#i should finish writing the second chapter ugh

[gideonisms]

omg I have planned an ending for ballet au that delights me so much. did you guys know they let you write things that cater to you specifically. did you guys know that you can be as self-indulgent as you want

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 ICARIAN

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

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

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

Something isn’t right.

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

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

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

He’d think that Tolstoy and Nabokov were stalling.

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

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

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

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

Unless it’s being jammed, that is.

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

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

The one with the overcoat. The clown.

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

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

Dazai had missed a critical piece on the board.

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

Dostoevsky is going after you. 

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

This is it.

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

This is it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

He thinks he might throw up. 

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai is about to lose you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh. He’s going to throw up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

And you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-hah-shit, I’m gonna-fuck-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “okay.”

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

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

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

He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He won’t let it happen. Not again. 

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

[littlemissfix-itfic]

Years have passed, and you no longer write letters to Santa, but still the peculiar, one of a kind gifts keep arriving. The gifts range from opulent jewelry that has a tendency to grow warm, and sometimes even white-hot, at random intervals to small seemingly custom-made stuffed animals of nightmarish creatures turned cute and cuddly. Every year, six gifts come, wrapped in a glowing, reddish paper that was always warm to the touch, just for you, labeled in number order: 60-66. And every year, you and your family ponder who the gifts are from, and if your family should be concerned. This year, as you sit around the tree, the gifts arrive, as usual, but something is different. This year, each parcel of unknown origin is still wrapped with care in the same, ever warm, glowing wrapping, but this time, the boxes are numbered differently. The first is labeled 66.1, and they follow in order with the last labeled 66.6, and that one has a key tied into the center of the large box with a lavish bow. The key is an intricate skeleton key, forged in a reddish metal, blackened by either time or design. Its artfully carved handle looks alive, with its winding serpent-like design, and the gems inlaid at the center of the winding mass, that form an eye. As you go about your Christmas morning traditions, the eye seems to follow you as you bask in the joyful holiday, the ever-present gaze of the key blanketing you in a strange sense of security. Eventually, you get to the special, almost reverent, moment of privacy that you partake in every Christmas morning. You collect the six warm boxes, and bring them into your room, settling onto the lush rug that you had received from your unknown proprietor in a Christmas long since past. You murmur your thanks to the kindness of whatever stranger offers you these gifts, and sit staring at them all at once unnerved by the change, and oddly comforted by the key’s watchful eye. As you sit, your feelings about the strange gifts at odds with one another, curiosity leaps at its chance to take the reins. So, you reach out, and carefully lift the first box, drawing its warmth into your awaiting lap, fighting the urge to draw the familiar warmth into you, much like a child would with a teddy bear. Running your hands across the familiar wrapping, you find the tapeless edge, and slide your fingers under the lip. With a gentle tug the warm paper gives way, and you find the same wooden frame, carved by deft hands into arching landscapes of a far off land that no amount of research can locate. A smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you see the artistry, your fingers reliving the comforting texture of each stroke of the craftsman’s blade. Opening the box, you find the gift, as thoughtful and unique as ever, and murmur your thanks to your anonymous friend. You repeat the process, each gift just as unique and ornate as the last, until you get to 66.6. This box was different from all the others that had come before it. This box's carvings were just as unique as all the others, but the landscape on each side arched and twisted until it gave way to a castle. One with a threatening throne, and a several devastatingly gorgeous men and women perched about the thrones on each side. The box itself felt… different. Something about it made your chest ache, like a fresh heartbreak, but that pain was mixed with a yearning for something you couldn't quite place. Before opening the box, you survey the gifts bestowed on you by your mysterious benefactor.

Should I continue this? Because I definitely have more planned… (read written) I just hit the text limit hehehe…

When you were a child, you accidentally wrote a letter to Satan instead of Santa. Now, every year for christmas you get presents from the lord of hell himself.

[ariaste]

A Discussion on Book Endings

Hey, friends. Thanks for coming today. I'm sorry to break it to you, but this is an intervention. Please, don't get defensive -- everyone here loves you and cares about you. But listen... I'm gonna need book readers and reviewers to reflect on the idea that finishing a book and going "Oh, I loved it so much, but I wish it was just a few pages longer!" is not really a valid point of negative critique in the assessment of a text.

Let me explain.

When I read people's otherwise wildly positive reviews of books and they say that line, I don't interpret it in context as, "This story needed to be a few pages longer for the plot to work, structurally, and for the ending to achieve a solid resolution." Rather, they basically seem to be saying simply, "I loved it and I didn't want it to end." That's always a GREAT feeling, but then they're.... taking points off from their total rating because of that??? They seem to be penalizing the author because they weren't left with a feeling of "Ugh, thank god it's over"? It's like, "This would have been five stars if it had had just one more chapter but it made me sad that it ended, so four stars" -- Guys, do we understand that's an insane take? It's insane. A book has to end. If you shriek "NO!!!" that it's over because you were having such a great time, that's... that's a symptom of a 5-star book, babes. I'm not sure why there's such a fashion these days for penalizing authors for this particular thing in this particular way, but it's really baffling to me.

But setting aside the puzzling trend of "I'm knocking points off because it ended when it should have gone on until I personally was fully bored and exhausted of it, like the 11th season of a TV show that was only supposed to go until season 4" -- listen, I guarantee you that nine times out of ten, when you're out here longing for just one more chapter or saying "this could have used an epilogue" you... are wishing for something that would have actively ruined your enjoyment and the quality of the book.

Are you a writer yourself? Have you ever finished writing a book before? Have you done it more than once? Have you deeply studied the endings of books? They are HARD, let me tell you what. Endings are so much harder than beginnings, because you're looking for that beautiful final note, like the ending of a symphony, and you're trying to ride it for a few glorious seconds before the FLOURISH and dum-dummmmmm....! and the conductor collapses as the audience bursts into applause! Right? Yes? Except that chances are that one more chapter or epilogue would ruin the pacing and resolution of the ending and muddle up the summary of the theme and thesis statement, and all of this WOULD ACTUALLY fuck up your experience of the story as a whole. For example, please consider the last Harry Potter book as an example. We all hate JKR now for being a TERF but oh, children, how quickly we forget that back in the olden times, we used to hate her for that fucking epilogue that made everything that came before feel rancid and pointless and hollow and cheap. Y'all remember how sickening and infuriating that was? Do you remember the Hunger Games epilogue? Nine times out of ten, that's what you're inexplicably wishing for.

To see this point illustrated, let's do a quick exercise together. Go pick out a piece of classical music -- some of my best suggestions for this are Beethoven's Ode to Joy, or "Der Holle Rache" from Mozart's Magic Flute, or Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture. Listen to it all the way through. If you're struggling with scrolling addiction and your attention span has been severely damaged, fine, listen to the last two minutes ("Der Holle Rache" is the shortest, just 3 minutes). Then, after the song is done, click back to some random spot earlier in the piece, listen to another 30 seconds, and then stop. Consider: Did adding that last 30 seconds materially improve the piece, or did it undermine the overall emotional journey? Did it help the ending to stick the landing even more than it already did, or does it just feel weirdly stuck-on as an afterthought, like the "for more fun videos, check out the rest of our channel and don't forget to subscribe!!!" card at the end of youtube videos?

When you are wishing for an epilogue, my doves, you are wishing for something you do not actually want -- or which you probably would not want if you had the option to see it in practice and compare it side by side with the original. You are wishing for something that would more than likely make the story worse. You are holding the author at fault for something being wrong with the text only because you hit immersion and were having a lot of fun and didn't want to come back up for air. Like, I'm just not sure that's something that the author should be blamed for? It sounds like they were doing their job really well???

Please, just. Separate your feelings of "bittersweet disappointment that this wonderful book is over" from "frustration that the author didn't stick the landing, ugh what a flop" because they are two separate things. Before you say "I'm taking points off because I wish there was more", please take two seconds to ask yourself critical thinking questions like, "Why did the author choose to end the book here rather than in two more chapters?" because (other than a few wild outliers that should not be counted) the answer is never, "They got bored and just didn't feel like finishing the story." Chances are, they chose that specific ending for a reason. They ended it there because that's the point that underlines the thesis statement of the book, or because the emotions of that scene are the ones they want you to remember and walk away with, or because that marks the place where the story arc is genuinely over. When the author says, "And they all lived happily ever after," that means that what happily-ever-after looks like is in your hands now.

Nine times out of ten, you don't want one more chapter. Please. I promise you that you don't want one more chapter. The book is done; what you want now is either fanfiction or someone to talk about it with. Or maybe to start the book over from the beginning! Believe me, you would not want one more chapter if you had it. (Or, if you did have it and it magically didn't suck, you would just keep wanting more chapters because that's what "really enjoying the book" means. In which case, go read fanfic, that's what it is for.) I promise you, I promise you, the book would probably be worse with one more chapter and you would not like it as much. Please stop wishing for the author to be less good at their job. Please. A book has to end; so does this post. And we all live happily ever after*. The End.

----- * The post-canon coffeeshop AU sequel will be detailed exhaustively on AO3

[errruvande]

Fanfic writer interview

Thank you @thelettersfromnoone for the tag!! 💖

How many work do u have on AO3?

3, not your local AO3 girlie lmao

What's your total AO3 word count?

