodding to himself, pushing himself to his feet. 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go force that fuckin’ Russian to talk to us. I’m done waiting around for him to finish his shitty project.”

—

It is not Twain, James or Fitzgerald who walks through the door to Dazai’s prison cell of a room days after your alleged release from prison. It’s a girl who seems to be a little younger than him—she wears a maid’s dress and has long crimson hair tied into two thick braids.  

A girl who probably should not be there considering she looks shifty-eyed and nervous. Plus, Fitzgerald has not hid that he’s been making an effort to ensure that nobody else knows about Dazai’s presence here—he’s kept him isolated, and Dazai never hears anything going on outside of his room, so he assumes he’s purposely being secluded from the rest of the Guild for whatever reason. Probably has to do with the reason behind Fitzgerald keeping his knowledge of your ability on the low—he doesn’t trust that people aren’t listening and doesn’t want this information to get out to anyone.

So this girl is likely not supposed to be here, but Dazai can’t even bring himself to be curious as to why she is here, because he’s tired.

He is so tired. 

His gaze is listless as he tracks the girl. She acts like she’s the cornered animal as if she wasn’t the one who willingly came into his room. She paces to the corner of the room furthest from him and presses herself into it, eyes narrowed on him, studying him like he’s some sort of specimen. 

She’s his first visitor in eight hours. Dazai assumes that means it’s around morning. He doesn’t know exactly what time it is—there’s no windows in the room he’s been staying in, so he has no way to gauge the time of day, and everything has just been blending together. He tried to keep track of when they would bring him food to have some sense of the day and time, but he realized quickly that they were bringing it at uneven intervals so he couldn’t figure it out. 

He thinks it must be some kind of torture tactic—making the days seem impossibly long so that it feels like he’s been here even longer than he has. It’s working to some extent because it is hard for him to tell how long he’s actually been here. Realistically, he knows it can’t be longer than two weeks, but it feels like it’s been three or four. 

“You don’t look special,” the girl finally says, her tone slightly accusatory. Dazai’s eye twitches, he’s been reminded quite frequently by Twain that he’s nothing special and it’s exactly why you aren’t coming for him, and he doesn’t need to hear it from anyone else. “Francis has never taken a foreign prisoner and not consulted the rest of the Board. They’re not happy.”

“Does it look like I care?” Dazai asks irritably, rolling his eyes. He should probably try to get information out of this girl, but he has no patience for it.

The girl gives him a scowl in return, but her expression quickly returns to a more contemplative one. “I’m just curious. What organization are you affiliated with? Why didn’t he tell us what’s going on?”

Dazai can’t help the snide comment that spills from his lips. “Us?” he mocks, looking pointedly at the maid’s dress she wore. “I don’t think you’re a member of the Guild’s Board… Seems more like house-keeping.”

Her face flushes as red as her hair, eyes wild and angry, but more than that ashamed. Clearly, Dazai hit a sore spot and he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty for the way the girl gets embarrassed over it. Her lashes flutter as she looks away, not speaking for a moment.

“I was,” she finally says, voice strained, cracking over the word ‘was’. “I was, and I would’ve been consulted with the rest of them at the time, but I wasn’t. I want to know why, who are you?”

Dazai’s lips curl up into a taunting smile. “None of your business,” he sings, leaning back against the wall and raising his eyebrows at the girl when she nearly snarls at him in response. “Who are you?”

“Lucy,” she spits. “There. I told you who I am, tell me who you are.”

“Nope,” Dazai says with a grin. “Why would I tell you that? I didn’t promise to tell you who I was if you told me.” 

“You-” Lucy raises her voice, furious, but then cuts herself off, looking nervously at the door. She gives him a sharp look and then continues just as angrily, but more quietly, “Tell me who you are. Why didn’t Francis tell us about you?”

Dazai doesn’t respond. He thinks Fitzgerald has the right idea. The less people who know about him, the better, because if it does get out who he is to you, it’ll just give more of your enemies ammunition against you. Dazai’s done enough damage by now, he may as well mitigate as much as he can.

“You’re with the Port Mafia, aren’t you?” Lucy suddenly demands, and Dazai looks at her quickly, wondering how she managed to figure that out. She looks entirely too smug as she lifts her chin. “It explains the sudden pressure they’ve been putting on us. They blew up the S.S. Zelda a couple days ago, intercepted some of the supplies that we were sending out to our people back home, and slaughtered a whole regiment of Margaret and Nathaniel’s men. From what I heard from Mark, they’ve been nonstop for almost two weeks.You must be the reason why. Am I right?” 

“None of your business,” Dazai replies again, but this time, his chest feels a bit lighter. 

He makes sure not to let the sudden relief cross over his face, but Twain, James and Fitzgerald have made sure to leave him with no information on what’s going on in the outside world. Especially any information regarding you. But now he knows. He knows that you’re out there still fighting for him, even if you haven’t been able to get him back yet, you’ve been fighting for him—you’ve been taking out the Guild’s bases, you’ve been isolating them from their allies, you’ve been backing them into a corner. 

Suddenly, the past two weeks had become entirely more bearable. The heaviness that had been weighing on him wasn’t as oppressive anymore and the nagging doubt that had been clouding his brain was all but gone.

He knew you hadn’t forgotten about him—in his heart, he knew it, but getting verbal confirmation of it was much needed. 

“Oh, come on,” Lucy snaps. “I just-just tell me something. Tell me something I can bring back to Francis, anything, I just-

Dazai’s gaze flickers up curiously, watching as Lucy straightens, inhaling sharply as she tries to hide the tears of frustration that suddenly clouded her eyes. Her hands are balled into fists at her side, she gnaws at her trembling bottom lip as she forces herself to settle down enough to speak without her voice wavering.

‘I was,’ he remembers her saying, and realizes instantly why she came down here.

“You want something to bring back to Fitzgerald so you can get yourself out of the doghouse,” he drawls, eyes flicking over her. Her face flushes red, lips parting to protest Dazai’s words but nothing escapes them. “You want to know my opinion?” 

“I want information,” Lucy says. “I don’t care about your opinion.”

“I think that’s pathetic,” he shrugs, ignoring her. Lucy’s lips part in disbelief, but Dazai continues before she can say anything. “It is. You’re sneaking down here to beg me for information that you can bring back up to your boss because he demoted you… for what, exactly? Didn’t bring him the right food?”

Lucy swallows thickly, unable to meet his eyes. “I lost a fight,” she whispers. “I lost a fight to one of your people, and I lost everything. I worked so hard to get where I was. So hard. Harder than you could ever understand and-”

“I don’t care,” Dazai says, turning away from her. “If you want my opinion, if you got demoted to being a housekeeper because you lost one fight, you have a shitty boss and should probably find somewhere else to work instead of begging for scraps just to be treated like shit.”

Dazai doesn’t say anything else after that, and makes a show of not looking at her to make sure she knows the conversation is over. Luckily, she gives him no grief over it—in an instant, he hears the door slamming as she storms out of his room and Dazai lets out a soft sigh as he rests his head against the wall. Tired, lonely, and missing you so badly that it almost makes him ache.

Don’t keep me waiting too much longer.

—

You are irritated.

You’ve been waiting in one of the larger rooms in the Mafia headquarters for twenty minutes now—the smell of paint is giving you a headache and the sheer insult happening before your eyes is nearly enough to send you over the edge. Ilya Repin has the audacity to keep his back turned to both you and Chuuya even when Tolstoy introduces you to him. He sits on his stool and continues to paint his canvas, ignoring the two of you quite blissfully: he doesn’t look at you, doesn’t greet you, doesn’t acknowledge you. 

Tolstoy is becoming increasingly more embarrassed if his red ears and apologetic looks have anything to say about it. Unfortunately, you’re not sure if any number of apologies will save him from Chuuya’s righteous wrath at this point, because if you are irritated then he is downright murderous. 

You watch your fellow executive from the corner of your eye as his eye twitches and his lip curls up. The thin thread of control he has snaps as his tongue kisses the back of his teeth and he starts to storm forward. You stop him quickly, grabbing his wrist and giving him a sharp look.

“He-” Chuuya begins to hiss at you, but you only raise your hand to quiet him down and move forward yourself.

You don’t know if you’re making a mistake by forcing Repin’s hand before he’s ready to help, but you do know that you’re tired and you need Dazai back desperately. It’s been over a week now and if Fitzgerald has been half as aggressive with him as you have been with Zelda, then you know that he’s been playing mind games with Dazai. And Dazai is smart, yes, but how long can someone hold out when given no hope or reason to?

It takes ten long strides for you to cross the room, placing yourself between Repin and the canvas he’s working on. The man pauses, paint brush inches from your cheek, and then looks down at you with narrowed eyes.

“You’re in my way,” he notes astutely.

“And you are in mine,” you counter with a thin smile. “It seems we’re at an impasse.”

Ilya Repin is not what you expected. From how Tolstoy described him, you expected an old stubborn coot who had one foot in the grave and acted like each day was his last on earth. Instead, you’re met with a man who can’t be much older than you—with tousled brown hair and light blue eyes, you’d think he was pretty if he wasn’t so irritating. 

He looks down at you with a pinched expression, like he’s considering painting right over your face, but after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a dramatic sigh and glares at Tolstoy over his shoulder.

“I told you not to let anyone bother me until I was done,” he complains, rolling his eyes. You watch as Chuuya’s eyes bulge at the way Repin dismisses you, a familiar red glow flickering around his fists, but Tolstoy responds to Repin before the artist can find himself splattered on his own painting.

“Ilya.” Tolstoy spits out something in such rapid-fire Russian that even you can’t catch what he said. Whatever it is, it makes Repin roll his eyes again before turning to you with a smile that’s too sweet for comfort.

“Her Highness finally decides to grace me with her presence. Honestly, I thought you’d be down here days ago—you’re awfully patient for someone whose lover’s life is on the line… Unless, you don’t actually love him? But then why go through all of this trouble?” Repin hums, leaning forward so close that it has you taking a step back, forgetting that his painting is behind you. His hand darts out to curl around the back of your neck, stopping you from hitting the wet paint while at the same time forcing you even closer to him. He looks down at you through his lashes, nose nearly brushing yours as he says, “Don’t mess up my painting.”

You click your tongue and step away from him, careful not to let it show just how disconcerted you are by his casual disrespect. Chuuya looks like he’s on the verge of bringing the whole building down, Tolstoy has left a wide berth between the two of them as the gravity manipulator becomes more and more vexed by his subordinate. You give him a look to tell him that it’s fine, but it doesn’t seem to ease him in the slightest.

“You’re lucky that you’re Leo’s cousin,” you finally say, giving Repin an equally saccharine smile as you stand a few feet away from him. He finally spins in his stool to turn his back to his painting and his attention onto you, a curious expression on his face as he looks down at you. “I’ve had people’s tongues taken for less.”

“What a waste that would be, my tongue could be used for things much more pleasurable than glossectomy,” Repin replies easily, tone laced with innuendo as his lips curl up into an amused smirk. 

Unbothered, you amend your statement. “Your hands, then—a fitting punishment for a painter, I think.”

Unfortunately, Repin is equally unphased, holding his hands out as his smile widens. “But then of what use would I be to you? I thought you needed my ability,” he says.

You raise your eyebrows, silently beckoning him to explain what exactly his ability is because Tolstoy thought it would be better coming from the ability user himself. The man sighs and hops off of his stool, speaking as he starts to put away his painting equipment.

“Essentially, I can take memories from people and store them in my paintings,” Repin explains, walking over to a covered painting and pulling the cloth off of it, revealing a scene of a midnight rendezvous between two lovers. “This is a favor I did for an acquaintance. He was cheating on his wife, his wife figured it out and was going to grill him, he asked me to remove his memories of his mistress so his wife didn’t realize he was lying. I don’t really like him, so I keep the painting on me and light the bottom on fire whenever he irritates me.”

“What does that do?” Chuuya asks, side-eyeing the painting before turning his attention to Repin distrustfully.

Repin gives him a once over before looking back at you pointedly. You don’t have to look at Chuuya to know that he must be livid, so you give Repin an equally pointed look and wait for him to answer Chuuya’s question.

Repin sighs. “Burning the painting returns the memories to whoever they’d been taken from, so whenever I light the bottom on fire. He starts to get that looming feeling that he’s forgotten something important. He’s tortured with that feeling of something being on the tip of your tongue but unable to fully remember it. He calls me all wound up about it whenever I do… I think I might be his only friend, which is kind of sad considering I can hardly stand the sight of him…”

He’s rambling more to himself now than to you, frowning as he taps the tip of one of his paint brushes to his chin. You press your lips together as you think—removal is good, you need to have Fitzgerald’s memories of Dazai gone, along with any other of his subordinates that might’ve seen or met him.

But you need more than removal.

“What about implanting memories?” you ask, interrupting his stream of babbles. He casts you a curious look. “You can remove, but can you implant new ones to take the place of old ones?”

He studied you now, an intrigued expression on his face as if he’s seeing you in a new light. “I’ve done it once,” he says after a few moments. “It’s a far more… demanding process.”

“How so?”

“I need to have a painting ready for it,” he says. “More than that, I need a scene. A story. Every painting has a story—that’s the theory my ability is built on. Memories are stories that can be captured in paintings. I need to have the same depth of detail that a memory would have to make a painting that can be implanted as one. It’s much harder than you’d think. One lack of detail, one inconsistency, it could throw everything off, and once someone becomes suspicious that an implanted memory is a false one, it unravels. I burn the paintings here to return stolen memories; they, figuratively, burn the implanted memories in their mind once they start getting suspicious.”

Not quite as reliable as you’d hope, but you can make it work. You have to make it work. You’re running out of time, each day that passes—each hour that passes… You need to make your move, and you need to do it as soon as possible.

“If I can give you a detailed story, how long would it take you to create a painting that can be implanted as a memory?” you question.

Repin smiles, tilting his head to the side. “With the right muse? A couple of hours,” he murmurs.

Finally, you think. The relief that hits you is almost debilitating; you let out a sigh as you nod, giving Chuuya a long look. For the first time since your arrest, you feel an inkling of hope; you see the first rays of the sun breaking over the horizon, shattering the long night that’s been hanging over you.

The end is in sight. You’ll have Dazai back before nightfall. 

“Good,” you say. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. Have everything ready to start.”

You don’t bother to listen to the response, turning on your heel to leave the room. You have one last thing to take care of with Zelda, and then, you can sit down with Repin to finish up the final preparations. It’s almost vindicating when you pull out your phone to send a location and time to Fitzgerald.

Just a little longer. I’m almost there. 

—

Dazai is lounging in bed when the door opens again. 

“I was sleeping,” Dazai says irritably. He wasn’t sleeping, but they don’t need to know that. Twain and James are the ones unfortunately gracing him with their presence, which is odd considering they’ve never shown up at the same before. “What?”

“Up,” Twain says, clapping his hands together twice as he ushers Dazai out of bed. “C’mon, kid. Francis is waiting. Let’s go.”

Dazai scowls when Twain grabs his bicep to pull him off the bed, slapping away the other man’s hand. His skin crawls where his fingers had once been—Dazai has never enjoyed physical touch, not until he met you, but even then it’s limited to you and you alone.

He misses you.

A heavy air settles around him as he drags himself out of bed. He doesn’t know why he’s started to descend into such a depressive spiral since Lucy’s departure from the room, he thought he would be happy knowing that you haven’t forgotten about him, but he’s only become increasingly more despondent. 

His fingers feel numb and clunky as he pulls on a pair of shoes—you bought him them. You bought him everything he’s wearing right now, actually. Despite the fact that Fitzgerald has brought Dazai several new pairs of clothes to wear, he hasn’t changed out of the outfit he’d arrived in. He’s sure it smells terribly and he must look like a mess, but Dazai’s mind has always been cruel and now more than ever, it enjoys playing tricks on him.

He’s never slept well before. Usually he doesn’t sleep at all, but when he does, he’s plagued with nightmares. The past few days, weeks, however long he’s been here, it’s been no different. When he sleeps—which is frustratingly often because of the head injury he received the day they kidnapped him—he wakes from long, vivid nightmares of lives where he never met you. He wakes entirely convinced that the entire past few months with you was just an elaborate dream that his mind made up to torture him, that you don’t exist, that you’re just a figment of his imagination created to show him a life that he could’ve had if he were more normal.

It’s only the physical evidence of you that drags him out of a dangerous spiral—the clothes you bought him, the lingering scent of you on him, and the few marks that remain on his body from the night spent with you in the cabin. But your scent is fading and the marks are disappearing, so all he has is the clothes on his back to remind him that you’re real, you’re alive, you’ll come for him.

You’ll come for him. 

“Where are we going?” Dazai finally asks, finishing getting on his shoes, but he doesn’t budge as he stares at the two of them, waiting for a response. They don’t give him one. He wonders if the Guild is done with him, if they’re skipping over torture and going right to execution. “Hello? I asked a question.”

“I told ya,” Twain tells him, stepping out of the room and raising his eyebrows, urging him to move along. “To Francis.”

“But why?” Dazai presses. “Why didn’t he come here? Where are we going?”

Twain and James share a long look, like they don’t want to explain to Dazai where they’re going. And-

And Dazai doesn’t dare get his hopes up—he knows better—but it’s impossible to stop the way his body physically reacts to the realization he just came to. His throat swells and he works on over time trying to stop the way his heart suddenly starts racing. He can’t.

Twain would’ve eagerly told him if they were marching him off to be executed; he’s been gloating over the fact that you ‘left him to rot’ since you were released from prison. If this were the Guild getting rid of him, Twain would be just as vocal about that, but it’s not, so could it be…? 

He stares at the two members of the Guild. He wants to ask, but he doesn’t want to be disappointed, so he waits to see what they say.

It’s an eternity before Twain rolls his eyes and says, “Seems your girl didn’t forget about you. She called for a parley. We’re going out to meet her.”

Dazai lets out a wavering puff of air, one that he can’t bite back. The tension in his shoulders instantly dissipates, after what seems like weeks of darkness and despair, Dazai finally sees the light at the end of the tunnel.

“I told you,” he tells them, voice a bit more breathless than he meant for it to be. “I told you she’d come. Maybe you should’ve listened to me.”

Twain clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Get moving,” he snips, forcing Dazai out of the room and leading him down unfamiliar halls. Dazai is quick to map out the place, noting all of the twists and turns just in case he somehow ends back up here. He’ll get out on his own if he has to, he’s not spending another night in this place. “Don’t get your hopes up. I doubt she’ll be able to come to an agreement with Francis.”

Dazai is a bit too smug as he says, “If she reaches out to meet you, then it’s already over. She wouldn’t have reached out to meet you if she wasn’t sure things would land in her favor, otherwise she would’ve reached out days ago.”

It’s the truth—Dazai knows it. His faith in you wasn’t misplaced, never has been and never will be. You just needed time to make sure everything was in place because you didn’t want to find yourself on unequal grounds during the negotiation. He almost feels giddy as he follows Twain and James out of the building, walking in the direction of a long black car.

Their base is in one of the southern wards, he recognizes immediately. Sakae or Totsuka… maybe Kanazawa. It’s in a residential district, and there's a road sign to Kamakura, so he must be in Sakae or the southern part of Totsuka. His gaze flickers back over to the two escorting him, wondering why they wouldn’t have blindfolded him before leading him out of the building.

Maybe they think it doesn’t matter—they don’t intend on coming back to this base for whatever reason after their meeting with you, or maybe… Dazai’s gaze lingers on the side of Twain’s face, noting the way his jaw is tight and his eyes keep flickering around aimlessly. He looks over to James, seeing the larger man in a similar state.

“You’re nervous,” Dazai voices, still entirely too smug. When Twain doesn’t respond, only giving him a sharp side-eye, he realizes that his assumption was right, and it makes him even more amused. As he gets into the black car, he gives the man a simpering smile before saying, “Good, you should be.”

Fitzgerald is already in the car waiting for them. He’s so hyper-focused on his phone that he doesn’t even realize the three of them entered the car until Twain says something. Dazai should probably be paying attention to what they’re saying, but he finds himself dizzy over the thought of seeing you again. 

When the car starts moving, his heart starts racing. He doesn’t know where they’re meeting you, but it can’t possibly be more than a thirty minute drive and that means he’s thirty minutes from seeing you again after days—weeks, maybe—of isolation. He finds himself nervous, almost, because he doesn’t really know what to expect from you—are you mad at him for what happened? Do you still want to be with him? Dazai is unsure because he thinks that even if you did want nothing to do with him anymore, you’d still make sure to protect him if he got caught up in this.

He chews the inside of his cheek, doubt whittling away at his excitement; he’s only drawn back to the present when Fitzgerald responds to something that Twain says.

“I haven’t heard from Zelda today,” he murmurs, looking a bit unsure. “She usually calls when she wakes up in the morning.”

Zelda, Dazai notes the name down, recalling that Lucy had mentioned it too and thinking back to the comment Fitzgerald had made during the second conversation he had with him. I’ve only met one other… you remind me much of her. His gaze flickers down to the man’s left hand, seeing the gold wedding band sitting on his ring finger.

Fitzgerald notices Dazai’s lingering gaze and sighs before looking away, staring out the windshield as the driver continues down the road in the direction of Nishi-ku. After a few moments, he says quietly, “Zelda is my wife… All of this, it’s for her.”

His tone is solemn, eyes heavy as he stares ahead. Dazai tilts his head to the side as he studies the older man, curious. “All of this?” he asks dryly. “You kidnapped me because of your wife?”

Fitzgerald’s lips curve up into a resigned smile. “Yes,” he says. Dazai’s brows furrow, mind racing as he tries to put together the few puzzle pieces he’s been given. What does his endeavor in Yokohama and with the Port Mafia have anything to do with his wife? He’s missing something. “I’ve done terrible things in the name of love, I’ve gone well past the point of no return. I have to see things through now.”

“I would do terrible things for you, Dazai Osamu. I have done terrible things for you, and I would do them again and again and again.”

Dazai misses you. The reminder of your words from the beach house makes his body ache with longing. Yet, Fitzgerald’s words don’t settle well with Dazai. They make his skin crawl with nerves, itching uncomfortably beneath his bandages—he needs to replace them, he’s hadn’t had the chance to change them since the Guild kidnapped him. They’re all yellowed and grimy now, and they’re almost intolerable against his skin. He wants to go home. Wants to be with you. 

