#but i’ve become more open minded and less ignorant about him

[psychotic-nonsense]

The complexity of accepting how wrong you were, but being far too late to change it.

You are simply left to wonder.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 BIRDS OF A FEATHER (WE SHOULD STICK TOGETHER)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you're called back to yokohama when the president of the agency and the boss of the port mafia are infected by the same ability. you know that the situation is complicated, but you don't realize just how bad it is for you until you're sitting face-to-face with dazai on the opposing side for the first time.

wordcount: 8.7k; sfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, mentions of mafia business (pmreader doing pm business!!), light angst with happy ending,

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy friday :') i hope u guys enjoy

You should have known better than to think your trip back to Europe would be uneventful. You’d hardly been away for a month, working with Tolstoy and the Three Deaths to figure out what exactly Fyodor Dostoevsky might be planning in Yokohama. The man is frustratingly good at covering his tracks, even Tolstoy’s best have been having trouble picking up his trail. You’d begun to make some progress in Rome when you got the 119 text from Chuuya, forcing you to drop what you were doing to get on the jet back to Japan.

“Are you on the way back yet?”

The urgency in Chuuya’s voice on the call only serves to stress you out more. Your eyes slide shut as you lean against your chair, ignoring your subordinate’s curious eyes as you reply with a short: “Yes, Chuuya. You sent a 119. Of course, I am on the way back, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“You’re not going to like it,” Chuuya says tightly. “I was going to wait until you got here.”

“Obviously, I am not going to like it,” you reply. “I cannot imagine why I would ever like a 119.”

“You’re really not going to like it,” Chuuya stresses and you can’t help but sigh, bracing yourself for whatever he’s about to say. “The Boss is dying.”

“What?”

You’re on your feet in an instant, eyes wide and phone pressed to your ear as your heart comes to a painful stop in your chest. Klaus straightens where he’s sitting, the curious expression quickly shifting into concern and confusion. You know the kid is itching to ask what’s going on, but you can hardly think straight with the sudden news. Fear begins to claw at your chest—a dangerous, dangerous emotion that threatens to shut down your mind. You know you have to get it under control before it can but your tongue feels swollen and heavy and your mind has become a jumble of thoughts that you can’t decipher.

That can’t be possible. It can’t. Mori dying? The thought itself is so ludicrous that it almost makes you laugh but you know Chuuya would never joke about this. 

“He and the President of the Agency were attacked by an ability user that can infect people with diseases. One has to die or both will. Unless we kill the President in the next thirty-six hours, the Boss will die.”

“Pushkin,” you spit out angrily. “That nasty roach. I’ve met him before. You called me right when it happened?”

“Yep,” Chuuya says, anxiety thinly veiled in his tone. “We just launched an assault on the Agency-”

“Dumbass,” you seethe, cutting him off. “I can’t stand you sometimes. Now we’ll have to track them down. I’ll be there in less than an hour, don’t do anything else stupid.”

You hang up the phone without another word.

“What’s going on?” Klaus calls after you curiously, but you’re already making your way to the front of the plane, pushing the cockpit door open to get the attention of the pilot.

“Fly faster.”

Dazai sighs as he rests against the pillows of the hospital bed, trying to figure out how exactly he’s going to convince the nurses to let him have his phone. His gaze drifts from his bedsheets to the window, following a bird soar past the glass into the sky as his mind races to piece together Fyodor’s plans.

By now, Fukuzawa should be safe within Lucy Montogomery’s interdimensional space; it’s only a matter of whether or not Tanizaki will be able to pull off the assassination on Mori. Dazai thinks the chances are slim��even if he does manage to get past the Black Lizards, Kouyou will be guarding Mori personally and Golden Demon will be able to sense Tanizaki through the illusion. He’ll be okay though, Dazai has Kyouka on standby as the one that’s going to extract him from the base and Kouyou will hesitate at the sight of her. He just needs to figure out a new approach. One that will be more successful.

What to do next?

For the first time in years, Dazai well and truly struggles to formulate a plan. He’s always struggled with the concept of failure and it haunts him now like an oppressive shadow hanging over his shoulders, knowing that the one man who had brought him in without hesitation, accepted him into the light with open arms despite his gruesome past, will be facing the consequences of his incapability this time.

Shit.

Despite the copious amount of pain relievers he’s on, Dazai can feel a headache coming on from the stress of this situation and Fyodor Dostoevsky. He’s never had an opponent like this before—one who can match him move for move on the chessboard, see through all of his plans, and it scares Dazai because he knows this is only the beginning and if he’s struggling now…

Dazai is drawn out of his thoughts as the door to his hospital room opens—he lifts his head, preparing round two of trying to convince the nurse to give him his phone, only to freeze when he’s met with an achingly familiar sight.

Your lips are curved up into a coy smile, his phone dangles tauntingly between your fingers. You look beautiful—always do—and Dazai’s chest flutters at the sight of you, drinking in your pretty face and basking in the warmth he only ever feels in your presence. For a second, all of Dazai’s fears are washed away because there’s nothing that he can’t handle with you at his side. 

For a second, because then Dazai remembers that you’re not at his side anymore.

You’re the enemy.

“Long time, no see,” you drawl, making your way forward to take a seat on the edge of his hospital bed. “You look like shit.”

Dazai sighs heavily, the smile on his lips becoming a bit more tired as he reaches out for your hand, fingers brushing over your palm before he laces them with yours. “My sweet hime, you’re always a sight for sore eyes, but I can’t help but feel dismayed by you being back in Yokohama now.”

You being back in Yokohama makes things even more difficult for the situation at hand. Chuuya and Kouyou, Dazai could’ve outsmarted them—it would’ve been difficult with how well Chuuya knows Dazai and all of his schemes, but it would’ve been doable, if only because the man is easy enough to antagonize. But you? You won’t fall for any of Dazai’s tricks and you’ll make sure Chuuya doesn’t either. 

Things just got much more complicated—he really didn’t expect them to be so quick to call you back. You and Dostoevsky at the same time, two opponents who can match him more for move when he was at the top of his game, which he’s not at with his head all fogged up with painkillers… it didn’t bode well for him or the people relying on him.

His throat tightens when you lift his hand to brush your lips against his knuckles, having to close his eyes to hide the way they mist over because of the casual intimacy that he’s only shown by you. Your fingers tighten around his as you drop your joined hands back into your lap, an unreadable expression on your face as you look at him.

“I’m so mad at you.” You smile at him but Dazai can see the way you swallow thickly, desperately trying to contain your emotions. “To walk into such an obvious trap set by Dostoevsky… To think you would try to leave me behind again so soon after our reunion. Are you so eager to rid yourself of me?”

“Never,” Dazai says hoarsely. “I knew he wouldn’t-”

“You don’t know anything about Fyodor Dostoevsky, Dazai.” You interrupt him, grip on his hand almost becoming painful as you glare at him. “I don’t know anything about him and I spent many months with him. How could you be so reckless?” 

Dazai was not aware that you spent many months with Fyodor Dostoevsky but that’s a conversation for another time. He feels distinctly scolded as he looks away from you petulantly. “I had to-”

You reach forward with your free hand to grab his chin, forcing him to look at you, and all of the fight leaves Dazai’s body as soon as you touch his face. His lashes flutter as he instinctively leans into your touch and his throat bobs when your grip on his chin shifts into you cupping his cheek, fingers carding through the edges of his dark hair. He lets his eyes slide back open after letting himself enjoy your touch for a few moments.

“You have to be more careful,” you say quietly. 

Dazai has become so entirely unused to people showing him such blatant concern that he almost can’t hide the way his eyes become wet. Of course, the members of the Agency care for him, he knows that in his heart even if it’s hard for him to come to terms with, but they do it so in a more subtle manner. They casually check in on him on his bad days, bring him food and try to get him out of his dorm when he can hardly drag himself out of bed, they know he doesn’t like it when they point out when he’s doing bad, so they’re more cunning with how they show their concern… but the way you look at him… the way you touch him… 

Back in the Mafia, on his bad days even before the two of you had acknowledged how you felt for one another, you’d always sit with him and made sure he was eating. Always made sure he knew he wasn’t alone even when he did his damned best to push you away. After the two of you had acknowledged your feelings for one another, you’d let him curl in your bed and surround himself with your blankets and clothes. You’d never push him, would always be there when he needed it—he’d taken it for granted back then, because his bad days after he left the Mafia… after he left you… Dazai almost couldn’t force himself through them.

But it’s different now after going four years without it; it feels… more intense. He thinks maybe it's because he’s still convinced that you’re going to change your mind and spurn him, toss him aside the same way he did to you four years ago.

He doesn’t deserve this, he thinks, not for the first time since he’s reunited with you, and he wants to know why. Doesn’t know why you let him come back to you when he decidedly doesn’t deserve it. If this is just some big cruel joke you’re playing on him. He doesn’t understand any of this. He feels like he’s eighteen again, so scared of a relationship with you that he’d rather avoid you at any given chance. 

After what feels like an eternity, your hand drops from his face and you lean back on the bed, concerned expression disappearing as you level a steady look onto him.

“Now, to talk business.” You smile and Dazai feels cold without your touch, pouting when his hand falls limp against the hospital bed. “What is it now? Thirty hours before the virus takes hold and they both die?”

“Ha!” Dazai barks out a laugh that makes him wince. “I know better than to sit on the opposite side of the negotiation table with you. Nice try.”

You give him a simpering smile. “Come, Dazai, my ability doesn’t work on you. We’re on even ground.”

“You don’t need your ability to win a negotiation,” he scoffs, but there’s a smile on his lips. “Anyway, I can’t negotiate on behalf of the Agency. You’ll have to find Kunikida-kun for that.”

“There is no winning negotiations, only-”

“Only a coming to terms, blah blah blah,” Dazai finishes for you, rolling his eyes. “I’m not negotiating with you.”

“I fear that you are going to be negotiating with me, Dazai.” You give him a sweet smile that instantly puts him on edge, folding your hands over your lap as you cross one leg over the other. “My subordinate is currently in the apartment of Haruno Kirako with her and Tanizaki Naomi. He’s waiting on orders for me to either leave or kill them. Said orders will be dependent on whether or not we’re able to come to an understanding.”

Dazai’s heart drops to his stomach, taking in a sharp breath and glancing down to his phone where it’s resting on your lap, wondering if he could snatch it and get out a SOS to the other members of the Agency before you can take it away. Your smile becomes more mocking as you toss it across the room to the couch on the opposite wall, keeping it far out of reach. 

“God, you’re still a cold-hearted bitch,” Dazai breathes out, tilting his head back against the wall with a heavy breath. “This isn’t a negotiation, this is a ransom.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “Close enough.”

Dazai gapes. “Close enough?”

“Close enough,” you affirm.

“What do you want?” Dazai finally asks, lips a bit twisted as he waits for your response. His fingers thrum against his thigh, mind racing as he tries to figure out what you could possibly want. Well, he knows what you want—you’ll want Fukuzawa dead to ensure Mori lives but Dazai can’t let that happen.

“Kunikida Doppo—you say he’s the acting President while Fukuzawa-dono is incapacitated?” you ask him absently, tilting your head to the side. He nods and you hum. “Set up a meeting between him and I.”

Dazai’s eyes narrow. “I’ll set up a meeting if you get your dog away from our office workers,” he counters, knowing that it’s not going to be that easy with you but he may as well try.

“You’re in no position to be making demands, Dazai,” you remind. “Why should I?”

“I’m not setting up a meeting between the two of you if you’re going to go into it with leverage over him already,” Dazai says firmly. “If you’re so set on trying to solve this through negotiation, you’ll have to give up the upper hand and meet them on even grounds.”

You stare at him for a moment, eyes too sharp and calculating for his liking. Dazai thinks that it’s entirely unfair that he has to deal with you when he’s still doped up on painkillers, but he doubts you care.

“Fine,” you finally agree, pulling out your phone and shooting a text to someone. You frown down at it for a moment before looking back up at him. “It’s done. Set up the meeting.”

Dazai has half a mind to say no. He knows that sending Kunikida to the negotiation table with you is going to be a mistake—you’re too sharp and too convincing—he isn’t sure if Kunikida’s ideals will be able to hold strong over your silver tongue. You can clearly tell that he’s considering reneging on his promise from how your eyes narrow.

You rise to your feet without another word, giving him a cool look. “I’ll be waiting for you at the teahouse in Nishi-ku that we-that the Port Mafia owns. If you haven’t arrived by the twenty-six hour mark...”

Dazai sighs your name, long and drawn out, his eyes feel heavy as he looks up at you. You pause, gaze softening for a moment as you reach out and grab his hand, squeezing it gently.

“When this is all done and over with, come by my place,” you say quietly. “I’ll have to head back to Europe soon after. I talked to the nurses, they won’t bother you when you try to leave.”

“Yeah,” Dazai says, voice a bit more hoarse than he intended for it to be. “Yeah, I’ll come over.”

You don’t say anything else, casting one last lingering look over where he’s laying on the hospital bed before turning and walking out the way you came. Dazai sighs again, slumping back against his pillows as he stares up at the ceiling, somehow feeling even worse than he did before you showed up.

Your car pulls up to the teahouse thirty seconds past the twenty-six hour mark.

“You ready?” Tachihara Michizou looks over the front seat back to where you’re sitting. Akutagawa Gin sits in the passenger seat, gray eyes curious as she looks back at you. “We could always y’know… just go in there and…”

He lifts his hand to make a finger gun, ‘pulling the trigger’ several times before giving you a pointed look. Gin rolls her eyes and raises her eyebrows, waiting for your response. You hadn’t even wanted to bring people with you, but Chuuya insisted on it—he wanted to come himself, but you felt more comfortable with him staying back at headquarters as extra protection for Mori.

“Yes, I’m ready,” you say dryly, not even bothering to acknowledge the second part of what he said.

You have yet to even see Mori despite Kouyou’s insistence that you go to him. You don’t want to see him—you heard enough from Chuuya to know that his condition is bad and you have no interest in seeing him while he’s in such a sorry state. The thought makes your heart twist uncomfortably and you can’t afford to be emotional right now. 

You’ve spent the past four hours trying to plan out what you’ll do if you can’t come to terms with Kunikida and the Armed Detective Agency. The best course of action would have been to have Akutagawa, Klaus and the rest of the Black Lizards positioned around the building for a quick execution once the negotiations fall through but…

But you didn’t do that.

Your eyes flicker over to where Dazai is waiting for you outside of the teahouse; he’s leaning against the wall tapping away at his phone. He’s dressed in that same ugly outfit he wore the last time you were back in Yokohama—the long tan jacket and the bolo tie over his shirt. He probably shouldn’t be up and about already, you can tell he’s still hurt from the way he’s leaning on one side more than the other, but a distinct fondness bubbles in your chest at the sight of him.

Instantly, you push it away, throat tightening because you know you can’t be letting your emotions get the best of you. You can’t go easy on the Armed Detective Agency just because Dazai is with them now; you need to do what’s best for the Mafia.

But you don’t like this. You don’t like that Dazai is the enemy now. You spent years working alongside him, friends with him (more than friends), living with him. You’d known that things would be different between the two of you after you spent that night with him in your apartment a few weeks ago… you just didn’t think you’d be forced to confront it so soon. 

Tachihara steps out of the car first and you watch as Dazai lifts his head, squinting at the sight of the boy. Tachihara makes his way to your door and opens it for you, keeping one hand ready on the grip of his gun as you step out of the car. Dazai’s expression shifts as soon as you’re in his line of view, softening just enough for it to be noticeable to you. Tachihara and Gin trail a few steps behind you as you make your way over to him, he doesn’t speak up until you’re a few steps away. 

“You’re late,” Dazai sings and you can tell that even though his lips curl up into a small smile at the sight of you, he’s not happy to see you. Not because of you, but because of what your presence means. He holds out his hand to you—Tachihara and Gin are instantly stepping forward between the two of you, which Dazai evidently does not like considering the way his expression instantly darkens, only lightening a bit when you wave them off. You purse your lips as you stare at his hand for a moment. “I can’t let you go in there with your ability active.”

“I don’t need my ability against your people,” you say coolly but you place your hand in his anyway. 

It’s not the first time you and Dazai have held hands but it certainly feels like it—the calluses on his hand from firearm use are gone so his skin is softer now and it feels almost… unfamiliar.

Dazai has never felt unfamiliar before.

Dazai laces his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly. Your hands don’t fit right together anymore—it feels awkward—and you wonder if it’s just in your imagination or if he feels it too. He squeezes your hand a bit harder as if trying to force them to fit together, so you think he might and that makes your heart sink a little. 

He looks down at you and you think he’s going to say something, but instead his lips only tighten and his brows furrow as he looks away. You bite back a sigh, wanting to say something yourself but not even sure what would be suitable for this situation.

���Dazai,” you say quietly before the two of you head into the teahouse and there’s an unreadable expression on his face as he waits for you to say something else, but you remember that Tachihara and Gin are not a foot behind you, so you just shake your head. “Nevermind. Let’s get this over with.”

Dazai looks disappointed but not surprised. He doesn’t say anything else as he pushes open the door to the teahouse. The air is brisk and familiar, and with Dazai at your side, you can almost imagine that Chuuya is on your other, that the two of them are escorting you to a negotiation meeting with one of the big Yakuza syndicates the Port Mafia has been at odds with. 

But instead of an oyabun and his advisor sitting at the table in the private room at the back of the teahouse, it’s two members of the Armed Detective Agency. And instead of Dazai taking a seat next to you, he sits at the head of the table as the pseudo-host of the meeting, the one who set it up and knows both sides… but he makes his preferences clear in the way he looks at his fellow detectives, waiting for them to give the first words of the negotiation, a tactical advantage. 

Even with Tachihara and Gin lingering right behind you, you feel alone. 

You almost wish you’d agreed to let Chuuya come with you—he’s familiar, the one person in this world you’ve been able to rely on without having to fear the rug being pulled out from under you. You always feel more confident when he’s at your side, but you needed him to stay with Mori, to hold down the headquarters just on the off-chance the Agency pulled something while you were busy with negotiations. 

So instead, you brave this as you are, squaring your shoulders and raising your chin. You’re not worried about this meeting, you know one way or another, you’ll come out on top against the Agency, but you find yourself more unsettled than you thought you would be due to the lack of familiarity between you and Dazai… and far more disconcerted at the realization that Dazai is an enemy now. 