8 534

Your top 5 stories by kudos/likes

I'll go with Tumblr ones, cause from my 3 AO3 works the biggest number I got is 31 lmao

Anyone but you (Legolas x f!reader)

Night watch (Legolas x Reader)

Well-deserved rest (Haldir x f!Reader)

One messy night (Boromir x f!Reader)

Transition (Haldir x f!Reader)

Honorable mention (since it's not fics but headcanons)

Green Council receiving a hot pic from you (HotD)

TLK men's reaction on being pet named

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I always try to respond to comments! These little things are brightening up my day, so I wanna let the people know that they are my heroes hahaha

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

I really think it's Transition. All in all it's a pretty dark story, a bit depressing I think (I had these intentions while writing at least).

Otherwise, I don't think I have angsty endings fics?

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

New family members for sure!! Was thinking hard what to choose, cause I think all of my happy ending fics are on the pretty same level on a happy scale, but I remember that I have this gen, non romantic baby and I love it so much ❤️‍🩹 There's a little TLK OMC for y'all

Do you write crossovers?

I wanted to say I've never done this BUT THEN!!! My Assassin's Creed (Ezio) x LOTR little headcanon!!! My beloved child!!

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

No, not that I remember getting any hate on my fics

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do, tho not much and on rare occasions. I used to write a lot of smut when I was younger (a teen), then I stopped being comfortable with it for a wild few years (tho reading never made me uncomfortable lmao).

Now I started writing smut again, idk what kind? Don't really understand what does that mean lol F x M traditional sex? Pretty detailed? If so, then yes lmao

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't know 😂 Maybe, maybe not. I think rather not.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not to my knowledge, I don't think so.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

We tried with my friend a long long time ago. Didn't go well lmao It's hard and kinda stressing, cause you never know what the other person is gonna write (at least we had this SURPRISE system), so... You kinda have zero plot cause everything you want to write plot-wise can be ruined by the second person's plot lmao

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Athelnar?? Athelstan and Ragnar were my first ever OTP (quickly followed by Alfred and Uhtred). You could never beat that Athelnar shit out of my body lmao I've never written for them, but oh I do love them boys!

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

Now, that's the HARSH one lmao

I think I have at least 3 OC stories that I really wanna write (2 for TLK and one for LOTR), but I'm scared that I will never actually do it. I never was good with multi chaptered stories, and these are indeed not a one shots 🥲

What are your writing strengths?

Ugh... I don't know? I think I was pretty good with dialogues and descriptions of the surroundings to build the atmosphere. But... I guess it's not for me to decide but for the readers?

What are your writing weaknesses?

I rarely finish what I've started lmao I should write everything in one go or else I'll never finish it... Or will finish it in two months even if it's a 2k words one shot

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I love them! I've only done it with my LOTR fics (with Sindarin) but I really love it. But I really love it when the language is different from the language of the settings? Like, if the story is happening in England and everyone is English, but you have two characters who can speak idk Dutch, let them have a Dutch language in their dialogue. I had a rant post about it not that long ago actually lmao You have to think about your in-universe language

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

Ahhh Bungou Stray Dogs! I love them, and I'd gladly try to write something for them. Not a character/character but reader my beloved.

And maybe Stephane Narcisse (reign) my beloved and a reader

What's your favorite fic you've written?

The blood on my hands (Eomer) and Peace (Finan) are definitely my fave ones I think. They are dark and both explore some trauma

No pressure tags: @whitedarkmoonflower @lord-aldhelm @holy3cake @gemini-mama @emilyhufflepufftlk @persephones-journey @solinarimoon @mrsalwayswrite @emmanuellececchi @bilbotargaryen @levithestripper @mrsarnasdelicious @paula-in-dreamland

[pimosworld]

The ties that bind

Pairing- Dave York x f!reader x Francisco Morales

Series Summary-Dave is a private investigator who tracks down soulmates. He’s tasked to find Frankie’s, but what happens when he finds you and he wants you to himself?

CW-18+,MDNI, Angst,Fluff,Eventual Smut,Hurt, Comfort,MMF dynamics. General warnings for each chapter. Anything sensitive will be added to individual chapters.

WK-5.5K

A/N-This starts out angsty but I don’t write sad endings so keep that in mind going forward. Reader has a best friend very near and dear to my heart.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

Not beta read

Chapter I

Dave looks over the file on his desk again before he makes the call. He reviewed it the night before and was going to contact the client until he realized not everyone holds the same weird hours as he does. Insomnia. 

  He takes a sip of his coffee as he dials the number with a Florida area code. At least he would get to enjoy some nice weather this time. The last soulmate he tracked down mid winter lived in Buffalo New York, he wasted weeks trying to find him only to find out he was happily married and had no intention of leaving his current wife. The woman who hired him was devastated but…devastated doesn’t pay the bills so she was out twenty grand, and went back to being single a few states over. 

  They don’t always end in misery but he’s used to it now. He wonders why he still does it, maybe helping these people will erase the thought of killing someone’s soulmate when he’s contracted for his other job. He can’t think about that one too much. 

  “Hello Santiago speaking.” Dave glances down at the file once more to be sure. 

  “Ugh yes I’m Dave York calling to reach Francisco Morales?” He hears a low curse on the other end and some apologies. 

  “Oh ya, just give me a second.” He can hear ruffling and the sound of a sliding door. My patience is already wearing thin. 

  “Thanks for returning my call. I’m actually hiring you on behalf of my friend Francisco.” 

  This wouldn’t be the first time he was contracted to find someone’s soulmate because some friend or family member couldn’t keep their nose where it belonged. There would most certainly be drama and resistance. Two things Dave did not handle well. 

  “That’s very generous of you. Is Francisco eager to find his soulmate?” 

  “He ugh…well…yes, yes he is.” Fat chance

  “I would need to meet him of course to go through with this, you understand?” 

  “Of course, that won’t be a problem at all. I sent you the details of when and where we can meet and provided you with the deposit.” At least he means business, either way Dave doesn’t care about the in’s and outs of why people do it. He knows it’s important… or at least he did. 

  He finishes going over the rules with Santiago that will hopefully get relaid to Frankie. He’ll find your soulmate and set up a meeting. If the person does not wish to pursue the relationship he will relay that to you to avoid any in person embarrassment. No stalking or harassment involved. If he can’t find them within 30 days you get your money back. 

  Some people frowned upon what he did. Purists thought you should meet your soulmate organically. They were rarely alone for more than a few years before they found theirs so he didn’t like listening to what they had to say. 

  He wasted years trying to find his love. When he did find her…it was already too late. Those six months were the best and worst of his life. Knowing he’s found his soulmate and gets to spend every waking moment with her only to have it ripped from his grasp. 

  If he had to spend the rest of his tortured life helping others not waste time then he would. 

  ****

  Why the hell did Will make them wear bow ties? This must be Amanda’s suggestion, there’s no way he decided they should all be this uncomfortable on his wedding day. 

  Frankie looks over at Ben and Will having some brotherly talk as if the younger miller has some wise words of advice having been married for all of six months. He loved rubbing it in that he was able to tie the knot before the rest of them of course excluding Tom who got married years ago when they were all in basic. 

  He tries really hard not to be bitter on these days but he can’t help himself. Of course he ran that risk when he married someone who was not his soulmate. He loved Sophia so much it didn’t matter to him. It’s worked out for plenty of other people and it worked for him…until it didn’t. 

  He didn’t try very hard to find his soulmate. Between being in the military, not being able to put down roots for so long and the fact that his soulmate probably hated him for all his scars and tattoos he can’t say he put much of an effort into finding them. 

  The hummingbird tattoo on his wrist practically taunted him his entire marriage. He pretended he didn’t care and so did she. She always told him they would try for kids when she was ready and he never pushed. He thought she was finally ready when she told him they needed to talk. Never in a million years did he expect her to say she found her soulmate and she was leaving him. 

  Their baby boy should be a year old by now, Sophia was pregnant within a month of the divorce being finalized. This was information Santiago insisted despite the others protests that he needed to know so that he could move on. 

  He can’t put the blame all on her. He left for Colombia to bring home money so they could start a family and he came home with nothing but news that her best friend's husband was dead. 

  It must be some kind of fucked up karma that they went back for the money and now he’s alone. If he’s really being honest with himself, he knows they never really loved each other. It was convenient for both of them. Frankie doesn’t like being honest with himself so he'd rather continue on painting her as the villain in his story. 

  “Hermano, you need some help with that tie.” Santiago starts fidgeting before he can even answer no. He slaps his hands away and Santi backs away with his hands up in surrender. 

  “Why are you being so nice?” 

  “I’m always nice.” Frankie scoffs at that. Santiago was never nice unless he wanted something from you. 

  “You picked up my tux, gave me a ride here and now you’re offering to fix my tie?!” He gives him a look and Santi knows it’s only a matter of time. 

  “I have a surprise for you.” He resumes fixing his tie despite Frankie’s protests. 

  “The last time you surprised me someone died.” Santi clears his throat but doesn’t protest, it must be bad. 

  “I hired a PI to find your soulmate.” That last part is rushed out but Frankie hears him clear as day. 

  He shoves him back a few steps which draws the attention of Ben and Will. “Why the fuck would you do that?” 

  “Chill out Fish, what’s your problem?” Ben steps between the two of them as Frankie looks as though he could spit fire. 

  “I told him about the PI.” Ben whips around to Santi. 

  “I thought we were gonna wait until tomorrow.” Frankie looks over at Will in disbelief. 

  “You fucking knew about this?” He can see it in their eyes and how no one will look at him directly.

  “Can we please talk about this tomorrow? I’m getting married in an hour.” 

  Sure he’ll talk tomorrow, they can all talk about staying out of his life and meddling in his business. Pope can call off the PI and they can all go back to being happy with their soulmates and Santiago can go fuck off somewhere in another country as he always does, leaving Frankie to mope alone with his thoughts. 