“What do you mean?” Dazai presses. “What does this have anything to do with your wife?”

Dazai figured that the Guild was just trying to expand into Japan and wanted their first foothold to be in Yokohama to unseat the Port Mafia as the reigning leaders of the Eastern Hemisphere’s underworld… but what would that have to do with his wife? It doesn’t make sense. There’s something he’s missing, something that runs deeper than just territorial conflicts. 

Before Fitzgerald can answer, Twain clears his throat, giving Dazai a suspicious look before speaking to his boss. “I’m sure Zelda is fine,” Twain says. “The nights have been getting longer and colder back home, she always gets more quiet when winter comes around.”

Any disposition Fitzgerald might’ve had to answer Dazai’s questions is gone as the man sighs and leans back in his chair. Dazai shoots Twain a dirty look, to which he receives an entirely too smug one. Bitter and irritated, he hopes that you humble the redhead severely in the meeting.

“You’re right,” Fitzgerald says more to himself than to anyone else. “I’ll see if J.D. can stop by the high-rise after this meeting, he offered to check in on her since he decided not to come along.”

Fitzgerald doesn’t seem inclined to continue any conversation at all. He looks out the window of the passenger seat and a tense silence falls over the car—Dazai is wildly uncomfortable between Twain and James. He can feel both of their thighs bumping against his with each turn the car takes and the forced physical contact makes all of this even more unbearable. 

The seconds feel like hours, the minutes feel like days. When the car finally pulls to a stop, Dazai is itching to claw past Twain so he can have fresh air and personal space. The other man takes far too long to open the door—Dazai thinks it’s on purpose from the way he gives him an entertained look. Dazai scowls at Twain and shoulders right past him, frustrated and antsy, and then-

And then he sees you.

Dazai’s breath catches when he steps out of the car, nearly tripping over his foot when he realizes that you’re standing outside of the teahouse. There are two people on either side of you, but he’s tunnel-visioned on you and you alone. The world could be burning around him and all he would be able to see was you.

You look beautiful. You always look beautiful, but you look especially beautiful now when he’s been deprived of the sight of you for so long. The sun is setting over the bay and Dazai thinks he could drown in the image of you, that he could die happy now that he’s seen you again. You’re dressed neatly in a suit and your expression is cold and closed off, but he can see the way your eyes soften as soon as he’s in sight and it makes his whole body warm with a comfort he’s been so awfully deprived of the past few weeks.

He loves you. He’s missed you. The apology that he’s been rehearsing every day since he was kidnapped threatens to burst from his lips along with everything he wished he said to you but thought he’d never have the chance to. He refrains, if only barely, because he knows now isn't the time for this, not in this setting, but he itches to be at your side, to feel your skin on his again. 

“Don’t try anything funny, yeah?” Twain says with an unkind smile as he nudges Dazai forward. He feels the muzzle of a gun pressed to his lower back, a silent threat for if he was thinking about running to your side.

Fitzgerald walks in front of the three of them, stopping at the bottom of the stairs you’re standing on—a power play, Dazai recognizes, you on a higher ground forcing them to crane their necks to look up at you. Now that Dazai is only partially dazzled by your appearance, he recognizes Nakahara Chuuya and Piano Man on either side of you. The three of you seem to be purposely blocking the entrance of the teahouse and don’t make any effort to move once Dazai and three members of the Guild start making their way to you.

“Do you intend for us to parley out in the open? I would’ve thought that the Port Mafia would appreciate discretion more than that,” Fitzgerald notes dryly.

“I’m afraid we will not be parleying under the current circumstances,” you sigh, and your voice. God, your voice is heavenly, he’s missed it desperately. “You send your… guest over to the car waiting right over there, and then we can talk.”

Hm? Dazai watches curiously, wondering what you’re playing at. There’s no way that the Guild will just hand over their leverage before going into a negotiation, even Dazai knows that much. He knows that you wouldn’t have called this meeting unless you got yourself on even footing with them, but even footing wouldn’t be enough to force Fitzgerald to hand his only advantage over to you. Unless… 

“Unfortunately, you’re in no position to be making demands,” Fitzgerald says with a thin smile. “Once we’ve come to an understanding, I’ll be happy to return your lover to you.”

Lover, Dazai thinks a bit dreamily as if he’s not currently a hostage.

You let out a soft laugh, but it’s not a kind one. Dazai snaps himself out of the borderline trance he was in because of how he was addressed when he hears it, gaze flickering back over to you. The smile on your face is small, but equally unkind, like you know something that Fitzgerald doesn’t. From the way Fitzgerald stiffens, he seems to realize that too.

“I fear that I’m the only one in any position to be making demands,” you say light-heartedly. Dazai watches as you slide something off of the ring finger of your left hand, brows furrowing as you hold up a ring between your thumb and pointer finger, showcasing it for Fitzgerald. “Beautiful ring, truly… You must really love her.”

You flick the ring toward them carelessly. Dazai watches as it bounces against the ground with a soft plink once, then twice, and then everything descends into chaos around him. 

His eyes widen as a gold glow emanates from around Fitzgerald—within a blink, he’s in front of you, Chuuya and Piano Man, fist raised as he threatens to land a devastating blow onto you. Dazai’s lips part in a cry that doesn’t even have the chance to escape his lips because Chuuya is instantly between the two of you, the Tainted Sorrow activated as he throws Fitzgerald back roughly into the road. 

The gun that had been pressed to Dazai’s back is now at his temple, and as Fitzgerald rises back to his feet, you raise your hands in mock surrender. 

“Careful now,” you say, an amused lilt to your tone. “We don’t want things to get violent before negotiations even start. Zelda is a lovely woman, I’d hate for something to happen to her.”

“Give me my wife back,” Fitzgerald says, voice strained, but he deactivates his ability, expression hard as he glares at you. “She has nothing to do with any of this. She-”

“Neither did he,” you interrupt, the easy tone replaced with a much colder one. “Let him go, and then you can come in and we can talk.”

The standstill that takes feels like an eternity. James and Twain stare at Fitzgerald, waiting for orders, and Fitzgerald stares at you, angry and frustrated. It’s almost odd seeing the suave and collected man that’s held him captive the past few days acting like a cornered animal. Dazai supposes he can’t blame him—if he’s done all of this for his wife only for you to now have her as a hostage… Dazai would pity him if he still wasn’t so bitter about the head wound and weeks of captivity. 

Finally, Fitzgerald nods. After a moment’s hesitation and with a conflicted expression, Twain drops the gun that’s pointed at his head. Fitzgerald is stiff as he makes his way forward, Twain and James a step behind him, leaving Dazai standing alone at the bottom of the steps of the teahouse.

You smile thinly as you step out of the way for them, letting them walk into the building. “Good choice,” you say quietly, mockingly because you know that he didn’t have another choice. 

Chuuya and Piano Man share a quick look with you before following the Guild members into the building, leaving you alone outside with him. Dazai stares up at you, all of his practiced words failing him, he wants to walk up the stairs to you but his legs are rooted to the ground. He doesn’t need to move though, because as soon as the doors shut behind them, you’re rushing down from your high ground to him.

Dazai nearly collapses into you as soon as he feels your arms around him. One arm curls around his shoulders, hand cradling the back of his head, and the other wraps around his waist to hold him steady when he leans his full body weight onto you. He has so much he wants to say to you, but he can’t even speak a single word—his breath is ragged and his nails bite into the back of your suit jacket, face pressed in the crook of your neck.

I’m sorry, he wants to say, I’m sorry for what I said, I’m sorry for running out on you, I’m sorry for putting you in this position, I’m-

“I’m sorry,” you say quietly. Your voice cracks over your words and Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows back a lump. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, voice muffled against your skin. His lashes flutter as his eyes slide shut, basking in the familiarity of your arms. For the first time in weeks, Dazai feels safe, he feels warm, he feels like he’s home. “I knew you would come.”

Your arms tighten around him and Dazai almost wants to ask you to skip the meeting with the Guild and come home with him. He doesn’t—mostly because he doesn’t think he has any grounds to ask you to do anything after everything that’s happened, but also because a part of him worries that you might agree to it and he knows this meeting is critical. 

When you pull away from him, Dazai barely bites back a protest but he can’t stop the way his face drops as soon as your arms drop from around him. You notice, a soft smile curling at your lips as you lift your hand to cup his cheek. Dazai leans into your touch, eyes lidded as he looks down at you.

“I shouldn’t have left,” Dazai whispers after a few moments. He’s always struggled with apologies, and even now, the words taste like ash in his mouth, but he forces them out. “I’ve caused you so much trouble, I-”

“No,” you say, shaking your head, not even letting him finish. “Don’t. I shouldn’t have let the argument escalate the way it did, I knew better. What happened isn’t your fault.”

Dazai begs to differ. Your words don’t ease his guilt, but he doesn’t want to argue with you about it, so he lets it drop. His eyes flutter shut again when you run your thumb along his cheekbone, fingers carding absently through the tips of his hair. He doesn’t want to leave you again, almost wants to ask if he could stay for the meeting, but again, he doesn’t.

“Atsushi and Kyouka are going to go back to the apartment with you,” you finally tell him what he’s been dreading, and he knows it’s only a matter of time before you send him off. “I won’t be long. I promise.”

Dazai lets out a heavy sigh, a bit more dramatic than he intended, and you give him a fond smile.

“I left some crab linguine in the microwave for you,” you add. Dazai lights up at the mention of his favorite food—he hasn't had crab since the night he was kidnapped by the Guild. “Go, the quicker I can get this over with, the quicker we can get home and curl up in bed together.”

Dazai makes a show of pouting and being unhappy, but he does step away from you in the direction of the car. He doesn’t get out of arm’s reach before he’s pausing and looking at you again, you raise your eyebrows, silently asking him what’s wrong.

“I love you,” he says very softly, almost like he’s hesitant. Not hesitant in his love for you, just hesitant voicing the words out loud when he knows how much the world likes to fuck with him. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it’s the first time he said it first.

You give him a small, adoring smile. “I love you too, Osamu.”

Dazai lingers for a few seconds longer before making his way over to the car. As his fingers curl around the handle of the door, he pauses and looks back at you, remembering something crucial that he’d been meaning to tell you, calling your name.

“Yeah?” you ask with a frown, looking a bit concerned.

“The Guild isn’t working alone,” he says. “Fitzgerald… he mentioned that he had allies, referred to them as rats that he didn’t trust not to be spying on conversations. He also knows what your ability is, one of your executives is feeding information to him and the Ivory Eagle.”

Your expression shifts into a more unreadable one, gaze shifting from him to look out at the horizon. “Rats, hm?” you say quietly, more to yourself than him. “That explains a lot, actually.”

Dazai isn’t sure what you mean by that, but he figures he’ll bother you for more information when he gets the chance later. He gets into the car with another quiet goodbye, hardly paying attention as Atsushi and Kyouka greet him. His eyes stay on you even as the car pulls away, and you don’t budge from your spot at the bottom of the steps until the car is out of sight.

Somehow, Dazai still has a looming feeling that he’s not out of the woods yet.

—

You enter the teahouse a few moments after the car disappears around the bend leading to the main street of Nishi-ku. The air is brisk and familiar, you’ve spent many days and nights at this teahouse dealing with business for the Mafia. It's your favorite place to bring adversaries for negotiations—the owners are always quick to accommodate you even for last minute meetings, and they’re pleasant enough company when you’re there early waiting for the other party. 

Despite having seen and held Dazai, you still somehow feel discouraged. There’s an unexplainable heaviness in your chest as you make your way into the private room in the back of the teahouse, closing the door quietly behind you.

Chuuya and Piano Man sit on either side of the empty chair left for you; Fitzgerald opposite you with his two lackeys on either side of him. An executive of the Family sits at the head of the negotiation table—originally, you wanted Tolstoy to oversee the negotiation, but you figured that Fitzgerald would be at ease with a more neutral party as the host, and two executives of the Family were already in Yokohama to meet with Piano Man. While the Family is definitely more aligned with the Port Mafia, they also have significant business endeavors in Guild territory, whereas the whole world knows that the Three Deaths and the Port Mafia are pretty much extensions of each other because of your relationship with Tolstoy.

The Family executive is a young woman—you recognize her vaguely, most of your meetings have been with Goldoni himself, but she usually follows along like a silent shadow. You think Goldoni has her set to take over as the next ‘Father’ after him. Regardless, as soon as you take your seat at the negotiation table, she looks at you, waiting for you to begin the discussions. 

A tactical advantage, one that you appreciate. 

“Now that-”

“Where is she?” Fitzgerald interrupts, knuckles white around the edge of the table. “Where is my wife?” 

The executive of the Family turns an unimpressed look onto Fitzgerald. What a fumble, you think, amused. Negotiations aren’t just political devices to create a space for peaceful conferences between rival factions, they’re also used as avenues that can make or break alliances. Disrespect the mediator of the negotiation and you might just find yourself on the outs of the entire organization—the mediator chooses who gives the first dialogue of the negotiation, you don’t ignore that unless you want to piss people off.

You raise your eyebrows at Fitzgerald. “I didn’t say I would give her back to you if you let him go. I said we would talk.”

Fitzgerald slams his hands against the table and rises to his feet. His two subordinates share a look with one another, and you feel Chuuya’s hand rest on your knee, ready to activate his ability at a moment’s notice if Fitzgerald tries to attack you.

“Give me my wife back,” Fitzgerald says, jaw tight and voice rough, clearly trying to restrain himself. “I let him go, so give me her back.”

Your lips curve up into a small smile, and then you say, “No.”

Chuuya doesn’t sigh, he knows better than to not show a united front at the negotiation table, but you know that even though he knows this is necessary, he doesn’t like it. Still, you find yourself enjoying it—what Fitzgerald is feeling right now, you’ve felt for almost two weeks. You’ve never claimed to not be vindictive. 

Your smile widens a bit when Fitzgerald stares at you, expression entirely unreadable. You raise your hands up casually as you shrug, finding the whole situation entertaining. 

“Why would I do that?” you ask, amusement clear in your tone. “I never would’ve given Dazai up in your position. Much less without even getting a promise out of me to get your own hostage freed. That’s crazy.”

You almost expect Fitzgerald to launch himself right at you, no ability activated, just throwing hands, but after what feels like an eternity, he sits back down, back rigid and teeth grinding together. 

“What do you want then?” Fitzgerald asks, his voice is still strained but he’s calmer now.

“Why are you in Yokohama?” Instead of telling him what you want, you hit him with a question yourself, watching him carefully. Now that he’s calmer, your ability starts to go to work—not nearly enough to override how on edge he is because of the situation with his wife, but enough for you to work with. “We both know this isn’t about territory, Fitzgerald-san. Let’s start this off right; tell me what you’re really here for, and maybe we can come to an understanding.”

Fitzgerald’s subordinates share a look with one another, and Fitzgerald himself does not seem keen on answering your question. Interesting, you think, what’s so important that it makes him hesitate even under these circumstances? This is something big, it has to be, especially if Dazai heard correctly and Dostoevsky is involved—that man only ever gets involved with conflicts that have high stakes that he knows he can win, and that doesn’t bode well for you. 

“It is about territory to some extent,” Fitzgerald finally says, resigned. When you narrow your eyes, he shakes his head and continues. “We’re looking for something here in Yokohama. So yes, we were trying to get a foothold in the city so we would have an easier time looking.”

What?

You can feel both Piano Man and Chuuya give you a sharp look, but you keep your gaze trained on Fitzgerald. Your mind races trying to figure out what he means by this, but you just don’t have enough pieces to put the puzzle together. You need to press for more. 

“Looking for what?” you ask coolly.

Fitzgerald stares at you, lips pressed together, expression cold and conflicted. You stare right back, unrelenting. After a few moments, he shakes his head and says, “A book.”

“A book?” you echo. 

“A book,” Fitzgerald confirms. “A reality altering book.”

“What?” Piano Man asks sharply, unable to help himself. You give him a look from the corner of your eye—only the two people sitting in the central seats are supposed to speak during negotiations, but you honestly can’t blame him, because you don’t fully understand what Fitzgerald just said to you.

“What do you mean?” you ask slowly. “A reality altering book here in Yokohama? Where did you hear this from? How do you know it’s real?” 

“Fyodor Dostoevsky of the House of the Dead-” You almost roll your eyes. Of course, it’s him. You’re glad you decided to go with the route you did now. “-approached me about it. It’s something that I simply can’t let pass me by… my daughter…”

Fitzgerald’s face twists in pain; you almost feel bad for everything you’ve done with Zelda. Almost. His two subordinates—Twain and James—lower their gaze to the table, frowning. After a few moments of silence, and carefully constructing a question to figure out if this ‘reality altering book’ might be real’, you speak again.

“And how do you know this book is real? I know enough about you to know you wouldn’t start a full blown war over what could just be a wild goose hunt, what makes you think this thing actually exists?” 

“James was with me when I spoke to Dostoevsky, his ability allows him to decipher whether or not someone is lying. More than that, I’ve seen the Book at work,” Fitzgerald says. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise at his words, more so at the fact that he doesn’t seem to be lying. “Dostoevsky… he has one page of this Book. To prove its ability, and to secure an alliance with the Order of the Clocktower and the Guild, he used a section of it. The Book is real, I was promised a page of it to bring my daughter back if I helped Dostoevsky retrieve it.”

What the fuck. 

You stare at Fitzgerald, careful to keep any emotion off your face even though you’re full of turmoil on the inside. If there’s even a chance that Fitzgerald is telling the truth and there’s now a reality altering Book at play, and not only that, if Dostoevsky already has a page of it, that changes everything. There’s no telling what has or has not been altered, the entire truth of this reality is at question. How much damage could be done with a single page? How does it work? There’s too many variables. 

It might not even be real, you think, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Dostoevsky is notoriously manipulative, there’s always a chance that he manufactured the existence of this book to get Fitzgerald and Christie to do his dirty work. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s pulled something like that—he could’ve used someone else’s ability to make it seem like the page of the Book altered reality to ‘prove it’ to the two other leaders… but somehow you have a feeling that might not be the case. 

“What does the Book have to do with the weretiger you put the bounty on?” you ask. 

You’re starting to feel a bit anxious—this is way more than you anticipated, and there’s so many bad implications that you almost feel overwhelmed, but now’s not the time to let it get to you. You need to focus, you can’t afford to shut down. You need to understand what’s happening before finishing up this negotiation, especially now that Fyodor Dostoevsky and Agatha Christie are seemingly involved. 

“We were told that the weretiger is essential in finding the Book,” Fitzgerald says after a few moments. “I wasn’t told more than that. I intended on getting my hands on him to figure out why.”

Atsushi doesn’t know anything about this Book. The first thing you did when you got ahold of him was interrogate him for any reason the Guild might’ve put so high of a bounty on his head. Your mind drifts back to Dazai’s theory—that maybe the tiger is a separate consciousness, maybe the tiger knows something about the Book, but you’re not going to voice your theories now. You’ll talk about it with Chuuya and Piano Man later.

“I see,” you say with a thin smile. “How enlightening.”

“Where’s my wife?” Fitzgerald asks again. “I told you everything you want, I-”

“I didn’t promise to give you your wife back if you answered my questions,” you tell him dryly, tone a bit mocking. “That’s twice now. You’d think you would learn.”

You almost commend Fitzgerald for not instantly snapping at you. He stares at you, expression tight and voice strained as he speaks, “Tell me what you want for my wife. Enough of this.”

You watch him listlessly for a few moments, trying to decide if there’s any more pressing information that you should get for him. You’ll have a chance later, but you need to figure out if there’s anything more that might affect the plan you’ve concocted with Tolstoy and Repin. You don’t think there is, and you have to be careful with what you say anyway considering the human lie detector is sitting right next to Fitzgerald, so after a hesitation that lasts too long for Fitzgerald’s comfort, you finally give him your answer.

“How many of your subordinates are aware of Dazai’s existence?”

“Just the three of us,” Fitzgerald replies. Your eyes narrow, so he continues, “I didn’t want it to get out to Dostoevsky. I was worried he would capitalize on the situation before I could. These two were only made aware because they were the ones I had bring him in.”

“Is that so?” you ask coolly. “And which one was the one that left the massive bruise on the side of his face?” 

You don’t get a response, you don’t expect to, but you do catch the way that both glance at the man sitting on the left—Henry James. Your gaze slides from the man over to the far right corner where Akutagawa is standing; Klaus is in the far left one, but Akutagawa will be more brutal if you let him off his leash for this, and you want him to suffer. The boy catches your gaze and gives an imperceptible nod, acknowledging your silent request.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say even though you’ve gotten your answer. “I’ll release Zelda to you, but there’s one non-negotiable condition to it.”

“Tell me it,” Fitzgerald demands. “I’ll do it.”

You lean back in your seat, tilting your head to the side as you study him for a moment, and then you tell him, “You’ll meet with a friend of mine. He has an ability that allows him to alter memories. All memories of Dazai will be removed.”

The room goes silent at once. The redhead, Twain, stiffens in his seat and casts a justifiably wary look toward Fitzgerald who looks caught off guard by the request. You imagine that he probably assumed you would demand he stops working with Dostoevsky and leaves Yokohama. You don’t need to demand that, because that will come as soon as Repin does his job… but Fitzgerald doesn’t know that, of course. 

“How do I know you won’t mess with other things in my head? That you’ll only remove those memories?” Fitzgerald asks tightly.

Originally, you planned on lying and telling him that Repin’s ability didn’t have the power to do anything more than memory removal, but you can’t do that with Henry James sitting next to Fitzgerald, so you're forced to pivot.

You shrug and say, “You’ll have to trust me not to.”

Fitzgerald stares at you, and it feels like hours even though it’s only been a few passing seconds, but when he speaks, you feel as though you’ve won. 

“Fine,” Fitzgerald agrees, expression pinched and conflicted, swallowing thickly. “Fine.”

Your lips curve up into a small smile when you realize he’s decided to trust you—not that there was much of a choice for him if he ever wanted to see his wife again. 

“Good,” you say softly.

Still, a fatal mistake. 