Since he’s the host, you should be respecting Dazai’s decision of giving the detectives the first words of the negotiation, but you find yourself smiling lightly and tilting your head to the side before speaking. Petty, maybe, and disrespectful, surely, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“You must be Kunikida-san, I want to say that it’s nice to finally meet you but…” you say lightly. You squint and then add, “I can’t help but feel that you’re familiar somehow. Have we met before?”

Dazai gives you a sharp look when you speak up—deserved, but you still give him an equally sharp look back. He can’t expect you to go easy on the detectives just because he’s standing with them now, but it… makes you feel weird. You think again how much you don’t like this; you don’t like being on the opposite side of Dazai, and you especially don’t like the fact that there is a creeping fear that this might create a rift between the two of you.

What did he think would happen? You want to spit at him. He chose to leave the Port Mafia. Chose to leave you. Chose to join up with the enemy. This is on him, he’s the one who changed, you haven’t. He knew what he was getting into by bringing his new friends to the negotiation table with you, he’s been on the right side of it with you countless times before, so he knows what you’re like at the table. 

Shit. 

“You’re that girl,” Kunikida suddenly realizes, squinting. “You came by Granny’s apartment during that gang conflict six years ago. You… you were with the Port Mafia back then? The father you were trying to get to-”

“Yes, that was me,” you agree, remembering just where you’d seen him before, eyes gliding over the blonde man curiously. He’s a far cry from the scrawny teenager you’d met a few years ago, nervous and bumbling to write down everything his grandmother says. “How is she?”

Kunikida’s lips twist. “She passed away two years ago. A stroke.”

“Sorry to hear that,” you say genuinely, frowning, before letting your gaze drift over to the last person in the room. The smile on your lips becomes a bit cooler. “Akiko-chan, it’s been a while. I don’t think I’ve seen you since you left Tokoyami.”

There’s an indecipherable expression on Yosano’s face as she stares at you, and you can’t help the way your lips twist in irritation. You knew there was a chance that she would show up with Kunikida, but you’d been hoping that she wouldn’t. You can’t let it rattle you, but no one gets under your skin like she does—you think that’s probably why she showed, to throw you off your game and make things easier on her coworker.

She’ll find herself sorely mistaken.

The way she says your name grates your nerves—it’s solemn, almost, a hint of remorse that makes your skin crawl. She looks like she wants to say something more than what she actually does, but she settles with, “You look good, better than the last time I saw you. It’s good seeing you again.”

She sounds genuine—that only pisses you off more. 

So your smile tightens as you say, “I look better? The last time I saw you, you were having a mental breakdown and nearly blew all of us up on the Ritter.”

Yosano physically cringes as she averts her gaze, and you turn your attention back to Kunikida and say, “Let’s get down to business, yeah?”

Kunikida sighs. He doesn’t look confident which is a mistake on his part, Dazai can tell too from the way his lips tightens just a bit. You give Dazai a look from the corner of your eye.

You should have prepped your people better.

Dazai gives you a sharp look right back, his fingers tighten around your hand. You ignore it. You hope you don’t look as bothered as it makes you feel, now’s not the time to show any weakness, especially to someone like Dazai. Especially when he’s not an ally. 

Shit, you think again, this time a bit more distressed. You swallow your discomfort and think again: what did he expect from this? It’s only a shallow consolation this time. You push on when Kunikida starts talking.

“I don’t see how we have anything to talk about,” Kunikida says, clearing his throat. “There’s nothing you can say that can bring us to an agreement under these circumstances.”

Alright, business time. This you can do. 

You just have to ignore the weight of Dazai’s hand on your own. 

“You are looking at this situation from the perspective of an employee who cares for Fukuzawa-dono,” you say, leaning back in your seat and folding your hands over the table. Dazai’s hand drops to the table and he shifts to hold your wrist, giving you a side-eye as if warning you not to slip from his grasp. You ignore it. “I empathize with your predicament. I do. But we can’t let our emotions rule us when the fate of the entire city is dependent on how this conflict is resolved.”

Kunikida is stiff on the opposite side of the table as soon as you start speaking, clearly uncomfortable with this whole meeting. Yosano holds her chin high as she stares down at you and you only raise your eyebrows at her before turning your attention back to the blonde.

“You have been named the interim director of the Armed Detective Agency, and from what I’ve heard, Fukuzawa-dono intends to name you President once he inevitably retires,” you say, tilting your head to the side as you observe Kunikida. “I’ve met the man often enough to know that he wouldn’t allow a man who’s rash and emotional to lead his organization. Neither you nor I want this to escalate to open conflict. There will be too many casualties on both sides.”

“Hm,” Kunikida says, pushing back his glasses as he considers his words. “And yet, we have a way around casualties on our end, thanks to one of our own—Yosano-sensei. The Port Mafia does not have any such means.”

Yosano stiffens when she sees the smile that curves at the corners of your lips.

“Your second attempt at an immortal regiment, Akiko-chan, I hope this one fares better than your last,” you comment with an easy smile before focusing your attention back on Kunikida, watching as the man casts a curious look between you and Yosano. You wonder how much she told the Agency of your shared past—seemingly very little. “I fear that even if your doctor is able to continuously heal all members of the Agency—assuming you’re never separated, which is unlikely—repetitive death breaks the human mind. How many times will she heal you and your other detectives before your minds start to fray? I’d wager the weretiger’s mind will break first—after the fourth resurrection, between dying over and over again and watching his friends die… from what I hear, the boy is quite the gentle soul with a fragile mind. He’ll try to stay strong for your sake, but it’ll be too much for him.”

You feel Dazai’s fingers tighten on your hand in warning, clearly not appreciating the way you’re talking about his new protege and to his friends. You ignore him, but it’s harder than you expect. You don’t like this. You don’t, even with you telling yourself that this is his fault, you still find yourself bothered by it all. It hurts being at odds with Dazai like this, in a way that you never imagined you would be; he’s supposed to come to your apartment after this, but you don’t even know if he’ll show. 

You don’t know if you’ll be able to look him in the eye if he does. 

God, and that thought only pisses you off more, because you shouldn’t be feeling guilty over this. Not when Dazai knew what he was getting into. Not when it was Dazai’s choice to leave the Port Mafia and join the enemy. You’re doing what you’ve always done, and you’ve never felt guilty for it before, and you shouldn’t now. Not because of him. 

“Our numbers overwhelm yours by a long shot. In a war of attrition, we’ll win. Your minds will break long before we run out of bodies to throw at you,” you finish, a bit more coldly than you’d begun. “There’s no scenario where you enter an open conflict with the Port Mafia and win.”

Yosano and Kunikida share a look with one another and you watch as Kunikida sighs before pressing his lips together, gaze hardening on you. “So, what do you propose? Do you just want us to hand over the President on a silver platter? Because that’s not happening.”

Phase Two.

You went into this knowing that you wouldn’t likely be able to sway Kunikida’s mind on handing Fukuzawa over to be executed, but that was never your intention to begin with. You just needed the chance to plant the seeds of doubt, to make him question himself so he can make a mistake that you can capitalize on.

Dazai realizes this from the way he stiffens, and you know he can’t be happy.

You don’t care.

You don’t.

“I want you to approach this how Fukuzawa-dono would as his stand-in,” you say. You itch to look at Dazai, want to know what’s running through his head right now. You don’t. “What do you know of the Port Mafia, Kunikida-san?”

“What kind of question is that?” Kunikida frowns, looking thoroughly displeased, but you’re unperturbed.

“Many people liken us to be the wardens of the night,” you explain, taking a sip of your tea. “We protect the city from the shadows, preventing an increase in petty and violent crime by discouraging lesser criminals who know that they’ll be hunted down for committing crimes in our territory.”

Your fingers thrum against your wine glass as you choose your next words carefully.

“It goes beyond that. Port Mafia presence in Yokohama serves as a deterrence to foreign criminal organizations-”

“A right good job you guys have been doing at that,” Yosano says snidely. 

You meet her gaze for half a second before focusing back on Kunikida. “Port Mafia presence in Yokohama serves as a deterrence to foreign criminal organizations,” you repeat coolly, ignoring the interruption. “Before the arrival of the Guild, there have only been two occasions of foreign organizations invading our territory, both conflicts were handled by us. The Guild Incident occurred because of the Agency’s decision to keep the weretiger-”

“That’s not fair,” Dazai says, voice low, grip on your hand tight. “We helped him. He needed help, so I-”

Dazai cuts himself off abruptly and you remember the night you spent with him a few weeks ago. You remember Oda Sakunosuke’s last words to him. You find yourself hesitating, considering dropping the topic for his sake, but you can’t, not with so much at stake.

When you continue speaking, the words taste bitter. 

“The agency’s decision to help the tiger then. Semantics. Either way, the decision laid in the Agency’s hands, not ours,” you correct, watching as Kunikida shifts uncomfortably at your words. “It wasn’t meant to be an accusation, only a statement. I’m not here to throw stones. My point is that we responded to the Guild Incident despite our attempts to prevent it from escalating, and we are not in a good position because of it. We faced major casualties at the hands of the Guild, several of our port warehouses were destroyed, one of our executives is dead—we cannot handle another conflict right now and the entire world knows it. Yokohama is being circled by sharks as we speak—Murasaki Shibiku’s Morning Glory, the Inagawa and Shimazaki-kai, Yi Sang’s Crow’s Eye, Cao Xueqin’s Red Chamber—they’re all waiting for the first drop of blood to spill in the water. If Mori dies, it’ll be as if an entire bucket of blood was spilled into the water. How well-versed are you in the organizations of the Eastern Hemisphere’s underworld, Kunikida-san?”

“Not very,” Kunikida replies tightly. 

“Dazai, what does the Red Chamber do to their enemies?” 

You don’t have to look at Dazai to feel the way he gives you a dark look. He pointedly doesn’t respond so you smile and answer your own question. A false bravado because you think your fingers might be trembling a little, and you’re sure that he can feel it, but you press on. You always press on. 

“They have their enemies chopped into pieces and scatter all of the different pieces across the country to prevent them from ever having a proper burial,” you say, watching a ghastly expression cross Kunikida’s face as he looks away. “Then they hunt down all blood relatives and anyone vaguely associated with the person to have them fed to starving hounds. Do you know how the Crow’s Eye deals with their enemies?” 

“No,” Kunikida replies. “I don’t care to know.”

“You will when it’s your entire ward burning because of you,” you say easily. “Scorched earth. The last time the Crow’s Eye had a conflict with an organization, an entire city burned for five days straight. Thousands of casualties for an insult.”

“What is the point of this?” Kunikida asks, voice strained—he does an impressive job at hiding the way he’s unnerved by your words. “Are you trying to scare us into giving you what you want? It won’t work.”

“Not at all,” you say dismissively. “I’m just making sure you know all of the cards on the table, and again, urging you to make your decision with your head and not your heart.. There is more at stake here than just two lives. Yokohama will be plunged into chaos if Mori dies… the streets will run with blood, wards will burn to the ground. The Dragon’s Head Conflict will look like child’s play compared to what’s to come, and I know you felt the effects of that conflict personally, Kunikida-san. Before making any decision, just ask yourself if this is what Fukuzawa-dono would have wanted?”

Kunikida doesn’t respond, you don’t expect him to. So, you slip your hand free from Dazai’s and rise to your feet with a thin smile.

“I’ll take my leave now so you can discuss your options with the other members of the Agency,” you tell them. “Dazai knows how to get in contact with me once you’ve come to a decision. It was a pleasure seeing you both again, Kunikida-san, Akiko-chan.”

“I warned them not to join you at the negotiation table,” Dazai sighs whimsically as he steps into your apartment. Your eyes lift from your phone to where he slides his jacket off of his shoulders and drapes it onto a kitchen chair before making his way to you on the couch. “They didn’t listen to me.”

“Their mistake. I suppose it doesn’t matter anyway, all of that was for nothing,” you say lightly, putting your phone down on the table. You don’t move toward him, watching him carefully to try to gauge where he’s at. His expression is indecipherable, but his shoulders are tense and each movement he makes seems a bit stiff and jolted. “I didn’t think you would show up.”

“Why is that?” 

His tone changes at your question, becomes cooler and more withdrawn. His expression shifts too—he doesn’t turn to look at you, but you can see from the angle you’re standing the way his lips curve down and his eyes sharpen. He’s testing you for something, probably wants you to admit that he has reason to be mad at you to give him a leg up in the conversation—he’s always loved playing games like that. 

“I’ve never seen you so emotional while dealing with business,” you note instead, not giving him that leverage against you. You fold your arms over your chest and study him. “It was… interesting to see.”

You’re not in the mood to play games, but you humor him. Dazai is not pleased by your comment, you can tell from the way his gaze cuts to the side to focus on you. Now, he’s familiar: his eyes are cold and black, his expression closed off. This is the Dazai you remember—the one who would sit next to you at executive meetings and stand behind you during negotiations, except even now, he’s opposite you.

You hate it.

You expect him to snap back at you with something along the lines of you being more emotional than usual too because you know he felt the way your fingers were trembling at one point during the negotiations, but instead, you watch as his expression instantly smooths out and clears up. He turns a smile onto you that doesn’t fully meet his eyes and you know what he’s about to do before the words even leave his lips.

“So, what’re we watching? There are some new movies, and I’m gonna, y’know, swipe your card to order some food, and…”

Dazai’s still talking. His lips are moving—you’re watching them move—but his words are going in one ear, out the other. You think maybe you should take the out he’s given the two of you. The conversation that needs to be had… it’s not going to be a pleasant one. In fact, depending on how it goes, it might be your last one with him. 

If you guys can’t reconcile with the fact that you’re no longer on the same side, this will have to end.

You can’t go into every conflict with the Agency feeling like you’re walking on eggshells because of Dazai. Your priority has been and always will be the Port Mafia. Dazai’s decision to leave can’t affect that. You also know that if he’s actively upset with you, it will affect that, because you don’t like seeing Dazai upset, you never have and that hasn’t changed the past four years without him. 

If the two of you can’t come to an understanding about it… You don’t even know if it’s possible to come to an understanding about something like this, but it’s you and Dazai, so if anyone can come to an understanding about it, it’s you guys. 

“Stop,” you finally say, voice more tired than you intend for it to be. Dazai pauses and then looks at you cautiously. You wonder if he’ll make an excuse and try to run once he realizes you’re not going to let this drop—it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fled instead of confronting an issue. “Can we talk about this?” 

“Talk about what?

Oh, this boy knows how to get under your skin. You stare at him for a second, lips flat and arms crossed; he doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. He’s entirely unrepentant as he stares right back at you, waiting to see if you’ll push the topic, but you don’t want to play games with him. You’ve had a long day, you’re jet lagged, you have a headache and you don’t even want to have this conversation but you know you have to have it.

“Forget it,” you finally say, shaking your head. “You can leave.”

Dazai blinks. “What?” he asks, voice laced with disbelief. “But-”

“Whether you like it or not, we have to talk about this,” you say, shrugging. “If you don’t want to talk about it, you can leave. Just don’t come back.”

Dazai stares at you. He’s hurt, you can tell from the way he withdraws at your words. For a second, you really expect him to leave; you’re tense as you watch him carefully, guarding yourself so that it doesn’t sting when he inevitably turns on his heel and goes back the way he came. After what feels like an eternity, his shoulders finally slump and he looks away, trying to figure out what to say.

“What do you want me to say?” he asks, the theatrics gone as he stares at you dully. “You were cruel to them. Making digs at Yosano-sensei, tormenting Kunikida-kun with those descriptions of the foreign mafias and making him think that the President would want him to kill him. You were cruel. I didn’t expect it, I guess.”

“Dazai Osamu admitting he didn’t expect something, I almost wish I got that on tape,” you say dryly. Dazai’s expression hardens at the comment—you probably shouldn’t have said that, you know Dazai doesn’t like getting vulnerable and gets especially defensive when he does, but you just couldn’t help yourself. Before he can get all wound up, you continue, “I am cruel, Osamu. You know that.”

The fight seeps out of Dazai at your words. He looks away from you, and you make your way over to him. You lift your hands up to cup his cheeks as you take your place in front of him, forcing him to look at you. His eyes are heavy in a way that’s so unfamiliar to you—you’ve been with Dazai during his worst depression episodes, you’ve been with him when he puts up that whole front of the Demon Prodigy, you’ve seen him hurt and you’ve seen him angry, but this is… different. It’s more intense. It’s reluctant, riddled with anxiety, like there’s a deep rooted fear that he’s worried will come true.

You wonder if he’s come to the same realization as you—that if the two of you can’t talk through this, it’ll be the end.

“I’ve never been on the opposite side of it,” he confesses quietly. “I… didn’t like it.”

You… can’t really blame him for that. As much as you’ve been around Dazai while he’s been the “Black Wraith” and the “Demon Prodigy”, he’s never directed it toward you. In fact, he’s always been careful to shield you from that side of him whenever possible even though he knows that’s not necessary. You suppose you would be just as jarred if you were suddenly faced with it. 

“It wasn’t directed toward you, Osamu,” you sigh, lifting your hand to run your fingers through his hair, watching the way his lashes flutter before you return to cupping his face. “You know that.”

“It was though,” he disagrees. “It was directed toward them so it was directed toward me.”

You don’t know how to respond to that. Your hands drop from his face as you look away from him, considering his words carefully and trying to figure out what to say next. This is the point of no return—either the two of you will be able to move forward, or this will be the end of your relationship. For real, this time because years apart and questions about whether the two of you are the same as you used to be is moot when your conflicting situations make your relationship incompatible. 

“I can’t apologize, Osamu,” you finally say, swallowing thickly. You can feel his gaze heavy on you, but you can’t bring yourself to meet it. “Not for what I did. I can apologize for how it made you feel, but not for doing it… and I can’t promise not to do it again.”

“I know,” he replies. “I don’t expect you to. It was just…different. Not in a good way. But what are we going to do about it?” 

He gives you a wry smile, one that you can only match half-heartedly. You watch him carefully for a moment, taking note of the hesitant expression on his face. He tries to hide it behind a curious mask, but you can see the anxiety thinly veiled behind his eyes. After a few moments, you nod for him to follow you and sit down on the couch, holding your hand out to him.

He hesitates before taking it, and you’re careful to avoid his healing wounds as you shift to lay down and pull him along with you to lay on top of you, watching as he rests his head on your chest and lets out a shaky breath. You lift your hand up to cradle the back of his head, and his eyes slide shut. His expression is still far from peaceful, you can see how his brows remain furrowed and his lips curve down, but he’s less anxious at least. 