  “Ya we’ll talk tomorrow.” Ben comes over to fix his tie and Frankie clenches his fists at his side. 

  This is going to be a long day. 

  ****

  The new Mr.& Mrs. Miller do look very in love on the dance floor as Frankie enjoys his second piece of cake. Cake never betrayed him…his ex wife and his best friends maybe but never cake. 

  Ben dips his wife and it sorely reminds him of his wedding day when he and Sophia ended up with calloused feet from dancing all night. 

  His chest tightens at the sight of Molly dancing with her girls. She stayed so strong through it all and she looks so happy, maybe it’s just a front or maybe she’s choosing not to be a miserable sap like him. She lost her soulmate and never once judged them for what they did. She knew how Tom could be. Frankie doesn’t know how someone could treat their soulmate the way Tom treated Molly. He’s better off alone than with a soulmate who doesn’t love him back. 

  Santiago makes his way over to the table and gestures to the seat next to Frankie. He nods his head for him to sit down while he watches the dance floor. They sit in silence for a moment and Frankie thinks about how selfish he is for being so petulant about the whole thing. 

  Santiago never cared about finding his soulmate, maybe because of their line of work or maybe it was the nature of his being. He’ll never forget the look on his face when his tattoo’s disappeared. He told the guys it was fine but they could hear him trying to muffle his cries in his bunk. 

  “I’ll do it Pope.” Santiago looks at him with a mixture of shock and excitement. 

  “I came ready for an argument.” He slides Frankie’s plate closer to him to steal a bite of cake. “We meet him tomorrow.” 

  “Jesus what if I said no?” Frankie slides the plate back to himself, not ready to let go of his precious dessert. 

  “You might want to lay off the cake if you’re going to meet your soulmate soon.” Frankie flips him off as Santi grabs the plate and saunters off to the dance floor. 

  ****

  Dave’s always early to meet a client, but never this early. He couldn’t find a lot of information on Francisco Morales but he did find out he was Delta Force and so was the man that hired him on his behalf. He always met potential clients in a public place of their choosing to get an idea of who they are. There's no doubt in his mind that this coffee shop holds no significance to the two men and will most certainly not help him figure out anything about Francisco. 

  He knows it’s their military training that they will never seem to break free from. It doesn’t make it easy for your soulmate to find you when you're as mysterious as Francisco Morales. No social media, no parking tickets, no convictions. A minor hiccup with his pilot's license but his record was scrubbed clean a few years ago. It takes a lot of money to completely wipe your record. 

  Their trip to Colombia wasn’t as off the books as they thought. With Dave’s connections he can find out a lot more about the average person than they think. It’s true he is paid to find your soulmate but he has a duty to uphold to not put said person in harm's way. Frankie’s sketchy past and interesting finances make him a little wary to just introduce him to the person he’s supposed to spend the rest of his life with. He doesn’t know the circumstances behind his wife leaving him and that also has his guard up. Who just up and leaves after 8 years? 

  He pauses his thoughts momentarily as he notices an old Jeep pull into the parking lot of the cafe. He hasn’t seen a Jeep like that in years. His suspicions are correct when two men around his age step out. Still relatively in military shape, the shorter of the two in a black t-shirt much too tight for him and black jeans. The taller one in an open flannel and blue jeans donning a dirty cap and aviators…that must be Francisco. 

  They both survey the area as if it’s their first time here and that confirms his other notion that these men wanted to meet somewhere not near their home. Probably thirty minutes to an hour outside of where they actually live if he would guess. Fifteen minutes early to be safe but still not earlier than him. 

  “I should’ve worn something nicer.” Frankie smooths his hands down the front of his worn flannel as they approach the coffee shop. This was his nice flannel but maybe he could’ve taken an iron to it or something. 

  “Relax hermano, he didn’t bring your soulmate to the meeting.” 

  “You vetted this guy?” Frankie couldn’t find much information on David York, which worried him a little. 

  “As much as I could.” Frankie holds the door open for Santiago as they enter and head straight for the counter. Coffee is much needed after imbibing too much at the wedding. He’s grateful in hindsight that he chose this location just outside of town. 

  “Corner,black suit.” 

  Frankie glances up, hopefully shielded by his sunglasses. “He looks smug.” 

  “Don’t start.” Santi hisses under his breath as he steps up to place their order. “ Two black coffees please.” 

  Best case scenario, this guy finds his soulmate and Frankie can’t even wrap his head around what he would do with that information. It scares him to even think about it. 

  Worst case scenario, Pope is out some money that he didn’t ask him to spend in the first place and he can go back to whatever semblance of a life he was living before all this. 

  Way to be positive Frankie

  ****

  Introductions are awkward to say the least. Frankie and Santi seated at the small cafe table across from Dave who has set a notepad down next to his small coffee. The silence is deafening as he scribbled down a few things after giving them a once over. 

  “So I’m sure you have some questions for me. If you don’t mind holding those until I’ve gone over everything.” He’s not really asking and Frankie already had his hackles up at the grim outlook of the man in front of him. 

  He always hated ‘suits’ . This guy is obviously ex-government and he’s not really sure how someone like him ended up in the line of work of finding someone’s soulmate. Besides the obvious monetary aspect there is a lot of love and emotion involved and the man seated before him doesn’t strike him as the romantic type. 

  “Why did you decide to hire me to find your soulmate?” I didn’t hire you. Frankie looks over at Santiago hoping he’ll help him out a little. 

  “Well ugh…I actually didn’t.” Dave raises his eyebrows at that but lets him continue. “My friend here was kind enough to give me a push in the right direction.” After too many drinks and a lot of talking he reconciled with Santi that this was something he should at least try to pursue. 

  Everything seems pretty straightforward once he starts going over his normal way of doing things. Frankie understands after the initial round of uncomfortable questions that Dave needs to make sure he’s not some weirdo. He opted to return a few peoples initial deposit upon meeting them and not deeming them safe enough or sane enough to track down their soulmate and uproot their lives. 

  Frankie’s thankful he doesn’t pry too much into his reason for divorcing. Dave mostly wanted to make sure that he was not still legally married because he won’t set anyone up for heartbreak. 

  Dave has a thirty day guarantee, if he doesn’t find them in that time frame you get a full refund. Frankie is a little shocked at his confidence. People spend their entire lives trying to find their soulmate and he can somehow guarantee it. 

  “So, now that I’ve gone over all the logistics. Do you have any questions for me?” Frankie looks to Santiago who’s been uncharacteristically quiet throughout this meeting. Maybe out of courtesy for Frankie or perhaps he’s sizing him up. Either way, Frankie really only has one thing he is curious about. 

  “Why do you do it?” 

  Dave takes a sip of his lukewarm coffee. It’s pretty bad if he’s being honest but he needs a moment. He always needs a moment when this question is brought up. It’s usually one of the only questions he hates answering. Truthfully answering would require to let people in ‘strangers’. 

  These same strangers trust him enough to do this so as uncomfortable as it is he provides enough of an answer to suit both parties. 

  “I hate to say that it pays well, but I have to state the obvious.” For the first time during the meeting Frankie can see his hard exterior crack a little. The first time where he seems nervous and unsure of what he’s going to say. 

  “Also…I wish I had met my wife sooner. I may have had more time with her.” 

  Santiago excuses himself from the table. He doesn’t do well with emotions. Frankie knows that probably stung a little. He’s not sure if it’s worse that Santi never got to meet them or if meeting them briefly makes it all that more painful. 

  “I appreciate your honesty Dave.” He sends him a tight lip smile that doesn’t meet the eyes. 

  “If that’s all you have for me I’ll be in touch in the next few days hopefully with an update.” 

  Frankie shakes his hand, a firm handshake he notes to himself. Dave has a nice build, he’s not sure why he makes a note of that as well. 

  Frankie finished the rest of his coffee and headed outside. Santi leans against the back of the Jeep scrolling idly on his phone. He looks up at him but says nothing as they both get in, Frankie in the driver's seat. 

  “I just needed some air.” Santiago looks out the passenger window seemingly fixated on the passing cars. 

  “I know hermano.” He doesn’t need to say anything more. 

  Neither of them speak for a while, too many thoughts on their minds as they ponder the meeting and what all of it means. Seeing Santiago still struggling with losing his soulmate makes Frankie want to give this his all. 

  ****

  Santi can’t shake the thought of Dave doing all this because he didn’t have enough time with his soulmate. At least he got to spend some time with them. He's lied to himself all these years after his tattoos and scars of his soulmate were long gone. This was not about him though, this is about helping his friend move on and be happy. That’s all he wants for them after the chaos he caused in Colombia. He has to make things right for him. Frankie may not see it as his fault but Santiago can’t help but think maybe Sophia would’ve stayed if things hadn’t gone so poorly. 

  Santiago would never know that things started to sour in their relationship long before that Ill fated trip to steal someone else’s money. 

  Frankie was the one who had it all together. A real job he could be proud of , a wife he loved , a house for their future family. Things quickly fell apart for him after they returned and he was no longer the one that they looked to for guidance. 

  Santiago made it his mission to help Frankie get back on his feet after they went back for the money. Frankie got his license back, he bought a home that didn’t remind him of all his memories with his ex wife, now all he needed to do was find love. 

  Santi rubs his hands across his jeans trying to shake himself from the trance. Frankie eyes him cautiously from the driver’s seat. 

  Santiago leans forward to turn the radio down. “So how are you feeling about all this?” 

  “Considering he has a guarantee, a little better than I felt going in.” 

  He doesn't want to get his hopes up too much but he’s starting to get that feeling like things may be taking a turn for the better. 