—

“So… uh,” a white-haired boy says awkwardly as soon as Dazai settles in the car next to him. A girl with black hair dressed in a red kimono sits on the other side of him, back stiff and expression eerily blank as she watches Dazai—she doesn’t blink, hardly breathes, Dazai is almost unnerved. “Don’t mind Kyouka. She takes our missions… really seriously, and you’re our mission right now, so…”

“I’m your mission?” Dazai asks dryly, sighing as he rests his head against the head rest, careful to not touch either of the teens sitting next to him. God, he’s tired of being around people, he just wants to curl up in bed. Preferably with you. 

“Mhm.” He nods his head a bit too enthusiastically. “Boss told us to make sure you get to her apartment. We’re gonna stay with you until she gets there.”

Great, Dazai thinks, a little bitter over it.

Evidently, it shows on his face because the boy cringes in on himself and says, “We’ll leave you be, I’m sure you’ve had an, uh, exhausting past two weeks. You won’t even know we’re there. Promise.”

Dazai side eyes him, noticing the way the boy stares ahead embarrassed as if contemplating all of the words he just spoke. He looks… normal for the most part—not like the girl sitting on Dazai’s other side, definitely not like that emo Akutagawa that trails after you like a lost dog, and certainly not like that unhinged brat Klaus who follows you around.

“What’s your name?” Dazai asks for a few moments, sparing the kid from his own thoughts. The kid looks at him startled as if he didn’t expect Dazai to willingly speak to him. “Well?”

“Ah-” he splutters out and then smiles a bit. “I’m Nakajima Atsushi. Just Atsushi is fine though. It’s nice to finally meet you, y’know, without the others around.” 

He lets out an awkward laugh and Dazai recalls the last time he saw the boy—he was with the other two outside of your building when Dazai first got the blackmail on you. Of the three of them, he seemed the most nervous. He’s met both Klaus and Akutagawa since then, unfortunately, but never him.

“That’s Kyouka-chan, by the way. She’s not much for conversation, but she’s great. I would’ve introduced myself sooner, but the first time we met wasn’t exactly the best situation, and boss has me training all the time to try to learn better control over my ability, and Kyouka’s always on missions for Kouyou-san so you probably haven’t met her yet.”

Dazai nods, although he’s not fully paying attention. “What’s your ability?” he asks absently, wishing he was sitting at the window so he could at least distract himself with the passing buildings. 

“I can, uh, turn into a tiger. I can’t control when though,” Atsushi explains, tossing Dazai a sheepish smile. “That’s why I’m always training. I need to be able to control it without relying on boss or, uh, the collar.”

“You’re the weretiger,” Dazai realizes, glancing at Atsushi and then down to the collar around his neck. He can’t tell from first glance what exactly it does, but before he can figure it out, the boy is speaking again.

“She’s mentioned me?” Atsushi leans forward, eyes wide. “What did she say? Did she say anything about how my training is going? She’s been so busy, I haven’t really been able to get any feedback from her, but I’ve made some progress with controlling my transformations… Kind of.”

“Uh,” Dazai says smartly. Weak-hearted, too soft, not fit for the Mafia. Atsushi's smile starts to drop, so Dazai quickly adds, “Yeah, she has. She’s noticed all of the work you’ve been doing. She’s impressed.”

Atsushi frowns and side eyes Dazai. “She’s never impressed with anything. You don’t need to lie.”

Dazai grimaces and decides not to argue. Instead, he asks, “How did you end up with the Port Mafia?”

“Oh, ah… it’s a long story,” Atsushi says, laughing awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck. “I lived at an orphanage, but I got kicked out because there wasn’t enough food. Or well, actually it was probably because I was attacking people when I turned into a tiger at night. But it was for the best anyway! And, well, I ended up here in Yokohama, and I guess at night when I transformed, I started attacking Port Mafia warehouses. So boss sent Klaus and Akutagawa to, uh, kill me, I guess. Or capture me, maybe, for the bounty. I’m not sure now that I think about it; it felt like they wanted to kill me, but they’re both also always trying to kill everything, it’s just their natural state. But I wasn’t tiger-me when they got there, I was me-me, so they brought me back to her… um, and then I talked to her for a bit and she told me about the bounty, and then she fought the other executives to not hand me over to the Guild, and now I’m here.”

Dazai stares at Atsushi. “Wow,” he replies blandly. “Quite the story.” 

Atsushi flushes. “You asked,” he accuses, scowling at Dazai and looking away.

“Yes, very narrative, ten out of ten story-telling skills,” Dazai says with a simpering smile. He notices the stone-faced Kyouka’s lips curl up as she looks out the window, as if trying to hide it, so he considers it a win, even if Atsushi gives him an outraged look. “What?”

“We can’t all be literature majors, some of us spent our entire lives in an orphanage only to be kidnapped by the Mafia as soon as we got out,” Atsushi hisses, face still pink as he pointedly looks away from Dazai. 

“Actually, I’m a creative writing and classics double major if we’re being specific,” Dazai corrects with a sweet smile. “... How did you even know that?” 

Atsushi clicks his tongue and side-eyes Dazai. “Aren’t you supposed to be smart?” Dazai squints at Atsushi, a bit insulted. “Where do you think I heard it from?”

You, Dazai realizes, lips curling up a little instinctively. He wonders how much you talk about him—Atsushi isn’t the first to throw in his face that he’s supposed to be smart. Klaus did when he first met Dazai outside your building, Chuuya has too. He imagines you must brag about him, and it makes Dazai’s chest feel warm and bubbly because he’s never had someone brag about him before. Never.

“You make her happy, y’know,” Atsushi says quietly. He’s not looking at Dazai, opting to stare out the window instead. “She’s… not as… Forget it. I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“You can’t just say that,” Dazai complains, interested in knowing what Atsushi was about to say about you, but the boy seals his lips shut and stares out the window. Dazai rolls his eyes.

“Hime is not as cruel as she pretends to be,” Dazai startles at the voice of a young girl, almost forgetting that Kyouka is on his opposite side. “She looks out for everyone, but doesn’t let anyone look out for her. Acts like she doesn’t care so no one cares about her, but she does. A lot. Ane-san worries about her, I can tell.”

Atsushi nods. “When she found out everything that… happened at the orphanage, she had the whole staff removed and replaced them. Made sure what happened to me didn’t happen to anyone else,” he says quietly, an indecipherable look in his eyes. Dazai isn’t sure what happened at the orphanage, but he doubts it was anything good. 

“Hime and Ane-san helped me figure out the truth of what happened to my parents,” Kyouka agrees softly. “Ane-san couldn’t have gotten the files without her help.”

“And she’s done stuff for Klaus and Akutagawa too,” Atsushi adds, “but she won’t let anyone else help her with anything. Not me, not Klaus or Akutagawa. Hardly even Executive Nakahara. She relies on you though, I think a lot more than she realizes… she’s not been good the past few weeks.”

Dazai’s expression drops, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor of the car. He’s wondered while he’s been captured how you might be doing. When he got really in his head, he imagined that you were doing perfectly fine without him, didn’t even care that he was gone. He thinks maybe he would’ve preferred that than to know that you haven’t been doing well, he doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like that you were hurting because of him and his stupid decisions.

He’ll just have to make it up to you, he decides. He’ll make it up to you once everything has calmed down. But how? He can’t buy you nice things like you do for him because he’s broke. If he tries to take you out somewhere to eat (not that he can even afford it), you wouldn’t let him pay the bill. Maybe… maybe he could show you what he’s been working on for his poetry workshop.

His face flames up at the thought, pushing it away immediately.

No, he’ll think of something else.

“Why is your face all red?” Kyouka suddenly asks, eyes sharp as she stares at him. “Are you ill? Did they poison you before releasing you? Look at me, I can call Doc-”

“I’m fine,” Dazai bristles, flustered. “I’m fine, I’m not sick.”

Kyouka looks unconvinced, reaching forward to try to press her hand to Dazai’s forehead. Dazai leans back, almost into Atsushi, who yelps and worms away from him.

“Stop that,” he hisses, grateful when the car rolls to a stop in front of the familiar sight of your building. Dazai is climbing over a protesting Atsushi and pushing open the door before the car has even fully stopped. “Thank god.”

He almost trips and falls, foot catching on Atsushi’s leg as he stumbles out of the car. He ignores Atsushi and Kyouka rushing to scramble after him as he rushes into the building. He’s too eager to be back in your apartment, he has every intention of getting up there and locking himself in your bedroom until you get back. 

He’s home free now, nothing else matters.

He’s home.

Home.

It’s almost too surreal for him to believe. He’d just about come to terms with the fact that he was never going to see you again, that his fate was in that cold and ugly room the Guild had him trapped in, but now he’s moments away from being back in the familiarity of your apartment. 

Moments away from being home. 

In a few hours, when you’re back, he’ll be able to curl up in your arm, he’ll be able to hear your voice, he’ll be able to be with you. He just wants to be with you. And he will be. Soon, he-

Dazai freezes when he takes a few steps into the lobby of your building and feels the muzzle of a gun press to his lower back. His eyes widen and he hears Atsushi and Kyouka skid to a stop a few steps behind him. He swallows thickly, realizing while he’d been lost in thought, he’d also lost track of his surroundings. 

There’s a group of unfamiliar people in the lobby of your building, all armed and all wearing strange collars around their necks. Not like the one Atsushi wears, these ones are large metal ones with a gem implanted in the middle. Your doorman, an older man named Hinata who Dazai has become acquainted with over the past two months, lays dead on top of his desk, hand still reaching out for his phone. 

“Who-”

“Shhh,” an equally unfamiliar voice says dismissively. It’s nasally and grating to the ears, Dazai already knows this man is going to be a piece of work. “Don’t speak, I want to get this done and over with.”

“Ace,” Atsushi shouts angrily. “What the hell are you doing? Get away from him.”

“No can do, weretiger,” the same man, Ace, drawls. “On orders from the Boss. I suggest you step out of the way, I was told he needed to be alive… but anyone that tried… well, you see what happened to old man Hinata over here. Never liked him, thought because he answered directly to our precious hime that he was something special. He wasn’t. Neither are the two of you, so get out of the way so I can complete my mission, yeah? Yeah. Good.”

Atsushi and Kyouka don’t verbally respond, but they don’t need to. Kyouka seemingly responds well enough from the sound of her katana being drawn, Dazai wants to turn around to look, but the gun against his lower back stops him. He’s so frustrated that he almost wants to cry, of course things couldn’t be this easy. He should’ve known better.

Ace clicks his tongue and Dazai still can’t see him, but he can tell just from the mocking tone he uses that the man must have a really punchable face. “Careful, Kyouka-chan, you won’t be the only one getting in trouble for going against the boss’s direct orders. Little hime and Kouyou-san will face the consequences for your disobedience too. You don’t want that, do you?” 

“Kyouka-chan, it’s okay,” Dazai says, voice deceptively even. “It’s okay.”

It’s definitely not okay, but if they’re not going to kill Dazai on the spot, then he can safely assume that they want something from him. That means he’ll have time to stall. Enough time for you to finish up the negotiations and get here. 

“But-”

“You heard it from the man himself,” Ace sings, forcing Dazai to turn around to walk right back the way he came. “Swords down and claws away, kids, and step over to the side so my men can make sure you don’t go and let our shining star know what’s happening too early, alright? Let’s give her time to handle things with the Guild so we don’t have to worry about those irritating Americans anymore.”

Dazai was right. Ace’s face is extremely punchable, and his hands twitch at his side when the man has the nerve to give Dazai a very smug smirk. 

“I’ve been waiting for someone to knock that girl off her high horse for a long time. Longer than you can imagine,” he says wistfully. “I’m so glad I get to be the one to do it. Get moving.”

“She’s gonna kill you,” Dazai says quietly.

“And disobey a direct order from the Boss?” Ace mocks. “You must not know her as well as you thought you did. She’s like a loyal hound to that man. A real bitch if I do say so myself.”

Dazai’s body moves before he actually processes the words, arm shooting out and fist cracking against the man’s jaw hard. Dazai is almost proud of himself as he watches Ace crumple to the ground, groaning, realizing that even after all of this time, he can at least somewhat remember the self-defense lessons that Odasaku forced Dazai to take part in. Though he doesn’t have much time to bask in his pride, because for the second time in less than a month, his head is bashed in by a baton and he crumples to the ground hard.

Shit, he thinks, pain coursing through him as his vision starts to go black. This is bad. This is-

—

“Is it done?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Repin says, holding up his hand as he swiftly walks past you. “I have paintings to create. Too many memories are flooding my head right now, if I have to see that moron you call a boyfriend for longer than I have to, I will gouge my eyes out.”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Don’t forget our deal,” Repin shouts as he leaves the room. “I’ll be cashing in on it. Those additions you asked for were not easy work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say dismissively. “Go do what you need to do.”

Chuuya looks concerned. “Deal?” he demands. “What deal?”

“Don’t worry about it,” you sigh, shaking your head and turning your gaze back to the one-way glass showing the room that Twain and Fitzgerald are sitting in.

The two are chatting with one another, oblivious to what just happened to them. Repin told you to give it a few minutes before going in, let their brain adjust to the new memories he implanted, but you’re impatient. You want to finish things up here so you can get to Dazai. You miss him desperately already—the few seconds you were able to hold him in your arms were simply not enough. Each passing minute without him now is agonizing.

Before you can spiral deeper into your thoughts, the doors to the room behind you open. Akutagawa and Klaus step into the room—an impassive look on the former’s face, as if his coat isn’t dripping blood onto the ground beneath him, and the latter has a wild smile on his face and an even wilder look in his eyes. Akutagawa evidently allowed the other boy to partake in the bloodshed considering Klaus’s face is smeared with an equally disturbing amount of blood.

“It has been done,” Akutagawa announces, raising his chin. “Henry James was killed.”

“Really fucking brutally too,” Klaus interjects with a laugh that almost disconcerts you. “Wanna come see?”

“No,” you say flatly. “Call the clean up crews.”

Klaus visibly pouts at your words, but Akutagawa nods and pulls out his phone, taking a step away. You turn your attention back to the room, lips pressed together. It’s… odd almost—Fitzgerald and Twain talk casually, not knowing that the negotiation that took place between the two of you even happened, not knowing that 

Not odd—scary. 

You’ve encountered all types of abilities before. Chuuya and Akutagawa have two of the most lethal abilities you’ve ever come across. Klaus’s ability has always disconcerted you with the way it takes and takes and takes from the boy, knowing that someday it would consume him entirely. There was a child you once met with an ability kind of like yours—a type of mental manipulation triggered by physical harm to the user that ravaged the human psyche with hallucinations; they couldn’t control their ability, couldn’t even stop it at their own will, so you had to have them killed. Ayatsuji Yukito, the notorious Homicide Detective that the Special Division has recently leashed, concerns you because the man could kill just about everyone you care about with minimal effort if he’s ever brought into Yokohama to investigate the Port Mafia.

But this is different. Repin’s ability alters the mind so fundamentally that you don’t even know your mind has been altered. That scares you. It scares you almost as much as the prospect of that reality altering book Fitzgerald mentioned. The idea that one person could completely manufacture your perceived reality and you’d have no idea…

It scares you.

“What’s wrong?” Chuuya asks quietly as Akutagawa and Klaus leave the room to direct the cleaning crew to wherever they butchered Henry James. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head. “Just want to be back at my apartment.”

“Soon,” Chuuya tells you, nudging your shoulder. “You wanna go in and talk to them now?”

“You think it’s been long enough?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya says. “Go for it. I’m gonna head up to the conference room. Mori wants to see us after you’re done here.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to see Osamu first,” you mutter. “I need to make sure he’s okay before…”

Before getting back into all of this bullshit. You just need to spend ten minutes with him before doing anything else. Ten minutes. Even though he’s back, and you know he’s safe, you watched him get into the car with Kyouka and Atsushi… you’re still on edge. You don’t know why, but you’re still on edge.

Chuuya nods. “I’ll cover for you,” he promises. “Now go finish things here.”

You don’t say anything else, sighing as you make your way over to the door. You wrap your fingers around the door handle, pausing for a second to collect your thoughts. You already know what you’re going to say—you’ve scripted it out, rehearsed it a hundred times. You’ve gone over information with Repin dozens of times to make sure everything is ironed out. 

You know what you’re going to say, you just have to say it, and then you can go see Dazai.

With that thought in mind, you push open the door to the room where the two Guild members are waiting for, making sure the smile on your face is warm and inviting while amping up your ability just enough for it to have a physical effect on them. The tenseness in their shoulders eases, and Fitzgerald rises to his feet with a small smile. 

“Ah, Miss Mori-” God, being called that makes your skin crawl. You can’t remember the last time someone actually referred to you that way—you even prefer hime to it. You have to make an effort to not let the irritation show on your face as Fitzgerald continues speaking, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Fitzgerald-san,” you greet lightly, holding your hand out to him. He shakes it firmly and you add, “I wish it didn’t have to be under the circumstances.”

Fitzgerald grimaces as he nods and takes a step back. “Yes,” he agrees, voice low. “My wife. You have her?” 

“I do,” you tell him, taking a seat next to him. “She’s… not doing well.” 

This is a more casual setting, a sitting room in one of the central building’s higher levels—a few couches set up in the center of the room around a coffee table, a window overlooking the city and a bar on the opposite side of the room. Twain lounges back in one of the armchairs in the corner of the room by the window while Fitzgerald sits closer to you. You chose this setting on purpose: it’s more intimate, less official than a negotiation room. 

More like a meeting between friends than enemies, which is exactly what this has become with Repin’s meddling. 

Fitzgerald sighs and looks away, lashes fluttering. “I feared that would be the case,” he murmurs. “How bad is it?”

You give him a small, sympathetic smile as an answer and Fitzgerald inhales sharply, rubbing his hand across his lower face, forehead creased in worry. 

“I should’ve known better than to deal with Dostoevsky,” he sighs, despondence lacing his tone. “I was warned, but…”

“Many have made the mistake of falling for his charms,” you say quietly. “You can’t blame yourself.”

Good, you start to become a bit more comfortable. Repin pulled through. If all went according to plan, Fitzgerald should believe that Dostoevsky was the one to have Zelda kidnapped, and the Port Mafia was able to intercept. You’ve spent the past few hours tying up all the loose ends—Tolstoy handled the security cameras in New York, you the ones here in Yokohama, there’s no physical evidence left of Tolstoy’s involvement in Zelda’s kidnapping and you’ve ensured rumors have already started spreading about Fitzgerald reneging on his alliance with Dostoevsky and Christie by withholding information. You don’t need to whisper anything else, the entire world knows that Fyodor Dostoevsky does not take treachery lightly, the assumptions will be made on their own. 

“I can when my wife is on the line because of it,” Fitzgerald snaps, and then lets out another heavy breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m just frustrated with myself.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him easily. “I understand.”

“Can I see her?” Fitzgerald finally asks hesitantly. “Or is she…”

You make sure the expression on your face is contemplative, a bit concerned and then say, “You can, but I don’t know if it will go well… Dostoevsky… he did a lot of damage to her psyche with the stories he was telling her. I’ve hardly been able to make any progress with her, I’ve only been able to convince her that I’m a friend.”

Fitzgerald grimaces and looks away. While he decides what to say, you contemplate your next move. You have Lippmann ready to bring Zelda into the room; you know that she won’t take the sight of Francis kindly, you’ve ensured that much. Zelda Fitzgerald’s mind has been all but shattered even without the use of your ability. But if Fitzgerald insists on taking her with him, which there’s a good chance he will, you’ll lose some very critical leverage over the Guild. If Fitzgerald ever manages to unravel the memories Repin has woven into his mind, it’ll leave the Port Mafia vulnerable to a full blown war with the Guild without a hostage in hand. 

You really don’t want to lose Zelda.

But… maybe you can still make this work. 

“I want to see her,” Fitzgerald says after a few moments. “Please.”

You nod and glance down at your phone to shoot a text to Lippmann. You’ll only have a few seconds before he walks through the door with Zelda, but you’ll have to figure out your exact approach once you see how visceral her reaction is to Fitzgerald. Though you know it'll be bad, if it’s not bad enough, you won’t be able to convince Fitzgerald that she needs your help. 

The door to the room cracks open and Fitzgerald is on his feet in a second, holding his breath as Lippmann steps in, holding the door open for the fragile woman. His blue eyes are glittering with amusement as he catches your gaze, and you find yourself relaxing, realizing he must’ve been able to get her worked up before leading her in here.

You lean back in your seat, folding your hands in your lap, settling in to watch the show about to unfold. 

It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for it to begin.

Zelda freezes in the door frame as soon as her eyes fall on Fitzgerald. You watch the way her breath catches, the way her eyes widen and the way her pupils dilate. She mouths the word ‘no’ before speaking it, shaking her head slowly.

“Honey,” Fitzgerald whispers, taking a step forward, but Zelda takes a step back as soon as he does. “Honey.”

“Stay away from me.” Zelda’s voice breaks over the words, lips visibly trembling as she presses her back against the door frame. She looks like she’s on the verge of fleeing, but Albatross’s sudden presence in the door stops her. “Stay away. You lied to me. You lied. Frances… our daughter, my daughter, you…”

“What?” Fitzgerald breathes out, brows furrowing in confusion. “Zelda, honey, what are you talking about? I don’t-”

“You lied,” Zelda cries, voice rising. “You lied to me. You took my daughter from me, get him away from me, get him away! I don’t want to see him, I don’t-”

Zelda is hyperventilating, hardly breathing properly, eyes wide, wet and watery. You nod at Lippmann, and the man leads her out of the room. It’s quiet once she’s gone—your gaze sweeps across the room, Twain looks sick from where he’s sitting stiffly in the chair he’d been lounging in and Fitzgerald, the powerful leader of the Guild, looks crushed, ashen as he takes a shaky step backward to sit back down.

To his credit, he still tries to keep himself put together. You can tell from the way his breaths are robotically even and his fingers are trembling in his lap. You watch him for a few seconds before reaching out to place your hand on his shoulder.

“I’ve been trying to help her,” you say, carefully choosing your words. “I’ve been told you know what my ability is, is that true?”