“We’ll figure it out,” you tell him, all of the nerves that have been bugging you since the meeting wash away now that he’s back in your arms. “We always do.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” he admits quietly. “I lose everything eventually… It’s inevitable, one way or another, it always happens, but I can’t handle losing you. Not ever.”

“We made it this far,” you tell him, stroking his hair. He looks up at you and his expression is uncharacteristically vulnerable, it makes your chest tighten painfully. “We’ll be fine, Osamu. We always are. We’ll figure it out… Anyway, I doubt we’ll be on opposite sides for long, I think the city is about to be in a lot of trouble. We’ll probably have to work alongside each other if we even want to stand a chance.”

You can’t help the way you grimace, looking away. With Dostoevsky’s involvement confirmed, you have way more to worry about than just the Armed Detective Agency. You’ve heard through the grapevine that Agatha Christie and the Order of the Clocktower have been actively working with the House of the Dead, and you know very well that Dostoevsky has several other organizations in the Eastern Hemisphere in his pocket—both the Crow’s Eye and the Morning Glory have done dirty work for him before, and Cao Xueqin will ride the coattails of whoever is fighting against the Port Mafia. You’re surprised that he didn’t make a move these past few days. 

“What have you figured out about him already?” Dazai asks curiously, tilting his head up to look at you. He ghosts his lips against your jaw before settling his face in the crook of your neck. “Tell me what you know, maybe we can figure something out.”

Like old times, you think wistfully back to the days the two of you would lounge on this very couch as you rattled off all of the information you gathered during interrogations and negotiations. He’d absorb it all like a sponge and put together things and come to conclusions that would’ve taken you hours to get to.

But it’s not old times anymore, you remind yourself dully, absently running your fingers through his hair. Even if it’s likely that the Agency and the Port Mafia will end up working together against a common enemy in the near future, there’s no such alliance right now, so it’s risky telling him intel that could be more valuable to the Mafia if it’s the only one who is aware of it.

“Not enough yet,” you say honestly. “I was supposed to meet with Carlo Goldoni of the Family and the Pope in the Vatican before this went down. They claimed to have some intel about Dostoevsky that could be critical in the conflict with him, but I didn’t get the chance to talk to them. I’m heading back there tomorrow morning to talk to them… I’ll call you after depending on what they say. Maybe we can debrief.”

Maybe a reckless decision considering there’s the off chance that Mori refuses to work with the Agency and you know that he’ll be on your ass for giving them information, but the way Dazai smiles softly against your neck makes up for it. 

“Yeah,” he says quietly, and then he lets out a huff of laughter that tickles your neck. “But don’t tell me anything in detail, just enough to let me guess, that way if Mori questions you about it, you can say you didn’t tell me and not be lying… We can make a game out of it.”

Not quite like old times, but you suppose things will never go back to how they were. That’s not necessarily a bad thing though, different can be good—better, even. All that matters is that it’s you and him, just as it's always been, and if it’s the two of you, things will always work out.

His hand slides down to entwine with yours, and this time there’s no question about it—it’s familiar, like home, your hands slot together like they’d been made for each other and you almost feel stupid for questioning things so hard earlier in the day.

“Yeah,” you agree with a soft smile. “Yeah, we can. We’ll be alright.”

Dazai presses his lips against the hollow of your neck, and then to your jaw, and then to yours. You can feel his lips curve up against yours—he steals one, two, then three kisses before he sighs and nuzzles his face into the side of yours, resting his head down on the pillow next to you.

“We will be.”

[fatcatlittlebox]

I had an ask about my analysis of Galadriel’s mindset during the season finale and I’ve been avoiding it because I f*cking hated the dialogue they gave her. The more I thought about it though, the more it made sense to me. Galadriel doesn’t want to believe that any of what she shared with Halbrand was real. She doesn’t want to allow that possibility. As others have said, she didn’t just want what he offered. She wanted him. If “he” doesn’t exist, it makes it easier to “shut the door.” She may go her whole life convincing herself that it was a farce to him. Even if that’s how she comes to terms with it, is that really being healed?

From the beginning of their reunion, you could see Galadriel avoids facing Sauron. She doesn’t turn around when he approaches her from behind. She’s frozen. It’s because she doesn’t trust how she will react when she sees his face. Especially if he has the form of Halbrand. She’s terrified of him and she’s terrified of herself. Her mistrust is well placed as we see later. Then, it is only when Sauron faces away from her that she tries to strike him down. Because in confronting him this way, she won’t actually have to face him.

But of course, it doesn’t work. They both knew it wouldn’t. She won’t get off that easily. It’s also an attempt on her part to keep him at a distance. It’s her way of telling him, she’s not here to talk. Sauron flips it on her though. Because Galadriel isn’t a talker anyways. She’s a fighter and violence is a language he is fluent in. He turns their duel into a physical and symbolic conversation. And Galadriel hates it. She hates that he can singularly access her this way and the way no one else can. So she keeps pushing him back and shutting him down. The rest of their confrontation Galadriel volleys a series of sarcastic replies whenever Sauron tries to be sincere with her. She sneeringly asks if he wants to heal her. He says he wants “to heal…” and pauses.

The truth is in that silence. He wishes to heal. Sadly, now it’s established that they’re both going to be lying to themselves so why be honest and open with each other going forward? I think that’s for a multitude of reasons. One, if she deflects his entreaties with sarcasm, she’s not letting his words hit their mark. He can’t worm his way into her mind again. And after having heard Adar describe his own relationship and feelings with Sauron, then watching him get brutally murdured, she feels entirely justified in cosigning that Sauron is an insidious manipulator. That she is no different and would end up exactly as the fallen elf.

Sauron, she tells herself, is the embodiment of evil. She’s not wrong. However, evil can love. It can be twisted and fucked up but no less real. However, that kind of gray area would spell the collapse of her defenses. So she makes him to be this generic evil and responds to him with generic platitudes. It’s impersonal, detached. Business as usual. It’s survival. She has declared in her mind that Sauron is not Halbrand. Ignoring the fact that her mind is not where he slithered his way in. He found his way through her heart.

And Sauron, for his part does a shitty job of convincing her otherwise. There are moments of earnest vulnerability sprinkled in there but in the heat of her anger and outrage, she cannot see it. Their fight tells a story in itself and he toys with her. She knows it too. What’s more, the fight becomes a microcosm of their relationship. She pursues him and he bats her away. He nicks her in precise places on her body - her shoulder, where he saw Valandil pierce her with his sword and then her left flank, where Halbrand was injured - like he means to recall their shared history. But instead of a caress, it’s a cut.

Then he morphs into Halbrand, then Galadriel, then Celebrimbor. He’s telling her that he sees and remembers everything. What she feels is ridiculed and used like a puppet. Finally, the last place he cuts her is over her heart. An unhealing scar will be left. Still he sees and remembers everything. That wound is for the both of them.

By the end of their fight, Sauron has unintentionally reinforced what Galadriel had set out to prove in her mind, if not in her heart. Halbrand never existed. She feels triumphant over Sauron and over the darkness that haunts her. She believes she is “healed.” It’s a parallel of her leap from the ship bound for the Undying Lands. Instead of turning it away, she’s embracing her death and her closure. At the same time, Sauron reaches an epiphany that is similar to her own but fundamentally different: Halbrand is no more. As I had stated before, Sauron likely associates Halbrand as the most vulnerable version of himself even if it is the closest to the truth. It is the version of himself he saw ruling with Galadriel. But he sees this as a failed effort, so it wouldn’t serve a practical purpose to be Halbrand anymore. It was a risk he would rather avoid and he probably wants him gone as badly as she does.

However both of those premises are faulty. Because we, the viewers know what they deny: Halbrand is Sauron. He always will be. They are both lying to themselves. Which begs the question: Was Galadriel healed and reborn in light? Or was she rejected by death because her sacrifice was built on a half-truth? Had she been sent back because she had not completed her mission? She had said her task was to remove the stain of his evil from Middle Earth. Halbrand is Sauron. Even though the door to her mind is shut, the door to her heart is a different story. And his stain is still there.

[wheresmycontent]

Pieces [Windbreaker]

Wooin x Reader [afab]

Note: random hcs that came to mind about this boy.

C|TW: mention of dub-con, nsfw,

★ Nobody knows you and he’d like to keep it that way! You’re his! He’s not going to flaunt you around like a trophy. The less eyes on you, the better. Sure, Wooin wants you all to himself but he does this since people would love a chance to humble him. It’d really suck if you got caught up in his mess. The thought alone makes him want to eat glass!

That doesn’t stop Wooin from taking you out though. He’ll just take you to places away from his usual scene. Your dates can be more private that way.

★ As much as he loves a good rush of adrenaline he isn’t too eager to put you in danger. Yet he can’t seem to stop with the public quickies. The thought of someone seeing you indecent excites him. He genuinely tries not to ruin your image with his reputation. So it’s funny to think it could all go to waste because of a quick fuck in an empty stall.

The way you fidget and jump at every little sound makes it even better. You can hardly appreciate the way he rolls your clit between his forked tongue, too scared to relax. But you have no choice but to loosen up since Wooin isn’t stopping until you cum twice on his tongue.

★ Don’t ever bring Wooin into those jealous boyfriend trends. Any joke about you cheating or flirting with other guys is enough to fuck up his whole mood. It’s the best way to get him to disappear for a couple of days without a word. It’s not funny to him and never will be since he’s very possessive and just hates the thought of you being with someone else.

★ Have your friends, have your family, be social, be merry! Do whatever you want! Just don’t forget who you belong to and what he’d do if you ignore him for too long. He’s never been the clingy type but there’s something about you that has him in a chokehold. He can’t go more than two days without you. When you’re apart he’s texting you often and if you don’t respond he’s going to blow up your phone.

★ Sends nudes and videos of him masturbating to the thought of you. You’ve made the mistake of opening the messages around people, his obnoxious groaning filling the room the minute you clicked on his name. You don’t have to send them but he does love taking pictures of you. Some are off guard and unflattering, few are heavily suggestive, and a handful are videos of him playing with your pussy.

Just to have when he’s not around.

★ He loves thighs. He smacks them any time he passes you and usually bites them when he’s laying in your lap. He has plenty of pictures of your thighs covered in hickeys and or cum. They’re so soft and warm, he can’t get enough. You could make his day by walking around in nothing but a shirt and panties. Even better when you sit on his face and smother him between those luscious thighs.

★ Wooin never becomes less annoying. He teases you a lot and is quick to bother you when the opportunity comes. It’s lighthearted and sickeningly domestic though. Not meant to really upset you so if you hate something he does let him know. Don’t expect him to read your mind then blow up on him months later when you finally reach your breaking point.

Note: I’ve never read windbreaker, I don’t plan to. So I’m sure this is ooc, but then again most -if not all- hcs are.

[thinkingboute]

would you? | harry styles x model!oc

summary: The show goes off without a hitch, but Lina's interaction with Harry before clouds her mind. At the after party, she takes one for the team when Gigi tries to get in with other One Direction member, Zayn Malik. Ironic meetings lead to a first date. Part 3 of the Masks series.

part 1 here! part 2 here!

warnings: mentions of drugs, disordered eating, vomit, anxiety, alcohol, allusions to sex

a/n: This one was so much fun to write! The parts are getting longer from here.I hope you like it!

word count: about 2.4k

Holy shit these were some high heels. 

Lina danced in place, shaking the nerves that wracked her body as she prepared to walk the stage. Sweat accumulated beneath the bra and underwear---if you could even call them that. Gilded Angels was the theme this year and, goddamn, did Lina feel absolutely gilded. 

The set she wore was less fabric and more faux metal. It appeared that gold had been molded to cup her breasts, pushing them up beyond what she ever thought possible. Her wings were white, like Biblical angel wings, with gold dusted tips. Gold heels wove their way up her calves like Greek sandals. She felt holy. And really fucking hot---in both ways. 

Taylor Hill, who was opening the show, shimmied behind the curtains, lost in the heavy fabric. It was clearly go time, which usually spurred Lina to focus and quit her nervous movement. Today, she couldn’t calm herself down. Pictures of that messy haired Brit flooded her mind. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a little excited to walk past him in this outfit. 

You look good. 

That’s what he said to her just an hour ago. Her head was covered in curlers, robe disheveled, eyes closed. She was giddy at the thought of him seeing her all done up. I look better than good now.

Lina squealed as two strong hands shook her shoulders from behind. “Let’s fucking go, Li!” Gigi shrieked, smacking a kiss to her cheek. The girls laughed, jumping up and down. Gigi had a way of making everything seem like just a game.

“Don’t fuck up my hair, Gi,” Lina said, giggling. Gigi’s hands spun Lina to face her. 

Ignoring her comment, Gigi grabbed her face. “I don’t walk until Taylor’s on stage,” she said, clearly excited to walk while her friend performed. Lina had become quite used to being surrounded by stars, but she was a little too excited at the thought of talking to Taylor Swift. She and Gigi had become close since the Oscars earlier that year, and Lina was hoping that would give her and in.

“I walk in…” Lina searched the room for a clock. “Four minutes.”

“I saw you talking to Harry Styles earlier,” Gigi whispered, wiggling her brows. “You seemed to be laughinggg and smilinggg and…” she lowered her voice even more, “flirtinggg…”

“Ugh, leave me alone,” Lina rolled her eyes. “We met at that masquerade thing in October.” Gigi covered her mouth with a hand.

“Why didn’t you te---”

“Because there’s nothing to tell.” Gigi started again but Lina put a hand up. “Really, it wasn’t my best moment. He was just teasing me about it earlier.” Gigi wiggled her brows again. “I was puking in the men’s bathroom, Gi. If there was ever a chance in hell he would be into me, it’s long gone.”

“I’m going to pretend that’s not the strangest thing I’ve heard today,” Gigi said, a crease appearing between her brows. “Anyway, if he really thought you were that weird, he probably would’ve stayed far away from you today. But he didn’t.” Her laugh was more of a hehe.

“I can barely look him in the eye. God, that was terrible, I---” Lina was interrupted by her name being called by the show’s producers. “Time to go. I talk to you later, baby.”

Lina’s hand was pulled towards the curtains. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to center herself as hand flew all around her, adjusting her wings, tousling her hair, and freshening her gloss. 

Lina recognized the song she was set to walk out to. Rock Me. She didn’t think One Direction would have songs that would fit a VS show. They were so…teenage girl. But this song was a bit dirtier, and it had a nice beat. She put on her super sexy and poised model mask and stepped out from behind the curtain. 

The band members were scattered about the runway. Her eyes found Harry at the end immediately. Her shoulders thrown back, she began her walk, smiling and winking at the boys she passed by. She thought one of her wings may have wacked Niall in the face, but she tried not to think much about it. 

She reached Harry after what seemed like a decade of walking. She was too nervous to look him in the eye. She wondered if, when he looked at her now, he still saw the puking corpse he saw a few months ago. 

Harry was certainly not hurting for confidence. He grabbed her hand and spun her around, leading her to walk back down the runway. Lina, as hard as it was, kept up her flirty persona, looking back over her shoulder to wink at him before slowly letting go of his hand. The walk back felt a bit like flying. 

The rest of the show went by in a blur. It was Gigi’s first time walking the show, but no one would’ve been able to tell. Her confidence oozed through every pore of her perfect face. When she got off the stage, she was bouncing off the walls, ready to find some sort of shit food to consume ASAP.

But there was an after party to attend. Lina peeled herself out of her outfit, carefully handing it to the women who surrounded her, ready to rip it from her hands. It wasn’t strange to be naked in front of so many people anymore. She’d been doing it since she was 16. She tried not to think about that part too much. 

Her new outfit consisted of a vintage VS slip, of course, with some artfully ripped tights, and heeled boots that cut off just below the knee. With her hair thrown back loosely into a pony, she felt sufficiently prepared to face her first celebrity party since the ball. 

Darren congratulated her on (his words) another fantastic show. She smiled, mind elsewhere, and got into the car, whose door he held open. 

The ride to the venue was not more than 15 minutes, but for all Lina knew, it could’ve been hours. Her mind was set on exactly what she would say to Harry when she saw him, because she knew she’d see him. His band was full of a bunch of 20 something boys. They would not pass up the opportunity to go to a party full of drinks and models. 

Darren noticed her not-quite-on-Earth-ness and waved a hand in front of her face. She swatted at it, rolling her eyes.

“Thinking about that One Way kid?” he asked.

“What the fuck are you talking about, Darren?” Lina snorted. 

“Whatever, the British kid with the hair. I don’t care to know more about him that I have to.”

“You don’t have to know anything.”

“When he comes to your room tonight, or you go to his, it will be my job to know about him.”

Lina blushed and buried her face in her hands. “Darren, you perv!”

“Trust me, I wish I didn’t have to think about these things. But I saw him leaning on that table earlier, like he’s some sort of Elvis. It was embarrassing how hard he was trying, honestly.”

“I told you about our…run in in October, right? He was just making fun of me,” She said still not looking at him. “And, not that it’s any of your business, but I don’t make it a habit of going to any guys room before I’ve been taken on a proper date.”

It was Darren’s turn to cover his face. “I’m glad.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can we please stop talking about this? It feels like discussing my sex life with my father.”

Darren winced. “I’d love nothing more.”

The car pulled up to the hotel the party was taking place in. Although it was dark, it was hard not to spot it. A massive crowd of paparazzi was piled on the steps to the entrance. 

“Fucking perfect.”

Darren slid out of the car, opening the door for Lina. She stepped out, careful not to let any of them snap a picture underneath her dress. She smiled and waved, but didn’t stop for pictures. Darren cut through the crowd, leading her to the door. 

The bar and room surrounding it was strangely reminiscent of the hall that held the masquerade ball. This time, thankfully, Lina was sure she was not going to puke on anyone. She was sure to stop Darren from grabbing her bag before she stepped closer to the bar. She wanted a Cosmo. 

“Liiiiinaaaaaa,” a singsong voice called from behind her. Gigi appeared at her side, face flushed. She seemed to be a few drinks in already. Lina was excited to catch up. “We’re gonna be sisters-in-law!”

Lina’s eyes widened at that. “My brother is 14, Gi. That’s a little gross.”

Gigi snorted, limply swatting at her shoulder. “I didn’t even know you had a brother, idiot. I mean that I have my eye,” she used two fingers to gesture at her eyes, “on tall, dark, and handsome.” She pointed at Zayn Malik, who chatted with a couple guys across the room. 

Lina laughed, “Oh, do you?” 