  Frankie pulls up to Santi’s house and puts the car in park. 

  “I know what you’re gonna say, I’ll be fine I promise and I’ll call you later after I sleep off this hangover.” Frankie smiles at that,Santiago only lets a select few into his world and he won’t push it any further. 

  “I just want to say thanks Pope. This really means a lot.” Santi waves him off and hops out, he knows how much it means but he’s not gonna get any more emotions out of this day. 

  “Love you hermano, this time next year we’ll be planning your wedding.” Santi calls out over his shoulder before he enters his house. Frankie wants to roll his eyes at that but he secretly hopes that he’s right. 

  ****

  “Alicia! We’re gonna be late.” You stand in your bedroom in front of the floor length mirror putting the finishing touches on your makeup. The modest yellow sundress and strappy heels you bought ages ago are finally getting some use. 

  “I can’t decide on what to wear.” You faintly hear her yell from her bedroom. 

  You’re not particularly excited about this singles event she signed you up for but you certainly didn’t want to walk in late and have all eyes on you. She’s your best friend so you agreed to accompany her on one of her many schemes to get you back on the dating scene. 

  You cross the hall to her room and find a mountain of clothes on her bed and more clothes flying out of her closet. 

  “Let me see what you’re wearing.” She emerges from her closet in a slinky black dress to match her long black hair. She was a bombshell in anything she wore so you aren’t sure what the hold up is. 

  “Alicia that looks hot, wear that.” She gives herself a once over in the mirror as she smooths her hands down the front. 

  “You don’t think this is sending the wrong message?” 

  “Babe you said yourself you need to get laid.” You glance down at the time on your phone. “Shit we’re gonna be really late.”

  “You’re right, I did say that. Thanks for talking me off a ledge.” She grabs her phone from the nightstand as you follow her out of the room. 

  “You’re gonna need to pretend my room is yours if you bring someone home though.” You gesture towards the disaster she left on her bed. 

  She turns to you, grabbing your face and kissing your forehead. “Only a true friend would let me defile her bed for the sake of a hookup.”

  You laugh as you shoo her along out the door. “That’s what friends are for.”

  ****

  The bad news, you were indeed late. The good news is no one seems to notice as you both enter the hotel lounge for the event. Everyone is talking and mingling amongst themselves so you and Alicia have an opportunity to grab a drink and settle in. 

  You haven’t been on a proper date in years so she thought this would be a nice way to ease back into things. No pressure or obligations and no awkward first date etiquette. People were just here to simply talk and get to know each other. If you made a connection that was great but if you just didn’t like someone then there were no hard feelings. 

  “Cute guy at twelve o'clock is checking you out.” You try to do a subtle scan of the room as you sip your fruity drink. 

  “Alicia I don’t know what that means…Wait how do you know he wasn’t checking you out?” She steps in front of you to slightly block your view. 

  “He’s in the gray button down on my right .” She half whispers as she attempts a head nod. “Do you see him?” 

  “Oh shit he’s coming over here.” You both do your best worst to act casual as a tall and very attractive…distractingly attractive man walks over. 

  “I do have to say yellow is definitely your color.” 

  “Told you.” Alicia says under her breath as she leaves you at the bar with this stranger. 

  You thank him politely for his compliment and introduce yourself as you try to ignore the lewd gestures your best friend is making with her hands behind his back. Thankfully she’s interrupted by a man with a tap on her shoulder. He’s noticeably not the type she goes for. He’s much too tall for her…she prefers to tower over her love interests ‘it makes me feel powerful’ in her words. 

  Jeff was nice enough as he engaged you in conversation. He mostly droned on about his job in finance and his hobbies, his five year goals and now come to think of it…you didn’t really get a chance to talk about yourself. He excused himself from the conversation when he saw someone he knew in the crowd, leaving you in your comfortable silence once again. 

  Your moment of reprieve is short lived when a woman approaches you. You actually enjoy talking to her and you can tell she’s listening intently. She’s beautiful, funny and smart. Perhaps another time you would be interested but she mentioned she just got out of a long term relationship and you don’t have the energy to be someone’s rebound. You’ve spent years repairing your broken heart and if this is your one attempt at trying to find love again it just wouldn’t be fair to either of you. 

  You still exchanged numbers after she’d said how nice it was to meet you. Your eyes immediately find Alicia’s across the room with a man who could be her grandfather. He doesn’t seem to notice her look of save me etched across her face. You take this moment to tease her a bit, making the same hand motions she did earlier. An older woman looks on in shock when you realize a little too late that you’ve caught the attention of others in the room. 

  After offering an apologetic smile, you gather yourself and join her across the room. 

  “Sorry to interrupt, Alicia, can I borrow you for a moment.”

   She loops her arm in yours pulling you close to her side. “It was nice to meet you Irving.”

  “The pleasure is all mine dear.” He takes her free hand, planting a sloppy wet kiss on the top. You bite your cheek to stifle a laugh as she waves him off. You can feel her eyes on you as you exit the lounge. 

  If looks could kill you’d be a goner. 

  “Irving seemed nice.”

  “Shut up.” 

  You both burst into a fit of giggles as you make it safely to the hotel lobby out of sight of anyone trying to vy for your attention. 

  These were the moments you lived for with your best friend. The reason you were able to get back on your feet when you moved across the country to start your life over. She took you in like a stray cat, no questions asked when you replied to her ad looking for a roommate. You didn’t find out until later on that she didn’t need the money, she just hated living alone. 

  She came from a wealthy family and traveled the world before settling in Naples Florida. She never had a soulmate…it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to go their entire lives without so much as a mark or tattoo. It makes you wonder if the universe chooses at random or if people are destined for that path. She is such a free spirit it almost makes sense why she can’t be tied down to just one person. Her biggest problem is making sure her current interests aren't only after her for money. 

  “So…what’s the plan for the rest of the evening babe?” You both step out still arm in arm. It’s a beautiful sunset starting just over the tops of the buildings downtown. You could walk down to the beach or drab a drink at another bar. 

  You can feel your dress starting to cling to your back from the humidity and you made a huge mistake wearing heels that weren’t broken in yet. Alicia looks at you and then pulls out her phone to call a car to come get you. “Let’s go home and eat ice cream while we discuss what a train wreck that was.” 

  You let out a sigh of relief as you push back trying to stand on the heels of your feet. “That sounds like a perfect night.” 

  ****

  “At one point he actually took his dentures out to show me.” Alicia buries her head in the pillow as you make a disgusted face. 

  “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” You’re laughing to the point of a stomach ache. 

  “Ya, you sound really sorry.” She throws the pillow at you on the other end of the couch. “So tell me about the girl. You were talking to her for a while.” She raises one eyebrow at you as she reaches down to the coffee table for the carton of rocky road. 

  “She was nice.” You lean forward grabbing the carton from her hands. “She was more than nice actually…but she just got out of a serious relationship.” 

  “Ugh…no one wants to be a rebound.” 

  Your thoughts exactly. 

  You swear sometimes you share a brain, or maybe you have just spent so much time with each other that you can’t help but think alike. 

  “I’m glad we went, I needed to break the ice. It’s not like the love of my life is gonna waltz into the record store.” You loved your job, you always had a love for music. There was something so special about the medium of records standing the test of time. That’s the kind of love you wanted. 

  “Let’s just marry each other if this dating thing doesn’t work out.” She holds out her pinky as you wrap yours around hers. 

  “Deal.” 

  “Deal.” 

  You raise from the couch gathering your plush blankets. “I’m gonna turn in for the night, love you leesh.” 

  “Love you too hon’, get some sleep.”

  ****

  Sleep

  That was a joke in its own right. The problem with having anxiety is the one time where your brain should quiet down is when it wants to be the most active. 

  You brush your thumb along the etched roses on your ring finger. It’s such a fine and delicate tattoo, the line work is beautiful and the stem of it perfectly curls around coming to a point at the end of your finger. 

  You hate to assume, but it’s always felt feminine in nature. It doesn’t seem like a drunken mistake or a rushed decision. The tattoo feels intentional. You had a lot of tattoos in a short amount of time when you were in college. These tattoos were overtly masculine. A small Blackhawk tattoo on your left wrist, almost mirroring your hummingbird. A gun of some kind on your left ankle…you weren’t familiar with firearms. A tiny elephant on the inside of your left thigh, by far the most adorable of the set. 

  In short succession they all adorned your body before you graduated from the California Institute of the Arts with a minor in arts management and a major in music history. Your step mother always said it was a waste and your father couldn’t be bothered to defend you. Your mother would have been proud though. 

  It was years before the roses showed up on your finger one beautiful spring day. It was so unlike the others it turned your world upside down. 

  The reason you moved across the country to escape the control and the pressure of someone who couldn’t love you with those scars and tattoos. Resenting you more and more each day knowing that you belonged to someone else. 

  It’s those thoughts that keep you up at night. The nightmares and horrible things that only your mind thinks up. As much as you try to push those thoughts away, you know deep down someone is out there. Made for you. 

  We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses. 