You know that it is, you were careful to make sure that Repin didn’t disturb any of those memories. You figured it could help you in convincing him to let you keep Zelda if he thought you could undo the damage ‘Dostoevsky’ had done. 

“I don’t want you messing with my wife’s head,” Fitzgerald spits out. “That Russian bastard has done enough damage.”

“Of course not,” you agree amiably. “That’s not what I mean. I can use my ability to keep people at ease. Every other hour she’s going into violent fits of hysteria… tries hurting herself, I-”

Fitzgerald lets out a sharp breath, looking away. “What did he tell her?” he asks, voice wavering. “She mentioned Frances. I-”

“From what I was able to gather, she seems to think your daughter is alive and you helped her… escape to a foreign country to live out her life away from Zelda,” you say, watching Fitzgerald’s face twist in distress and frustration as he buries his face in his hands. “I can release her to you, if that’s what you want, but-”

“You can help her?” Fitzgerald demands, looking at you. His eyes are red and glassy but his face is tight. He seems to be doing his best to not fall apart until you’re gone, but his self control is wavering the more he hears about Zelda. 

“... I can.”

“How?” he asks. “How will you do it?”

Here’s your chance. You can’t mess it up.

“When Zelda is having those… hysterical fits, she’s impossible to reason with and can’t settle down on her own. I’ve only been using my ability to calm her down so I can speak with her. It’s taking a lot of time, but since I’ve managed to convince her that I’m a friend, I think I’ll be able to make progress in convincing her that Dostoevsky's lies were just that—lies. It’ll be… tenuous, definitely won’t be a smooth path, but I think, with time, I’ll be able to do it.”

“Will there be any side effects to you using your ability to calm her down?” he questions, watching you carefully.

“Nothing major,” you say honestly. “In the future, she’ll probably feel instinctually more relaxed around me—her brain will just associate me with being at ease, so even if I’m not actively using my ability, it’ll still reflect that way, but no lasting effects.”

After an agonizing few seconds, Fitzgerald nods. 

“Help her. Please,” he says, voice raspy. “When Dostoevsky comes to Yokohama, you’ll have the Guild’s support in dealing with him. I swear it. Just help my wife.”

Wow, you think, almost unnerved by how well this worked out. You have Dazai back, you managed to keep Zelda, and you turned the Guild against Dostoevsky. You can’t help but feel like there’s going to be some sort of catch, or that it’s going to backfire. It would track considering how poor your luck has recently been. But for now, you roll with it and hope for the best. You'll start preparing for the worst after you’ve been able to spend a few days with Dazai. 

“I’ll do everything I can for her,” you say, rising to your feet and giving Fitzgerald a small smile. “You can stay here for as long as you need. I’ll have one of my men wait outside to escort you back to the lobby when you’re ready.”

Fitzgerald thanks you, and you finally turn to leave, ready to see Dazai. You just need fifteen minutes with him before you go off to your meeting with the other executives. You need to see him, hold him, talk to him. Need to make sure this isn’t all some cruel, elaborate trick your mind has played on you before heading into another exhausting meeting. 

Klaus, Akutagawa and Albatross are waiting outside for you. Albatross parts his lips to speak but you shake your head, not wanting to risk saying anything until you’re well out of ear shot of this room, just in case. They follow you to the elevator, and it’s only once the doors close that Albatross bursts into laughter.

“You’re one evil bitch,” Albatross snickers. “Fucking that woman’s head up just to play the hero? That’s messed up even for you, doll. I don’t know how you sleep at night.”

Your lips curl up into a smile as you toss a wink at Albatross. “I’ll sleep just fine tonight with Dazai in my bed.”

“Gross,” Albatross complains, rolling his eyes. “No, but really. This was one big play—less than two hours and we’ve managed to totally turn the tables. Crazy. What exactly did you have Repin do besides remove their memories of your boy?” 

“Before Dazai went back to my apartment, he told me that the Guild was working with Dostoevsky,” you explain as the elevator gets to the lobby. Albatross walks at your side, Klaus and Akutagawa trailing behind the two of you as you make your way out of the building to walk across the property to your building. “I already intended on using Dostoevsky and Nabokov as scapegoats, but this made it a lot easier. Fitzgerald was withholding information from him-”

“Everyone knows that bastard doesn’t let disloyalty slide,” Albatross grins sharply. “Of course he’d retaliate.”

“Exactly,” you agree. “I had Repin twist the situation. Made them believe that Dostoevsky was the one that had Zelda kidnapped, but we were able to intercept. Only Tolstoy’s executives, our executives, and my direct subordinates know the truth. Tolstoy handled CCTV in the States, we handled the ones here. If Dostoevsky tries to convince Fitzgerald that it’s not true, there’s no proof—only he said, she said—and even if he does…”

“We still have Zelda,” Albatross finishes with a sharp grin. “Evil. I can’t believe we managed to come out of that with your boy back, the Guild on our side, and the hostage still in our custody. God, I love you. You can be fucking terrifying sometimes, y’know that?” 

Your lips part to make a quip back at him as you push open the doors to your building, but the words die on your tongue as your gaze lands on what’s awaiting for you in the lobby. The first thing you see is your doorman slumped over the desk, blood dripping over the side and pooling on the ground in front of it. The next thing you see is Kyouka and Atsushi, both unconscious, needles discarded carelessly on the ground next to them.

You don’t see Dazai.

“What the fuck,” Albatross breathes out, pulling out his gun and shifting to stand in front of you. “Klaus, go check on Atsushi and Kyouka.”

Klaus and Akutagawa rush from behind you—Klaus to Kyouka and Atsushi, trying to wake the two of them up, and Akutagawa in front of you and Albatross, Rashumon at the ready. You can feel Albatross’s hand tight around your forearm, you can hear him talking but you can’t make out any word that he’s saying.

“This isn’t real,” you say flatly as you stare ahead. “This cannot be real.”

Something bubbles in your chest—you don’t know if it’s rage, distress or sheer hysteria, you think a combination of all three because although your blood is simmering, you feel your eyes misting over and a laugh about to burst from your lips because what the fuck? 

You press your hand to your mouth, hardly even registering what’s going on around you. Klaus is trying to shake Atsushi and Kyouka awake, Akutagawa is scouting out the rest of the lobby to make sure no assailants are still lingering, and Albatross is trying to get your attention but you don’t take notice of him, shaking your head, and trying to hide the way your lips are curling up into a disbelieving smile.

What a joke, you think, breath catching as you pace over to Klaus, Atsushi and Kyouka. Shit.

As soon as Atsushi’s eyes flutter open, you’re grabbing his chin and craning his neck to force him to look you in the eye. “Where is he?” you ask, voice surprisingly steady. “Where is he? What happened? Answer me, Atsushi.”

Albatross says your name and grabs your wrist to try to get you to back off, but you toss his hand right off of you. Atsushi is still out of it, not understanding what you’re asking him, but before your frustration can bubble over, you feel your phone vibrating in your pocket. 

Your hand drops from Atsushi’s face to reach into your pocket. Your fingers are stiff and clunky as you pull your phone out, and as soon as you see the name on your screen, you know. 

You don’t say anything as you answer the call and lift the phone to your ear, waiting for the person on the other line to speak first. 

“Hello, little hime,” Mori says, you can hear the smile on his lips. “Have you finished with the Guild?”

“Where is he?” you ask in response. “Where is he?”

“Safe for now,” Mori hums, sounding entirely too amused. “I’ve had quite an interesting conversation with him. I can see why you like him as much as you do.”

“Everything I do for you,” you hiss, the nails of your free hand digging into your palm. “Everything I do, and this is how you repay me. I’ve spent my whole life doing everything you want, and you can’t even spare me a shred of fucking loyalty. You-”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, dear,” Mori sighs and your blood pressure skyrockets. “I’m doing this to protect you, as has everything I’ve ever done. You truly have no faith in me.”

“To protect me?” you shout, your throat burns and it’s a struggle to force yourself to breathe properly. You feel dizzy, a panic attack coming on, but now is not the time, you need to calm down. “You did this to protect me?”

“I did,” Mori agrees. “This boy had been lying to you for months. I had a feeling, but I wanted to confirm it before bringing anything up to you. I know you care for him. I didn’t want to unnecessarily break your heart.”

“What are you talking about? You’re not making any sense, I don’t believe you.”

“I’ve never lied to you, little hime. I have to many people, but never you. He’s been lying to you about who he is… I suggest you get up here quickly.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. Your voice wavers this time, you can’t stop it. You can feel several sets of concerned eyes on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet any of them. “Stop being cryptic, just spit it out.”

“The boy’s name is not Dazai Osamu, dear. It’s Tsushima Shuji.”

Your ears ring as his words slowly process through your head. Your silence is enough of an answer for Mori.

“I’ll be waiting in the conference room for you. Do get here soon.”

[hyewka]

soobin + hybrid pls :33

⭑ warnings; hybrid!au, sub!soobin, blowjob, breeding, impregnation kink (this is filth good god), big dick soob, dubious consent somno

⭑ send in a small prompt with the format of (member) + (nsfw prompt) and ill write you a small drabble!

owning soobin as your eccentric bunny hybrid who goes around humping literally everything you own, his favorite being your poor couch. you'd have to stop the poor thing from unknowingly going at it on your leg in pure daylight or when guests are over, thankfully after a while he learnt to control that part of himself, saving you from anymore future awkward encounters in public. you've searched and looked all over the internet for anything to help tone it down just a little bit but every pill that promises to get rid of it completely only does so for an hour or two before your bunny starts it again like the horn dog he is.

using your mouth on soobin was a home remedy that surprisingly worked for longer than a few hours and you're beyond surprised, he loves it. 'not gonna play with you like this again if you continue ruining my couch bun, know that right?' he nods and nods and he doesn't stop, his tongue out panting so dumbly as you squeeze the base of his bunny dick, satisfied with his obedience. so that marks the day you dump out all the useless vitamins and pills, emptying your bathroom vanity.

of course, all this really does is get him obsessed with you sucking off his dick, retaliating by ruining your couch even more. does he like the feeling of you punishing him? does he know that you're weak to his eyes and you always give in the week of denying his begging and pleading? yeah, you needed to practice some self discipline--your knees would thank you.

when week two comes around, and soobins sulking around everyday, trying his best to get you to give in, because he's so so addicted to the warmth of your mouth the moment you had got on your knees for him but you're really strict this time and he feels like he could cry. it gets even worse when he feels a fire in his tummy in the middle of the night, heating up rather quickly, and he groans. heat period, now of all days.

he really is cursed but bunny!soob is unhinged, he can't stand being hornier than usual so what does he do? he goes to your room, tries to think over his options but fuck it, he goes in, climbs in your bed, as careful as he can, he tries to make it quick, just a little bit of your warmth and your scent and god, he clumsily pulls down your panties in one go, dick standing up tall, rubbing against your cheeks and he's already sent to overdrive. you're murmuring, moving a little bit. when he looks over to check your face you're not opening your eyes, he sighs. he'd definitely get punished for life for this so he swears he won't cum at all and if he feels that he would, he's running straight to the bathroom.

unfortunately bun soobin isn't known for having self control, so when he's done prepping, rubbing your core and collecting at your arousal, he doesn't let your body get used to his cock, bottoming out, stretching you out to unimaginable degrees. if you pretend to be sleeping before, you aren't now.

"s-soobin, shit, d-do you wanna--get punished?"

he ignores all your threats to taking away his little blowjob privilege because this is a hundred times better, this is heaven. bunny soobin who really doesn't stop, he can't, he physically can't, his thrusts are erratic yet it felt like his stuffing cock was hitting your womb each time. you feel so full already, you weren't ready for what comes next. soobin promised to himself he won't cum, he can't or you'd kill him, but he's too far gone, his eyes rolling back as he feels his high coming rather quick. "wanna fuck a baby into you, please let me-- 'm cumming, cumming!"

he can't hear your protests-- it's all background white noise, he's just fucking into you, sopping sounds coming from your pussy as he mewls, your ass feels like it's bruised with how hard he slams into you, bunny's just sooo so obsessed with your cunt. and when he eventually cums, and you then later, he doesn't stop. you're past overstimulation with how much he filled you up, and yet he still keeps going and going, switching positions with him hovering over you with your legs pressed to your chest like all you were was a breeding bitch for him to spill his load in. all hybrid!bunny soobin does the night is plan to fill you up with his seed, cute scut twitching every time he jizzes lol >_<

[qu1cks1lversb1tch]

I love ur works so i just HADDDD to request!!!! Ik its impossible for sinners to even have children buuttt,,,, Vox w his bio toddler daughter hcs??👀👀 Hope its not weird or anything, i js find it soo cutee. Would love a sprinkle of angst too!!

A/N — Your honor, I love this ask. I've been imagining so many characters as girl dads lately, and Vox was certainly one of them. I feel like it's moreso implied angst at one point than actual angst — however, I hope you like these! I may come back in and add more if I think of more, but this is all I could think of with my tired brain lol.

Little Sunshine

Wildly protective, without a doubt.

If his daughter taped a paper tiara to his screen, he's wearing it all day (he sometimes forgets it's there — you know how many times he's worn a poorly colored paper tiara on live television? . . Often.)

He loves that she looks like her mother, but already thinks just like him.

Vox only dresses his little girl in the best, which is usually something Velvette made just for her.

He pretends to be upset when he finds her running around the penthouse with his stolen overcoat draped over her with the sleeves and coat tails dragging on the floor.

He really finds it adorable.

There's a hefty amount of people he doesn't trust to be in a room with his daughter. It's Hell, he doesn't really trust anyone.

Especially not with enemies who have tried to force his hand by using his only weakness — his precious little girl — as leverage.

All parties involved were promptly handled by a very angry, very protective father.

He insists on her being nearby all the time, needing to hear his daughter's giggles or see her sitting on the floor playing with a stuffed shark.

Speaking of sharks. He let her name his second shark, so now he has Vark and Spark (his name is really Sparkles, but he calls him Spark to everyone, unless she's around, then he's Sparkles.)

Generally cute and funny moments.

"Come on, sweetheart. . . Put the flour in the bowl." Then she flicked her wrist and sent half a cup of flour into his face.

She stood there for a few seconds and then turned to look at her dad, bursting into a fit of contagious giggles at the sight of him standing there, dumbfounded, with flour coating his front. "Oopsies."

He can't stay mad at her for anything, especially when she looks up at him with those big, pretty eyes and grabby hands.

She has his temper, so he sometimes finds himself standing toe to toe with this strong willed, opinionated toddler.

Anything she wants, she gets. It doesn't matter how big or small it is. Candy? He buys all her favorites. Toys? He gets all the new ones he knows she'd have interest in.

Just because he spoils her, doesn't mean she's undisciplined.

When she does something particularly bad, her punishment is spending a couple hours with Velvette (which isn't much of a punishment because mini Vox loves her auntie Vel).

He tries not to laugh when she argues with Valentino or makes some blunt comment that has the moth overlord on the edge of losing his shit.

The only think keeping Valentino from saying something he shouldn't, was the fact that Vox would end him if he even made so much as a single tear run down her cheek.

He reads her bedtime stories and stays with her until she falls asleep.

Sometimes he even dozes off next to her, her little head resting in the crook of his neck.

Stickers. Glitter. Gemstones. So. Much. Glitter. He purposely buys stuff without glitter, yet the penthouse always ends up with glitter covering some surfaces (he later finds out that she found Val's body glitter).

His daughter is the light of his afterlife. Something good in a realm of absolute shit.

[persevereforahappyending]

This isn't Your Fault (Anika POV)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Anika’s hands shook, she almost dropped the phone at hearing Tara beg for your life.

Warning: Implied Violence

Word Count: 6.2k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Anika sighed as she locked her phone. She had asked you about the Halloween party in class and you had turned her down. She had been texting you ever since just to double check. Your latest excuse for not going was that your parents were out of town, and you were using the house to yourself to stay up late and play video games. Anika pointed out that was literally no different than any other day and you had left her on read after that.

Anika knew you hated parties, but you only ever saw Mindy when she came to pick Anika up from one of your study sessions or when working on a project, or in your shared class with her. Anika wanted you to spend time with her and Mindy in a normal social setting. You were one of Anika’s best friends and she just wanted you to get to know her girlfriend and other friends properly. She knew Mindy could be suspicious and intense with new people, but she had really worked hard to get her girlfriend to not glare at you and outright accuse you of potential nefarious purposes.

Anika knew when to give up though, she knew you’d never come to the party. So, she decided to just enjoy the night with her girlfriend and then tell you all about it tomorrow. She knew you wouldn’t care but Anika liked to pretend you might regret not coming.

The party had been going great. Anika had a drink in one hand and was sitting in Mindy’s lap. Everything was great until she noticed Frankie trying to pull Tara upstairs. Anika quickly pulled herself away from Mindy before grabbing Chad and point to where Tara was. Anika stood to the side as Chad confronted Frankie, getting in a slight scuffle with him until Sam showed up and tased Frankie. Anika couldn’t even feel bad for Frankie, based on the few stories she heard about the guy, she could confidently say he deserved it.

Anika stayed to the back of the group as Sam and Tara argued. Anika was used to it by this point and knew not to get in the middle of their fighting. She pulled out her phone, shooting you a text to say she had left the party early and she couldn’t wait to tell you about the eventful night. You didn’t respond, so Anika figured you were engulfed by your game, as usual.

Anika was caught off guard when a group of girls called Sam a murderer and one of them threw their drink on Sam. Anika moved quickly along with Mindy and Chad to hold Tara back. Tara might have been angry with her sister but that didn’t matter because the second anyone else so much as looked at Sam wrong, Tara was ready to lunge and beat the person. Mindy might have been the paranoid one, ready to accuse everyone, and Sam might have been the strong intimidating one, but Anika had to admit she was most scared of Tara. The girl could be happy and laughing one moment then in the blink of an eye she could be giving someone a murderous look and ready to beat them with her bare hands if she had to.

Anika followed everyone back to Sam and Tara’s apartment. While Tara stormed off to her room, Mindy dragged Anika over to the couch, bringing her down with her. Anika happily flung her legs over Mindy’s lap, practically sitting on top of her again. The night hadn’t turned out like she wanted to, but it didn’t seem like a totally crappy ending to the night.

Anika looked at her phone again, frowning when she saw you still hadn’t even opened her message. She knew you really got into your gaming and would spend hours upon hours playing, but you usually looked at your phone during a cut scene or a calm part of the game as you liked to say. Anika glanced up occasionally to see if Chad had decided on a channel to watch but she was more focused on texting you again. She didn’t want to seem paranoid, but she just needed you to give her a simple ‘I’m alive’ text and she would be fine for the rest of the night.

“You good T?” Mindy asked, bringing Anika’s attention away from her phone. She looked up to see Tara having entered the room, tear filled eyes and a phone to her ear. Anika quickly swung her legs off Mindy and leaned forward.

“Tara?” Sam asked slowly, as she stood up from her seat. “Who’s on the phone?” Anika had never experienced anything related to Ghostface, but she could hear the worry and concern in Sam’s voice. She could see the underlying fear in Mindy and Chad’s eyes.

Tara’s eyes wandered the room before landing on Sam. Anika could see the tears slowly start to fall from Tara’s eyes when she looked at her sister. Anika had seen Tara mad and annoyed before, usually at Sam. She had also seen her happy when they were all hanging out or when talking about movies with Mindy. Anika had never seen her scared though and it was clear whatever Tara was hearing on the other end of the line had her terrified.

“Y/N?” Tara asked. Anika shot to her feet at hearing your name. “Y/N?” Anika scrunched her brow, she was worried, but she was also curious, she didn’t realize you and Tara knew each other. She saw Chad turn off the TV and she felt Mindy’s presence standing behind her.

Anika was aware you shared a class with Tara, but she figured you’d never talked to her just like how you were with Mindy in the class you shared with her. Anika didn’t think you had ever even spoken to Tara, she thought you only knew of her based on how Anika talked about hanging out with the group. Whenever she came over to your place, she would give you a rundown of what happened between now and the last time she saw you and it usually involved talking about the gang.

“Baby, are you there?” Tara asked again, the concern pouring out of her voice.

Anika’s eyes went wide, apparently you did know Tara, you knew Tara very well. Based on the shock of the others in the room it was clear no one knew about you and Tara’s secret relationship. Anika was going to have to interrogate you about that after whatever was going on was resolved. She knew whatever was going on wasn’t good. She knew your parents were out of town and you were home alone, you also hadn’t answered any of her texts sense she got to the party. Anika wanted to hope so bad that you hadn’t responded to her because you were too busy being on the phone with Tara, but she knew that wasn’t likely.

Anika watched as Tara jumped multiple times from whatever she was hearing on the other end of the phone. Tara even began hyperventilating. As Sam tried to get Tara to calm down and get control of her breathing Anika’s eyes slowly started to fill with tears.

“Don’t hurt them, please,” Tara begged, her voice cracking. This made Anika bring a hand to her mouth, trying to contain a sob, but she couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Even though Anika had never experienced a Ghostface attack, she like all the others knew exactly what was going on now.

When Sam turned and looked at them Anika knew Mindy and Chad were ready for whatever she was about to say. She didn’t need to see either of their faces to know. She was sure that despite the fear they were surely feeling they would do anything Sam asked. Anika tried to put on a brave face as well, wiping away a few of the stray tears that still fell.

“We need to move,” Sam said. Everyone started moving. Anika wasn’t sure where they were all trying to go, she just knew they were suddenly bumping into each other and tripping over everything. “Call 911,” she ordered, ignoring all the tripping they were doing.

Chad fumbled with his phone, quickly pulling it out of his pocket. “An address would be helpful,” Chad said as he was dialing 911.

“On it,” Anika said, her voice shaky. She wiped away a few more tears as she pulled out her phone, getting your address.

“Please! She has nothing to do with this!” Tara sobbed. Anika’s hands shook, she almost dropped the phone at hearing Tara beg for your life. She quickly found your address and showed Chad, who quickly read it off to the 911 operator.

“Please,” Tara begged again. She was sobbing and her breathing was becoming more and more erratic. Anika couldn’t even begin to imagine what horrible thing you might be going through that was causing Tara so much stress. Anika saw Sam take off towards Tara’s room, but she was to rattled to notice anything else.