“Yes, I do. And you’re gonna get with the other one, right? Then, we’ll be sisters! Metaphorically, anyway.” Lina didn’t bother dismissing Gigi’s suggestion; she just laughed. “C’mon, c’mon!” 

“My drink---” Gigi pulled Lina across the room before she could finish her protest, not too close to Zayn, but near enough that they could see him. They leaned against the corner of a wall, observing. “Do you plan to summon him with your mind?”

“No, no, I’m just waiting for my moment,” Gigi whispered. Lina laughed, glancing around the other corner of the wall. There were a few doors lining the walls, but it was otherwise pretty empty. A gasp had her turning her head back to her friend. “He’s walking this way! Go, go, go!” Gigi pushed Lina around the other side of the wall and followed her. “Wait, wait, you can’t be here! Get in there, just for a minute before I get him to come with me somewhere else.” Lina didn’t have a second to say anything before she was shoved into one of the rooms. 

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

Lina turned around, taking in the room around her, her eyes catching on the pearly urinals. 

Harry was looking at her, paper towel clasped in his hands as he dried them. He laughed at Lina’s widened eyes. 

“Are you planning to keep your head out of the toilet,” he asked, tossing the paper towel into the bin. “The sink too, I supposed.”

Lina groaned turning to brace herself on the cool, wooden door. “I swear, this was not my idea.”

Harry laughed from behind her. “I should hope not.” He made to move towards the door to leave, but Lina whipped around, placing a hand on his chest.

“We can’t leave,” she whispered. 

Harry cocked an eyebrow. “I mean, this isn’t the most sanitary place, and I don’t have a condom but---”

Lina made an ‘ack’ sound before lightly pushing him away from her. “Don’t be weird.” Harry put his hands up in defense. “My friend is out there…with your friend.”

“I’m sure we can come up with a reason other than sex to explain us leaving the bathroom together.”

“Harry, I’m being serious!” Lina said, exasperated. “She pushed me in here because she wants to…talk to your friend.”

“Which friend?”

“Zayn.”

“He doesn’t say much, so that conversation should be over now.” He moved towards the door once again, but Lina grabbed his wrist this time. “She’s pretty drunk, and she’d be pretty pissed if I interrupted her shot. She said she’ll try to get him to go somewhere else as soon as she can.” Harry stifled a laugh. “We can leave soon. Just, I don’t know, be quiet and don’t, like, do anything weird.”

“Me? Do something weird?” he exclaimed, faux defensiveness causing Lina to roll her eyes. “I’m not sure I’m the one to worry about here, woman in the men’s bathroom.”

Lina closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Not on purpose.”

“Last time, sure it wasn’t,” Harry said lowly. Lina was keenly aware of her grip that remained on Harry’s wrist. “This time…I think you just wanted to get me alone.” He was closer now, breath fanning her face, alcohol and mint filling her nose. 

“I could get you alone in a less…strange way if I wanted to.” Lina couldn’t look at him, so she examined the holes in her tights. 

“Would you, though?” His voice lowered even more. She wasn’t sure how much lower it could get before it was more of a growl. 

Wow, these tights really were artfully ripped. The perfect place for a tear really is just above the knee. She liked her knees, she supposed, but knees were a little weird overall---

“Carolina.”

“Lina.”

“What?”

“I prefer Lina.”

“Alright, Lina. Wanna answer my question?”

Lina’s breath hitched in her throat. She didn’t know what to say. She would not sleep with him tonight, especially not in this bathroom. But that didn’t stop her from thinking about it. She was starting to feel a little warm. 

Harry made to ask her again, but the door banged open, causing the both of them to stumble back and away from one another. Gigi’s eyes widened before she smiled mischievously.

“I am leeeaving, LiLi!”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Gi.” She was maybe a little too drunk to go anywhere with any man. 

“No, no, I don’t mean like that,” she giggled. “Zayn said that if I got some rest tonight, he would see me tomorrow.” Lina was a bit surprised at that. “So! I’m leaving!” 

“Why don’t I go with you? Just to be sure you’re alright,” Lina asked, hopeful it would get her  out of answering anymore questions tonight. 

She felt Harry’s eyes on her as Gigi replied, “Oh, sure. Only…” her eyes flitted between the two of them, “If you want to.”

“It’s no problem, really, honey.” Lina felt a little guilty for leaving like this, but really, she was nervous. She’d had a few flings here and there after her rise to fame, but she never had the time to pursue them further. She was a bit rusty, now.

“Alright!” Gigi turned to leave the bathroom as Lina looked in the opposite direction, towards the man behind her.

“I’ll answer your question after dinner, Styles.”

He smiled a small, amused smile. “It’s a date.” 

[belovedspector]

Love at First Sight's for Suckers (At Least, It Used to Be)

Pairing: Jake Lockley x f!reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: Jake can’t help but notice you when you become a regular at his favorite diner.

Content: Fluff!

A/N: Title is from “I Never Planned on You” from Newsies. I’ve never written for Jake before, and I haven’t read the comics, so I don’t have much to go off of, but I figured I’d give it a shot. I hope I did okay! Enjoy! :)

Masterlist

Jake Lockley knows his place. He’s the protector of the system, keeping Marc and Steven out of harm’s way and doing Khonshu’s dirty work. He doesn’t have time for “earthly pleasures,” as Khonshu had once put it. He doesn’t really have a life outside of protecting his alters and the travelers of the night, and he’s fine with that. He’s content to lurk in the shadows if it means Marc and Steven getting to live their best lives. He treasures what interaction he does get, when he’s driving his cab through the city or getting food late at night after a mission. He tries not to dwell on it, though; there’s no sense in mourning what he can’t have.

Jake notices everything. It’s his job, to always be on high-alert, even when he’s not the one fronting. So, when you start showing up at his favorite diner every Friday night like clockwork, he notices. He observes from afar. From that first time you walked in, the bell tinkling to announce your presence, he’d been…interested in you. He’s not sure why—it’s not like you pose a threat. You should fade into the background, just like everyone else.

But, you don’t.

Jake can’t help but take note of everything you do—the way you always say your “please”s and “thank you”s to the waitress, your soft laugh, your sweet smile, the ungodly amount of sugar you put in your coffee. He’s good at watching people; it’s part of his job, after all, so he’s able to absorb you and your habits without drawing suspicion from you or anyone else. Some might call it creepy, but Jake means no harm, and he can’t help his…infatuation with you. He doesn’t know what’s happening to him.

One night, he finds himself rambling as he drives around the city. He likes to talk out loud to himself in the safety of his cab; it gives him a chance to make sense of his thoughts, and it’s not like he has anyone else to share them with.

He starts off by talking himself through the details of his upcoming mission, but he soon finds his mind wandering to bright eyes and the scent of coffee. You.

“She’s really something, huh?” Jake says to himself. “I—I don’t know what it is about her. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“I think you humans call it a ‘crush.’” Khonshu suddenly appears hunched over in the back seat of Jake’s cab, and, if he was a less skilled driver, Jake absolutely would have crashed. As it is, he jumps almost imperceptibly in his seat, swerving the tiniest bit before regaining control of the vehicle.

“What?” Jake asks, not even sparing Khonshu a glance in the rear-view mirror. He’s used to the god’s antics by now.

“It appears you have a crush, Jake Lockley.”

“I don’t get crushes,” Jake protests. “Don’t have time for that shit.” He grips the steering wheel more tightly, the leather of his gloves straining against his knuckles.

“You’re right; you don’t have time,” Khonshu agrees, “so I suggest you nip this little problem in the bud, before it interferes with our work.”

“What, you want me to kill her?” he deadpans.

“No, nothing that extreme. I was going to suggest finding a new diner.”

“But I like that diner.”

“Then you’d best find a way to ignore the girl.”

With that, Khonshu disappears, and Jake mutters some choice words about the bird in the quiet of his car.

It’s Friday night again. Jake sits alone at his usual booth—in the corner, with his back to the wall, so he can continually scan the entire diner for any threats. He alternates between sipping at his coffee and taking bites of his blueberry pie while scanning the newspaper.

The door opens, the bell ringing along with it, and Jake instinctively looks up.

It’s you.

Jake casts his eyes back down to the sports page. Khonshu had given him orders, and he intends to follow them.

His plan is going great. He’s not thinking about you, not even a little bit. But, shit, now he’s thinking about how he’s not thinking about you. Does that count as thinking about you?

Jake returns his coffee cup to the table with a little more force than necessary. He can feel a headache coming on.

Get it together, Lockley.

He looks up again to do another sweep of the interior, when he notices you’re not sitting in your usual spot. No, you’re…walking towards him. Surely, you’re just going to use the bathroom past his seat, right?

No such luck. You stop at his booth, standing awkwardly with your hands clasped in front of you.

Slowly, Jake moves his eyes from his newspaper and allows them to find yours. He’s never seen you up close before, and, God, you’re even more breathtaking when he can see the sparkle of your eyes and the way your lips curve upward into a soft smile.

“Um, hi,” you start, rocking a little on your feet. “Sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if you had a pen?”

Jake’s not very well-versed in pickup lines, but he’s pretty sure that can’t be one, right? He stares at you for a few beats, dumbfounded that you’re really speaking to him, before he pulls himself together.

He clears his throat and answers, “Uh, yes.” He reaches for the pen he always keeps in his jacket pocket and hands it to you.

He can’t help but notice the way your soft, warm fingers brush against his as the pen exchanges hands.

“Thank you!” you say, and you sound so sincere. “I just wanted to do today’s crossword. I’ll have this back before you know it.”

“Sure,” Jake forces out as you turn on your heel, back to what he’s begun thinking of as “your” booth.

He goes back to his own paper, definitely not thinking about you and your sweet smile and soft hands. It’s by complete coincidence that the next page he turns to has the daily crossword puzzle. He’s never been much for puzzles; that’s more Steven’s thing. Still, he takes a look.

Across 1. An infatuation with another person

It’s five letters. It can’t be anything other than “crush.” Jake groans. He scans the rest of the clues and notices they all seem to revolve around love. It dawns on him that Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. So, maybe the universe isn’t totally fucking with him, after all.

Jake has just about finished his pie when you come bounding over. You don’t wait for him to look up before you’re speaking.

“Thank you again!” you say, placing his pen back on the table near his coffee cup.

You’re already turning to go back to your booth, but Jake can’t just let you go. Screw Khonshu’s orders, he thinks.

“Wait,” he calls to you. He half-expects you to ignore him, to keep walking away, but you do turn around and take a step closer to him. Shit, now he needs to think of something to say to you. “That was, uh, fast,” he says lamely.

You beam at him, and it’s just about the prettiest thing Jake has ever seen. “Oh, yeah, I used to do them with my dad all the time, so I’ve gotten pretty good at them.” Your eyes drop to his newspaper that sits forgotten on the table, still open to the puzzle page. “Oh, do you do crosswords, too?” you ask, and you look like you’re genuinely interested in his answer.

“Oh, uh, not really.” Jake’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck nervously. Since when does he get nervous?

“Ah,” you say, nodding wisely, “you must be more of a Sudoku guy.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Great conversation skills, Lockley, he chastises himself.

“Well, thanks again for the pen. I hope I didn’t keep you from your Sudoku for too long…” You trail off, and Jake realizes, belatedly, that you’re waiting for him to offer his name.

“Jake,” he provides, putting on his most charming smile.

You smile right back, telling him your own name.

“Pretty name,” he remarks.

“Thanks, I got it for my birthday.”

Jake just stares at you for a moment before the joke lands, and then he’s laughing—like, genuinely laughing. He can’t remember the last time this has happened.

He notices you seem a little flustered. Maybe he laughed too hard? Maybe it wasn’t even a joke, and he just totally misread the situation? Maybe—

“Wow, I don’t think anyone’s ever actually laughed at that one,” you say with a slight chuckle of your own.

“I liked it,” Jake says honestly, as if you couldn’t already tell. Before he can second guess himself, he’s asking, “Can I buy you a cup of coffee?”

“Oh!” A look of surprise crosses your face. “Um, yeah, I’d like that. May I?” you ask, gesturing to the bench seat across from him.

“Please,” he says with a wave of his hand.

You slide into the booth as Jake gets the attention of the waitress and orders two coffees.

“Anything else?” the waitress asks, looking between the two of you expectantly, pen ready against her notepad.

“The pie’s really good,” Jake tells you. “My treat.”

You seem hesitant. “Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“Come on,” he encourages with a smile.

“It is really good,” the waitress chimes in. 

“Well, okay,” you relent. “One slice of”—you look down at the table to scan the menu briefly—“chocolate cream pie, please.”

“Coming right up,” the waitress says with a smile and a click of her pen.

The time passes quickly, and the conversation between you and Jake flows as freely as the coffee. All that’s left of your pie is an empty plate with a few stray crumbs. You’re laughing at some comment Jake made when you glance down at your watch.

“Shit,” you say, your brows furrowing together in worry.

“Everything okay?” Jake asks.

“Yeah, I just didn’t realize how late it had gotten,” you say. An apologetic look crosses your face.

Jake checks his own watch. 2:53 am. He really should be getting back home, so Steven and Marc can wake up in the morning without suspecting anything.

“Can I drive you home?” he offers.

“Oh, that’s okay.” You shake your head. “I’m just a couple blocks over.”

“It’s late. I’d feel better if I knew you got home safely.”

“You’re sure it’s no trouble?” you ask hesitantly.

“Not at all,” he says with a smile. He’s smiled a lot tonight.

“Well, lead the way,” you say as you both exit the booth.

Jake throws a wad of cash on the table—more than enough to cover the coffee and pie—and walks you to his cab parked out front.

“You’re a cab driver?” you ask, sounding intrigued.

“I am,” Jake says as he opens the passenger’s door for you.

You pick up right where you left off at the diner, intermittently giving Jake directions to your apartment. He doesn’t want the night to end, but, soon enough, he’s parking in front of your building.

You start to unbuckle your seat belt but pause and turn to him. “Hey, can I borrow your pen again?”

“Oh, uh, sure,” Jake says, digging it out of his pocket and handing it over once more.

You take it with a smile and reach into your pants pocket. You pull out a crumpled napkin and quickly write something before handing both the napkin and pen to Jake.

Jake looks down to find your name and phone number written on the napkin.

You smile, looking a little shy. “In case you want to see me before next Friday,” you explain.

Jake doesn’t even think about the implication that you’ve noticed him at the diner every week, just like he’s noticed you. No, he’s too excited about the fact that you want to see him again, maybe even to go on a proper date. He hopes you can’t tell that he’s blushing in the dim glow of the cab’s ceiling light.

“Good night, Jake,” you say, finally unbuckling your seat belt and opening the door.

Normally, he’d do the gentlemanly thing and open the door for you, but he’d been too caught up in this surreal moment. Next time, he thinks, because there definitely will be a next time.

“Good night,” he echoes, still in a bit of a daze. He watches as you walk up the stairs to your apartment, making sure you’re safely inside before he pulls away from the curb.

Jake will deal with Khonshu’s wrath over disobeying orders. It will be more than worth it, if it means getting to see you again.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)

[pippin-katz]

Some Thoughts About Queer Platonic Relationships In Dead Boy Detectives

So, something that a lot of fans have been talking about is whether or not they think/want Edwin and Charles to be dating, or be queer platonic friends.

Side Note: it’s refreshing to see something like this being talked about by fans in a respectful and chill way. I think it’s because there’s no “loser” or “bad” option out of the two.

It’s been on my mind, and I wanted to share an idea I had! I would personally like to see Edwin and Charles become lovers; I’m just a sucker for pairs that are so devoted to each other like they are. But I wouldn’t have a problem with them being queer platonic friends either, especially since there’s less representation of those in visual media.

That’s when I had the thought!

I’ve been blabbering to my parents and friends who have seen the show that I really want them to bring Monty back if we get a second season. It would be so fun for him to turn back into a human and join the gang permanently now that Esther’s gone, but that’s a separate post.

But the concept of having Monty back opened a whole new door in my brain.

Bring Monty back, and make him and Edwin queer platonic friends!

At first I was like, yeah that would be cute, but then my brain did some more turning. I realized that it’s actually a brilliant, perfect idea for them.

Monty was a crow. He’s inexperienced in the human world aside from what he learned to blend in. Edwin is the first human being he genuinely connected with, in any capacity. Edwin is as much his first friend as he is his first love.

Monty was going along with Esther’s plan after he thought Edwin didn’t care, but as soon as Edwin says that he genuinely does and that he is his friend, he crumbles. Monty can’t do it.

Look at me, making my own GIFs with a little watermark and everything :3

He’s willing to directly betray Esther by getting Edwin out of the forest. Even if the Cat King hadn’t shown up, he was screwed. There’s no way she wouldn’t have found out if he had literally helped them escape her plan rather than complete it. It took Monty only a few seconds to decide, and his decision was a death sentence. He knew that, and still tried to get him to safety.

Monty then betrays Esther a second time after she kidnaps Edwin and Charles. He hears Edwin’s screams, sees Charles struggling, and chooses to help. Who knows how long it would’ve taken Charles to get his backpack by himself?

Since Crystal apparently couldn’t just fucking hand it to him, but that’s also a separate post.

All this being said, Monty does care about the squad. When he confronts Esther, he says, "You didn't tell me that mushroom thing was gonna completely eradicate them."

Key word: them. He could've said "him", referring to Edwin since he's the one Monty's in love with, but he says "them", as in both Edwin and Charles. He doesn't want to see that happen to either of them. He also asks Esther about her plans for Crystal after she's gotten the ghosts, showing thoughtfulness rather than ignoring her fate entirely. So, he would make a believable addition to the group outside of his crush on Edwin.

Speaking of his crush on Edwin, Monty knows that Edwin is in love with Charles. He knows that he and Edwin aren't going to happen. He knew that even while he tried to get Edwin to safety, but only brought it up when Edwin accused him of pretending to care. He's freaking out and terrified, but it doesn't feel like he brings up Charles out of malice. He seems genuine about it, almost as if he's trying to help Edwin realize it. Monty knows that he's struggling with his feelings; that's what they talked about on the swing set.

Honestly, I think he only runs away because Edwin lashes out and calls him a crow, like an insult, like just being a crow is unforgivable rather than him being Esther's crow. I don't think Edwin actually cares about him being a crow since he's not literally a crow after being turned human. If Monty had gotten to talk to him again after the forest before he was turned back, I think he would've forgiven him. Plus, he's fine with the Cat King and his ability to shift between the two forms, and with Tragic Mick, who once, was a mighty walrus, king of the deep- sorry, couldn't resist.