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

Taglist- @missladym1981 @legendary-pink-dot @brittmb115 @christinamadsen @heavennumber2 @anoverwhelmingdin @guelyury @hannahkatharine

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist 🤍

[littlemissfix-itfic]

That shit makes me wish I was a medieval knight wounded in the heat of battle, finally home and (scandalously) falling to my knees before my beloved. I crumble before her, dire wounds needing tending, as I refuse any aid or touch but hers. I kneel, wounded and in agony as if I have naught but a scratch, if only to have a chance to press gentle kisses to her hand as she mercifully lays her countenance upon me and softly agrees to tend me, only for it to be revealed that I, a woman, have been masquerading as a long dead, distant relative, so that I might be able to serve king and country as a knight in order to earn enough valor and glory to be worthy of being in the presence of my beloved. That I might be worthy to breathe the same air that she does, that I might kneel on the same ground her feet have walked upon. As I know that it is unspeakable that I might love her and she might love me, but I’d do anything to be worthy of her, even if it means I must resign myself to loving her from afar, yearning and needing until my last bloody breaths are rended from my chest at the swords-end of a swordsman much greater than I. And as I sputter out my last breaths, my mind can’t help but drift to her, her soft ethereal presence calming me in my last, torturous moments and my dying thoughts can’t help but pledge fealty to her, in this life and this world, and in every other; resigned to love her in whatever form I may from now until eternity.

wound tending is everything. unparalleled intimacy. let me care for you. let me touch the skin around your open flesh. let me stain my hands with your blood. let me get close and breathe in the same air as you and stare into your eyes for a few seconds too long. let me make you think of me every time you see the bandage, or scar

[writingdotcoffee]

Writing Challenge: Fast Drafting

Fast drafting, or vomit drafting, is a pretty self-explanatory approach to writing. You try to get the first draft down as fast as you can. Contrary to what the name suggests, it's not all about speed (or, well, indigestion).

In this post, we'll go over the benefits of fast drafting and why you should try it at least once.

Why Fast Draft?

Although you write faster than usual when fast drafting, speed isn't the point. For most writers, speed isn't a concern at all. Who cares whether it took you three, six or nine months to finish your book?

The problem many writers face is getting bogged down and never finishing at all. You probably heard the stats before. Nine out of ten writers who start working on a book will never finish the first draft.

Often, the issue isn't time or energy. These aspiring authors are paralysed by self doubt, second-guessing everything.

I still remember my first attempt at writing a novel. I spent weeks writing and rewriting the first few paragraphs — about 700 words. And that's it. I never got beyond that.

It starts by going back to edit stuff — rephrasing a few sentences here and there. Any bigger issue you can't fix right away will gnaw on you. Suddenly, you've got this feeling simmering inside of you that the story won't work.

You go back to your outline and start moving things around. Maybe you killed the sidekick too early? Isn't the build-up too predictable? Ugh! The whole thing is a mess, and you don't want to be working on it anymore.

How Fast Drafting Works?

The goal is to keep your mind focused on making progress. You don't want to give it a chance to second-guess anything until you've finished the first draft.

It's surprisingly difficult to do if you haven't done it before.

Your first draft will be a mess. All first drafts are. But you will have to ignore that and keep ploughing ahead. Your inner perfectionist will be in agony.

To stay disciplined, many writers don't allow themselves to fix anything. Mistyped a word? It stays in. No exceptions.

Editing is a slippery slope. You fix a typo here and there. Next, you're fixing the odd structural issue, moving a few paragraphs around. Before you know it, you're outlining again, wondering whether you should rather kill the sidekick in chapter 24.

That said, a messy first draft can be a blessing. Instead of seeing your first draft as this seemingly polished thing, you see it for the mess that it is. No matter how much you edit during the first draft, it will never be perfect.

When you start editing, you'll fix the typos and obvious issues. That will help you get into the flow and be ready to tackle the big things next.

The Editing Lock

Writing Analytics (the app that I built) has a thing called the editing lock. When you enable it, you won't be able to delete anything from your draft.

Every time I use it, I'm surprised just how much I go back to edit stuff. It's so helpful.

It was a suggestion from one of the readers of the blog a while ago (massive thank you 🙏).

If you'd like to try it, the app is free for everyone for the first two weeks.

The Challenge

Spend an hour or more this week fast-drafting a story. Come up with an idea and stick to it until the end — no matter what. Put the editing lock on if you're struggling and crush all the self-doubt that comes up with a steamroller.

I set up a challenge where you can write along with me (and others):

https://app.writinganalytics.co/challenge/646c860be7b6ddfbda016a9c

[corkinavoid]

*deep breath in*

Hi, I'm Cork, and today I got an eye injury, so I am now, officially, a pirate. Albeit temporarily. Got the eyepatch and all that crap. More on that later.

Info post

about all my writing progress for anyone wondering and for myself to keep track of stuff. Also, some rambling.

Fiance to a Star - ⅘ done with translating second chapter, also doing moodboards and soundtracks for all of the chapters currently because visuals. Gotta find the right library music. Fuck, translating is hard, why did I write it in Russian, I'm so stupid.

Married to Winter - 8.5 chapters written, editing for the second chapter will be done on Thursday, and I'm posting it on Friday. Need to rewrite chapter 9 probably, it's not working the way I want it to. Currently inspired, so maybe will write more chapters for it. Do I want to add soundtracks? I mean, I do, but do I have the brain capacity and mental strength to do so?

Multiverse Police - on hold, out of ideas, nothing is working. Will come back to it later.

Changeling AU - also on hold, but it's mostly done in my opinion, so any additions will be sporadic.

You Should Ask Danny - editing chapters 6 and 7, chapter 8 is written, but I really don't like it. Might put this on hold after posting chapter 7, but I have a whole list of ideas for it. Maybe I should just delete chapter 8 completely and write something else? I mean, why not, but then I feel like the idea is good, I just can't write it the way I want it.

Mercenary Danny - ugh, I want to write the Christmas date so bad, but it requires writing a scene with so many characters! Fenton family is big, and I want Vlad to be there, which is another can of worms because I suck at writing middle-aged men. Can I just write him as a pretentious vampire wannabe and be done with it? But no, that will ruin his characterization.

Haunted Family - done, fuck it, I lost all the motivation for it.

Demon Babysitter - still on hold, but probably also done.

Now, to the unposted wips that are sitting in my googledocs:

One Night Stand Gone Wrong - 10 fucking chapters written and I- fuck I just wanted some simple short DarkHumor (Dick/Dan) one-shot, how did it come to this, honestly. But guess what, I'm writing chapter 11 even if it kills me, I have an idea for Tim/Danny in there. I'll be posting that, um, later. One day. I still need to reread it and maybe rewrite some stuff, it's just a bunch of word vomiting right now.

Road Trip - 4.5 chapters written, and it's going literally nowhere. Is this a pun? Maybe. Should I just post 4 chapters of it and be done with it? The story is done, more or less. Or, I could just fit all 4 chapters into one, make it a one-shot, and call it a day, what a good idea!

Bad GIW - ugh, I can't. 3.5 chapters written and I stopped liking the idea completely. It will never be finished. Should I post works that I don't plan on finishing ever?

Living Weapon Danny - same thing as Bad GIW, I wrote 2 chapters and abandoned it. Fuck I'm bad at writing angst, I just- can't. I want to. But I can't.

Masters Gala - I still love the idea, but damn, writing Vlad is hard. Also, writing galas is hard. Also, writing kids is hard! Maybe I should rethink it and make them not kids but teens? But I still need plot for it, holy fuck, how do you write plot for a gala? Should I just, I dunno, put a heist in there? A haunted mansion horror story? A murder mystery? I'm still debating on whether to put Al Ghul Twins or Dead Serious in there because I can't do both for ethical reasons. I mean, I can, but I bet a lot of people will find it messed up. It's not even incest if they are not related neither biologically nor legally nor by their upbringing. Is it? Fuck, I don't know.

Lastly, about being a pirate. TW: eye injury, a lot of cursing included because I'm m a d

So a fucking mad girl hit me in the eye with one of those wooden stir sticks. Because her coffee was too hot. Bitch you ordered a hot fucking drink what did you expect? Mind you it was not burning hot, I held the cup before she did, it was alright, and okay, I get that people can have different perceptions of temperature and heat tolerance, maybe it was too hot for her but who in their right mind stabs people in the face for their drink being too hot, what the fuck

Anyway, I've got the eye checked out - and it's not covered by insurance which is another reason I'm mad as fuck - and it's okay. Mostly. I can't open my eye because it hurts like hell, and i have to do eyedrops and wear an eyepatch for a while, but it's gonna be alright in a few days, so I'm fine.

Is the fact I can only see with one eye gonna stop me from writing? Fat chance.

[rhondafromhr]

Finished the second chapter of my ‘nerds corruption au’ story!

I have way too much free time right now and I’m also having way too much fun writing this so here’s another chapter, this idea has me in an absolute chokehold.

Link to Chapter 1: https://www.tumblr.com/rhondafromhr/738099850581835776/i-ended-up-writing-it-after-all-ill-probably

“We’re Gonna Become the Bullies”

Chapter 2: They’re Walking a Very Fine Line

Paul’s been Richie’s guardian for going on four years now and in that time, Richie’s never given him much of a reason to worry. He’s never been sent to the principal’s office or the police station, he keeps his grades up, he chose the math club over the smoke club and the most rebellious thing he ever does is stay up late on a school night watching anime. More importantly, he tells Paul everything - when he gets bullied at school, when he’s struggling with a class, when he has a fight with Ruth (Oh God, Paul remembers, he promised they’ll go see The Barbecue Monologues to show her their support. Ugh. He does not like musicals). If he’s going to be out late, he always texts Paul to let him know where he is, what he’s doing and about when he thinks he‘ll be home.

At least he did until Friday night. He said he was going to Pete’s after school for a D&D session and he should be home around eleven. But then eleven o’clock rolled around and Richie didn’t appear, nor did a heads up that he was going to be late. Paul ignored the slight gnawing anxiety. There’s no reason to worry, he told himself, they probably just got really caught up in their game. From the few times Richie’s hosted D&D night at their place, he knows how intense they get with it.