“No!” Tara screamed, shaking Anika out of her own head. Anika wanted to help, she wanted to know what was going on, she needed you to be okay. Sam came running back into the room, straight over to Tara and handing her her inhaler.

Anika watched as Sam tried to take the phone away from Tara and Tara slapped her hand away, keeping it just out of reach. When Sam gripped Tara by the shoulders to force her to look at her Anika saw Tara’s hand form into a fist. Anika thought for a split second that she’d witness Tara deck Sam. Anika knew Tara had one hell of a punch; she also knew Tara tended to start swinging before registering who she was swinging at. Luckily Tara saw it was Sam grabbing her and unclenched her fist.

“We have to go,” Sam told Tara.

“I can’t,” Tara sobbed. “I-I-I-can’t. I-” Tara started stuttering, her breathing becoming worse. Even when Tara would get upset and angry with Sam or with some random stranger saying something negative about her or Sam Anika had never seen Tara so worked up. Anika wasn’t just worried about you; she was worried about Tara. Sam remained calm though, handing Tara her inhaler and helping lift it to her mouth.

“Let’s go,” Sam said again, somehow being the calmest person in the room. “We can’t help here,” she continued, trying to convince Tara to leave with her. “Let’s go.” Tara finally nodded and got to following Sam. Anika pulled out her phone, texting Sam your address. “Chad!” she yelled.

“Already calling 911,” he answered instantly, he had the phone to his ear as he continued talking to the 911 operator.

“Anika-”

“Already texted you her address,” Anika said softly. She was trying to remain calm and not lose her mind until after she knew exactly what was happening to you.

Then next thing Anika knew Sam and Tara were disappearing through the front door, rushing down the steps, headed hopefully to your rescue. Anika gripped her phone tightly as she started sobbing, struggling to catch her breath much like Tara had been.

“Babe,” Mindy said worriedly. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she gripped Anika gently by the arm, standing in front of her. “It’s going to be okay. She is going to be okay.” Anika met Mindy’s eyes and didn’t see the confidence she was trying to project.

“You don’t know that,” Anika said, shaking her head. “We have no idea what he’s doing to her,” she sobbed. Mindy instantly pulled her into a hug as she began sobbing into her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“I think the only one that needs to worry is Ghostface,” Chad said. “I mean when Tara gets her hands on him,” he did a couple air punches. “Oof, I wouldn’t want to be him.”

Anika pulled away from Mindy, wiping at her tears as she chuckled at Chad. Despite the circumstances and the unknown Chad had somehow managed to break the tension.

“Who is Y/N, by the way?” Chad asked, smiling awkwardly as he clearly tried to keep the mood light.

Anika started to tear up again. “Hey,” Chad said softly, tapping Anika’s shoulder lightly to get her to look at him. “Tell me about her.” Anika wiped the tears from her eyes again but was reluctant. “Please?”  Chad looked at her with the same puppy dog eyes Mindy always used on her. “We won’t know anything until Sam calls. Until then, tell me about her.”

Anika nodded. Mindy wrapped an arm around her waist and led her back over to the couch. Chad took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as he sat on the other side of Anika.

“We met in class,” Anika said, smiling as she thought back to her first time meeting you. “Audio.”

“I thought you hated audio?” Chad questioned.

“Oh, I do,” Anika laughed at the memory. “But it’s required. Even if I don’t need to know editing and mixing audio, it’s beneficial to know how to run audio and the different types of microphones used and everything. I want to work in theater and there’s no do overs and reshoots when there’s a live performance.”

“And that’s another reason film is better,” Mindy commented.

Anika rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing like live theater.” Anika playfully slapped Mindy’s arm. “Maybe you’d understand that if you took me to the theater,” she mumbled the last part.

“You guys can fight about this later, tell me more about Y/N,” Chad said, waving his hands at the beginnings of the potential argument about film vs theater.

“Anyway,” Anika said, turning back to face Chad. “Y/N is an audio major, which is good because she totally carried me through that class.” Anika started to talk more about how she met you and everything, remembering how different the two of you were but how easily you clicked.

Anika had walked into class, dreading having to learn audio. She was beating herself up for not just choosing a major that only involved theater. Anika didn’t want to act and be on stage, she wanted to run the lighting, set the scene. The best major to learn all that though involved having to know about everything. Anika had to admit lighting and sound went together a lot and she did want to learn how to run the sound along with the lights, she wanted to be involved in everything that helped enhance a live performance, and the things that really made it come alive.

Anika had ended up taking a seat next to you. You had large headphones on as you scribbled in a notebook. Anika wasn’t sure whether you were writing or doodling. The only thing Anika could see was your laptop propped open with some sort of audio editing software pulled up. She knew it was audio related because she was confused as she looked at the various different colored bars and wavy lines. She quietly groaned because she had sat next to someone who clearly knew what they were doing.

As soon as the professor came in you closed all the tabs, quickly shutting your laptop before slipping the headphones off your head, letting them rest around your neck. As the professor started talking and writing things on the board Anika pulled out her own notebook. She was aware of you flipping your notebook to a clean page, but she was too busy squinting at the professor as he quickly talked about microphones. Anika blinked a few times, looking down at her paper, she had the words dynamic, condenser, and ribbon as the three main types of microphones but had nothing else written.

Anika spared a glance to her left and saw you quickly writing in your notebook, your page more than half full. Anika’s eyes widened; she hadn’t seen you look up once, but it seemed like you were getting everything down as the professor said it. Anika looked back up at her professor to see him pulling out a box, pulling out each different type of microphone so everyone could see the differences with their own eyes.

Anika sighed, slumping back into her seat. She tossed her pen down and didn’t even bother trying to catch up on her notes. There was no way she was ever going to pass the class. It was day one and not even a half an hour into her first class and she’d already accepted her failure. The next thing she knew her professor was dismissing class. She shook her head, getting out of her daydream, she looked down to see she still only had three words written down. She glanced your way again, seeing you had moved onto a second page and that was already half full.

You started packing up when you seemed to notice Anika staring at you. When Anika realized you were looking at her, she mumbled, “Sorry.” She let out a defeated sigh before she closed her notebook.

“Would you like to borrow my notes?” You asked.

“Thanks,” Anika said, giving you a soft smile. “I’m not sure it would do much good. I kind of don’t understand a single thing about all of this,” she gestured around the classroom.

You chuckled lightly. “Yeah, if it ain’t your thing, it kind of doesn’t make any sense.” Anika chuckled along with you. “I could help you out, if you want.” You scratched at the back of your head, then began fidgeting with your headphones, you clearly weren’t used to this type of interaction.

“I would love that!” Anika said a little too quickly, making you jump back a little. “Sorry,” she said more quietly. “I would really like that, if you don’t mind of course.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’m just warning you; this is your last chance to backout, it will take many study sessions and many hours to make me even begin to grasp this stuff.”

You chuckled again. “I’ll take my chances. Who knows, when I’m done with you, you’ll be able to pass this class with a C,” you joked.

Anika’s mouth fell open in offense. “Really? We don’t even know each other and you’re already being mean to me?”

You just shrugged. “I mean if you want to take your chances without my help and your notetaking, go for it,” you gestured to her notebook.

“You’re a mean new friend,” Anika grumbled.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I’m terribly mean. I mean what kind of person would offer to lend their notes and then offer to help out the stranger next to them in class when they don’t even know their name?”

“I truly terrible person,” Anika said seriously but then broke out into a fit of laughter, with you quickly joining in. “I’m Anika,” she held out her hand to you.

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself, taking her hand. “Do you have another class, or would you like to go over the notes now?”

“Now works, I saw a coffee shop not too far from here.”

The two of you left the classroom, making your way to the coffee shop. You both ordered drinks before picking out a table large enough to open your notebooks. The two of you spent a couple hours there, going over the notes you had taken in class with Anika asking a billion questions. She felt stupid for making you re-explain like the entire class you had both just been in, but you never made her feel stupid for it and happily explained everything to her. You had actually spent so much time talking that you ended up having to rush off to your next class before you were late, but you and Anika promised to meet up after your audio class every week to go over whatever she needed help with.

And that’s how the rest of the semester went. Anika would go to audio and be confused then she would meet you at the coffee shop or in the library and you’d go over things with her again. Anika wasn’t sure what it was about you but the way you explained things to her made her retain them better. When the mid-term and final exam came around you spent every night for weeks over at her dorm helping her study. She wondered when you had time to study for yourself since you seemed so busy tutoring her, but audio seemed to come naturally to you. Every quiz or test you’d taken so far you aced while Anika passed.

Whenever there was a project or paper you had to write for class, you always worked with Anika. The teacher let them choose partners and you still chose Anika. She never knew why because there were other students who clearly had a passion for audio like you and who actually knew their stuff. Whenever you guys worked on something together it felt more like you doing the project, explaining it to Anika, and her just sitting there, getting credit for it. You assured her multiple times you didn’t see it that way.

As you two went through the semester together, you started hanging out more as friends and not just to help Anika pass the class. No matter what the two of you did though, you somehow managed to bring audio into it. You were such a nerd when it came to music and sound design, Anika couldn’t watch a movie without you commenting on the score. She learned that what you really wanted to do was the sound design for videogames, she also learned you didn’t shut up when the topic of your favorite videogame got brought up. She made the mistake of asking you what your favorite game was and ended up listening to you ramble about the music of The Last of Us for over an hour and then you made her listen to the entire soundtrack, then you made her listen to it again, but this time paused it to add your commentary.

Luckily, she was allowed to do the same though. Anika listened to you geek out about soundtracks and videogames while you listened to her about theater, the different plays, the different types of musicals. Whenever there was a new play in town that Anika wanted to see she would take you, since Mindy refused to go with her. Anika was always immersed during the play but after she spent the rest of the night talking about the lighting and how each scene was lit and the emotion that it invoked, if it was a musical then she would add a couple more hours, talking about how each performer sung the song and the music itself and how each song told the story.

“She seems really cool,” Chad said, bringing Anika out of her memories of you. “And you didn’t know about her and Tara?”

Anika shook her head. “Nope,” she answered. “I knew she shared a class with Mindy.”

“Script writing,” Mindy added. “She might be more into audio but she’s not half bad with storytelling in general.”

“And yet you still don’t like her.”

Mindy raised her hands in defense. “Can you blame me? Besides, with how well you get along I’m surprised you two weren’t dating before we met.”

Anika rolled her eyes at that. “She’s just my best friend,” Anika said, with a teasing smile.

“Whatever,” Mindy grumbled, crossing her arms.

“I think Tara has film history with her,” Anika said, turning back to Chad. “I forget who mentioned it first, but I remember them both knowing they had the class together. I didn’t think they knew each other though. Neither ever talked about the other.”

Anika was about to talk more about you when her phone vibrated. She quickly grabbed her phone, aware of Mindy and Chad both pulling out their phones as well. Sam had sent a group text saying you were alive but had been rushed into surgery and she and Tara were in the hospital waiting room. Anika shot off a quick text saying they were on their way. She was on her feet before Mindy and Chad had time to finish reading the text.

“Let’s go!” she snapped, gesturing for them to get up. They quickly got up, rushing to follow her out the door.

When they got to the hospital they ran through the white corridors until they got to the waiting room where they saw Sam and Tara sitting in two of the chairs. Tara had her feet pulled up onto the seat, her arms wrapped around her legs. Sam was sitting next to her, her hand rubbing up and down Tara’s back.

Anika walked over, giving Tara’s hand a comforting squeeze before taking a seat across from her with Mindy right behind her. Anika wanted to say something and ask what happened, she wanted to know how you were doing but she knew it wasn’t the time. All she knew was that you were still alive and that was the most important thing at the moment.

Anika intertwined her hand with Mindy’s and leaned her head on her shoulder. She refused to let her mind go to the worst-case scenario, you were alive, and you were in surgery, you’d be fine. Anika’s mind went through every interaction she had with you again. You had helped her so much in the first audio class that for the fall semester, you guys made your schedules together and signed up for audio 2 together. Anika had only known you for six months, the beginning of summer semester, the same amount of time as she’d known Mindy, but you had become such an integral part of her life, you were her best friend. You needed to live. Even if it was only so Anika could interrogate you about your relationship with Tara, she needed you to live.

After a few hours of waiting Anika had drifted off to sleep. She didn’t wake up until she heard a nurse say your name. She was on her feet and wide awake in an instant. She stood around the nurse with the others, she gripped Mindy’s hand tightly as they waited to hear the news.

“Is she okay?” Tara asked.

“Relation?” the nurse asked, looking up at Tara from her chart.

“She’s, my girlfriend.”

“She’s out of surgery and in a room recovering, you’re welcome to go see her.”

Anika let out a relieved sigh, you really were going to be okay. She loosened her grip on Mindy’s hand, then gave it a grateful squeeze.

“How is she?” Tara whispered.

The nurse sighed, putting down her chart. “She’s alive.” At hearing those words Tara let out a relieved sob. Anika couldn’t help the happy tears that started to fill her eyes. “Her left hand was practically shattered, and she’s got seven broken or cracked ribs.” Anika brought a hand to her mouth; you had endured so much. “It’ll take some time, but she’ll be okay,” she gave a kind smile to Tara then everyone else before walking away.

You were only allowed two visitors and as much as Anika wanted to see you, she knew Tara had to see you more and she knew Tara needed her sister by her side. Anika pulled Tara into a tight hug. She hugged Tara for a second longer, making up for the fact that she couldn’t hug you yet.

When Sam and Tara went to visit you everyone else re-took their seats. Anika grabbed the sandwich that Chad had brought her and took a bite, taking a sip of her juice as well. Anika was fully prepared to sleep in the hospital waiting room, but it wasn’t much long later when Sam came back down. Sam informed them that you looked beat up but okay considering what was done to you and you were still sleeping. She said her and Tara weren’t leaving but she wanted them to go back to the apartment or one of their dorms and rest.

Anika reluctantly let Mindy drag her out of the hospital and back to the apartment. The three of them stood in the apartment for about five minutes before Chad wandered off, filling a bag with spare clothes for the sisters. Anika then dragged Mindy to follow Chad back to the hospital to drop off the clothes. She knew it didn’t take three of them to drop off clothes but with Ghostface running around there was safety in numbers, plus she just wanted to be there in case there was any new information on you, even though she knew Sam would keep them informed.

The three of them decided to stay in the apartment, none of them had a big enough dorm room to fit three people. Besides Ethan was Chad’s roommate and they wanted to keep the people who knew what was going on to a minimum. Anika wasn’t sure where Quinn was during everything, her absence was suspicious, but it wasn’t uncommon. They had all been at a party and Ethan and Quinn both stayed behind. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Quinn to go to a party and come home the next day or even a few days later if she was having a lot of fun with the guy she found.

Chad was snuggled up in the chair, a blanket draped over him while Mindy was curled up on the couch. Anika was sitting on the opposite end of the couch. She couldn’t sleep now that she knew you were alive, she was worried something else was going to happen. She watched a random movie that was playing on the TV with the sound on mute so as to not disturb the twins.

That’s how the next day went as well. Anika was exhausted from the lack of sleep and was getting by by taking quick powernaps. Mindy would flip through the channels to find mindless entertainment to fill the time and Chad would make them food. For breakfast it was simply eggs, for lunch it was chicken nuggets, and for dinner it was pizza. It was also simple food that was just frozen and tossed in the microwave, but Chad was the only one making sure everyone actually ate.

It was late at night again, the twins sleeping in the same position as they were the night before. Anika had a random movie playing on mute, but she wasn’t paying attention to it, she couldn’t even say what genre it was if someone asked. Her phone was sitting on the coffee table when it lit up. She lunged off the couch, grabbing her phone to see that it was a text from Sam, you were awake.

Anika jumped off the couch and was already putting on her shoes. “Get up!” she yelled. She grabbed Chad’s shoes, throwing them at him. He jolted awake, almost tipping the chair. “Y/N is awake, get up!” she said louder, tossing Mindy her shoes as well.

Though the twins were startled awake they both quickly got up, slipping on their shoes. Anika waited at the front door, tapping her foot as she shook her head, slowly watching them get ready. She clicked her phone to look at the time, a whole two minutes had passed since Sam sent that text. “Let’s go!” Anika’s grumpiness seeped into her voice. It got the other two moving though and next thing she knew they were walking out the front door.

They got to the hospital, meeting Sam in the waiting room. She told them once again that you were awake and talking with Tara. They all took seats in the waiting room again, Sam opting to wait with them so she could give you and Tara some privacy. Anika finally slept for the first time in two days, head on Mindy’s shoulder now that she knew you were awake.

In the morning they were all woken up by FBI agent Kirby Reed. She introduced herself to everyone but her and Sam clearly knew each other already. Kirby told them she investigated Ghostface attacks, since she was a survivor of the 2011 killings. Kirby had just got to town, and she heard about the attack, when she heard you were awake, she had come right over, wanting to talk to you. Sam took Kirby to show her to your room.

A few minutes later Sam came back down but she wasn’t alone, she was with Tara who had a determined look in her eye. Anika was actually scared by the look Tara held, it was dark, and it was what she imagined a killer to look like right before they went hunting.

“What’s going on?” Mindy asked.

“We’re going to kill this fucker,” Tara spit out.

Sam rested a gentle hand on Tara’s shoulder, trying to calm her down. “We have a plan.”

“Let’s go,” Chad said, jumping up from his seat.

“No. Just us.”

“Sam, you can’t take on Ghostface alone.”

“I can’t let any of you get hurt again, please stay here.”

While Sam argued with Chad and Mindy about whether they were coming or not Anika watched Tara. Tara didn’t look like she cared one way or another whether others joined them or not, all she wanted was to kill the bastard that hurt her girlfriend. When Tara noticed Anika watching her, her gaze softened and she stepped towards Anika, pulling her away from the others.

“Can I ask a favor?” Tara whispered, looking at Anika with wide eyes.

“Anything,” Anika said instantly.

“Can you stay with Y/N?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Just keep her distracted and don’t let her come after me.”

Anika let out a small chuckle. “Easier said than done. When she learns you’re not here she’s going to be pissed.”

“I know,” Tara whispered.

“Whatever, you’re going to be the one to deal with her wrath when you get back.”

For the first time in two days Anika saw Tara smile, it was a small smile, but it was a smile. “Happily.”

Anika made her way up to your room, leaving the others to continue arguing. She stood outside as she watched through the window. Agent Reed stood by your bedside as she talked to you. Kirby looked up, meeting Anika’s gaze and a minute later she was walking out of the room. Anika gave her a smile before entering your hospital room.

“Hey,” Anika whispered quietly.

“Hey,” you said, smiling at her before it quickly fell. “What are you doing here? Where’s Tara?”

“Wow, I’ll try not to be offended,” Anika chuckled. She moved to the seat closest to your bed. She was really hoping for a minute before you started questioning her.

“Nika,” you said, looking at her knowingly.

Anika sighed; she wasn’t lucky enough to make it a minute before she had to tell you. “You know where,” she said softly.

Your eyes fearfully darted all around the room before you tried to sit up. Anika quickly jumped up from her seat, resting a hand on your shoulder to push you back down. You instantly groaned, wincing in pain from the moving around.

“I have to stop her,” you said through gritted teeth.

“You know there’s no doing that,” Anika said.

“She could die!” you snapped. Anika jumped at your tone, though she knew you weren’t angry with her.

“She’s done this before,” Anika said. “And she has Sam with her. She also has a pretty strong motive to survive.”

“She better survive Ghostface cause when she gets back, I’m gonna kill her,” you grumbled.

Anika smiled at your words. “Don’t worry, she’s well aware.”

The two of you sat in silence for a minute. Anika watched you but you watched the door. Your eyes hadn’t left the door since Anika told you what Tara was doing. You were waiting for her to come back, and you weren’t going to take your eyes off the door until you saw Tara walking through.

“So,” Anika said, clapping her hands together. “Want to watch The Last of Us?” that got your attention, you slowly turned to give Anika a confused look. “You can tell me all the differences between the show and the game,” Anika tried to bribe. She grabbed a laptop they had brought over with the spare clothes.

“You’re trying to distract me,” you said, glancing at the laptop as Anika went and pulled up the show.

“And it’s working,” Anika smiled as she moved the chair even closer to your bedside.

“No, it’s not,” you grumbled.

“Look, you can either annoy me about all the differences between the show and the game or we can talk about how you’ve secretly been dating Tara.” Anika crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

You grumbled something incoherent before hitting play on the first episode. Anika smiled to herself, leaning back into the chair as she got ready to listen to you ramble. “This doesn’t get you out of telling me about Tara though,” Anika added.

You rolled your eyes, flicking a glare at Anika. As the show started your eyes instantly lit up. “So, right away it’s already different because in the game in opens with…” you started rambling. Anika was silently hoping Tara would be back before you finished all nine episodes.

Taglist: @bigbadsofty07 @fanboy7794 @noooodlessstuff @tatumrileyslover @alexkolax @canvascoloredin

[babyangelsky]

BL Challenge 2k24 ✨Day 7✨

Hello and welcome to @negrowhat's 15 Day BL Challenge! Full challenge can be found here.

Favorite Villain: Korn Theerapanyakul

It isn't often that we get an actual villain in a BL. We have plenty of love rivals but those are rarely ever villains in the true sense of the word. We also have a large, unfortunate array of shitty parents and parental figures, some of which absolutely do fall into the villain category, but they don't deserve my effort or your attention.

But then we have Korn.

Korn is a villain. Make absolutely no mistake about that. This man has dedicated his life to playing 4D chess with everyone around him, including and especially his sons, and he's brilliant at it. There is never a moment where he isn't in control, there is never a moment where he hasn't thought at least five steps ahead, and he has very few blind spots.

What gets me—and what makes him that much more insidious in my opinion—is how he presents himself to the world.

♡ gif by @guzhufuren from this set

"This man, a villain? Never! He's just a nice, soft-spoken dad in a sweater vest! Sure he's a bit intimidating but he's in the mafia, it's to be expected. And just look at how accepting he is of his gay sons! He's looking at a photo of his son and his son-in-law and smiling, isn't that lovely?"

False!

Korn's image is perfectly curated and if you only look on the surface, from the outside that's exactly what he is: a nice dad and a respectable businessman. He's rational, calm, and level-head, especially when you compare him to Gun—which you can't not do. It's impossible to have a conversation about Korn without talking about Gun, who is absolutely just as bad and who I easily could've chosen.