That all being said, Edwin is the first human being he's truly connected with. He really likes him and enjoys spending time with him. He also knows his romantic feelings are one-sided, but that doesn't stop him from being his friend (after he gets his hurt feelings out of the way).

I think it would be incredibly sweet if Monty got turned back into a person, and now that he's free of Esther's control, join the group, and be besties with Edwin. This little crow-boy who's new to humanity and freedom, truly getting to learn and experience the world, with the help and guidance of the first person he ever connected with?

Tell me that's not the sweetest thing ever! That would be the my preferred QPR 🥹

(ko-fi)

[hatsunemitskislobotomy]

“°• the good dye young •°”

❀° ┄───╮

a little bit of domestic nanami for the soul ignore the title it’s just the hair dye brand im using (not sponsored), whipped this up based on true events… the events being me currently waiting for my hair as i dye it for the umpteenth time and delusions

y’all i love this man so much it’s not even funny

╰───┄ °❀

“nanamin~ pleeease?” she whined invading his space

“lovely, i told you not to call me that.” he sighed lightly swatting her with his book

he just wanted to start his day off with finally opening one of the books from his massive collection, but of course his needy wife wanted his attention elsewhere. not that he could complain, he loved her with all his heart.

“you let yuji call you that.” she huffed holding his face in her hands as she perched on his lap

“you’re not yuji.” he deadpanned

“oh so you love yuji more than me— i see how it is.” she dramatically sighed as she splayed herself over him

“you’re such a child.”

“well yeah if my competition is one—“

“y/n—“

“im kidding im kidding!” she snickered pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw as he looked less than impressed

“you’re not funny.” he couldn’t stay annoyed with her, her bounciness and more or less lack of a filter made her very refreshing

“it was a little funny.” she pouted as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, humming his disagreement

“you’re gonna give me grey hairs love.” he sighed massaging the crease in his brows

“and you’ll still look very handsome.” she gave him a cheeky smile

he couldn’t help but break his stoic gaze with a soft smile and chuckle, she sighed at the smile that was often only reserved for her— and then she remembered.

“ah! i almost forgot what i was bothering you about!” she snapped back up, knocking his glasses from his face

“y/n..” he frowned

“sorry sorry!” she picked up the glasses before wiping off any smudges on the lenses with her shirt, “i didn’t want to forget what i was gonna ask you again.” she gave him a sheepish smile

“what did you need dear?��� he sighed taking the glasses from her hands

“ah! yeah— can you part my hair?”

he blinked once, then again.

“you need me to part your hair?” he repeated as she nodded eagerly

“the underside yes! i can never get a proper part on my own,” she pouted a bit before pulling out a parting comb seemingly out from thin air

“so i need you to do it! pretty please?” she batted her eyelashes

“i don’t mind lovely…” he murmured, plucking the comb from her hands, gently running it through her hair

“but why?”

“oh, i want to dye it!”

he paused his combing, running his fingers through her long locks— he knew she was a bit on the impulsive side but dying her hair out of nowhere?

“y/n… is there any particular reason?” his tone became very serious, he remembered hearing from the students if a woman dyes her hair out of the blue, she must be going through something

“i want something different and pretty.” she hummed looking at her current hair

“but you already are pretty.” he murmured, thoughts running through his head.

was she doing this out of a moment of insecurity? god forbid— did he make her feel inadequate with her natural hair color?

“you’re doing that thing again.”

he was snapped from his thoughts

“huh?”

“that thing where you like get stuck in your head— you furrow your brow and your eyes become all pensive.” she hummed massaging the crease in his brow gently

“when did you become all observant?” he cracked a small smile pressing a kiss to her chin

“excuse you! i’ve always been observant!” she huffed dramatically

“i just happen to talk a lot of nonsense.” she pouted

“true, but i wouldn’t have it any other way my lovely.” he mused peppering her face with kisses

“you’re so corny it’s sickening.” she chuckled

“you love it.”

“i do.”

it fell into a comfortable silence between the two.

“so, what has my darling husband thinking so hard on his day off?” she hummed

he sighed a little.

“did i do anything, to make you feel like you need to change your hair?” he asked her very seriously

she blinked, it wasn’t long before she burst into a fit of giggles.

“im being serious love, you said you wanted to feel pretty— did i do something to make you otherwise?” he gave her a pleading look as she continued to laugh

“oh you poor thing, kento dear— you didn’t do anything.” she continued to laugh, draping herself over him in a hug

“i just wanted a change that’s all! not even that much, im just doing a peekaboo color. im not going all in hence the hair part.” she chuckled softly

he visibly relaxed underneath her as she soothed his worries.

“you’re so sweet to worry, it’s never that serious with me you know that.” she pressed a kiss to the side of his head

and she was right, it usually never was that serious with her. she was a free spirited, unfiltered woman who loved to laugh and smile. many wondered how she was able to chip away at his stoic and cold demeanor when in reality she practically bulldozed her way in, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

she gave him a home and a place to be himself while he grounded her into reality reminding her that someone loved her flaws and all, that was their dynamic and why their love was able to thrive.

“actually— you want to know what would be fun?”

“hmm?”

“if we both dyed our hair! you have the perfect base!”

he immediately pulled away and gave her a look.

“absolutely not.”

“oh please? just the tips?” she started to giggle at her own words

“you are such a child.”

she opened her mouth but he immediately put his hand over it resulting in muffled protests.

“do not do the same joke again—“

she licked his palm and he retracted his hand giving her a look.

“oh come on nanami! think of the possibilities! we can dye it pink or something for like a gender reveal—“

he froze, his hands immediately tightening around her.

“gender reveal— love… are you..?”

her face dropped into a face of mortification at his insinuation.

“oh— god no! seriously? if i was you really think you’d be finding out like this? i can do so much better!” she was offended

his grip on her body didn’t relent as his hands started to trail her stomach.

“there’s nothing in there i promise!” she huffed

“but what if i put one in there?” he murmured, burying his head in her neck

she gave him an incredulous look.

“you better wait until after you help me dye my hair!”

❀° ┄───╮

if you squint you can tell when the fumes start to get to my head lolz

╰───┄ °❀

[cloudlessly-light]

I’m likely on Twitter way too much but I’ve been inspired by the “railed in a sundress” tweets to try and inspire you. So, request for a hotchniss “railed in a sundress” fic? Ily

Title: Love like mine (4/11) Chapter title: I'll make you scream and I'll make you want it Summary: He wasn’t a cheater. Until her. Word count: 3,5k Rating: Explicit   Warnings (for this chapter): Smut, dirty talk, anal play, cheating, a tiny hint of feelings, a tiny bit of angst

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

They stand in silence as the elevator makes its way up to their floor, side by side. His fingers are grazing hers, a gentle touch, something small and she forces a smile away.

“Had a good weekend?” She keeps looking straight ahead, watches as people get off and on the elevator.

“Yes, thank you.” He uses the fact that it gets more crowded to his advantage as she moves a little closer to him. “What about you?”

“It was fine.” When his hand grabs her ass she bites her bottom lip, can see the amusement he’s clearly trying to hide in her peripheral.

“Good.” The ding of the elevator forces them to part as they make their way out and walk towards the glass doors. “Can I see you in my office after the morning briefing?”

“Of course, sir.”

The glint in his eye caused her to smirk knowingly.

*

They’re in Montana, the case brutal, videos and torture devices in the unsubs house making her feel nauseous. She usually wasn’t fazed, but this case took a toll on all of them and she wanted to forget, just for an hour, about the horror they had witnessed. They never spent the night together on cases, but she needed something to get rid of the disgust she felt, needed to feel something other than rage.

“Can you come to my room tonight?” She asks quietly after finding him alone in the police station. He gives her a questioning look as he sorts through papers.

“I thought we had an agreement.” He can see the tension in her shoulders, hates the world for a moment because the women all looked like her.

“I know. I just… never mind.” She shakes her head quickly and chuckles dryly. “Forget it.”

He’s knocking on her door that same night and she opens wearing loose shorts and a tank, less put together than she normally shows herself, but he finds that he likes it.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” She lets him in and leans back against the door as he gets his tie and suit jacket off.

“I couldn’t stay away.”

Neither of them talk about the fact that they don’t have sex that night.

*

The tension is thick in the car, another argument, another day with clipped words and icy tones. Fights had almost become normal in their home. They didn’t used to be like this, but if Aaron was completely honest they had ignored their problems for a long time. It started before she got pregnant with Jack, her irritation at his work hours and unpredictable schedule something that he knew he could easily fix but wouldn’t. He thinks that’s what has hurt her the most, the fact that he wouldn’t change his job for her, not even after they had a child.

It's the fourth of July, it’s unbearably hot and for once they aren’t working. It was Penelope’s idea to have a celebration, Derek’s idea to have a barbeque in the backyard of one of the houses he’s just finished renovating. And Haley is angry with him. He had gotten home late, tired from another long day, coming home to a wife that wanted nothing more than to spend time with him. It shouldn’t have made him mad, he knows he should be more appreciative of everything she does for him, for their child.

And yet he can’t help the way annoyance itches on his skin as she complains that he missed another milestone in Jack’s life, doesn’t seem to be able to stop the words that come out harsher than he means to. And now they’re at a standstill, too late to cancel going to Derek’s but nowhere near having solved the ongoing fight.

Emily would be there, that realization hitting him just as he walked through the front door the night before. Emily would be there, would be sharing a space with his wife for the first time since the bar, that night seeming like a lifetime ago when she had him pressed against a wall, confidence and alcohol on her tongue as she asked if he was happy with Haley.

He was. He was happy, for the most part he thinks. But that was a part of marriage, you went through ups and downs. Aaron wonders what down causes him to cheat on his wife, knows that there’s no answer good enough.

And now he was going to watch as his wife interacted with his mistress.

“Honey?” He says softly as he parks the car, dares to put his hand on her thigh and when she doesn’t move he takes that as a good sign. “I’ll try more. I promise.”

She smiles at him, a sad smile that he knows she thinks is reassuring but is anything but.

“You know you can’t promise that. Not as long as you’re working within the BAU.” Still, she rests her hand on top off his. “We can talk more tonight, I just want us to enjoy today.” She reaches over the center console and presses a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Okay.” He agrees and they both get out of the car. He gets Jack out of the car seat, the toddler happily babbling as they walk around the house to the front yard where everyone had already arrived.

“Hotch!” Derek greets him happily as he stands by the grill with Penelope beside him. “Finally, we thought you weren’t going to make it.” He hugs Haley and Penelope does the same.

“We had a cranky toddler.” Haley lies and it works, the attention quickly switching from them to Jack. “Sorry we’re late.”

“It’s alright, anything for my main man Jack.” Derek takes him from Aaron and puts him on his shoulders and Jack laughs.

“Please be careful.” Penelope warns, eyes wide as she watches them and Derek chuckles at the worried tone of his friend, Haley joining him.

“It’s fine Penelope, he loves it.” She smiles and Aaron nods along just as JJ and Spencer walks towards them, greeting them with smiles and hugs and then Dave walks out from the house carrying a bowl filled with salad.

He’s about to make his way toward the older man and then he sees her.

Emily is behind Dave, carrying two bottles of wine and dressed in a white dress, thin straps and knee length, small blue flowers on the fabric. He’s seen her naked, seen her in lingerie and yet, he’s close to stunned as he lets his eyes move over her slowly. She notices, but covers just as quickly when she sees Haley behind him.

She had known Haley would be there, had forced any feeling of unease away and yet her stomach twisted nervously for a moment when she saw them. But she forced a smile as her eyes met the other woman’s.

“Haley, it’s nice to see you again.” She greets them as Haley comes to stand beside Aaron while she puts the wine bottles down.

“Nice to see you too.” Haley’s smile seems stiff, the ease of how she had spoken to Emily the last time they saw each other gone and she wonders if maybe Haley knows more than she lets on. “That’s such a cute dress.” She continues and Emily smiles.

“Thank you.” She can tell Aaron isn’t used to seeing her this way, isn’t used to her simply being Emily and not Prentiss or the thrill hidden inside the walls of her apartment. His eyes seemed glued to her and everything in her wants to tell him to stop, because that’s the look that gets her naked, the look that makes her undress in his office as he presses a gun to her skin. “I just got this actually.” She continues just as Jack starts to whine, thankfully catching Haley’s attention.

“Excuse me.” She turns to walk towards the rest of the group and Emily gives Aaron a warning look.

“Stop it.” She mutters as she opens the first wine bottle and then pours herself a glass before continuing to pour wine into the rest of the glasses.

“Stop what?” He asks quietly and grabs the other bottle to open.

“Stop staring at me like that.”

He doesn’t get the chance to reply, JJ and Penelope coming over to grab their own glasses and quickly whisking her away with conversations about Penelope’s latest date.

All things considered, it goes better than she had thought. Haley seems to loosen up and Aaron is keeping a safe distance from her. It’s a beautiful day and they get to relax in each other’s company, something they hadn’t done in months. It’s a good day and yet she can’t keep herself from lusting after him. She doesn’t do anything about it, his child and wife are there, they’re surrounded by their friends and coworkers, and yet, she wants him.

And he wants her too. He might be staying away, but his eyes seem to linger on her, dark eyes following her movements and she knows that they’re walking a thin line.

He finds her alone in the kitchen as she rinses off plates, Spencer having left her just moments before to collect some of the trash.

“I told you to stop.” She doesn’t turn to look at him, doesn’t need to when she feels his presence behind her, not close enough to touch, but close enough for the hairs at the back of her neck to rise.

“You look beautiful.” He whispers and after making sure no one is around he takes a step closer, close enough to smell her perfume as he lets one finger drag slowly up her arm, and when she shivers he smiles.

“Please don’t.” She almost drops the plate in her hand, stops to lean against the counter to try to keep some resemblance of control.

“Why?” He husks, somehow unable to keep away from her even now.

“Your wife is outside. With your child. And if you don’t-” She starts but then he pushes up fully behind her and she feels him, strong chest and warm hands, the bulge of him in his jeans.

“If I don’t what?” He knows that he needs to walk away, that this was beyond reckless. It was stupid. But then she made a low sound, a mewl, a sound he recognized as desperation and he couldn’t seem to stop.

“We can’t… not here.”

The sound of footsteps forces him to step away, Penelope’s heels loud against the hardwood floors.

“Do you guys need any help in here?” She asks, all smiles and bright eyes.

“No just finishing up, we’ll be out in a minute.” Aaron tells her and she walks back outside, gone as quickly as she came. For a moment he’s happy that she wasn’t a profiler, that she didn’t think about things the way the rest of them did. When he turns to look at Emily her pupils are dilated, her tongue sneaking out to wet her bottom lip and he knows that what he’s about to do is madness, but in that moment he does not care about the repercussions. “Meet me upstairs in fifteen minutes.”

She looks at him for a moment, debates with herself about how far is actually too far. But when she meets his eye she can’t seem to stop herself from nodding.

“Okay.”

He was her addiction, and she wasn’t going to quit.

Aaron walks outside and is immediately met by Haley who’s holding Jack in her arms.

“I was just about to put him down for nap.” She says and he takes him from her.

“I’ll do it, go enjoy yourself.” He smiles at her and only feels the slight pang of guilt for lying to her, feels a little more guilt for using his own son to get away from the rest of the team. But Haley smiles and nods, kisses his cheek quickly and turns back to JJ and Dave who were seated at the table talking to each other.

“Where’s Prentiss?” He hears Derek ask just as he turns to walk back inside the house, meeting Emily in the doorway with a look.

“Right here.” She gets the attention of the other man but give Aaron a subtle nod as they pass each other. It’s beyond reckless, but she couldn’t stay away.

She’s never been so happy for her upbringing as she was that day, that she could focus on the conversations around her even as excitement flows in her veins. The minutes drag on slowly, even with Derek’s jokes and Rossi’s stories. He was still new to the team, someone she didn’t know well yet, didn’t trust him like she trusted the rest, but he was warming up to them, and she to him.

“I have to use the bathroom.” She excuses herself after close to fifteen minutes had passed and she stands.

“The downstairs one is still a mess, go upstairs and it’s the second door to the right.” Derek tells her and she smiles her thanks. Perfect.

She finds him upstairs, just coming out of a bedroom with a baby monitor in hand. When he sees her, he stops and looks at her, a cross between want and doubt on his face.

“We’re being stupid.” She says for him, knows that’s what he’s thinking. To her surprise he walks towards her until he can take her hand and drag her into another bedroom.

“We are.” He tells her and puts the baby monitor down before pushing her up against the wall behind her. “We have to be quick.” His warm hand moves under her dress until he reaches the apex of her thighs.

“You’re sure?” Her voice comes out only slightly shaky and then his fingers drag along the seam of her underwear, feeling her wetness through the silk and she bites back a moan.

“Yes.” He claims her lips in a kiss at the same time he moves her underwear to the side to press two fingers inside of her, making sure she was ready. When he finds her wet and hot he bites her bottom lip. “You have to be quiet.” He mumbles as she drags his zipper down and then pushes his jeans and boxers down enough for him to feel the air on his heated shaft.

“So do you.” She smirks, her hand around him and when he hisses she feels a sense of accomplishment. Her legs wrap around his hip and his hand wraps under her thigh, keeping her steady as he pushes her harder against the wall. When he pushes inside of her it’s with a rough thrust, and the feeling pushing the air from her lungs.

He exhales sharply, the feeling of her always amazing and he gives them a moment before he starts to move. They don’t have time to waste so they don’t, his movements hard and fast as Emily’s fingers dig into his shirt, her head thrown back and her lip between her teeth in an effort to stay as quiet as possible.

“You like this?” He whispers against her ear, ragged breath and breathy words. “You fucking love it.”

“Y-yes.” She gasps and his eyes darken just slightly. It was wrong, so unbelievably wrong, and it only seemed to spur her on, being close to getting caught, knowing that he chose to come to her even with his wife just downstairs, it was thrilling, something she shouldn’t find arousing but did. Her fingers dug harder into his shoulder as he moved with quicker strokes and he quickly grabbed both her wrists and pinned them above her head.

“No marks.” He growled in her ear, dark and low and she let her head fall back against the wall with a dull thud.

“Fuck Aaron, harder.” She pulled him against her using her leg, forcing him as deep inside of her as possible and the low moan that left her lips caused him to quickly let go of her wrists to cover her mouth.