But then it was a quarter past eleven and still no sign of him. He texted: hey, haven’t heard from you, everything okay? No answer. Ten more minutes passed and eventually he caved and called. Nothing. He tried two more times and still nothing. By eleven forty-five he was desperate enough to call Ted and ask if he’d heard anything from Peter. He hadn’t and he was none too pleased with Paul for interrupting his favorite pastime (“screwin’ around with another man’s wife”). Apparently, Ted had him on speaker, because Charlotte heard and she was much nicer about it. She told Paul they’d notify him if they heard anything and asked him to please let them know once Richie got home safe. Just when he was on the verge of a panic attack, he heard the lock clicking on the front door as Richie let himself in. By now it was almost two in the morning. Paul exhaled and the tension left his body. He’d never felt this relieved in his life. Obviously, Richie had some explaining to do, but at least he was here. At least Paul finally knew he was safe.

“Hi, Richie. Did something happen? Usually you at least shoot me a text if you’re going to be out late.” Something was definitely off. Richie’s clothes were disheveled and the way he rubbed his arm was subtly different from the way he usually does it - his hand rested on his shoulder rather than his forearm and he winced as if there was some physical pain he was trying to relieve. Did he get hurt? Why didn’t he call Paul for help if he got hurt?

“Oh, uh, sorry, Paul. We just got super into the campaign and I guess the time got away from us. Won’t happen again. I’m pretty tired now, I think I’m going to head to bed. Goodnight!” He rushed to his room before Paul could ask any follow-up questions.

“Goodnight, Richie,” Paul said with a sigh. He wasn’t convinced, but maybe Richie just needed time to open up about whatever actually happened. He always did eventually.

That night still weighs on Paul’s mind as he drives Richie to school Monday morning. Richie seems distracted, too. Without his usual enthusiastic rambling about the merits of subs versus dubs or why there should be a copy of the full Attack on Titan box set in the library of congress, the car feels eerily quiet. Paul turns on the radio to try and fill the silence, but the cheery, up-tempo song that comes on somehow creates an even weirder atmosphere. They finally pull up in front of the school and say their goodbyes.

Just as he’s about to take off, Paul notices a tall boy in a letterman jacket waving to Richie. Richie waves back and approaches him. Wait, isn’t that Max Jägerman? The kid that’s been bullying Richie and his friends for years? He watches as they walk towards the school entrance together. Why is Max being so friendly to him out of the blue? Is this the setup for some horrible, mean-spirited prank? Paul’s heart sinks, but there’s nothing he can do. He’ll just have to trust Richie’s judgment and be there for him if anything happens. He’s definitely going to Beanie’s on his lunch break today. He desperately needs a coffee and Emma will probably be happy to let him vent and maybe even provide some surprisingly thoughtful advice. Knowing her, she’ll welcome any distraction from her usual degrading job duties of making coffee, serving “cold, shitty pastries” and singing for tips.

“Hey, Richie! How was your weekend?” Max greets him enthusiastically. Huh, he’s been upgraded from Shitlips. Not only that, they’re on a first-name basis now. So they’re actually doing this. That night at the Waylon place wasn’t some weird fever dream.

“Uh, it was okay, I guess? My Uncle Paul didn’t seem too happy with me for staying out so late on Friday, but he didn’t, like, ground me or anything. Other than that I didn’t do much, just rewatched Attack on Titan again.” Friday was the weirdest, most stressful night of his life and he had no idea what to expect on Monday, so the comfort and familiarity was much needed.

“Oh, cool. My dad was pretty upset when I told him what happened, too.”

“That makes sense, you did almost die.”

“Yeah, he’s really pissed I didn’t. Wanted to collect the life insurance payout or whatever. You know how dads are,” Max says with a shrug. Richie actually doesn’t know how dads are, but he’s pretty sure that’s not normal.

“Oh, uh, sorry. That sucks.” What else can he say to something like that?

“Anyway, I gave Kyle and Jason the rundown over the weekend and told them to spread the word. Everyone should know by now that you and the rest of the group are not to be messed with and from now on they’ll be answering to all of us. And if anybody tries it you just let me know, it’s a swirly and a flick-it ticket for them. We’ll do it together. I have to teach you the proper form, anyway.”

Oh, right. That part of the deal. It’s not just being cool with Max Jägerman, it’s being “on his level” as he phrased it. Which means joining in on the bullying unless they can use whatever influence they now have to talk Max out of it. Grace did say she thought it was possible back at the Waylon place. Richie agreed at the time. Does he still believe that? Did he ever, or was he just trying to justify their decision? If they can even pull it off, it’s going to be a lot more complicated than just going “Hey, let’s not bully anyone!” and Max being like “Okay, sounds good!”

“Will do, Max, but uh, what if it’s somebody who doesn’t have nuts?” Richie asks. He may or may not be speaking from experience. Truthfully, flick-it tickets have never worked on him, but convincingly faking like they’re the most painful thing in the world has probably saved him from Max inflicting actual pain countless times. Ruth’s acting tips have been really helpful for that.

“Oh, good point! Two swirlies, then. Love your inclusive way of thinking!”

The bell rings, providing Richie with a convenient exit from this conversation.

“Oh, gotta get to honors English, see ya later!”

“Bye, Max.” He hurries to Physics, wondering how the hell Max is in honors English.

When he joins their usual group (plus Grace and Steph) at the lunch table, it seems like everyone else is reeling from the changed dynamic, too. At least Ruth is having a good time with it.

“She actually said hi to me!” Ruth says, her eyes lighting up “Then she told me my headgear is fire today! It was so hot, you could cut the sexual tension with a knife!” There’s only one person at school who still says things are fire unironically. Brenda must have gotten the memo.

“Isn’t she dating Kyle?” Pete points out “I know Max won’t let them, but clearly they’d just go behind his back, right?”

“Yeah,” Richie chimes in “If anything, sneaking around would make it hotter. ‘Forbidden fruit’ and all that.”

“Duh! Everyone knows that, watch some porn! But also, watch some romcoms - I’m the nerdy underdog, obviously she chooses me in the end.”

Before Grace can admonish Ruth for being so lewd or Stephanie can rant about the problematic tropes and implications of the romcom comment (the collective word count of her Twitter threads on the subject rivals War and Peace), Pete raises the question that’s been on all of their minds:

“Can we really be considered underdogs anymore?”

“I don’t know. The vibe is definitely different from before,” replies Richie “God, this morning was so weird. Max just walked up to me and started the most normal ass ‘how was your weekend?’ conversation ever. I mentioned anime and he didn’t even make fun of me, it was fucking surreal!”

“It’s definitely weird, but I have to admit it’s been kind of nice to be able to walk down the hallway without constantly watching my back,” Pete says “Brad Callahan called me Micro-Pete earlier. I told him to back off and he actually did!”

“He called you what?” Startled, they all look up to find Max looming over them at the end of their table. When did he get here? “I fuckin’ told him not to bother you guys, but it looks like my instructions were unclear. C’mon, Pete, let’s go find him. We’ll make sure there are no further misunderstandings.”

“What, like, beat him up? I don’t know, Max, he’s twice my size. And he did back off, maybe we let him off with a warning this time?” Pete protests weakly.

“It’s okay, dude, I’ll be right there with you! Nobody who knows what’s good for them is going to jump in to defend him, either, so it’ll be two against one. And I know pummeling people seems intimidating if you’ve never done it before, but I’ll show you the ropes. I bet you're stronger than you think you are!” Ignoring the subject matter, Pete has to admit Max gives a pretty solid pep talk. Now that they’re sort of friends, maybe Max will send some of that energy his way before the AP Physics exam.

“Okay,” Pete says, still uncertain, but also acutely aware that he’s not getting out of this one.

“Can I come with?” Stephanie asks “I’ve actually always wanted to slap Brad across his stupid, smug face, but this is the final straw. Nobody’s going to disrespect you like that on my watch.” Pete turns beet-red.

“Oh, awesome, three against one!” Max says “Let’s roll out!” Stephanie grabs Pete’s hand and the three take their leave. Max and Steph walk with a menacing, determined stride like predators stalking their prey. Pete trails behind them, a little more hesitant, but still follows.

“Slapping Brad in the face has always been one of my fantasies, too! Probably not in the same way, though,” Ruth says “I should’ve joined them! Life is but a series of missed opportunities.”

“Ruth,” Grace says “have you ever considered taking a vow of chastity? Resisting the temptation you’re feeling until you’re safely married could save your immortal soul.”

“No, of course not! Why would I do that now of all times? I’m not a repulsive loser anymore, somebody might finally touch me!” Ruth sighs dreamily. “I’m telling you guys, me and Brenda, there’s something there.”

“If you’re so worried about our immortal souls, why didn’t you try to stop them just now? I don’t spend my weekends at bible study, but I’m pretty sure wrath is a sin,” says Richie.

“Well, Brad has it coming. He’s always been a no good sinner. It’s not our wrath, it’s God’s wrath. They’re just carrying out His will.”

Richie’s surprised to find himself entertaining Grace’s point. She’s right about Brad, at least. He has always been kind of an asshole. He was picking on Pete earlier, too, and it certainly wasn’t the first time. Then there’s the whole “long-con” aspect of it all - once again, things aren’t going to change overnight. They all need to play along if they don’t want to lose their new status ruling Hatchetfield High by Max’s side. Maybe if the next target is less deserving than Brad, he can test the waters and try to get Max to lay off. For now, Richie will just head to his next class and try to make it through the rest of the school day without being roped into roughing somebody up.