The difference is that Gun's evil is overt and in a way, it's more...honest because of it. He's not out here pretending to be a good person or trying to be anything other than exactly what he is. What you see is what you get. However, I chose Korn precisely because of that insidiousness, because his evil appears so much more subtle but only when it remains in the shadows.

♡ gif by @kinnbig from this set

Because when everything gets brought to light? Hoooooo BOY.

This man kept his foster sister in isolation under lock and key for years after he killed her husband and took her away from her two little boys. Then he left those little boys in the care of a degenerate gambler and watched them sink further and further into debt. And that's only the thin end of the wedge! If we got into all the ways he fucked up his OWN boys, we'd be here all damn day.

Kidnapping on perhaps more than one occasion, a hit squad, Kim's entire personality, Kinn's emotional range, need I go on?

But getting back to Porsche and Chay, Korn could've helped them at literally any point but he didn't lift a finger until they grew up and became useful to him. He could've cleared their debts, paid for Chay's education, provided for them, kept them from getting remotely close to a situation were men were beating them and trashing their home. But he did exactly none of that because whatever sense of obligation Korn might have felt toward them absolutely pales in comparison to his need for control.

♡ gif by @kinnbig from this set

That's what this all comes down to: control. The world is a chessboard and everyone in Korn's orbit is a piece on it. He proposed an outcome for himself and he got it.

He made sure Kinn was cemented as head of the main family and found a way to cement Porsche as head of the minor family. He got rid of Gun and the threat he presented and succeeded in burying the truth of what happened to Porsche's parents with him, because the truth that Korn gave simply is not the whole truth. It never will be because divulging the truth means giving up control, and that is something he will never do.

I could literally talk for hours about Korn. He's a fascinating character. He's got so many layers. Bottom line?

Este señor es el mismísimo diablo. This man is the living breathing devil.

[spacebaby1]

Hello!. Keep up with the good posts, i really love them. 💕👍

How about a Ran x gf reader

Maybe her messing around with his baton while he isn't looking and accidentally hitting herself while pretending to beat up people. How is she going to explain to him what happened while he was out for a bit and sees the bruise on her forehead?. And her taking a long time to confess since she feels embarrassed for playing with it in the first place.

Enjoy!!

"I'll be heading out, darling," Ran reached to kidd your forehead from where he stood behind the couch. You nodded with a smile, "Call me if you need anything, okay, babe."

"I will babe! Take care Ran."

Usually you'd stay away from his 'work office' because you just don't want to mess around his things and make his work harder than it already is however today you were bored and nothing on you phone or the TV was entertaining so you decided to take a peek in his office maybe something fun there?

You know what he does for work, and he doesn't hide anything from you at all. Slowly opening the doors to his office, you entered, and a bunch of files were placed on the table alongside his laptop. You huffed as you walked around and noticed his signature weapon, his baton. A grin flashed on your lips as you grabbed the shiny baton; it was heavy, and you were surprised how Ran carried it around, swinging it like it's nothing more than a feather. You tried to swing it around, and it made you feel like you were powerful, running to grab one of Ran's blazer. you put it on and pretended to be him. Walking in the room as you swang the baton from side to side, pretending that question someone, "So tell me, Mr. Evil man, where is the money? I know you know about it," you pointed the baton to the empty spot in front of you and chuckled shaking your hair, "No no you don't fool me, you-" you were trying to place the baton on your shoulder but it hit you right on the face; on your forehead and left eye. "Son of a bitch!" You yelped in pain dropping the baton on the floor as you held your eye, "ouch! Ahhh, that hurt," you cried stamping your feet on the floor.

Making your way downstairs to the kitchen you grabbed the ice pack placing it on your eye and forehead as tears rolled down your face; you really had no one to blame, this is exactly why you don't mess around with things because of how clumsy you are. Falling on the couch, you sighed as your phone rang. It was Ran, "Hello, my princess, just calling to tell you that I might get home super late, okay darling?" You hummed in response, "everything alright, my princess?" You hummed again, "Yes love everything is fine, I love you." You heard him chuckle, "I love you more, princess."

A few hours later, the pain was slowing down, and you were finally able to breathe a little bit of relief. You went to the bathroom to wash your face for the day and the yelp you let out when you saw your reflection in the mirror was horrifying; your eyes was bruised and so was your forehead, a small bump had formed on your forehead turning all shades of grean and purple while your eyes looked like you've been punched. You groaned as you used all the ice in the freezer to make the bruises heal, but it was no good. You knew Ran would probably laugh at you if he saw you. You were in the kitchen when you heard the front door open and shut, "shit!" You whispered before running to the bathroom. "Baby? I'm home!" You heard Ran's voice echo in, and you hissed at the sight of your in the bathroom mirror and heard his footsteps, "princess? Are you in the bathroom?" He knocked the door, and you cursed quietly, "Ah, yes, Ran. I'll be out soon. You said you'll be late?" You opened your hair, dropping your bangs as much as you could hide the bump and the bruise. "Yeah, Rindou took over the rest of the work, I brought dinner come out so we can eat, baby. I wanna kiss my princess, I missed you so much, Baby?"

"Yeah, let me just wash my hands," you replied, making sure your face was hidden before you left the bathroom. You faked a yawn as you left the bathroom and Ran met you in the hallway reaching for a hug and you Usually wait for his kiss on you forehead but today you just hugged his quickly and dodged his kiss and let go of his hug the moment you hugged him, "did you just dodge my kiss, princess?" He followed after you grabbing your hand, pulling you to him, but you won't look at him. His brows frowned when he noticed you were hiding your face from him. Which immediately sent a warning in his mind, "Hey, Sweetie? What's wrong? Did I do something? You're not looking at me." You tried to move your face every time he tried to look at it from any side, "what? No? Let's go ea-"

"Hey, baby." He grabbed your hand and pulled you to his chest before carefully placing his hands on your cheeks, and you hissed, "What baby! You are scaring me wh-AHH WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR EYE! OH MY, BABY! WHO HURT YOU?" He was panicking at the sight of your face, bruised, his eyes scanning your eye and forehead, "WHO DID THIS? WHAT HAPPENED?" His immediate response was to softly kiss your face where it wasn't hurt. He thought someone had hurt you, and he wasn't there to protect you. As you watched him placing kisses on your face asking you about who hurt you and you could feel his heart beating fast since you had your hands on his chest. "No one, Ran, honey. No one hurt me. Please calm down, your hearts beating so fast." You placed your head on his chest. He placed his hand on the side of your head, "Then what happened? Your face is all bruised!" You chuckled awkwardly as you pulled away, rubbing the back of your head you spoke feeling embarrassed, "well, I kinda got carried away playing with your baton and well, i kinda slapped myself with it, ACCIDENTALLY! I'm sorry I shouldn't be playing around with your weap-"

"You almost gave me a heart attack, my princess. Does it still hurt? That damn baton I'm gonna throw it away, how reckless of me to leave it around like that, fuck I'm such an idiot." He groaned and you took his hands in yours making his look at you. "Baby, it's my fault not yours, don't call yourself idiot. I'm the one who went snooping in your office, I'm so sorry, are you mad?" He sighed carefully cupping your face and leaning to your level, "I'm not mad my princess. I'm so freaking worried, are you in pain? Come on I'll take you to the hospital." He grabbed your hand and you followed behind, "I'll be fine. Few more ice packs and i-"

"No, princess, what if you got a concussion or internal bleeding? I'm making sure you're safe and sound or I'll die of worry." You chuckled at how worried he was getting, and yet here you thought he'll laugh at you for getting a bump with the baton.

[mono-dot-jpeg]

stop playing league - k. kenma

summary; a callout to me and my fellow league players. (not league enjoyers. players.)

genre/extra tags; one shot(?)/drabble, fluff, comedy, slight crack, kenma (kind of) slanders riot games and you, relationship unestablished and unmentioned, if you know the games cool (i hate valorant), self indulgent

[can be interpreted as romantic or platonic] [gender never mentioned] [i make many references to different games and use game terms, sorry]

word count; 489

a/n; no one except for league players can make fun of league in this post now, i make the rules and enforce them. (/hj) you ever think abt the difference between making fun of your favorite things and someone else doing it? yeah it's like that basically. i genuinely like the characters league has to offer, but people always think i like the game. (i play it but i usually end up hating most sessions)

"don't you dare hit that button."

your cursor hovers over the fated "find match" button. the button that has been torturing you for at least a few hours now. your dying urge to play "one more game" has you in a chokehold when you just want to win once.

"kenma..." you whine. the pudding head is playing a much more chill game compared to yours, which was slime rancher. it was a little bit nerve-wracking with how easily he almost slipped off ledges, deal with the occasional tarr slime, or the adorably angry slimes in certain paths. but nonetheless, it's a much healthier game to play than league. "it's not like i can even play slime rancher with you, it's not multi-player. just let me have this. i'm gonna win this time. surely. i'll switch to val after this, promise."

"you still won't be playing with me because i don't play valorant." you can imagine his cat-like glare staring at you through the screen. "and you rarely play tft and legends of runeterra."

"it gets me dizzy, alright?! and also you should know how painful it is to get those annoying people who hold my three stars from me!" you pause when he mentions the card game, "the card game isn't that bad. just not my favorite. what about overwatch?"

"isn't the new hog rework annoying?"

"that's... it's something. what about plate up?"

"you're gonna rage."

"stardew?"

"you're too lazy to update your mods."

"shut the fuck up, actually." you hissed at him as he huffs out a laugh. "i'm waiting for the next update. i think everyone is at this point."

"literally play anything but league for fucks sake, y/n."

"but cute neeko skin.." you pretend to cry, "i just want to play my sillies. maybe even win a game, dare i say." you angrily wave your mouse over your screen. kenma watches your screen share, unamused.

"you spent money on that skin."

"WRONG, I SPENT MONEY ON ONE OVERWATCH SKIN AND TWO BATTLEPASSES."

"still spent money."

"that's a lot of backtalk coming from you. you buy skins and dlc too. you're not clean either." despite kenma trying to prolong the inevitable, you click "find match" and sit back and wait as kenma groans in annoyance. "your signs can't stop me because i can't read." you read the burst of notifications in discord of kenma and your friends making fun of you for even playing league willingly. "fuck y'all. god forbid, i have a hobby." you huffed.

"it's league."

"just let me play my silly champions in peace, kenma! you don't see me judging you for picking sebastian every stardew save!"

"he's not even that bad!"

"you always steal him from me!"

"you don't deserve him!"

"fuck you!"

"fuck you!"

a blanket of silence falls over you both as you end your silly bickering.

"you wanna play a pokemon soul link run after your match?"

"fuck you, yeah i do."

[atelierlili]

Katniss, Peeta, and the messy in between.

For a while I've been seeing the sentiment of blaming the distance between Katniss and Peeta after the 74th games on Peeta entirely and I think it's rather unfair. It's a messy situation involving two teenagers who are both valid in their feelings at this point in time.

There's multiple things going on at the end of book 1 in regards to Peeta's relationship with both Katniss AND Haymitch that it feel unfair to blame him, when Peeta, like Katniss, more often than not, is the last one to find out other people's intentions/plans, even from his own allies.

Now before I start, I feel like I must preface this by saying I'm not bashing anyone in this analysis so if you're gonna say something rude and mean about my babies, make that U turn cause I aint having it. Also I'm a yapper so this is gonna be really long lol.

It begins on the train tracks. Katniss and Peeta are walking along the tracks when Peeta picks her a small bouquet of wildflowers as Katniss is struggling to convey the kind of danger they are in, while also being paranoid that they're being watched. At this time, she also connects Gale to the wild flowers Peeta has picked for her and its adding her anxiety to the point where she can't even pretend to be happy at Peeta's gift. And that's something he picks up on.

When the train makes a brief stop for fuel, we’re allowed to go outside for some fresh air. There’s no longer any need to guard us. Peeta and I walk down along the track, hand in hand, and I can’t find anything to say now that we’re alone. He stops to gather a bunch of wildflowers for me. When he presents them, I work hard to look pleased. Because he can’t know that the pink and-white flowers are the tops of wild onions and only remind me of the hours I’ve spent gathering them with Gale.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks. “Nothing,” I answer. We continue walking, past the end of the train, out where even I’m fairly sure there are no cameras hidden in the scrubby bushes along the track. Still no words come. -THG - Chapter 27

Its not until Haymitch appears and drop the bomb and bows out that Peeta finally catches on that Katniss and Haymitch are still playing up the lover act without his knowledge.

Haymitch startles me when he lays a hand on my back. Even now, in the middle of nowhere, he keeps his voice down. “Great job, you two. Just keep it up in the district until the cameras are gone. We should be okay.” I watch him head back to the train, avoiding Peeta’s eyes. “What’s he mean?” Peeta asks me. “It’s the Capitol. They didn’t like our stunt with the berries,” I blurt out. “What? What are you talking about?”

“So, what you’re saying is, these last few days and then I guess . . . back in the arena . . . that was just some strategy you two worked out.” “No. I mean, I couldn’t even talk to him in the arena, could I?” I stammer. “But you knew what he wanted you to do, didn’t you?” says Peeta. I bite my lip. “Katniss?” He drops my hand and I take a step, as if to catch my balance. “It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.”

-THG - Chapter 27

The truth comes out. Uh oh. It seems this star crossed lovers act when on longer than Peeta expected. Granted, I don't recall him or Katniss ever making their status official, but somewhere between the cave and now, Peeta thought both him and Katniss were on the same page about their feelings. He's not wrong for thinking Katniss liked him back, she does, what he didn't account for is Katniss not knowing herself that she liked him back.

I think Peeta learning the truth through Haymitch and not Katniss starts them on the wrong foot. Because she isn't honest with him for a majority of the time in this scene. Yes, Katniss was worried if the capitol could hear them, but even after Haymitch lets them know they can talk freely, she's still isn't 100% honest with Peeta.

Now here comes the big question.

“It was all for the Games,” Peeta says. “How you acted.” “Not all of it,” I say, tightly holding on to my flowers. “Then how much? No, forget that. I guess the real question is what’s going to be left when we get home?” he says. “I don’t know. The closer we get to District Twelve, the more confused I get,” I say. He waits, for further explanation, but none’s forthcoming

I'd be more than happy to dump all the blame on him for being a pissy baby after the revelation if it weren't for that last part at the end.

Peeta's hurt, yes, but he can rationalize that Katniss had to play lovers for the games, but here, right now, he's asking what he should be expecting when they get home. The words aren't there, but the subtext is loud and clear.

This is a confession. I'm hurt. But I still like you. Do you like me? Will we have something when we go home and the cameras are gone?

Katniss gives him her most honest answer yet. She doesn't know. She's confused and she's getting more confused as they get closer to home. And that's it. That's her answer. But it isn't enough.

Peeta explicitly waits for more of an explanation from Katniss. He hears nothing about her thoughts, feelings, fears. He only knows what she tells him. And when he doesn't get it, there's no other way to take it as a rejection.

So now what?

“Well, let me know when you work it out,” he says, and the pain in his voice is palpable. -THG- Chapter 27-

“No, I ate at the Hob,” I say. “But thank you.” My voice doesn’t sound like my own, it’s so formal. Just as it’s been every time I’ve spoken to Peeta since the cameras finished filming our happy homecoming and we returned to our real lives. -CF- Chapter 1

The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we’ve had ever since. -CF- Chapter 2

And this is why I feel like it's so unfair to solely blame Peeta for their distance between THG and CF. This distance came from both sides.

Peeta ends Book one asking Katniss to be honest with him once she figures her own feelings out. But she never does. She just picks up her life and tries go back to what it was before the games.

Was he waiting for an answer? How long did he wait? When did he give up and accept that whatever was the 74th was something his mind made up while he lying half dead in a cave?

Katniss has a valid list of a million things that are clouding her feelings for Peeta. We know them because we're stuck in her head. But Peeta isn't. And to be honest, I don't think he ever knows all of them throughout the trilogy.

I want to tell him that he’s not being fair. That we were strangers. That I did what it took to stay alive, to keep us both alive in the arena. That I can’t explain how things are with Gale because I don’t know myself. That it’s no good loving me because I’m never going to get married anyway and he’d just end up hating me later instead of sooner. That if I do have feelings for him, it doesn’t matter because I’ll never be able to afford the kind of love that leads to a family, to children. And how can he? How can he after what we’ve just been through? -THG- Chapter 27-

And this isn't a silly little fling for Peeta. He's liked Katniss since forever. Has there been other girls that caught his eye? Yes, maybe, but Katniss Everdeen has always been a soft spot for him.

Now, there is a part of him that now as to wonder WTF was going on in the Games, in the Cave and the Interview that followed after. You know the one, where Katniss cries into his chest, buries her face into his chest and practically sits on him the entire time.

Unlike Katniss, Peeta now has to question everything because the rug has just been pulled from underneath him. Yes, he's aware about the lover act and playing it up for the audience, but he isn't aware that Katniss and Haymitch have some crazy telepathic connection to each other that was guiding how Katniss would act towards Peeta in the games. He was even delirious half the time. How far did that go? When did it even begin? He knew that Haymitch was sending packages to Katniss instead of him.

I'm not making this shit up because it's the one thing that Peeta outwardly expresses frustration at (especially) Katniss and Haymitch.

“This has to stop. Right now. This — this — game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I’m too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them.” “It’s not like that, Peeta —” I begin. “It’s exactly like that!” he yells at me. “I have people I care about, too, Katniss! Family and friends back in District Twelve who will be just as dead as yours if we don’t pull this thing off. So, after all we went through in the arena, don’t I even rate the truth from you?” - CF - Chapter 5 -

So what is the point i'm making here? Oh right. I think Peeta is 1000% justified in withdrawing from Katniss after the train tracks. What else is he suppose to do? This isn't something he can bounce back and recover from right away. Taking a step back is the most mature thing to do in this situation. For his sake and hers.

I dislike the notion that his apology denotes complete wrong doing on his part. He's having a human moment and he navigates it better than most would. Yes, he freezes her out, but he doesn't berate her, blame her or is mean to her. He just fucks off and deals with his own emotions and only shows up to play the perfect boyfriend. (And when he does, he never does it with malice OR resentment, at least to from Katniss' obervation.) What other alternative is there? He's genuinely hurt and I feel like expecting him to be comforting and supportive on and off camera when he's hurting inside to be unfair.

We sympathize with Katniss because we're in her head 24/7. We can get to hear her yearn and pine for Peeta after the train tracks. But Katniss also just doesn't mention her every trying to fix her relationship with Peeta between books. She lets the ice freeze over until Peeta comes back to ofter friendship instead. Yes, she has trauma and more hang ups than the average modern day person, but so does Peeta. Trauma is an explanation, not an excuse. If Katniss is allowed three books to figure out her feelings for Peeta, Peeta should be allowed the in between of Book 1 and 2 to figure out his with Katniss.

There should be more nuance when we look at this point in time where Peeta and Katniss' relationship is estranged. Peeta has a lot of reasons why he might want distance from her and I think it's unfair to blame him for it. From him questioning the games, Katniss and Haymitch's involvement with each other and Katniss non-answer of a rejection to his feelings, there's a lot of things he needs to sort out himself. Yes, she saved his life, but she also doesn't answer a lot of questions he asks of her. Katniss doesn't owe him a relationship for what happened in the games, or even her reasons why she's not ready for a relationship. But in turn, we shouldn't blame Peeta if he personally needs time to pick himself up, to figure things out himself. And this is just one thing on top of the trauma that follows both of them after the games. He also just fucking lost his leg LMAO

[eldritch-spouse]

Hi Pinnie! Chopping block anon here again! Could we fill this prompt with Santi or Ludwig? I'm banging my head on the nearest wall, I can't choose. Honestly, I know I'll love whatever you end up writing. 😍

How would any of the TCE gang react to finding the object of their obsession (that they'd been actively trying to keep away from the Clergy) on Morrel's chopping block? :o

[Ludwig isn't really a current part of TCE, so I'm going with good old Santi. Also, I feel that this isn't where you wanted it to go, but I got a few thoughts along the way. Fem reader.]

TW: Nonconsensual hypnotism; Implied nonconsensual sharing.

He knew something was up when you didn't so much as answer a morning text.

You need time alone. All humans do. He thought he would too when he would occasionally -Very rarely- Humor the thought of a relationship. But something didn't sit right with Santi when hours passed and you gave him nothing, absolute radio silence- When you're usually so talkative, even in your moodiest days, you'll at least bother to call him a pervert.

The incubus supposes he ought to keep himself busy for a bit before persisting again. He knows he's... A little too eager for contact, and that can naturally irk you. Maybe one day of relative silence might make you trust him more.

The demon has been making the rounds through most of The Clergy's floor for the entire night, restless in his pursuit of clientele, in a desperate effort to get his mind off you. Really, Santi has made more than enough money to honestly call it a day- The crowds are well-entertained and buzzing with a healthy amount of titillation, all is well.

Except he's not quite satisfied. He's in a foul mood honestly. Sometimes it would show on his sculped features as he pleasured those keening beneath him, nothing he couldn't wave aside or fluster out of their minds if they did notice.

He can't quite tell what brings him to the restaurant. Sure, he loves the dirty little thrill of sliding his hand down the table cloth and making someone loll their tongue out with pleasure while they pretend to eat, but most people here don't really have their minds on sex. They're harder catches, essentially.

And yet, when Santi passes by the main kitchen doors, a sound makes him halt. Not just any sound, a squeal. That by itself is no motive to stall, the incubus is well aware Morell loves his job, loves butchering, that he often takes the time to play with his food

-Like the dirty little fuck he is, sticking his fingers everywhere and bending helpless humans onto his cock, like toys, like fuckmeat. A depraved lunatic, pleasant company in Santi's opinion-

But, for some reason, the incubus is sure he recognizes that squeal from somewhere. It could be mere witless paranoia, but the echo of it in his mind doesn't let his feet unroot from their spot, so he figures he might as well check for himself. A dark hand knocks playfully on the heavy kitchen doors, receiving no immediate reply.

" Morell? " He tries.