“Shh, quiet.” He stares her down as he continues to move, keeps his hand over her mouth when she starts to tremble. “Think you can keep quiet sweetheart? Think you can keep from screaming?”

She nodded against his hold, the smugness only getting her closer and she made a mental note to get him back at some other time. But then he changes the angle and only a few seconds later she comes, her orgasm rushing through her so fast she goes lightheaded. Her leg buckles and if he hadn’t expected it she would have fallen, but he’s there, keeping her against the wall as the pleasure washes over her.

He doesn’t move away until he knows she can stand, and carefully sets her leg down then turns her around. He’s back inside of her in moments, buries his face in junction of her neck and shoulder to keep his own groan down.

“Gorgeous thing, all mine.” He lets one hand move around her body until he’s wrapping it around her throat, squeezing loosely, the other moves down to hold her dress up enough to watch the way her body takes him.

“Yours, jesus Aaron.” She bites her hand to keep from moaning, the pleasure of him close to maddening as he keeps fucking her with even strokes. Then she feels his hand move over her hip, toward her ass until he gently presses his thumb against her other hole.

“Have you ever?” He pants, eyes fastened on the way her hole tightens as he presses the pad of his thumb against it, but she doesn’t tense up or move away from him.

“No. Never.” She expects him to try and push his thumb in there, but he doesn’t. Instead he grabs her hip and pulls her back hard against him as his hand tightens around her throat.

“Maybe some other time.” He groans quietly, the thought of being her first getting him to the edge in record time. She must feel it, because she moves back against him as his hips stutter, her walls squeezing his shaft until his jaw clenches and he bites back a groan as he comes inside of her. He can hear her low whimper through the ringing in his ears, the sound breathy and low even as his hand stays wrapped around her throat. His legs tremble as the pleasure overtakes him and only when he feels like he can breathe again, does he move away from her.

Emily quickly fixes her underwear and pulls her dress down, her hands moving to brush through her dark hair and she smiles at him.

“Can you come over soon?” She asks as he puts himself back together too.

“I’ll try.” He promises, and that’s enough for her.

She walks down first and when he joins them a couple of minutes later he notices the look Dave sends him. But he doesn’t say anything and before he can ask the older man what’s wrong Haley comes up to him.

“You were gone a while.”

“Sorry it took a while to get Jack down.” He lies, silently wondering when his life became this mess.

They keep fighting, fight until he’s not even sure what they’re fighting about. Haley rarely raises her voice, but when she does he knows that she’s moments away from saying something she’ll regret later. And then it comes.

“You put everything before us, before Jack. Every single day. It’s like you don’t want to be here at all.”

“You know that’s not true Haley.” He can feel his own anger, simmering, barely contained. There was some truth to her words, that’s why he’s angry, he would never wish something else for his life, couldn’t imagine a life without Jack. But the facts were that he spent more nights than he cared to admit in another woman’s apartment.  

“Isn’t it?” Her nails are digging into her upper arms, rage she doesn’t want to show making her body shake. “You chose your job every day. You could have a normal job and-”

“And what?!” His voice is louder than he means it, and he can tell that it startles her. “Be miserable? Is that what you want?”

“Bottom line is, we aren’t enough for you.” Her words make him furious and he slams a cabinet loud enough for the wood to crack slightly. The sudden bang wakes Jack up, his cries cutting through their fury for a moment.

“I’ll go.” She says, her voice suddenly soft and tired, like all the fight drained out of her. “I’m not going to live like this Aaron. I’m done.”

Aaron watches her as she goes. He never thought his life would turn out like this.

[lavishl0ve]

Hiii I love your writing so much🫶🫶

What would Johnny think of the reader actually being obsessed with him like he brings another victim home and the reader goes crazy?

(Totally fine if u don't wanna do it tho🖤)

hii! tysm 🫶 Sorry I finished this request a bit late I hadn’t seen this til later 💔 (plus i’ve been a little busy). Besides that this request was superr fun to do so ty! 💋

⚠️ TW !!!

Background Information: As I wrote this I had imagined after you were forced into the Family you’d heavily rely on Johnny, to the point he’d drive you mad.

————————————————————————

The whirring of the old air conditioning reaps into my ears. I sprawl out on the couch waiting. Waiting for him. I’ve made this my daily ritual now, I can’t seem to break it either. How I wait for him each day. How I wait to hear a roar from the engine of his truck. Oh, how I long to see my Johnny. I can’t help but feel giddy when I think of him. His perfect face, his perfect teeth, his perfect voice. He’s soo perfect.

Oh how I adore my Johnny.

Staring at the ceiling fan I begin to feel my eyes cross. Couldn’t time pass faster? Then I heard that familiar engine. 27 minutes later than usual. I rise from the sunken sofa, standing by waiting for those thuds of his heavy boots. Their replaced with light taps. That wasn’t Johnny. I peer around the wall. A tan girl, her blonde hair illuminating those green eyes. She gives me a weak reassuring smile. I think it was more to reassure herself at least. I watch Johnny’s broad frame step behind her. She cuts her sentence short, startled by that thud. That thud I wait for everyday. That thud which now fills me with confusion. What was he doing with HER? He only gives me a simple glance before walking near the basement door, pulling the lady along. Green eyes locked onto mine before they completely disparate into the darkness of his dungeon. My heart swirls and my eyes burn. She was so gorgeous, so different from me. Why did he want her..? The iron scraps against the oak floors. I huff, stomping over toward the kitchen, rust bleeds from the tap eventually turning clear(ish). I take a knife from the bottom, scrubbing… occupying my mind. My breath feels heavy. Where was he? Why didn’t he say anything? Why’d he choose another girl?

What was he doing with her now..?

My body tensed, scrubbing harder until I realized the blade cut through the sponge, cutting deep into my hand.

“Shit!” I exasperate, throwing the knife back into the sink.

The women’s scream erupted through the floorboard. 12 minutes less than when he would usually kill them. 12 minutes more he could’ve done stuff with her. My knees buckle, my balance becomes trippy and I grip onto the kitchen island, red staining the granite. I gasp out stumbling to the bathroom door. Collapsing in the sink, I open the cabinet knocking a vial of pills over. Grabbing the bandages I run the water, rinsing the blood off revealing the incision. It’s deep. What the hell did I do?

I wrap the bandages tight til I can't feel pain anymore. The scraping iron re-entrances. Those thuds of those boots approached. His broad frame blocked the doorway, I ignored him and continued wrapping. A good while passes. A light scoff from him and he grips my bandaged hand, raising it, forcing me to turn to him. Shoving his face into mine I can smell the whiskey of his tongue.

“You makin’ too much noise.”

He squeezed my hand harder, I felt the warm liquid run down, staining the white. My eyebrows furrow. He pushes his face farther

“Quit it.” He growls.

He throws my hand away without another word, those same thuds now fading. Tears stain my cheeks, I can feel the pulsing of my hand, of his grip. It’s so different now.

He had not even cared.

Didn’t even care how I hurt for him.

Bleed for him. Because of him.

He did not care about me.

He cared about her.

That girl.

That perfect girl with her golden hair.

Her perfect tan.

Those Emerald eyes.

Her pretty lips.

Her perfect…

everything.

Warm feelings rush through me, I stomp towards the basement, swinging the iron door as it clatters against the wood, my heavy steps cracks the wood. The fridgid air doesn’t affect me. I want her. I need her.

Where is she?

From a turned corner she lays there, slumped against the concrete wall with blood seeing from her throat. I bend down, raising her head. Her doe eyes, beautiful after death, the gloss sheen enlightens them even more. Her sparse freckles paint her cheeks perfectly, her lips slightly parted with those amazing teeth, her curls fall perfectly. The blood paints her body like art. She just stares at me. Those eyes. So pure. Too pure… it angers me. Red flows through me and my breathing becomes sparse.

I lunged out digging my thumbs into those beautiful eyes, her eyes which mocked me, laughed at me. No more pretty eyes from him to look at, yet now the cold shoots through me. No satisfaction.

I gasped. I can only collapse onto her body begging for forgiveness, gasping for air from my flood of tears. I feel insanity. I remove my fingers, still hunched over her. I raise my head to look, but oh…

she didn’t even need her eyes to be beautiful.

——————————————————————

I found myself adopting her persona unknowingly. I had my hair bleached and would wake up to curl it each day. I stayed outside more to tan, I would do the same smoky makeup she had on, I would walk like her, stand like her and everything. Even have the same clothes she wore.

But I was not her.

I could never be her.

Johnny stood more distant. I would see him around once or twice a day. But I haven’t seen him lately at all. Not for the past two weeks, hell knows what he’s doing. But I miss him. So. so. much. But while doing the dishes one day I would hear the engine of his truck. I would hear the thuds of his boots. Those thuds I love and long for. Those thuds I would run to, only for him to stop me in my tracks.

“The hell happened to you?” he said in disgust.

My heart pulls. To me? Didn’t he want this? Didn’t he like this?

“What do you mean…?” I long out.

He pulls out a cigarette, “Your hair, and those stupid clothes”.

“Stupid..?”.

Am I stupid?

He walks up to me.

“Mhm” He mutters, puffing smoke directly into my face.

He leaves me there stunned, walking straight pass. I can’t help but ask.

“I’m stupid?”

He leans against the kitchen island, titling his head in a slight agreement. Another string pulls.

“IM FUCKING STUPID?” I yell strutting toward him.

I pound my fists against his chest, “I DID ALL THIS FOR YOU!”

I feel the wetness I've familiarized fill my eyes again. Black from my mascara mixes with tears and my vision fogs.

He pushes me back, “The hell wrong with ya’?” He questions in astonishment.

My back hits the hard cabinet and I fall to the floor. I can feel my heart finally shatter from the impact. Empty. I felt so empty.

Looking up at him black stains your cheeks, your eyes red and hair messy you stare, almost in disbelief. Johnny just glares, confused. You rise.

“Johnny…” you cry out.

“I only wanted you.”

Seconds pass. Silence. No words spoken from an outspoken man.

“…just you.”

My tears dry, cleaning his blurred face. I see that cold stare, I can't help but hate it. Quietness fills the room.

“Were my eyes not green enough?” I scoff.

“Was I not tan enough?”

“My hair not blonde enough for you?” I begin to rant.

“Oh and don’t let me forget” I pause, “I apologize for not having those freckles”

“Or her BOOBS, or OUTFITS, or CHARM!” I scream out pounding my injured hand on the table.

“What’re you talkin’ bout?” He steps back.

I follow him, “OH I'M SO SORRY I COULDN'T BE LIKE HER JOHNNY!”

My voice echoes through the house. With each step he takes I take another. Closer.

“IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED?!” I grab a knife from the drying rack, stabbing it into the cutting board.

It was the same knife which had cut into me. The same knife that cut into me because of him. That same knife that made ME BLEED BECAUSE OF HIM. A surge of intense heat courses through my vein, tightening each muscle, and clouding all rational thoughts. An overwhelming sense of frustration and irritation takes over. My vision red, I scream, shoving him against the cabinet, shaking, hitting, crying, hoping to knock sense into him. I exhaust.

“I’m the only girl you need..” I trail off sobbing into his chest.

I continue sobbing, “If I can’t have you, then I don’t want anyone else to either.”

A strong hand supports the back of my head. I look up to him. His face is flushed red, his breath quivers. I look down.

The kitchen knife. It now makes him bleed because of me.

I shierk, stumbling back. My stomach turns, what have I done? He collapses to the floor, supporting himself with one knee.

“Johnny!” I cry, falling to help.

His left hand caresses my face, moving her blonde hair from my face. His gaze lingers a little longer. He struggles. The reflection from the metal of his skinning knife makes it’s appearance, my eyes begin to gloss. I don’t want to look away. And with a sudden sweep the sharp edge makes its contact with my neck. The blood begins to spill.

Maybe it’ll paint me just as beautiful as her.

Maybe he’ll see that.

Maybe he’ll know how much I loved him.

[vodika-vibes]

I feel you with being sick lately, I’ve been sick all week plus I got the ol’ red tide happening so I’m not having a good time T-T. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the A-17 & Fordo combo, so if you want and have time and feel able could you please do another Alpha-17xReaderxFordo fic where the boys comfort and care for a busy reader who won’t stop to take care of herself? Thanks for your time and i hope you’re feeling better and having fun!

Take A Break

Summary: As a post war Senator, you've been working hard to make sure that the clones remain safe...perhaps too hard.

Pairing: Alpha-17 x Reader x ARC Captain Fordo

Word Count: 719

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I am feeling a lot better, thank you for asking, I'm just tired, so my brain doesn't want to make words work today, lol. I also do have your other request! Thank you for your requests, and your patience.

You’re exhausted. Down to your bones.

You feel as though you’ve been going non-stop for years now. And at this point maybe you have been. And now that the war is over, you should be able to rest and relax more, not less.

But for every person who supports your Clone Rights Bill is another person who opposes it, which means that you’re working just as hard now as you were when the war was at its height.

You haven’t even managed to go home in the last three days. Though, at least, you’re not alone. None of the other Senators who are working on this bill have been able to leave either.

You caught Bail staring at a blank wall earlier today with a cup of caf in each hand and a straw in each cup, allowing him to drink both at the same time. Personally, you think it’s brilliant, but the look on Commander Thorn’s face when he gently escorted Bail back to his office makes you think that maybe you’re too exhausted to really judge that.

You thread your fingers through your hair, and you stare at the datapad laying on the table in front of you. You’ve been reading the same argument for the last hour, and you haven’t managed to retain a single word of it.

You drop your hands from your hair and press the palms of your hands over your eyes. They’re burning from exhaustion and strain, and you really should dig your glasses out of your desk to help with at least some of that, but that sounds like work and you’re so tired of work-

For a moment, just a moment, you consider taking a break. And then your datapad dings as a new message crosses the screen.

It’s from Padme. The subject line simply reads, “!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

You open the message and it’s a message forwarded from Senator Burtoni. The basic idea being that she’s claiming that the Clones are Kaminoan property and so they should be returned to Kamino for repurposing and decommissioning.

And that sends a shot of awareness through your exhausted mind, and you start typing rapidly. And you note, absently, that you’re not the only one.

About an hour later, you notice that Bail is no longer online. And then neither is Padme.

And then your office door slides open and you blink, blearily, at the two men that enter your office. Alpha looks unimpressed, and Fordo doesn’t look much happier, actually.

Alpha folds his arms over his chest, “Do you have any idea how long it’s been since you’ve been home?”

That’s a silly question, of course you do. It’s been…uh…

You blink at him, and decide that it’s a dumb question and ignore it, “This is important.” You finally say, “Senator Burtoni wants to decommission-”

“That’s normal. Senator Burtoni has always wanted to decommission us.” Alpha says with a roll of his eyes, “Have you slept at all in the last three days?”

“Uh…I closed my eyes for an hour yesterday while listening to a speech?” You offer as an answer, and then you squeak when Fordo crosses the room and gently pulls you from your seat, only to pull you into his arms.

You slump into his embrace, the exhaustion becoming almost overwhelming now that you’re not actively staring at your work.

“Have you eaten, cyare?” Fordo asks, his voice soft.

You nod mutely, because you have. The Senate Droids have been bringing you meals, which is part of the reason that the senate has droids, honestly. 

“You just haven’t been home…or sleeping.” Alpha says, and you can feel his fingers against the back of your neck, rubbing soothing circles there. 

“...’m sorry.”

“Shh. We’re not mad. We’re worried.” Fordo lightly squeezes your hips, “This isn’t healthy, cyare.”

“You need to take a break.” Alpha interjects, “It’s time to go home. You can take a bath and curl up in bed and sleep until you’re not tired anymore.”

“And maybe we’ll cuddle with you.” Fordo adds with a small smile.

You sigh softly, and rest your head against his chest, “What did I do to deserve you both?”

Alpha chuckles and presses a light kiss to your shoulder, while Fordo drops a light kiss to your forehead. “Come on, cyare. Time to go home.”

[badsongpetey]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

The Water Guardian (aka Cryptid Keith AU) Part 8

And so Lance falls into an easy pattern with his new cryptid friend. Every week he brings books to an eagerly awaiting Keith, and steadily the conversations between them become less and less strained. Lance has discovered that he and Keith share similar tastes. Keith loves graphic novels, and in addition to adventure and fantasy stories, has a penchant for horror. The scary monster in the haunted waterfall loves horror, go figure.

Lance would be lying if he hadn’t hoped to get Keith to open up more about his mysterious past, because what’s the fun of having a supernatural friend without learning his cosmic secrets, right? But as the weeks turn to months, Keith remains as reluctant as ever to broach the subject. And strangely, Lance finds himself minding less and less.

Keith, contrary to first impressions, is actually funny. Okay, his sense of humor is definitely an acquired taste, but it’s there, and he frequently has Lance laughing out loud. And stranger still, Keith is just fun to hang out with. He’s smart, and creative, and passionate about the things he cares for. Sure, he’s still stubborn and annoying and almost ridiculously oblivious at times, but in a ways that challenge Lance to be better instead of frustrating him.

Introducing Keith to more modern stories has also opened up a world of questions for the dragon. Every week he hounds Lance for answers: What’s the internet? What’s a TV show? And why do people binge eat them on streams? These are tough to answer as the area where Keith lives is the deadest of dead zones, a fact Lance attributes more to Keith himself than any feature of technology or geography.

In return for Lance’s knowledge, Keith shows him his world. Lance learns secrets of the forest; meets a host of wild animals — some friendlier than others, stupid chipmunks; and is dazzled with dragon magic tricks.

They swim, and hike, and make up stupid challenges to see who can best the other. He even hatches a scheme to camp out and surprise Keith with his first ever movie night. Keith’s face, transfixed as he watches some of Lance’s favorite flicks on his laptop, is something Lance finds far more compelling than the movies themselves. Somewhere along the line, without being fully aware of it, Lance realizes that Keith has gone from being a friend in name only, to one of his best friends.

And speaking of best friends, it crosses his mind more than once that he’s never invited them to come visit Keith. Hunk really should get to meet the dragon he thought was going to eat them, he knows Hunk and Keith would be good friends. And Pidge would be maniacal with glee over the discovery of a whole new species. On second thought, maybe keeping Pidge away is for the best. Keith might actually be forced to eat them in self defense.

Lance tells himself that he’ll introduce them when the time is right, but truth is, he likes having Keith’s friendship to himself. And he tries his best to ignore the weird little flutter thing that his heart does when Keith comes bounding out of the woods like an excited puppy to greet him. Who wouldn’t be excited to have a magical being for a secret friend, right? Of course right, there’s no other explanation.