[tooti-fruiti]

MORTAL SOUL [CHAPTER FOUR]

Stranger Sewers

"Six pieces left." Bierce said. "Ready to try again?"

You nodded and walked through the portal.

Inside the hallway, a giant wall blocked your path.

"Malak's blocked the entrance. Now that's just pathetic, don't you think?"

"Uh-"

"Never fear love. There's a solution. You'll just need to rearrange your brain a bit. Come back to the ring alter."

"Alright." You sighed and walked back into the portal.

You put your hand on the alter and a jolt of electricity went through you.

"Your new ability allows you to see enemies through walls. To activate it, put your hands on the side of your face. You'll be able to move Malak's wall by doing so."

You nodded and walked back into the portal.

You stared at the wall as you put your hands on the side of your face.

Your vision blurred for a few seconds before the wall rose up.

You walked to the other end of the hallway and walked into the nightmare.

You immediately gagged and covered your nose.

You were in the Sewers.

"Ugh! The sewers?! Really?!"

"Not afraid of a little sewer water, are you?" Bierce asked as you trudged forward. "Just don't get any of it in your mouth."

You groaned as you moved forward.

Then you noticed the water was slowing you down tremendously.

So you got out of the water and walked along the sides.

"You're heard the urban legends I'm sure. All sorts of this get thrown away down here. Alligators, goldfish, duckies."

As she said duckies. Some lights lit up to your right and there was a show of oversized ducks with traffic cones on their head.

"Just like how you threw your life away."

"Okay okay, I get it. I fucked up." You groaned.

You kept walking and opened a door to keep going.

You went further and saw a hole in the water with some writing beside it.

"Watch out for the big one?"

You shrugged and opened the door ahead of you.

But as it was opening, a giant hand came out of the way and grabbed you.

You yelled out in surprise and wiggled around to get the hand of you.

Once you were free, the creature that grabbed you slinked back into the darkness letting on an evil duck sounding laugh.

You quickly ran through the door and saw some shards up ahead.

You rolled up your sleeves and began collecting the shards.

Then you saw a duck and Bierce started talking.

"They're trying to blend in. Let's see how well you pay attention to details."

You pressed your hands to the side of your face and saw the outlines of some ducks.

But the one next to you didn't have an outline.

Which lead you to believe there were fake enemies.

Now you understood what to do to survive.

•

After collecting all the shards, you ran to where Bierce said the ring alter was with several ducks behind you.

You reached out and transferred the shards for the next ring Pierce and cheered in celebration.

Then suddenly, someone teleported behind you.

You turned around and saw Malak standing by a wall.

You tried to run but Malal raised his hand and you couldn't move.

"That's far enough, mortal."

"You know, you're the first of Bierce's pets to actually cause me some trouble."

He glared at you. "I should commend you for your tenacity. Or better yet, maybe I'll just finish you off here."

"However, despite how aggravating you are. I will admit, I do like watching you run around trying to stay alive. So, instead of killing you of like a pest. I'll watch you run around just a little longer."

He smirked and raised his hand to his chest. "Watching you follow Bierce's orders so obediently, has reminded me that I have a loyal pet as well."

Then he raised his hand and the wall behind him raised. "Here, let me introduce so. So you can both become more properly acquainted."

Behind Malak was a giant duck with nails in it's head and several hands on it's back.

Your eyes widened in fear.

"Now, you'll have to excuse me, mortal." Malak said as he straightened his tie. "I must take my leave. I have some business I need to attend to."

"Oh! And Bierce, I know you're peering through your puppet girl. I will settling matters with you soon enough."

Malak let out an evil laugh before disappearing.

Once Malak was gone, you could move and you were left alone with the giant duck.

•

After defeating the giant duck, you ran away through the sewers.

However, while you were halfway there, the giant duck broke down on the walls and started to chase you.

As the bigger duck chased you, the other duckies were blocking off your short cuts.

You kept running through the sewer water as you uses your boost.

But even with the boost, the giant duck was slowly catching up to you.

But just as you got out of the water, a gate shut on the giant duck, keeping him from you.

You let out a laugh before running back to the portal.

Just before you touched the portal, the giant duck broke his head through the wall and tried to eat you.

However, you were able to avoid the giant duck and ran into the portal.

Once you were back to the portal, you let out a loud cheer of victory.

"YES!"

Malak started to chuckle and you turned to the eyeball on the door.

"It vexes me greatly that you're still here, mortal. I had hoped you would have perished by this point. Because now she has another piece of that infernal ring!"

Malak sighed. "Every piece Bierce gets makes her more powerful. Don't you get that, sweetheart? What do you think is going to happen when she doesn't need you anymore?"

"She'll grant my wish to change my fate?"

"Do you really think she'll do that?"

"Pay no mind to him. He knows that I am getting more powerful and that makes him afraid. You're right love, I will grant your wish."

"Bierce. Tell her what happened to the last person who trusted you."

Bierce once again grew quiet and turned her back to you.

She waved her hand and opened the next portal.

"I'm warning you, mortal. The consequences will be dire if you continue to help her."

You stared at Malak for a little bit before turning to the newest portal which had a clown on it.

Who were you supposed to trust now?

[Hope you enjoyed. Stay tuned for more and have a good day]

<-Chapter Three

Chapter Five->

[nerdieforpedro]

Wednesday WIP

Hello! 👋🏽 Nerdie here, I am working on a few things:

1. A second entry for @undercoverpena ‘s April Showers Challenge (maybe featuring an agent I haven’t written for a bit). I had a burst of an idea which was different than the original one I had. Such is a Nerdie brain. Don't get lost in there, but there are cookies.

2. Finally progress of my “Wedding 101 with Dieter” fic! I had been having trouble with it. I’m happy to have more Maya, Dieter and Daisy. 🤭 I apologize to @angelofsmalldeath-codeine in advance for any undue stress I shall cause you.

3. Going to finish up my short Frankie body part series which sounds menacing but is the opposite. 😂 Very much so lol It’s called “Only Parts of you Mr. Morales.”

4. I’m working on a Javier Peña series because I feel like I need to give him something nice. Just one thing. 😆 It's very sweet, I have 2 chapters and no idea what to call it. Pfft, go figure. No idea how long it will be - sorry, won't be ready for a bit. Between Javier P and Joel recent. I need to be nice to them. They’re both very haunted. 😖

5. I'm still working on both Din fics and Benny. I'm redoing the outlines. Bullet points are friends and not our enemies. I think. Will there be more random Star Wars people? Is Obi Wan Kenobi a children’s author and Luke that old man who swings his lightsaber in the yard?! Both these things are true. 😌 Messing with Star Wars canon one character at a time. 😂😂😂 The sweet Din fic will remain so. My walking pile of nervous Beskar. 💚

And that's about it, I've cut back a bit on writing to do more school work (papers...ugh...writing about not Pedro. 👀 Eww...)

Previews under the cut:

Anyway, somehow, I went from being stuck in chapter five for 'Weddings 101 with Dieter' to now being in chapter six. I'd like to thank Hemmy for being so encouraging and @megamindsecretlair for discussing Pedro and Oscar with me the other night. I feel like I should make notes and keep both of those in mind for future fics because it's the right thing to do.🫡 Just thinking about it is… 🫠

This is a small excerpt from chapter six, we should all know Nerdie's humor by now 🤣:

“Who’s banging on my door this damn early?! You better get out of here!” “Dee at least ask who it is.” “I don’t care, it could be the president, pope or, no Beyonce could come in.” “I am not meeting Beyonce in my robe. My hair is a mess, my face is puffy, I haven’t showered yet…that’s not who it is!” “I mean, if she shows up on this door, she’s gonna have to be okay with my bare ass, balls and your robe with your cute puffy face. It’s just us. You don’t need one. I’m just going to take it back off to eat you for-” “MR. BRAVO IT’S ME ZACK! YOUR ASSISTANT!” He screamed, he didn’t need to hear Dieter removing anything off of Maya or eating her in any capacity, they can do that after he leaves later. Never any filter with this damn man, he just needs to remind himself of his loans. This job pays the loans.

Gotta love how....open Dieter is with everything. Even Sasha Fierce is not safe. 😭

Second is from my pending Javier Peña fic (I'll think of a good name, I swear!):

Meeting his gaze had her mouth run dry, the sandy tone to his skin contrasted with more papaya tones in his neck. Dark hair and kind eyes behind a gold pair of aviators perched on his curved nose. Tourmaline waves parted on the left side of his crown were matched by his bold eyebrows and thick mustache. His lips were a lace pink and plush. The sunlight made the sweat along his neck glimmer, accentuating its definition. The light blue shirt made the reds and browns in his skin stand out even more. “Did you need to get some fresh air too?” She asked, he could be doing that, escaping someone like she was doing or something else entirely. Now she was curious too, about this man who’d chosen to sit next to her.

I very much enjoy my description of Javier, hehe 😉

That's it! Normally I have more, but it's either still in bullet form or in my head. 🤭

NPT: @maggiemayhemnj @604to647 @connectioneverywhere @morallyinept @rhoorl

@goodwithcheese @soft-persephone @djarinmuse @pedroshotwifey @magpiepills

@secretelephanttattoo @tinytinymenace @inept-the-magnificent @soft-girl-musings @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@laurfilijames @grogusmum @alltheglitterandtheroar @jessthebaker @musings-of-a-rose

@julesonrecord @wannab-urs @schnarfer

[writingsofmax]

Disarm pt. 22

Words: 1.5 K

Summary: Y/N plans a dinner date for her and Edward. Warnings: violence, abduction, threats

Tags: angst, violence, kidnappin Author's note: a very special thank you to @e-moneyyy for helping me with some of the writing in this chapter!!!!! everyone say "I love you E MONEY"

Chapter 22- Believe In The Resolute Urgency Of Now

Eddie had finally gone back to work at KTMJ. His planned time off had been used up and since he hadn’t ended up destroying the city– thank god–  he went back at the end of the three weeks. Y/N missed him but he insisted that it was good cover, anything he could do to seem like a regular citizen was good. His absence did have its benefits however, because now she could surprise him. Edward did so much for her all the time. Taking care of her, cooking, cleaning, anything she wanted he would do without question. She wanted to repay the favor somehow.