There's some shuffling, then an eventual. " ... 'M busy! "

Yeah, "busy". Maybe balls deep in one of them already.

" Oh I'll be quick, dear- Just one peek, yes? "

More shifting and another stressed noise he could swear sounds a little too familiar, rubs him the wrong way, before something that sounds a lot like "piss off" gets mumbled back to him.

Typical.

That's why Santi only sighs before parting said doors and quietly weaseling inside.

The bobbles racing around only wave at him before buzzing around in their tasks, giving the demon a decent berth and easily circumventing him. As usual, they're completely unbothered by what their boss is up to.

The salacious, mischievous expression the incubus used in preparation to excuse himself to the chef dies as soon as his eyes scroll up to the chopping table.

Now is the time to pat himself in the back for listening to his gut, because none other than you, his darling minx, lie sprawled on that metal rectangle, like no more than a slab of meat. Your top has been torn off, pieces of it messily fashioned into a blindfold and gag. Morell stands with one hand on your thigh and the other tight around the handle of his cleaver.

Something inside him boils hotter than the rifts of Wrath. By the way you struggle in your binds, it's more than clear you're not enjoying a second of it, and Santi almost wants to believe Morell didn't intentionally seek you out. He's never been that nefarious, that putrid. To provoke the demon he works with.

He couldn't. Not when Santi never even introduced you to his coworkers. They only know your first name and vague descriptions of your face, your hair... That's not enough for someone he works with to miraculously hunt you down.

" Tha Hell did ah say?! Ya- "

" Where did you get that one? "

Santi almost doesn't recognize his own tone, and apparently, it gives the shroom monster pause too. Morell notices something's amiss, he's clever enough to notice the tense state the concubus is in, eyes glowing brighter at each passing second, deceptively still, one wrong answer away from perhaps impulsively starting a fight.

Morell looks at the human woman on his table, then back to Santi. " ... Tha fuck are ya on 'bout? "

" Where. Did you get that one? "

The chef's hand moves to your bare stomach, keeping you from squirming off the cold surface easily while he shifts to face his coworker better.

" Tha usual, Santi. I ain't been havin' time ta hunt 'em on mah own. " He shrugs. " Suppliers. "

The demon continues to glare at the blue monster for a long pause, finding no hint of a lie on those odd eyes. Only confusion and the remnants of exhilaration from what he was previously up to. This calms Santi a great deal. It was just a freak accident, yes? He let his favorite fox run a little too close to home, and she got snatched up... The incubus doesn't even want to think about what would happen if he hadn't come here in this exact nick of time.

Was it a silent nudge from Krulu? No. No, of course not, that's laughable- The lord of this pit spares no empathy for frivolities like their workers' love lives. Still, some unknowable force capable of penetrating the fog of this Clergy steered him well tonight.

Had this been no one of interest, the incubus would have still mauled the perpetrator to a pulp, if only just to prove a point. Or to thrill himself a little. But this is different. Very different. He can make the most out of it if he plays his cards right.

Santi shakes his head, then advances on the pair, unbothered by Morell's defensive puffing.

" You ought to start checking your stock more thoroughly. And not just their orifices. " He teases.

There's an eye roll. " Oh, tha's real fuckin' rich comin' from ya. "

He knows.

Nevertheless, Santi only smiles a little before hooking his claws into the waistband of your pants, grabbing your panties as well, before quickly pulling the fabric down. The newly revealed skin bares a jet black mark that is, by now, unmistakable to anyone who works with Santi. A concubus mark. His mark, elegantly claiming your most intimate parts for himself.

His claws tap idly on the meat of your hips as he watches the chef's face freeze, eyes widening.

" This one belongs to me. "

Silence. You wriggle and sob behind the gag.

" Shit. "

" Yeah. "

" I thought ah... Checked that one. "

The cook looks torn. There's some manner of guilt and cringing written on that darkened complexion, he clearly doesn't intend to continue this, but there's also some selfish sort of turmoil in his body language. As if he's upset he started the process and is now going to have a "pig" taken from his hands.

Santi's smile turns into a disgusting grin when a lightbulb casts complete depravity into his mind's eye. Your mark starts glowing, heating, and your struggling is rapidly paused. Morell squints.

" Hm, but what were you up to just now? "

The shroom hesitates, making some manner of motion with his dominant hand, which clutches his favored piece of sharp equipment.

Santi clicks this tongue. " Nice try. Before that. "

You start wriggling beneath the bigger monster's palm. It's no longer the jerking of a panicked figure trying desperately to escape, but a restless sort of agony. Morell's fuse lights up under the perceived scrutiny.

" Where tha fuck are ya goin' with this?! "

Santi arches a brow.

A quick glance flickers over your form. Today has been exceedingly traumatizing for you, the demon doesn't need to be in your shoes to know that. No one makes it out of Morell's kitchen, and if they do, they'll never be the same. You don't belong in The Clergy, not yet at least, and Santi knows that even with your currently arousal-fried brain, you're going to remember the events of today for the rest of your life- Something he can't allow to happen.

Fortunately, he knows someone who can just... Eat this unfortunate day out of your long term memory.

And, since you're not going to recall a lick of it, why not make this interesting?

What you don't know can't hurt you.

The incubus hums a wordless tune, pulling your remaining clothes down your legs, an easy task, your overheated body yearns to bare itself, he barely has to do anything. Once you're bare, Santi moves to the other side of the table, where your head rests, and starts undoing your blindfold.

Morell grumbles something incomprehensible and he snorts.

" Relax. Why would I stop you from pleasuring my minx? " Santi all but purrs.

" Yer real fuckin' weird. " Morell offers after an incredulous pause. " This ain't rubbin' ya tha wrong way? "

" Oh this is rubbing me all sorts of ways, Mori. "

" Gross- "

" You're hard. " The chef's protests are swiftly silenced. " I can't blame you. She's irresistible, isn't she? "

Morell crosses spotted arms over his chest and casts his eyes away. " She's uh... She's real purtty. "

That's one way to put it.

Santi chuckles when the torn cloth comes off, revealing a flustered, disoriented face. Your eyes glaze deliciously, pupils dilated in want as they surf between him and the blue monster, the mark's hunger going full throttle on your poor organism. The magic of a high-ranker is one Hell of a drug, isn't it? You make a desperate, muffled noise.

" There there, I'm here. You'll be taken care of soon. " He lulls, voice dipping in pitch just to make you shiver. Your head is lovingly raised so you can properly view the other. " That there is my friend. You wouldn't mind playing with him a bit, would you, love? "

Predictably, you nod enthusiastically, going as far as to part your legs in your stupor. Slick gathers excessively on your already stimulated pussy.

" Go on, Morell. "

Said monster gulps behind his thick scarf, drool clinging to his teeth at the lurid encouragement of his fiendish coworker, his fingers already itching to reach out and do as he pleases.

" Show us what you do with your piggies. "

[steddieas-shegoes]

if youre still doing the headcanons- "what is he doing here?"

Steve hadn't seen Eddie in two years. Hadn't talked to him in nearly three. He'd worked pretty hard to not have to hear anything about him or see any news about him for most of that time, too.

So when he sees him sitting on Dustin's couch, lounging, as if he belongs there, he gets a little pissed.

"What is he doing here?" He asks Dustin through gritted teeth.

Dustin failed to mention that anyone else would be at his house for their monthly dinner, let alone that Eddie would be here.

That Eddie was even back in Hawkins.

Eddie overheard him, sitting up on the couch quickly and staring at them both.

"Eddie's in town to visit with Wayne and he stopped by to say hi."

"And he's leaving?"

Eddie looked down at the floor.

Was he...sad? He looked sad.

Steve refused to care, he couldn't care. Not with how Eddie left.

No note, no phone call, just an apology through Dustin as if he should have ever been put in the middle of whatever they had.

But if he was this sad, maybe something was wrong with Wayne? Steve admittedly hadn't checked in with him in a few months, his questioning about what happened between them often leaving him feeling drained.

"No, he's not leaving." Dustin looked between them with an angry glare. "Neither of you are leaving actually. Not until you at least talk about things like adults. You don't have to be friends or whatever, but you damn sure can't keep doing what you're doing. Steve's miserable, Eddie's pretending he isn't. Fix it before we all tie you down and make you."

"Dust-"

"No!" Dustin held his hand up as Eddie tried to speak. "Fix it. I'm going to call Suzie and when I come back, you better at least be able to look at each other."

The next few minutes were silent. Awkward.

Painful.

He noted every physical change in Eddie, saw how thin he was, how the dark circles under his eyes had somehow gotten worse despite the fact that he'd left to make it big and succeeded. He should be happy.

He should be thriving.

He got everything he wanted.

He left Steve behind so he could.

"I guess we should at least talk a little," Eddie finally said, voice much quieter than Steve had ever heard it before.

"Sure."

Steve sat on the other end of the couch from Eddie, looked straight ahead so he could avoid making eye contact.

"I don't know if you keep up with me or anything-"

"I don't."

It was harsh, harsher than Steve actually meant to be. He saw Eddie flinch out of the corner of his eye, resisted the urge to apologize.

"Um. Okay, yeah. Makes sense." Eddie sighed. "I'm kind of. Okay, so I'm in Hawkins for more than just visiting Wayne."

"Okay."

"I'm here because the label isn't happy with my writer's block and they told me to take a couple months and write an album or they'll consider the contract voided."

"Mhm."

Eddie was bouncing his leg, an old anxious habit that clearly hasn't gone away.

"I'm hoping being back here will help. But I also just. I want to spend time with the people I care about. I miss everyone."

"Yeah, I bet."

"I miss you."

Steve's head turned to see Eddie looking at him, unshed tears building in his eyes.

"Eddie-"

"I know I have no right to say it. Or to even be here. I didn't just leave you, I left everyone. And I barely gave any explanation and I've barely kept in touch with anyone except Wayne and Dustin because I'm scared. I'm so overwhelmed all the time and I have so much pressure on me and I didn't want any of that I just wanted to make music and see the world. I haven't slept more than a few hours in two years. When I told our manager, he said to start taking cocaine. Taking it! Like it's medication! And I did actually use it a few times to stay awake. I hate it, hate the way I feel after, but it was that or fall asleep during photoshoots. And this sounds like I'm whining, but I'm just trying to keep it together long enough to make sure Wayne doesn't see how much I hate this and how much I just want to be here playing music at stupid bars and going fishing with him even though I hate fishing and playing D&D with the guys and kissing you."

Steve was biting back his own tears as Eddie's fell.

No matter what, no matter how he felt, no matter what Eddie had done to hurt him, it still hurt to see someone he loved hurting like this.

And wasn't that a thought.

He knew he still loved Eddie, he always would.

He just didn't think he would ever have to face it head on like this.

"Eddie, I." Steve cleared his throat. "I'm sorry things aren't what you wanted, but. I can't. I can't let you in again. I spent a year trying to tell myself you'd be back. A year watching your every move in newspapers and tv interviews. Waiting for the day you'd mention me or come visit and apologize for leaving like you did. But you didn't and I had to accept that. I had to force myself to believe that you didn't care because thinking that you did hurt worse. I couldn't love you the way I wanted to, so I had to tell myself you didn't love me, even though I'm pretty sure you did. I'm pretty sure you still do. But it wasn't enough then and it wouldn't be enough now, and I can't let myself settle for not enough. I've done it before, you know how that fucked me up. I can't let it happen again."

Eddie nodded once, then stood up.

He was leaving again, Steve knew it.

But then, Eddie sunk to his knees in front of Steve, placed his shaking hands on Steve's knees.

"If you tell me to stay, I will."

"Eddie-"

"No. Please. Tell me to stay. I don't want to go back and I need you to tell me to stay. Even if you never talk to me again, I need you to be the reason I give the guys when I tell them I can't do it anymore. They'll understand if it's you. They always knew it would be you."

"Stay. You need to stay."

Eddie sobbed as he dropped his head down, resting his forehead against Steve's knee.

Steve placed a hand on the back of his head, biting back a sob as Eddie's hands squeezed his legs.

Steve couldn't do this right now, he didn't think Eddie could either. Emotions were too high, Dustin was in the room down the hall, and Steve knew there would be yelling, and crying, and words said that might lead to regret.

But it was something to have Eddie here, something to have him begging for Steve to be the one to tell him to stay, something to know that Eddie missed him the way Steve missed them.

[carboardserpent]

Next gen headcanons? 🤔

Like, Jackson, Cruz, Tim, Danny, Chase, and Ryan?

Oh boy, that's a few characters. Alright, strap in then. Probably also gonna throw in Bubba because he's my favourite non-main next gen <3

(Humanised, as always)

(Quick disclaimer for this one, none of these are supposed to reflect on the irl racers that gave their names and voices to them - I'm treating these characters as though they're entirely fictional and not based on/inspired by real people. I make my HCs literally just based on Vibes (and RPs))

Jackson Storm:

6'1 and fit AF. Clearly spends a lot of time in the gym toning his body and muscles. He is male model levels of gorgeous. Physically flawless black man <3

Short black dreadlocks dyed blue at the ends.

Aromantic (female-leaning)bisexual.

Autistic.

Ray knew he was autistic before Jackson even knew himself, and is the reason he even got diagnosed in the first place.

One of his most common complaints is still about the reflections of the sun glinting in his eyes. The loud noise of the track still gets to him occasionally, but he has special earplugs to help him deal with it.

Can usually be seen drinking a can of IGNTR's flagship energy drink before a race. It helps him calm down and focus in. His sponsors love it, for obvious reasons.

Any time he's on camera, he acts calm and cool but internally he's freaking out. If they ask something he doesn't expect, he visibly tenses up and flounders for a second as he tries to figure out what to say, even if it was a simple question.

Doesn't do fan meets or signings unless he absolutely has to. Even then he tries everything he can to get out of them.

His physical attractiveness makes his already poor attitude even worse. Doesn't know how to talk to people, but gets all the praise and attention he could ever want online.

Yes, he posts photos of himself on various social media. He wasn't sure at first, but Ray convinced him to start shortly after his debut race, hoping that it would help reassure him and give him a bit of a confidence boost. Naturally, it went a little TOO well...

He's a gamer through and through. In any downtime he gets, he's still topping the leaderboards on just about every popular racing game you can play online. He also enjoys the occasional game of CoD and will verbally rip anyone to shreds if they try to come at him.

DUBSTEP. He loves it. If his skull isn't rattling from absolutely filthy, grimy bass, he's not interested.

So, of course, he has to have an incredible sound system that's probably worth more than the average person's car.

He doesn't watch anime. (Stop asking him if he does) Most of his entertainment comes from Twitch streams.

He streams himself playing Super Corsa 4 any chance he gets. Which isn't often with the packed NASCAR schedule, but he tries his best. His user is UrStormChasing

Still doesn't get along with Tim after their rivalry in training and isn't very good at pretending he does either. Their crew chiefs have to make deliberate efforts to stop them from running into each other before they get into their cars.

Cruz Ramirez:

5'5 with an athletic build. She is a Latina woman with visible abs and she deserves them gdi.

Side-parted brown hair a little shorter than jaw length, perpetually kinda wild looking.

Chaotic lesbian hours!

ADHD

Literally cannot sleep at night without a big, milky mug of coffee.

It's not normal to wake up and go for a run before even having breakfast?

She's teaching Lightning to use social media more regularly (for better or for worse). His homework is to send her a funny meme or video that he found that week.

The result of this can sometimes be catastrophic. She'll never be able to unhear him uncertainly attempting to use outdated slang.

Almost every race, there's someone complaining about how she doesn't weigh enough and it's unfair to the rest of them. So she forces them to watch as race officials put extra weights in her car.

Has cussed Danny out in Spanish across Pit Road and will do it again if he carries on-

Is probably the only person on Team Dinoco that is actually nice to Cal and doesn't try to tease him. They get along well.

Tim Treadless:

6'0 with a broad frame and light muscle tone.

Tanned skin and tousled brown hair.

Straight ally.

Just call him Mr. Charismatic, everyone loves him.

Everyone except Jackson, that is. Jackson is the only person who brings out his anger to the point of wanting to throw hands.

Has a wife and a baby, bc of course he does.

One of those guys some people hate for being irritatingly perfect. Usually people that don't actually know him.

Has type 1 diabetes and a bad nut allergy.

Was pulled out of a race at the last minute when he went into anaphylactic shock - the entire race was almost stopped when people started to whisper that it was foul play. The race went on, but the only reason for Treadless' absence was that he had to be pulled for "unforseen medical issues".

Some of the other racers still blame Jackson, who actually had nothing to do with it.

Danny Swervez:

5'10 and fairly slender. Not a lot of bulk to him.

Tanned skin (he's Latino) and short black hair.

Cishet male.

This man is FULL of himself. What an attitude.

Genuinely a good racer, but not many people like him.

He's not a good guy. He's given Cruz some trouble for being a woman, though after she embarrassed him by publicly cussing him out in Spanish, he's learned to keep his unpopular opinions on her to himself.

Isn't exactly what we would call "faithful".

But hey, at least he doesn't cheat on the track (smh)

Has just as little respect for the older racers as Jackson, but is less vocal about it.

Is very bitter about Jackson and Tim being more popular than him, yet still does nothing to change himself for the better.

Has at least attempted to physically fight with other drivers that messed with him on the track several times.

Chase Racelott:

5'9 with a build somewhere between Danny and Tim.

Pale skin and dirty-blonde hair.

Straight ally.

Generally a pretty likeable guy. Not as well-loved as Tim, but he has a good amount of pretty dedicated fans.

Makes jokes about being single/available.

Has pretty average performance on the track, not great, but not poor.

Fairly high energy, he gets along well with Cruz.

Probably one of the best with kids. Has a lot of younger fans because of how he interacts with them during meets and signings.

One of the few who will try not to leave until he's spoken to every fan who wanted to meet him, no matter how long it takes.

Often seen hanging around with Ryan - the two of them cause some pretty good natured trouble together, often involving pranks on the other racers.

Ryan "Inside" Laney:

5'11 with a broad build similar to Tim.

Mixed race (¾ Caucasian, ¼ African American), with short black hair.

Closeted bisexual.

Friendly, but not really a standout character as far as the fans are concerned.

Kind of cocky, but in a cool way.

Has a girlfriend who travels with him.

Agent of chaos when he spends too much time with Chase. Don't turn your back on him.

Bubba Wheelhouse

Absolutely massive 6'2 gentle giant

Another gorgeous black man (fight me), his skin tone isn't quite as dark as Jackson's

Closeted homosexual

Has a fake relationship with a lesbian woman who's actually just his best friend (the racing world is scary and the US South probably wouldn't love an openly gay driver)

Kids ADORE him. Him and Chase are the drivers with the most kid fans.

Throws a football around with fans over the catch fence during rain delays (this one is based on the real Bubba Wallace bc its wholesome af)

Gets asked all the weird gay questions by everyone in the friend group. (Ex. "Is it gay if...?" "What is X actually like?")

Legit just trying to mind his own business, he doesn't want any part of drama or rivalries.

Occasionally finds himself roped into girl talk if the guys have their S/Os around. They're very excited to include him. He's too polite to decline.

[fun-k-board]

Hey are reqeust still opened if not sorry to bother you but if they are

can you do a child rocky x child reader? (The reader has a younger sister in this) fluff to angst to fluff

It's basically how rocky met reader and their sister as kids and then one day reader and their sister have to move (you can decide why if you want) and rocky gets sad by this but they meet again as adults working together at lackadaisy

(Hope this isn't too much)

Pronouns used : None

Note(s) :

Of course! I'm not too sure what you wanted the sister to do when they're older, or just narrative wise? I didn't have any ideas, my bad.

Rocky was never a calm person, mind and body always running faster than anybody could keep up with, especially in his youth. While his aunt was a ferice and true Christian woman, someone who practically haunted his dreams, at least she didn't have a gun. It was times like this, where he, his cousin and miss pepper where behind a van being shot at, he missed the older times. Even if they were boring and filled with church.

Although, that wasn't because he missed her per say, it was more for two young siblings he met when he was younger himself. They were his best friends and most trusted companions, besides Freckle of course, and had met in his opinion, the best of circumstances.

Not at church, not doing something nice for either of them, instead, Rocky had shoved pancakes on either of his arms, creating sleeves of some kind. Syrup covered him and he was a complete mess. He was running away from a shouting auntie and managed to get lost, at a house away from his own in a forest. It wasn't well kept at all.

There he found two kids the same age as him, they didn't look like locals, strange clothes for this weather and they didn't seem to be playing, just standing out their house. When they both noticed him, the younger of the two quietly laughed and pointed not so discreetly at the pancakes lining his arms.

"He looks silly!" She whispered, staring at him like he was some strange creature and pulling on the older ones clothes.

"Hello! It's nice to meet you!" The eldest, you, outstretched a hand, he noted both of your ways of saying words was weird, but also not. Like you two were pretending to have an accent. Rocky grinned. It was clear you're all going to best friends from that moment, because he thought so. He thrust his hand forward and shook your own aggressively.

"Name's Rocky! Your name my-" He paused, then cartoonishly put his hands on his hips "-dearest neighbour?"

"My name is (F/N), This is-" You, jumping in shock as your younger sister yanked on your fur to push herself in front of you.

"(S/N)!" She happily grinned, giggling and absent minded. Tail swishing happily as she looked up at the older boy, he could swear she reminded him of himself in some way.

Every few days you'd all meet up, he even brought Freckle on some days, but as the days passed, and even months flew by, he began to notice how different you both seemed from the first meeting. (S/N) seemed more quiet as they met more, unable to run and laugh as she once could, and you were more protective, less adventurous and too busy helping your sister walk to speak to Rocky.

Until one day you both stopped coming all together.

He waited an hour each day for a month just to see you two again, Freckle stayed even after that, but even then you still wouldn't come back. They both banged on the door, yelling for you, yet the inside was always still, even less taken care of than before. You had both left. And he denied it for so long, but he realised as he grew why. Rocky at first believed you to have left because you both hated him, you both lost interest in your friendship and simply didn't want to be around him anymore.

But he noticed the signs, he knew the truth, (S/N) was sick, deathly so, she couldn't breathe and instead sat down on most days, even you seemed more sickly. Yet both of you were determined to at least see him and his cousin.