“Are there any other dragons?” Lance asks one afternoon as they lay sunning themselves on the warm rocks after a swim.

When he’s met with silence, he looks over at Keith unmoving on the rocks beside to him.

“I was just thinking, you know, there must be more dragons out there, besides you and your parents. Maybe, you’ve run into them?” Lance elaborates.

Keith is still quiet, and Lance is about to chalk this one up to things they don’t talk about when…

“I don’t know. I’ve never left my waters.”

Lance sits up. “You’ve never left?” He asks incredulously. “Not once in a century? You’ve just been here all alone?”

Keith is sitting now too, and his brow furrows in response.

“Look,” Lance sighs, “I know there are things you don’t want to discuss, but… I dunno, I worry about you, here all alone.”

“I’m not alone, I have you.”

“And I’m incredible, I know. I mean, you’re not gonna find better than me, human or dragon, that’s a given.” Lance replies over the soft sound of Keith’s scoffs. “But I’m still just one guy, and, well, aren’t you curious? At all?”

Keith frowns and looks away, his established way of shutting down a conversation.

Lance huffs in frustration. “Keith, part of being friends is talking about stuff. Friends talk. They care about each other and help each other, and trust each other. I’m just hoping that maybe you trust me.”

Lance stares at the back of Keith’s head and wonders if he just ruined a friendship and not merely a perfectly nice afternoon. But he’s reached a point with Keith where he wants more. He can’t keep walking on eggshells whenever the subject of Keith’s past comes up, and he’s at a loss about what else he can do.

“My mom, before she… passed… she made me promise to never leave here. To never look for any others. She said it was too dangerous. And it’s been hard, but it was the only thing she asked of me.” Keith’s voice quavers as he replies.

“Keith, I… I’m so sorry, but she couldn’t have wanted you to be all alone for so long…”

“You don’t understand!” Keith snaps, turning around, eyes filling with tears, cutting Lance off mid-sentence.

“Dragons don’t just take care of a body of water, we’re bound to it. A water dragon cannot be, cannot exist, without this bond. My mom came here when she was still pregnant with me. She never told me where she’d come from, only that she came here to protect me. Her magic was strong and she was able to sever her old bond and forge a new one here.”

Lance sits slack-jawed and stunned as the story comes pouring out of Keith.

“Normally, when a young dragon comes of age they find their own place, their own bond. But, I couldn’t go…” Keith hiccups out a sob, “I couldn’t leave, and she couldn’t leave, and… and… she gave her bond to me. She gave it up so I could live. And she… she…”

Keith’s voice breaks as he cries and Lance is moving before he even decides to. He wraps himself around his friend and Keith just collapses in his arms, releasing a grief held for longer than Lance can imagine.

“I’m here now.” He whispers into Keith’s hair. “I’m here and I won’t let you be alone ever again.” He promises. And Lance never breaks a promise.

[unseededtoast]

Turtle Doves | Joel Miller

Part Eleven

Chapter Directory

Series Summary: In which two broken souls connect so deeply, that if one should perish, the other would surely die of a broken heart. (slow burn, timeline changes. After TLOU1, before TLOU2, assumed knowledge of infected, uses elements from both show and game)

Series Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, death, and sexual content.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

"I don't feel right dragging you into these things. We got lucky the past two times but sooner or later luck runs out."

After walking several miles in the heat, Joel eventually finds a shaded spot for us to take a break. He puts his things down and walks off, leaving me by myself. Without thinking about my actions, I put my bag down and sit, bringing my knees up to my chest. What I should be doing is ripping the map out of my bag and taking note of where the other stars are located, but I can't seem to make my arms move.

A small part of my mind thinks I'm overreacting. At the end of the day, nothing happened to me, they weren't able to fulfill their twisted plans. But I can't seem to shake the ghostly feeling of the man's hands on my hips, the feeling of him trying to get my pants off. My chest can still feel the man on top of me, holding me hostage against the floor. Is this what the children felt before they were murdered? The thought of children experiencing, to a harsher extent, what I just did is an unbearable thought.

Joel walks back to me and wipes his hands on his pants. From my peripheral I can see him look down at me, but he doesn't say anything. Truthfully, there are no words he could say that would break my mind out of this foggy trance. It's almost surreal to think about what could have happened if Joel wasn't there to save me. As the thought dawns on me, I look up to him. I see dried blood on his hands and some splattered on his shirt.

I know I should be thanking him vehemently right now, but it's as if my mouth has been sewn shut. My body has weirdly shut down on me, maybe as some sort of stress response or something. His eyes tear away from me and he puts his bag on his back, probably wanting to keep going. We still have a few more hours of sunlight left and we need to make the most of it. Staying out here in the open at night is not a situation I want to be in. So I force myself up and put my bag back on my shoulders.

Our boots crunch the small pebbles on the pavement as the two of us move forward. Typically, during these bouts of silence my mind is on the killers, but only the recurring images of the men back at the town are found. With each step I try to work through the thoughts, knowing I can't allow myself to be stuck in this state of mind forever.

When I left Boston I knew that people like them were out here. I guess a delusional part of me just never thought I'd actually encounter them. It's obvious to me now that I had been completely ignorant and naive when I decided to go to Omaha. Had Joel not been there with me, I likely would have died in that town. And this trip would have been made in vain.

Instead of dwelling on what could have been, I guess I should be thankful that it ended when it did. Some people don't get as lucky as I did, if luck is really the right word to describe the situation. Those men are dead now, no longer able to prey upon anyone else who stumbles into their town, and for that I am thankful.

Joel and I walk until the sun begins setting and we find ourselves in a less-than-ideal spot. There are really no places to hunker down for the night, no houses or businesses for miles. We're passing through a part of the country that's mainly taken up by forest. By the time we find somewhere to call it a night, the moon is fully up in the sky.

There's a small campground tucked away in some trees, I can make out the silhouettes of campers through the woods. My hearing becomes hyper-aware of the surroundings, listening for any infected, or people, that may be watching us. Snapping twigs and branches are the only sounds I can hear, but that doesn't stop me from being paranoid.

We choose an average-looking camper on the outskirts and make sure it's clear before we take our bags off our backs for the night. It's arguably one of my favorite parts of the day. The camper is a plain beige in color, but alike other buildings, is now adorned with vined plants. There's a small fire pit in front of it, surrounded by run-down chairs, but it's more than enough for me.

Joel lets me in the camper as he goes about trying to find firewood. Out in the middle of nowhere it's probably safe to start a fire. Sure, there's still some risk but it's not nearly as high as it would be near a town. While he goes off to do that, I place my bag on the floor in front of the pull-out bed. There's only one bed in the camper, and I know I'm going to give it to Joel. It's quite literally the very least I can do for him, and I feel guilty for staying silent all day now that I've had time to process what happened in town.

While Joel is gone, I take the time to clean up the bed for him. I strip the old sheets from the mattress and rummage around until I find a clean set up in one of the cupboards. They're a nice airy linen and I know fresh sheets are hard to come by nowadays. I tuck the corners underneath the mattress, put the new pillow cases on, and smooth out the top sheet. As a finishing touch, I fold the top down to make it look nice for him.

Feeling overly cautious tonight, I wait for him to return before I leave the camper. I hear wood clattering to the ground upon his arrival, he must have found some decent pieces. The camper door squeaks as I exit, and he spares me a glance before constructing the fire. I sit in one of the chairs while he lights the wood, watching as it smokes before catching the flame. He takes his bag inside the camper as well, but comes back only seconds later. Taking a seat across from me, we both stare into the fire.

The flames flicker and dance with shades of orange and yellow, giving us warmth for the chilly night. My eyes glance up to Joel, who's staring at the fire with intensity, like he's deep in thought. I know I've put this off for too long, and I clear my throat to finally break the silence. I'm not sure what I want to say, and a simple thank you seems too mundane for what he did for me. I bite the inside of my cheek and decide to just find the words as I go. He looks up to me, waiting for me to spit something out.

"Um, I want to say thank you for what you did back there." I'm unable to keep eye contact with him, my eyes turn down from his.

"Was nothin'." He casually speaks, his voice gruff from not using it all day. My head shakes back and forth, knowing he's lying.

"No, it wasn't nothing. You've saved my life twice now, and what have I done for you? Got us into situations where we both could've been killed." Guilt lays heavy in my stomach and I start to feel ashamed of myself. Finding some shred of courage, I look back up to him.

"Coulda happened to anyone." He reasons, but I know he's only being polite. I'm not sure why he's being so cordial about it, most people would be furious I almost got them killed. Nervously, I lace my fingers together and pick at the skin next to my thumbnail.

"Maybe so, but I don't feel right dragging you into these things. We got lucky the past two times but sooner or later luck runs out. What I'm trying to say is that I'm giving you an out. You don't have to let me tag along anymore, it's okay. I understand." As the words leave my mouth, I feel stinging tears in my eyes. I'm frustrated with myself for risking this man's life, mad at myself for being so useless. Joel's eyes stare into mine, and I can almost swear he can see into my soul.

"If I left behind everyone who I got into a sticky situation with, I'd have nobody." His words are slow and intentional. A nagging thought eats away at me,

"You have a family to get back to, Joel. Those people miss you, they need you. I don't have anyone waiting for me." The truth hurts when I hear it out loud, and it's like someone has stabbed me through the heart as I put my thoughts into the world. Joel shakes his head, disagreeing with what I'm saying.

"What about James?" I almost laugh at his words, but play it off as a cough and rub my nose.

"James? No. He just keeps me around because I bring in the extra ration cards. I think his wife hates me if I'm being honest." I grimace, knowing that James' wife definitely doesn't like me, and only tolerates me because she too benefits from the pill running.

"He cares about you." Joel's words are unusually soft and genuine. I put my restless hands on my knees and shift my weight around in the chair.

"Well, that may be so, but he's not family. I lost mine ten years ago. But you still have yours, you need to get back to them alive. These days family is the most precious thing to have, and I'll never forgive myself if something happens to you because of me." My throat constricts with emotion, and images of my late husband and precious baby pop in my mind. The tears from earlier fall down my cheeks, and I try to wipe them casually so Joel doesn't see.

The conversation seems to die, the crackling fire fills the air. My chest rattles with a jagged breath and I chew on my bottom lip to keep from losing it all. Joel rubs his hands together and opens his mouth, but closes it. A deep frown has settled on his face, but I don't push him for answers. Instead, I focus my attention down to my hands and pick the hangnail I started earlier. The skin is almost peeled off completely until Joel's voice speaks up.

"What are you going to do after Omaha?" He asks, and it's the last thing I figured he'd ask me. My eyebrows raise slightly and I shrug.

"Probably go back to Boston. There's nothing for me anywhere else." He nods his head and looks back into the fire.

"I meant what I said back by Boston, it's still safer if we travel together. I'm not takin' the out." He says as he stares into the flames. My eyes stare at his face intently, trying to figure out why this man is being so forgiving and kind to me. He owes me no loyalty and in fact, I'm the one who owes him. I owe him more than I can ever repay.

"How far do you have to travel after Omaha?" Curiosity gets the best of me, and I'm taking his newly conversational attitude as an invitation to ask my own questions. He puffs out a breath,

"A while. I'm headed out to Wyoming." He says and I can tell he's withholding some information, which is fine. I know he's likely only doing so to protect his family's whereabouts, and after all, I'm still pretty much a stranger to him. I've only known him for a handful of days.

"That's quite a ways. But I'm sure they'll all be happy to see you again." The thought of having a family to return to makes my heart ache with a longing that I know can never be filled. My fingers grasp the gold chain around my neck, and I see Joel's eyes on the necklace, but he doesn't say anything.

What I wouldn't give to be able to hold my baby one more time. I miss his little hands reaching out for me, begging to be picked up. His laugh that used to carry through the house. And I miss Ryan's touch, his cool and confident nature. I miss the way he used to come home with a dozen colored roses, knowing that even though I was a florist, I still loved being gifted flowers. He would always pick "the most beautiful ones for his most beautiful girl" he always told me. They were the lights of my life, and since that fateful night, my heart has been filled with the ash of the extinguished flame.

Before I can stop them, tears run down my face and I can only hope the darkness of night masks them. How can I possibly be okay with following Joel, putting him at risk, when I know what his stakes are? He probably has his own kid waiting for him, his own wife worried if she'll ever see him again or not. I wish I could make him go so that I'm not a liability.

My sniffling nose gives away that I'm crying and I quickly get up from my spot, not wanting to burden Joel with my own issues. I turn away from him and walk into the woods, but not far enough that I lose sight of the fire. Strained sobs come over me, the stress and sadness of the day all coming down on me at once. Maybe I'm just too fragile to be doing this, maybe I simply am just not strong enough.

I slouch against a tree and put my head in my hands, wiping the tears and rubbing my nose. I haven't cried this much since the first year of the outbreak and here I am, faced with adversity and crumbling under the pressure. It's pathetic, and I hate that I'm not resilient enough to handle things better.

Once my tears dry I decide to just stay out here in the tranquil woods for a little longer. While I sit here, I try to prepare myself for Joel going back on his word, saying that he's going to be taking the out after all. Maybe he mulled over my words and realized that I am right, that he needs to get rid of me and get back to his family. I wouldn't blame him in the slightest.

After a while I notice the flame of the fire dying out, and so I force myself to get up and go back, no matter how humiliating it is. My boots stomp down the overgrown vegetation as I return and luckily there's still a small flame going. Joel's leaning up against the camper, his arms crossed over his chest. He hears me walking and looks over.

"I'll stay out here for the night to keep watch. There's um, I saw a pull-out bed in there." My hand gestures towards the camper, insinuating that I want him to take it. His eyes narrow and his head shakes,

"No that's okay, I can take watch." He says and I can't help but feel anger rise in me. I take a breath,

"No, I want you to take it. Please, take it. You saved me from the infected, you saved me from those men back there. It's the least I can do and doesn't even begin to repay what you've done. So please, take it." My voice is strained, and it comes out harsher than I intend it to. I drop my hand back down to my side and return to my seat by the fire pit, the smoke burning my lungs as I deeply breathe it in.

"You don't owe me anything." His words cause me to no longer be able to bite my tongue and all of my pent up emotions pour out,

"Joel, I swear if you fight me on one more damn thing I say I'm going to lose my fucking mind. Please, take the bed. This is something I can actually do for you, so please, let me." My voice is full of finality. I stare at him with wide eyes until he finally moves, and thankfully he doesn't fight me. Instead, he turns and opens the camper door, retreating inside for the night.

With a huff, I turn around in my seat and run a hand over my face before I toss another log onto the fire. I curl up in the seat and hug my knees close to me, resting my chin on my kneecaps.

Tonight my thoughts are occupied with Joel and where we go from here. It's clear that he's not going to leave, he's stubborn as hell about staying true to his word. Deep down I know I'm far too inadequate to be making this trip, but I can't be the reason he never returns to his family. The sadness from earlier morphs into resolve, and I promise myself to be stronger and smarter. For Joel, his family, and for the children I'm seeking to avenge.

The start of this journey shows me that I have to become tougher to survive this. This world is not for the weak, and right now I am weak. My time in Boston gave me the illusion that I was tough because I was able to smuggle pills and stand up to men I know wouldn't have touched me. But out here, I have no guarantees of safety anymore. The QZ is a playground in comparison.

Throughout the night I have to keep getting up and walking around to keep myself awake. The warmth of the fire invites me to fall asleep, but I can't. I promised Joel that I would stay up, and I can't go breaking my promises to him. I'd be lying if I said my eyelids weren't heavy, in fact, I think they weight about twenty pounds each now. At one point, I find myself smacking my cheeks to stay alert. The sounds of owls and crickets in the night doesn't help my cause. I'm stuck in the most picturesque place to sleep but am not allowed to indulge.

After hours and hours of keeping myself awake, I hear the morning birds start singing their songs and the warm glow of the morning sun can be seen. I slouch down in my seat, happy that the morning is finally rolling around. However, my happiness is short lived as I realize we still have to walk all day long.

The door of the camper opens and my head whips around to see Joel walking out, his wavy brown hair tousled from his restful night. He rubs his eyes and yawns as he comes to the fire pit, and I find myself yawning right after him. He's up earlier than I thought he would be, but I'm not complaining, it got lonely out here after a while.

I stretch my legs out in front of me and look over to Joel, who's taken the seat next to me. His face still looks like he's half asleep as he blankly stares at the dying fire in front of us.

"Go on and get some sleep." His deep, raspy morning voice says. A faint blush finds its way on my face at the tone of his voice, but I quickly push the thought from my mind.

"We gotta get going though." I say, yawning again. Joel looks to me with an incredulous look on his face.

"Don't fight me on it, just go do it. I'm gonna scout this place for a car, see if I can't get one of 'em started." He says and runs a hand over his face to wake himself up.

"Well I can help you." I offer and he shakes his head and stares at me with an expression that lets me know he's not thrilled I'm arguing with him already. He sighs,

"And you were tellin' me not to fight you." I look away from him. I know he has a point but I don't want to admit it. I shrug my shoulders, my stubborn nature not letting me cave.

"I'm not fighting, I'm offering help." I rebut. His eyebrow raises,

"I'm not tellin' you again. Go get some rest. If I need you, I'll come get you." He says, voice warming up for the day, the deep rasp disappearing as he speaks.

"What if something happens?" I ask, knowing that bad things can happen in the blink of an eye. My tone must tell him I'm not fighting, but instead am genuinely worried.

"Nothing is going to happen. I'm not going far and I keep an eye on my surroundings." He reassures me, and I know he's telling the truth. Well, about him being cautious anyways. He knows how to survive in this world.

Reluctantly, I get up and accept his offer, the thought of sleeping on a mattress is far too tempting. I open the camper door and enter it, seeing our bags placed side by side. The sheets on the bed are rustled and I smile to myself, happy that I was able to do that for him, and I hope he slept well because of it. Taking a few steps across the camper, I crawl onto the bed and sprawl out, thankful for the mattress. Compared to my mattress at the QZ, this is like sleeping on a cloud.

Rolling onto my side, I grab a handful of the sheets and breathe in the freshness. Joel's scent hits my nose, a mix of smoke from the fire and cotton flannel. It's a warm, comforting smell and I close my eyes to appreciate it.

His smell makes me feel safe, it lets me know that he's here and he's watching out for us. The rugged smell lulls me to sleep, and for once I'm not haunted by the images of the murdered children or the ghostly feeling of the men in the town.