He tried to convince himself you just left for a doctor, but no doctor takes that long, he knew you both most likely died from some illness you weren't used to. With how you both spoke, you weren't from here, and you couldn't resist disease here. It weighed on him, how he didn't confront you about it, to at least confirm his suspicions.

And now, in gunfire and feeling his consciousness drain, it all felt fuzzy, familiar, warm. He wanted to go back and see you both again, one of the highlights of his youth, but also one of the most horrifying parts.

Rocky's eyes snapped open, he was shoved onto a couch like a sack of dirt, the force knocking some air from him and causing spurts of coughs and croaky mumbles of confusion. His vision was blurred and he felt like he drank an entire bottle of alcohol, but he could make a shape from all the chaos. It was speaking, and sounded angry, he noticed what he assumed to be Viktor leaving and slamming the door behind him, that's when the shape drew closer.

It held his hand, it was fuzzy... He noticed the accent, it was familiar. Then came the hug, you're warm. He wanted to reach out and hug you back, but not only did it hurt to breathe, he guessed he understood how you felt back then, but he realised you were wrapping something around him, not hugging him.

Black dots crowded his vision, and the next thing he knew he felt fabric on his chest different from his shirt, itchy and medical. Rocky grimaced and gripped the sofa cushion uncomfortably digging into his side, wanting it all to be over, he loved the job, just not this part. He felt himself fade away once again.

It took so much from you to not force him awake, but you waited, you had waited before for years, what was a few more hours? Your thoughts raced and you felt like sobbing, your sister had begun helping other injured within the Lackadaisy staff before she left for the night, believing he wouldn't wake until morning, yet it still didn't persuade you to leave his side.

Not even after the night ended and you had wasted precious time, you could've helped others with your sister, but all you could think of was him. Was he the same? You didn't know, and a part of you wanted to leave and never see him again, he could hate you for leaving, you never explained why, and he couldn't understand so young. Rocky was your friend, and you hope he still is.

The light began pouring into the room, your tired and aching eyes didn't notice the twitching, your sleepy head not processing the pained grunts from your patient, until he whispered your name.

Your ears perked up, suddenly more alert than they'd ever been in your life, your eyes widened and pulse quickened. He shifted from his position on the couch, before his back was laid flat, now he was turned slightly to look at you, luckily off his injured side.

"Rocky?..." You questioned quietly, smiling brightly and gently moving a hand forward to his coat, peeking underneath to see the blood seeping through had dried, you whispered for him to sit up slowly if he could. Coughing, he did so, wincing in pain and scratching a cushion that rubbed against the injury.

You began wrapping the new bandages around his side, leaning in close to do so, he took the opportunity and hugged you tightly, you almost thought he was planning to remove your spine with the force he pressed against you.

"I missed you too! Please let go-"

[ranchthoughts]

Moments of ephemerality/permanence/YOLO/photography/voyeurism/control/hypocrisy/accountability etc. in Only Friends ep. 9

last week in meta

Permanence vs ephemerality

As usual, a quick little recap on moments that to me spoke of the ephemeral and the permanent:

Nick says "Why can't I forget about Boston despite the fact that he did lots of shit to me?" -> Nick wishes Boston, his love for Boston, and his memories of Boston are more ephemeral than they are

Nick calls Ray Sand's "haunting spirit," Sand says Ray won't find where he is and join them because Sand isn't that important to him (not worth the time and effort to drive 2 hours into the mountains) -> Sand thinks his relationship with Ray is ephemeral, that what they have (and the interest Ray has for him) is not lasting or permanent

Sand had imaginary (spectral) friends as a kid because he had no real friends as a child

Sand and Nick try hooking up but it doesn't do anything for them -> friendship is the lasting relationship between them, anything romantic/sexual is just a passing fancy, the awkwardness of the moment is also fleeting and they quickly go back to normal

Ray's shirt says "YOLO" while he and Sand sit in the water and talk

Ray again tells Sand "Don't think too hard about it," like he did in his car that one time -> live in the moment, go with the flow, YOLO

All the talk about death at the camper van between Ray and Sand (Ray talking about his life flashing before his eyes, Ray asking if people would cry if he died, Ray requesting a funeral song from Sand, while Sand says "I have dreams. I don't want to die just yet.", Ray asks if he can follow Sand and Sand's dream around "now that I live") -> life is fleeting

Ray and Mew break off their relationship -> this arrangement, pretending to be romantically involved, was fleeting; their platonic friendship is more lasting (like Mew said a few episodes ago about being friends forever)

Cheum says she thought of Mew's changes as him being possessed by an evil spirit (ephemeral, something outside of Mew's control) but Mew says he was just lost and trying to become stronger by becoming someone else for a bit

Despite breaking things off with Ray and understanding that his party-going behaviour was a way of coping with everything that went on, Mew is still dressing like Ray at the end of the episode (are these changes in behaviour, or at least in dress, more permanent than they may have initially seemed?)

Atom wanted a more lasting relationship with Boston, despite the pretense for them hooking up was as one-time experiment to see if Atom was in fact interested in men; once again Boston is saddled with a man who wants something more lasting and committed than he was prepared to give (or was agreed on)

Recording and digital media

Of course, a core example of permanence in this show has been recordings, either in audio or visual form. We saw more of that this episode.

Top records Ray and Sand making out in the music room, though he doesn't show the footage to Mew (...reminiscent of Mew obtaining the footage of Boston and Gap but not showing it to his dad/posting it online... though making Boston very aware of what he *could* have done and what a good person he is for *not* doing that)

Atom says he wants a photo to keep (the idea of photos being a permanent keepsake), Boston took photos of Atom after their hookup

There's something here as well about consensually being recorded vs. not... Atom asking to be photographed by Boston vs Top recording Ray and Sand, like how Boston recorded Ray and Mew or Gap recorded Boston and others (which itself can be contrasted by Mew expressing interest and excitement at being recorded by Gap when he was on his reconnaissance mission).

I was playing around with the idea of surveillance the other week, with Gap running a channel full of sex tapes (that may or may not have been recorded with consent) and Boston using Instagram to find his friends. This week:

Ray figures out where Sand and Nick are based on Nick's Instagram story -> just like how Boston figured out his friends were at the hostel based on Cheum's Instagram story. Again, the characters don't think about what their social media presence is revealing to others

Mew's moms saying they recognize Top from Mew's Instagram

Social media, especially Instagram, has had a recurring role in this series. It makes sense, given the age of the characters, but it also brings up ideas of the appearances we put up/narratives we tell ourselves and others, surveillance, permanent records of things vs. the ephemerality of digital content, etc...

And of course, we these tie into the theme of voyeurism too: Top records Sand and Ray making out in the music room, Nick listening to Boston and his hookup kiss in the bathroom stall for a moment (before interrupting to give a heartfelt apology and goodbye).

Control and Boundaries

Last week I thought some thoughts about control and boundaries, and especially cases where characters said "it's none of your business what I do". We had lots more examples of this this week too:

Sand asks Ray to get out of his way multiple times in the music room and Ray doesn't

Ray tells Sand "Now that I have you in my life I won't let you walk away"

Top steps in to say Mew has a boyfriend when Mew is chatting to the random bar stranger, then grabs Mew by the arm and trying to pull him

Mew tells Top to stay out of his life

Ray demands sex from Mew and Mew shuts him down, Ray asks why Mew slept with Top but not him, Ray giving reasons why he is "owed" sex ("I've been nothing but good to you for the last four years")

Ray phones Sand many times and when Sand picks up, Ray gets mad it took him so long to answer

Sand tells Ray not to come to him, Ray finds out where Sand is and goes to him anyways

Sand tells Ray "I'm not just stuff you have in your possession. I have feelings."

Atom shows up at Boston's house to ask why Boston isn't answering his messages

Boston and Atom have a one night stand so Atom can experiment and figure himself out but Atom is mad it was only one night

Top invites himself along on Mew's shopping trip with his moms even though Mew repeatedly tries to get him to leave

Sand says whether or not he and Nick are hooking up is none of Ray's business

Sand says that if Ray doesn't sort himself out and someone without conditions comes by he will not wait for Ray, though he says he doesn't want this to be pressure on Ray

Mew talks about Sand to Ray in the context of ownership ("If he loves you too, do your best to keep him")

Again we see the idea of ownership - who gets to dictate or have opinions on your life - and boundary crossing, especially as it pertains to leaving people alone (I've lost count in this series so far, but there's been so many cases of people saying "don't find me" or not answering texts but being tracked down regardless).

I would also like to point out how interesting it is to have Nick promise not to see Boston any more in a show where everyone has been categorically incapable of leaving people alone/tracking them down.

Friendship

We had more this episode on friendship, and what friendship entails (I was batting this idea around the other week as well).

Sand and Nick kiss then admit it did nothing for them and agree they are better off as platonic friends (though platonic friends can cuddle). Mew says it is lucky he and Ray didn't hook up because otherwise they wouldn't be able to look at each other in the eye. Again, we see friendship as something defined by the lack of sex, that sex changes a relationship (and that sex is generally something not possible/desirable in a platonic relationship).

Previously, Mew has told us friends are not people you fuck in a car, and Sand has said friends don't struggle to stop kissing one another. Only Ray has provided an alternate definition, that friendships can start from sex, though the audience may debate whether he has been successful in creating friendships or rather other types of relationships.

Change

A couple of weeks ago, and the week before that, I was tracking what characters had to say about change (did they think it was possible? under what conditions? etc.):

Nick in the past has tried to change himself (go to the gym, dress differently, etc.) to appeal to Boston. This week, Nick tells Boston he doesn't have to change, that his friends like him for who is, that people (including Nick) will love Boston for who he is.

Mew in the past has said people can change though it will take time, and he was skeptical of Top being able to change and repent. This week, Mew says he wants to give Top a second chance because he can see Top's efforts (Top is capable of change, it just takes time and effort), and Mew talks about how he himself changed (in behaviour, dress, interests, etc.) as a way to recover from his experiences and find strength ("I want you to understand that what happened to me affected my self-confidence so much. I just thought if I became someone else, I would be stronger"). Mew also tells Ray "Reduce your ego. Not everyone can put up with everything you do" (implying that Ray should change himself so Sand will stick around).

Ray in the past has hinted that change is possible, as he made comments about getting over Mew. This episode we had more of the same, with Ray saying he is working on getting over Mew though it is hard, and also showing a change in the way he interacts with Mew (more self-aware, less idealizing or all encompassing in his feelings for Mew).

Cheum in the past did not think Mew's change (in behaviour, wardrobe, interests, etc.) was good or healthy. This episode she said Mew changing is like he was possessed by an evil spirit, and she says she will come back and work on the hostel project if they all promise to stop with the mess (if they change their behaviour).

We've also been talking about how often characters in Only Friends have had a vested interest in preventing others from changing, like Cheum and Top teaming up last episode over "concern" for Mew (1, 2), and how that relates to themes of control, hypocrisy, and the permanency of labels.

Honesty (and accountability)

There was QUITE a lot of honesty this episode:

Sand and Nick trying to hookup but then admitting it isn't doing anything for them and they are better off as friends

Sand pointing out the parallels between him and Ray hooking up while Ray is seeing Mew, and Top and Boston hooking up (which Mew points out later in the episode as well)

Sand saying he likes Ray a lot and he is jealous of Ray and Mew, but he knows that isn't his place to be upset about; Ray admitting he likes Sand too but Mew is special to him and it is not easy for him to get over Mew (implying that the end goal is to get over Mew)

Ray and Sand talking about Ray's crash and how that made them feel (Ray talks about flashing back through his life when he crashed, Sand says he would have never forgiven himself, etc.), Ray asking if anyone would cry if he died

Mew and Ray's conversation on the bench where Mew says he knows Ray went to see Sand and Ray doesn't deny it, Mew says he is glad Ray picked Sand and admits "You can clearly see I dated you just to hurt Top," Ray admits that he knew that ("I kind of got the hint. But I was trying to fool myself") and says it is nice Mew loves Top; they then share the most honest and sincere "I love yous" with each other this series

Nick giving a heartfelt speech to Boston about his feelings for him, apologizing for what happened, and promising not to see him anymore

Mew admitting to Cheum he is still in love with Top and explaining the reasons why he changed as he did (he felt vulnerable and insecure)

I'd like to point out that not only are the characters being honest with each other to an extent we have not seen before, but they are also being honest with themselves. Sand admits he really likes Ray, Ray admits that he was trying to convince himself Mew actually loved him romantically, Mew admits that he changed because he was insecure and wanted to be strong and that he was just dating Ray to make Top jealous... and so on.

There's been some talk about how maturely Ray and Mew, for example, handled their break-up, and the amount of honesty in that conversation played a big role in that maturity. If the characters do not own up with themselves (and others, of course) about their behaviour, their motivations, and their impacts, how can they show true accountability and learn and grow from their actions and choices?

Hypocrisy and moral superiority

After episode 6 I threw around some ideas about Top and Mew and their dynamic. Top has a habit of casually trying to sway Mew's opinions, especially against Ray (insinuating that Ray doesn't work hard on the hostel project, insinuating that Ray will never stop having feelings for Mew, etc.). I noticed a few things this episode that reminded me of this:

Mew tells Top to stay out of his life, that his choices are none of Top's business, and Top says he knows that he has no right to make comments about Mew's life and choices (after coming in and making comments about Mew's life and choices...) and then says "I bet you know what you are doing" (trying to smooth it over and convey absolute belief in Mew)

Top doesn't show Mew the video of Ray and Sand ("I don't want to play another dirty trick to get you back") but does make it pretty clear that Ray is doing something -> he's a "good guy" because he didn't share anything that isn't his business, but he hinted at it enough he may as well have shared it. He gets to keep his veneer of "good guy" while also getting his desired outcome (getting Mew's wheels turning re: Ray) - see @thatgirl4815's post here. This is also very similar to what Mew does with Boston and the sex tape: holding all the cards, threatening with them, but not actually deploying them, which allows them to claim moral superiority (and, in Top's case, claim that he is leaving Mew alone to make his own decisions).

Top says if this "Mew the party-goer" is who he wants to be, he will support him, BUT he also says he would love to have the old Mew back -> again, Top gives himself a veneer of "good guy" (he will be there to support Mew whatever his choices are! He respects Mew's autonomy!) BUT while doing so he manages to convey his preference (Mew to return to "normal") and still give an opinion on what Mew should do. It reminds me of what Top said about Lasik - laying it out as an option and suggesting it casually, before belatedly tacking on a comment about how he like Mew in glasses. Top made his preference clear then backtracked, claiming to respect whatever Mew chooses, much in the way he frames his comments about Ray (just simple, casual observations).

This dynamic is really interesting to me given all the talks about control and hypocrisy we've been having over the course of the series, and Mew's much explored superiority complex (especially with regards to morality and sex). Top demonstrates a similar superiority complex, and given he's trying to win Mew back, it's interesting to wonder how many of these affectations have been adopted to appeal to Mew's love of the moral high ground and appease Mew's repeated protestations that his decisions are none of Top's business.

@waitmyturtles and @twig-tea were also talking last week about how this moral superiority works hand in hand with ignoring other peoples' agency and a lack of reflection on how one's actions impact others. Accountability - these young people coming to terms with how their decisions have consequences and setting aside their YOLO ways a bit to think of others - is not possible without (self-)honesty, without giving up control, without taking a step off the high horse of moral superiority and comparison.

Random thoughts

Ray and Mew talk about a sleepover they had (with at least Cheum as well) in second year and talk about being in each other's lives for 4 years... we are getting a slightly better understanding of when this group came together.

On assumptions, which I was thinking about a couple of weeks ago: this episode Ray sees Nick and Sand in bed together and assumes they were hooking up. Once again, we have a character interpreting things through their own lens and one that perhaps reveals more about that character than about what is going on.

On "should have" and the narratives we tell ourselves: once again we had Mew (and Ray) talking about their relationship in terms of what "should" be, for example Mew telling Yo he should be in love with Ray because Ray has been by his side forever.

On comparisons, since this friend squad is constantly comparing themselves to one another: Sand and Mew compare what Sand and Ray have been doing to what Top and Boston did, Ray compares his physical relationship with Mew to Top's (and isn't pleased), Sand says that compared to Boston Ray is a saint (see @lurkingshan's post on that here).

On addiction, which we've seen a lot of talk on/mention of in the show so far (but I haven't been collecting mentions of, regrettably): Mew tells his moms he is not addicted to cigarettes, Mew tells Ray to consult with a therapist about quitting drinking.

hello ephemerality squad: @chickenstrangers, @clara-maybe-ontheroad, @colourme-feral, @distant-screaming, @lurkingshan, @neuroticbookworm, @rocketturtle4, @slayerkitty, @thatgirl4815, @twig-tea, @waitmyturtles, @wen-kexing-apologist

[warmhealerr]

Random OC ask, summer game! ⛱️☀️🌊.

What your OCs or favorite characters would be doing on a beach? In case they absolutely can't go on a beach, what other summer activity do they enjoy?

Bonus level - once answered, pass this ask to 3 other people's inboxes!

Also got tagged by @ardentkurashk (thank you both).

See, I am used to (and prefer) beaches that have more stone than sand, so this answer is gonna be shaped by that.

Focusing on DND chars.

During the day, Ta'rath would sit half immersed where the foam collects in between harsh swimming sessions from one end of the beach to the other. They're definitely doing this naked and people can cry about it. They would hate the drying sand on their skin though, especially as it gets stuck in the creases of their spots and under their feet alongside the cuts they'd earn in the process. They'd most likely wash themself at least thrice after when they get back home, and would still find ways to complain about the particles left.

At night, I can imagine them going back to the beach for some nice peace and quiet. They would sit in the dark, listening to the sea and perhaps few boats creaking, gaze half perceiving the horizon and its subtle orange tint.

(Note : quicksand risks and tide aside, I recommend going to the beach around mightnight-3am once in a lifetime).

Assuming the deep gnomes wouldn't fry under the sun :

Joufos, when he isn't floating on his back, would be sticking to the shore hunting for shrimps, crabs and other edible friends he can reach by hand. Wouldn't catch everything even if he could just because he likes watching and touching the creatures more than throwing them in a bucket to eat later (cat behavior). In a more modern setting he'd be especially into trying to identify every species he can lay eyes on with his phone. Would probably find himself stupid sick or worse because he decided to touch or eat a venomous/poisonous animal, completely ignoring its bright colors.

Oulmat is on her third cocktail and has a big, bright dumb smile on her flushed face. Wouldn't indulge in actual beach activities, she's just here to drink out of the sun's reach and watch people get in trouble.

If Baltumal showed up with her he'd be attempting to sunbathe chilling on a flamingo float, until he eventually drifts off, lost at sea, and rescue teams have to look for him. They've all the time in the world considering he doesn't need to eat nor drink. He'd be back with the most awful sunburned and salt blistered skin you've ever seen but he'd comment he feels no pain and couldn't give less of a shit anyway, he had a good time.

Zilkon shows up with full sports sailing gear, ends up buried in sand and gravel for 5 hours. He has most likely been forgotten by his peers, but as long as he's got sunglasses on he doesn't mind at all. Hopefully people dig him up before the tide gets him.

Mischkit would be annoying everyone at peak hours trying to play frisbee, soccer and volleyball with him in his stupid sexy mankini until eventually enough random strangers agree. He might accidentally destroy a child's sandcastle in the process. He'd be a dick about it and pretend to have no remorse whatsoever but he's gonna have nightmares about it for 3 years.

[crimeronan]

" Today, Eda says, “Luz told me he was made for her.”

“That’s... sweet?” "

holy shittt. fuck. this is how i know you made this fic because i spent the entire time going "you two are the worst possible people to have this conversation". raines entire reaction to that statement. Terrible. Nightmare. Raine You Should be Better Than This. "Ask Darius" raine says, being terrible on purpose.

everything about this was flawless. shout out to eda for going "shes just like you. shes So Much Like You. you mustve raised her" and then adding "and also Entirely Fucking Crazy. Permanently Damaged. just. Broken. a Mess" beautiful. no implications. no ones ever said it better worse.

sick vs. crazy as a dichotomy. crazy as an acknowledgement of what it is, no cover ups, no bullshit, just fucking CRAZY. sick as the reasonable, actual, kind way to see it. sick also making me Viscerally Nauseous compared to Crazy.

"i'd like to know her after shes sick too." wow! most of this fic focuses on eda being terrible, but raine, i think thats The Worst Thing you could've said. thats just. wow. Bad. beautiful. just fucking Terrible. its perfect. like even if eda is outwardly crazy, i was mostly thinking "jesus christ raine"

healing being a demand of the sick from edas pov, and healing being a gift to the sick from raines pov. Nightmare Nightmare Nightmare.

i fucking love this

i love raine So Dearly. and may have character assassinated them a little in this fic, but with love. they're genuinely not malicious, at least (it was CRUCIAL that none of this is ever said anywhere that luz can hear, and that eda went "don't you dare repeat that anywhere near her"). but i wanted to play with the illness versus crazy dichotomy and may have weighted too much of my own fear of therapists into it. LMAO

people are constantly talking about characters who "talk like they're trying to get a good grade in therapy," who are super emotionally self-aware and take other people's feelings into account and use all the right statements when they're speaking. and how irritating it is to encounter this

canon raine is one of the better-emotionally-adjusted characters in toh despite suffering more than jesus and making a lot of godawful decisions. so i wanted the friction between someone who's very self-controlled and has the """right""" outlook on mental health, and someone who Absolutely Does Not. and what a fight about that looks like.

raine is also trying to navigate the concept of mental illness in a world that loosely doesn't really have it -- i think if i drop 'em in a room with camila for a few hours they'll come out of it Much more settled and much less likely to put their foot in their mouth. AND eda's narration about them isn't necessarily reliable. "you just wanted to cure me!!!" eda yells, when what actually happened was more like her shouting "I WILL KILL US BOTH BEFORE I TELL YOU WHY I AM SAD. STOP SMOTHERING MEEEE"

....they're stupid. waow.

the hunter thing might be unforgivable tho SKDLJFLKS. sorry everyone. i was thinking about how much canon time raine spent putting eda through hell while pretending to be brainwashed & was like yeah.... yeah this feels..... about how this particular scenario would go.