Part Twelve

[five-rivers]

A Star is Born!

AO3

@astatia-ghast

After revealing himself as a ghost (as a hero) (as an inhuman monster), Danny had gotten used to people staring at him.  Even people who had known him for a long time.  Especially people who had known him for a long time.  Something something, couldn’t reconcile the person they knew with the person they admired, according to Jazz.  

Danny had, honestly, enjoyed the attention at first.  It was kind of like with the Yetis!  But the thrill of being invited to every party wore thin fast.  Now he just ignored it the best he could.  

Today, however, was different, and it was really getting on his nerves.  Today, there was giggling.  

So, he normally didn’t mind giggling, but it was coinciding with an awful lot of pointing and whispering.  That, he was less fond of.  

Still.  What could he do about it?  Other than be annoyed.  He was going to do that anyway.  He got his breakfast (the lunch ladies were staring) and sat down at his usual table to wait for Tucker.  Sam was taking a zero period cooking class, and wouldn’t meet up with them until ten minutes before the bell rang.  

“Oh my gosh!”

Danny looked up.  Tucker was standing a few paces from the cafeteria doorway.  His eyes sparkled with emotions Danny had never before seen outside of an anime.  He looked delighted.  

“Danny, dude!” said Tucker, and now he flung his arms out and to the sides so violently the stylus attached to his PDA went flying and would have been lost to the mysterious and forbidden lands behind the breakfast-line counter if not for Danny’s swift use of telekinesis.  “Where did you get those nekomimi?  They look so realistic!”

“The what?” asked Danny.  

“The cat ears!”

“What cat ears?” asked Danny.  

There was a moment of silence as the whispers stopped.  

“He doesn’t know,” hissed someone, their voice carrying easily across the cafeteria.  

“I need to film this.”  There was a mad scramble for phones, PDAs, and in one notable case a full sized TV camera that absolutely should not be on campus.  

“Tucker,” said Danny, “are you telling me that there are cat ears on my head right now?”

“I mean, I guess they could be dog or wolf ears, but, yes.”

Danny raised his hands to the sides of his heads and found his earlobe.  It felt a bit… weaker, more fragile, than it had before.  He traced the sides of his ears up and up and up and…

“Tucker,” said Danny, holding onto the very tips of his ears, “why?”

“I don’t know, man.  Didn’t Frostbite say you might get shapeshifting powers?”  Tucker shuffled forward.  “Maybe you’re thinking too hard about cats.  Do you have a tail and is it fuzzy?”

Danny opened his mouth to say no, but then experienced the always-unsettling sensation of his spine reconstructing itself while he was still human.  Then, to Danny’s mortification, there was a terrible ripping sound and a fully formed and very fluffy tail unrolled itself.  

Across the room, Paulina stood up, a determined expression on her face.  “If you do requests, can you make your eyes green and pretty and sparkly and huge and slitted like a cat’s?  I’ve always wanted to see what that would be like on a human.”

Danny wasn’t intending to take requests.  He didn’t even know what was really going on.  But no one had given his power that memo, so it did it anyway.  

“Wasn’t there a cat guy ghost alr–?” started Ashley.  

“No, we don’t talk about them,” said Paulina.  "They don't count."

More importantly for Danny, who also wanted to forget that particular ghost, the cat (boy) was out of the bag.

"What about wings?  Can you do wings?"

"Make yourself look older and you can buy beer at–"

"Younger!  I want to see what Phantom would have looked like as a baby!"

"Can you do plants?  Oak trees?  Roses?"

"Dragon! Dragon! Dragon!"

"What about other ghosts?  What about blob ghosts?"

"Ooh!  Ooh!  Can you become a cockroach?"

"No!  Don't make him be a cockroach!"

"Metamorphosis, people!" shouted Mr. Lancer.  "What is– I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream!"

It was really impressive how Mr. Lancer said that all in a single breath.  Well.  Shrieked it in a single breath.

"HI, Mr. Lancer," said Danny, miserably, having become a shambling mound, "can I call home?"

"Can you- can you not… turn back?"

There was a sort of slurping sound as Danny's various body parts rearranged themselves.  

"I don't have a good handle on it yet," said Danny, trying to affect unconcern.

"Involuntarily transforming into whatever people say?" asked Tucker, voice slightly washed out.

"Something like that, I think."  

"Well," started Mr. Lancer.  

The cafeteria doors were thrown open and Mrs. Woods strode in.  "Where is my latest drama star?"  She didn't wait for an answer before shouldering through the crowd and picking Danny up off the floor.  "There you are."

"I'm not in drama," said Danny.  

"Nonsense!  You'll be a natural.  Just imagine all the parts you could play!  We'll immerse you in the world of drama.  Acting.  Staging.  Theater!  You'll have all the drama you can stomach!"

"But I don't want any drama," Danny tried protesting again, but she was already dragging him off.  "To the stage."

"Mrs. Woods!  I don't think I can stomach anything!"

"That's fine!  Many are the great actors who barred from stage fright!"

"It's not stage fright!"  It might have been a little stage fright, but becoming a loose heap of assorted body parts via shapeshifting not five minutes ago was playing a much larger part in his reticence.  "Mrs. Woods, I can’t–"

"There is no can't in drama, only yes and!"

"Isn't that improv?!" wailed Danny as she carried him through the door.  

“Yes, and?”

“My elective is astronomy!”

“And I’m electing to ignore it!”

“Holly!” called Mr. Lancer.  “You can’t just kidnap students!  The time to change classes is over!  We’re halfway through the term, for love of education!”

Like this would be any more okay if it was still the beginning of the term.  

“An exception can be made!”

Sometimes, Danny wondered if Mrs. Woods was a ghost.  She certainly acted like it, sometimes.  Either way, he’d had enough.  He phased out of Mrs. Woods’s grip.  

“No!” she hollered, even as Danny hid behind a horribly out-of-breath Mr. Lancer.  “My star!”

A door down the hallway opened up.  “Are you looking for me?” asked Star.  “Can it wait?  I’m making up a test.”

“It’s not about you,” said Danny.  

“Great,” said Star.  She eyed Mrs. Woods.  “Good luck, or whatever.”  She shut the door with a clunk.  

“So, uh.  Can I go home?” asked Danny.  

“Go to the office and ask if your parents can sign you out.”

“I can fly–”

“You’re sick, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You need your parents to sign you out.”

“William,” said Mrs. Woods.  “You can’t do this to me!  I supported your bid for a field trip to the Shakespeare festival!”

“You did that for your own reasons!”

Danny, wisely, slunk away.  He definitely wouldn’t be coming back until he could control his new shapeshifting powers.

[gifted-loser]

The Grief of Having a Trans Child

I am mother to an amazing kid.

Assigned female at birth, but — cheeky as he is in all things — he let me know he doesn’t do assigned seating.

I’ve always been an ally. I’ve always surrounded myself with unique people who are authentically themselves, despite what the majority deems traditional. And though I am a cis woman with what may be deemed a very, um, basic aesthetic, I’ve never held much stock in fitting in.

I pride myself in being a mother who does not live vicariously through her children, or see them as an extension of herself. They’re autonomous human beings who I happened to manufacture, yes. But it’s always been important to me to lay a foundation not rooted in indoctrination, but in strong critical thinking skills.

For example, I haven’t been religious in many years. However, I am from Mississippi, arguably the most religious and ignorant and most definitely poorest state. I did not want to make my children’s mind up about what, if anything, they believed about religion.

I allowed them to attend church with family when THEY wanted to. When they decided they didn’t want to go any longer, I didn’t let anyone force them. I taught them not to make knee-jerk decisions, half-cocked on partial information, but to take in all sides of any argument and use logic to make up their own minds.

And damn, I did a great job because I can hardly win an argument anymore.

My long-winded point here is: it may surprise a lot of people to know how grief-stricken and conflicted I felt when my child came out to me as trans.

As an ally, I’d never had a fraction of negative emotion concerning anyone else’s preferences. You may wonder why, then — if I was truly an ally and as open as I claim — would I feel anything but happiness for my baby becoming who they were meant to be?

And this is the part that I think people should hear that I’m not seeing often made clear from a parent’s perspective. This is because, at first glance, it may appear transphobic in nature. In my case (I’m not saying every case), it’s much more complex.

So why would a non-transphobic, LGBTQ ally parent have such an adverse and upset reaction to learning their child is trans?

Explaining to the best of my ability, first and foremost I was hurt because I realized my child was hurting.

That this body — the body I made with my body, the body I rocked and held and dressed and kissed its fat cheeks — was so perfect to me.

Yet, to my child who means the world to me, this body caused grief. This body caused heartache and dysphoria and even suicide ideation.

Intellectually, I knew this had less than nothing to do with me. But emotionally, I was distressed.

Is this my fault, that my child hates their body? Did I fail to give my child confidence to love themself? Did I not instill enough body positivity, or possibly did I complain about my own form too often, causing my baby to question theirs?

How could my child hate what I thought so amazing and perfect, and what could I have done to make my baby love themself as I had always loved them?

It wasn’t just about the fact that I’d always seen perfection there; it was the pain and turmoil that my kid not only didn’t see perfection, but literally saw their physical body as their biggest obstacle in life.

It was the pain the body caused them, that also pained me.

Honestly, it still does.

The second wave of grief came not from what was, but what would never be.

All those images in my head of what our relationship would look like. Prom dresses and manicures and wedding gowns. If I’m being honest and had been paying attention, I’d have known none of those things were going to happen — not in that cookie-cutter way — regardless.

This grief was much easier for me to get over. This year I helped him dress in his matching white tux to go with his boyfriend to prom, and I bawled my eyes out. Not out of sadness, but with happiness that he was so happy, and because he is so freaking cute.

Now, I’m left with the third wave of sadness and grief. And it all stems from the fact that there’s a great big world out there that I can’t fix for him.

He’s in danger just by walking down the street. He’s in danger just by existing. And I live with the fear that some horrible person will attempt to end my child’s life out of ignorance and hatred. Someone who doesn’t know or doesn’t care that his favorite thing in the world is kittens. Or that he makes sure his little sister gets on and off the bus safely every day, even though he pretends he can’t stand her. Or that even though he calls me by my first name to his friends, when no one is listening he still calls me Momma.

Given the murky political waters of late, that fear isn’t going away anytime soon. It is growing.

So I hope sharing my own struggles with a child coming out as trans may help other parents in similar situations understand they’re not alone. It’s okay to have complex and even mixed, conflicting emotions to sort through. It is a process. For them, and for us.

And I hope any trans person struggling with understanding their parents’ feelings may benefit. Because not everyone will deal with difficult emotions the same. It may look like grief; it may look like denial, or even rage. But it also may help to know that sometimes those ugly emotions stem from softer ones. Not everyone is able to articulate or manage such a tidal wave of intense, deeply personal emotions.

You are worthy.

You shouldn’t have to deal with disrespect or rejection of your true self. That’s not okay. But if your parents love YOU, not their idea of who you SHOULD be, but YOU — don’t give up. They may need more time than you thought, but true love always wins.

As for myself, I’m an imperfect person just trying to do the best I can, like the rest. I don’t always get it right, and I have and will most likely fail my children again at some point — not intentionally, but because that’s the nature of being human. We’re prone to errors and mistakes. None of us, no matter how well-intended, are spared from that singular truth.

However, for anyone struggling with an unsupportive family, country, world — I want to let you know that YOU ARE WORTHY. And just like MY SON is still perfect, so are YOU. ❤

[mythicamagic]

Of early mornings and slumbering dragons: a Zhonglumi oneshot (Genshin Impact)

Summery: After an eventful night spent together, Lumine is intent on enjoying breakfast. Zhongli has other ideas.

Rating: T with some suggestive themes

You can read this on Ao3 - here.

AN: very short, sweet and fluffy oneshot. This idea just attacked me and I wrote it in a stupor.

----

The sun had already begun to sluggishly climb into the sky when Lumine lifted her head from the pillow. She gave a yawn, unfurling herself from where she’d slept- wrapped tight around her bedmate in a nest of tangled sheets and sprawled naked limbs. A full-body stretch worked wonders for her grogginess, and she stumbled out of bed more or less as gracefully as a Liyue crane. 

A dusty noise rumbled out from beneath the covers. A coaxing, warm sound, as if crooning for her return.

Paying him no mind, Lumine smiled, picking up one of his stray shirts and slipping it on over her head. Her stomach was rumbling far more incessantly than the dragon behind her and she padded toward Zhongli’s bedroom door with every intent to find food. Sunlight was faintly filtering through the swaying curtains and from what she could glimpse it would be a beautiful day. May as well start it-

“Lumine.”

She stopped. Darn. She was unable to ignore the use of her name when it was spoken in those low silken tones. With a sigh, she turned to face the former Geo Archon, arching a brow.

Her lover had poked his head out from beneath the depths of his mountainous covers. His appearance mimicked a mortal man’s now, though last night he’d sprouted impressive golden horns and scales. Lumine mourned them, but couldn’t exactly complain about the alternate view ethier. 

“Come back to bed,” he rumbled, eyes closed.

“I’ve had enough time in there, thank you. And I’ve no intention of rejoining you any time soon. It’s a struggle to leave.”

"My dear, you exaggerate…” Zhongli gave a half-smile as if still asleep and dreaming of her. “I wish to remind you of the long term benefits that would result from you returning to our lovely bed."

"Oh? And what would those be?" She humored him, propping her hands on her hips.

Zhongli's eyes slid open languidly, the gold flashing in the sun. He fixed her with a half-lidded stare that coaxed heat into her lower stomach the longer he gazed, dragging hungry attention down her body to where his shirt stopped mid-thigh. 

"You- oh-" Lumine waved a hand, blushing furiously as laughter bubbled up her throat. "I find it hard to believe you're not satisfied after last night."

"Never underestimate a Dragon's greed," he gave a smile that exposed his sharp canines, those eyes twinkling.

With his cheek nestled against a pillow and disheveled bed hair scattered about the covers, and tempting bare skin gleaming in the morning sun; he certainly made a compelling argument.

"A-anything aside from the obvious…'benefits' I should know about regarding my returning to bed? Because breakfast is looking very tempting, no offense," navigating the conversation back to safer waters lest she be swayed, Lumine focused on the rafters above their heads.

"Breakfast can always be brought to us," he paused, becoming thoughtful. "Oh…now that I think about it…Zhongli of the Wangshen Funeral Parlor doesn't have servants to order around. Pity. There are some things about Godhood I do miss from time to time."

"You don't seem like the type to employ servants even with all the power in the world. You had the yaksha out of necessity," Lumine murmured, glancing at him. His gently furrowed brows pulled her back toward him like a moth to the flame, and she rubbed her thumb at the crinkle on his forehead, smoothing it away. She swept an absent hand through his silky bangs, cupping his cheek. "Besides, I don't need someone to make breakfast for me. I'll cook something up for us-"

Too late did she realise her mistake. His soft confusion had been a means to lure her closer. Golden arms caught her about the waist, the covers fluttering white above her head as the world spun and she landed atop a strong body. The covers came fluttering down atop Zhongli's triumphant expression. 

"Of all the dirty tricks," Lumine huffed, cheek smashed against his firm chest. His heart beat strong and sure beneath her ear. "This does nothing to solve the hunger issue."

"I happen to have prepared a trayful of goods right here," his voice rumbled smoothly. What sounded like a bedside drawer sliding open could be heard and Zhongli shifted, putting a tray of something beside them.

Ah, so he'd planned this. What a crafty man she'd entangled herself with. Lumine settled closer, breathing him in by the lungful; Earth and metal masked by his natural masculine scent. 

"Breakfast in bed with my favourite travel companion sounded too good to pass up," he continued, lifting the covers gently off her head as if it were a veil. Lumine glanced at the offering of food. Fresh fruits and packaged meals awaited her, wrapped in Wanmin restaurant's signature paper. 

Take-out food. It clashed horribly with the fruit yet even that felt perfect in its imperfection.

She couldn't hide her fond smile. Sometimes Zhongli struggled with mortal gestures but others he stumbled into them by accident, much like now. In all honesty, she'd felt too sore and tired to cook. Perhaps he'd anticipated that. 

She leaned up from his chest until they were nose to nose, bridging the distance with a light peck.

"I'll share a secret with you…you're my favourite too," she whispered in the space between them. "Don't let Paimon know I said that." 

"I promise. Our contract is sealed."

She reeled back. "Contract? Wait, what are the terms here?"

"I uphold my end by not telling Paimon she has been replaced as the Traveler's best companion and you simply remain here in my humble abode until we both finish breakfast. Preferably; we do so while overlooking the harbor together and snuggling, but I am very open to other suggestions."

"I see," Lumine straddled his hips nonchalantly, reaching over to drag their food closer. "Then I agree too, despite the massive oversight your nebulous phrasing will lead to."

"It is not an oversight on your part if you willingly stepped into my trap. You surely know I don't intended to finish my breakfast for quite some time…yet you entered a contract with unspecified terms of fulfillment anyway? I shall have to revise our lessons thoroughly."

Lumine fed him a slice of apple to shut him up, smiling to herself. 

He seemed mollified while chewing, eyeing her within his arms. 

"You look very good in my clothes."

"I feel very good in your clothes."

Claws tickled her thigh, the sharp points dragging up in a lazy caress. They dipped beneath the hem. "Despite how they become you so….I prefer you bare."

She bit her lip, suppressing a shiver. "The food, Zhongli…"

He tugged her abused lip free with his teeth, brushing his tongue against her mouth to soothe the bite. "Shh, who's to say we cannot enjoy both at the same time? Eat if you wish- but my hunger is primarily focused on the nectar gathering between your legs."

Lumine sucked in a hard breath. Sometimes the God of contracts drove a hard bargain. She looped her arms around his neck, fighting the urge to react as his voice turned cajoling and his kisses turned sultry, peppering her neck.

"You wouldn't make a God starve a second longer than needed, would you?" he purred, lifting his head to look at her, and- Lumine stopped. Zhongli in the morning was certainly something to behold. It was like he’d been made for early mornings. Made to bask in the glow of sunrises. 

"That depends which God is asking,” Lumine gave a breathy laugh, urging him on with the faintest rock of her hips against his. “I only feed one. He's quite the handful."

His eyes glittered. "Sounds like a catch."

"Oh he is,” she nodded, leaning in and capturing his lips with a fond kiss. “I think I'll keep him for a long time coming."

-------

End