She pulled a box of spaghetti noodles from the cupboard and carefully tilted it into the boiling water. She couldn’t do much in the way of money, extravagant dates, or lengthy adventures but she could cook. She looked over at the table, she had lit and put candles and flowers on it to decorate it but maybe that was too much? No, its cute– stop overthinking it. She turned back to the cutting board and started carefully mincing the garlic and tomatoes for the sauce. It was meditative, and nice to have something to do with her hands, nice to feel well enough to do something she liked and was good at. She picked up the cutting board and slid the tomatoes and garlic into the saucepan with the knife before turning to set the knife back down in the sink. She checked the clock anxiously. Okay good just enough time to finish up and plate this before he gets here.. She felt excitement bubbling up in the pit of her stomach. Finally she was able to do something nice for him! She slowly stirred the sauce that was now simmering in the pan, the smell filling the small apartment. I hope he likes it…

And then she heard it. The familiar sound of the front door opening. Damn it! He was home early. She knew that she should have started dinner just a bit earlier in case. Oh well, it’s almost done anyway. Her heart rate increased, making her feel a little dizzy as she waited to hear him discover how nicely she had set the table. She waited for the familiar feeling of his arms wrapping around her from behind as she called out to him while stirring the sauce on the stove. “Hey Eddie! You’re home ea—” her words were cut off as a rag was pressed over her mouth and nose, and rough hands jerked her backwards. Not Eddie. Her brain was screaming danger as anticipation turned to fear. She tried to wrench herself away but the person’s grip was too strong. She kicked causing the hot pots and pans on the stove to clatter onto the floor, spilling everywhere. The knife…! Despair flooded her when she remembered she had set it in the sink, out of reach. “Fuck!” a gruff voice grunted from behind her, “Get her god damn legs.” She tried to scream but her mouth was muffled by the rag, her vision was going blurry at the edges, darkening quickly. A second person, a man grabbed her ankles and then…

Help… Nothingness. —--------------------------------

Edward was running late, which he hated. He hated coming home late to his angel because of insufferable idiots at his job. Today had been long and he still had piles of work to catch up on after his extended absence. He chewed on his lip and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the light turn from red to green. Red, head, bed, sled, fed, shed, lead, meds, dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. Ugh, he felt drained after his long day at the office. Thankfully he was almost home, and then he could see his angel, and that would more than make up for it.  Pulling into the parking lot, he put the car in park and grabbed some files from the back seat. It was a small amount of papers, but it was what he was able to pull from the records without being noticed today. More of Falcone’s financial documents to sift through. His head throbbed at the thought of it, but he was so close now. So close to the finish line of all this. Dread pooled in his stomach when he thought about what the end of all of this meant, but he pushed it down. He couldn’t be sure of what would happen to him when he killed Falcone. There were too many variables. So –just in case– he wanted to spend his final days before the end of everything, with his love, and happy.  With a quick sigh and a shake of the head, he went to the door,  which was already open, and let himself in.  Wait. Why was the door already open? His body felt cold, and his stomach flipped, “Angel?” he called out, his voice coming out pitchy and strained. No response. All the lights were on, and there was music playing from somewhere in the apartment but no answer from Y/N. Everything felt wrong.

And then he saw it.

Broken shards of porcelain littered the floor. There was food and water splattered everywhere. IT was on the floor, on the cabinets, on the stove, on the sink. There had been a definite struggle and Y/N was nowhere to be found. He took in the scene around him and realized the splatter that was everywhere was red. He dropped to his knees.

“No..” he mumbled, “No.. this isn’t..”

Wait. The familiar metallic tang of blood wasn’t in the air, it was… He reached out and swiped a finger through it. Spaghetti sauce. Relief flooded out of him in a long shaky exhale and suddenly the room was spinning. Not dead, not dead, she’s not—his gut wrenched as a sob forced its way past his lips. He drew his knees into his chest, his body shaking with sobs as he tried to gain control of his anxiety on the kitchen floor.

Get it together, get it together, come on, get it together. Waves of anxiety were crushing him, weighting him to the floor, darkness prodding at the edges of his vision. Get up. He took a gulp of air, willing the tears to stop coming as he placed his hand on the counter and pulled himself up.

The stove was still on and warm. Whoever did this couldn’t have gotten far. He whipped his head around and surveyed the room for clues, his legs feeling shaky beneath him as his head filled with screams, threatening to drown out his focus, anything to latch on, anything to—

A note. On the table. How could you have missed that? You fucking— He ripped it off the table with trembling hands. 

Hello Riddler, or should I say Edward Nashton, I had been worried that I wasn’t going to be able to find you, until you took care of your girlfriend's little landlord problem. He didn’t fit the usual MO for your kills so we launched an investigation into every one of his tenants and anyone else that was in close relationship with them. 

And then we found you.Someone that fit the profile we created on the Riddler perfectly. Same age range, same height, same build, someone who lived in the suspected area, a loner that’s good with computers and wouldn’t you know it, someone that has access to all financial documents in Gotham through the KTMJ. You’ve been causing quite the stir in Gotham. Impressive. You seem to have planned this all out, right down to the last second. I must say, I applaud you for having such precision with your crimes, not bad for a rookie. However, you’ve made one fatal mistake. You personally fucked with me and my business. So, it’s only fair that I personally fuck with you and yours. Your little girlfriend is awfully pretty, Nashton. So sweet. It’s such a shame that she’s so sick, so fragile. If you plan on seeing her in anything other than a pine box in the near future, I suggest you follow my instructions to the letter. You will meet me at the suite at the top of the Iceberg Lounge at 10 pm tonight. You will bring all the information you’ve gathered about the Renewal fund as well as a list of anyone else who has the information. You will bring the passcodes to your website and all your computer hard drives. If you try to rally your followers to attack me or have anyone come with you, I will kill your girlfriend immediately. Let’s work this out amicably. Maybe after all this unpleasantness is over, you can work for me. - Carmine Falcone. Edward was still. The candles continued to burn down quietly on the table, as if nothing had happened. The flowers sat in the vase, untouched. Their petals blooming open grotesquely. They disgusted him. Everything was disgusting, hideous, threatening. Gotham needed to be buried. He had been wrong. Everything was too vile. It was beyond saving, it was completely beyond—

Laughter burst out of him, his entire body shaking with the force of it. 

Next

[allthefakepeople]

Band Au: Chapter 2: Snippet

@isabrella @sorshatanthalos (or kitstanthalos on twitter) and @resurrecho

hi folks

in preparation of the beast that is chapter two of those rumors they have big teeth we wanted to share a second teaser with you all

(chapter two is dropping Thurs 8pmPST/Friday 12pm NZST btw... keep your eye out)

to keep you occupied, you can reread chapter one "all the lights that lead us there are blinding" to prepare yourself

without further ado... spoilers ahead...

“Why can’t you ever just give constructive criticism? I swear, it’s like you’re PMSing every other day! You’re such a moody bi–” Elora stops herself from finishing the word, and then runs her hands over her face, clearly trying to regain some composure. 

“Go on. Say it,” Kit says. “Tell me how you really feel.”

Elora looks almost comical, eyebrows drawn so close together she looks like a cartoon villain; it’s out of place on her normally sunny visage. “I really feel like maybe you should get your chronic fucking PMS checked out by a medical professional instead of taking it out on me!” 

“It’s not fucking PMS, you’re just super fucking annoying,” Kit says. And, okay, maybe her period is due in two days, but, uh, that’s none of Elora’s fucking business? They’re not thirteen-year-olds at a sleepover. They’re adults in a band together, for fuck’s sake. She claps her hands together, smiling aggressively wide. “Anyway, I think, constructively, that your song could be confused for something out of Kidz Bop.”

“Ugh! You know, just because it’s openly hopeful, that doesn’t mean it’s not good. Not everything has to be so dark and serious.” Elora has her bottom lip out in a little pout, eyebrows still crunched into the incongruent frown. It looks like storm clouds rolling over a meadow of delightfully twee flowers, and maybe if she’d channel that a little more often she would write less shit lyrics.

Kit sighs and rolls her eyes. “That’s what you think is dark and serious? Jesus, that’s nothing.” 

[box-dwelling]

So I wanted to make a pinned post compiling every post I've made that I have any intent at all to do anything with as a fan work.

Most of these are just drafts currently but as stuff gets released I'll edit this post and reblog with the news.

This post is long so the info will be under the cut but as a contents:

Franmaya Narumitsu Kids Au

Turnabout Orca

Ace Attorney DnD

Narumitsu Enjoying Art

Trucy V Kristoph

PTA Narumitsu

No Children Krisnix

Narumitsu Who Wait Too Long

Full Breakdown of My Plan For a Fic EU:

-Untitled Disbarment -Untiled Turnabout Trump Missing scenesand Fallout -Untitled Hell -Turnabout PTA -A Stray Turnabout -Turnabout Orca -A Christmas Turnabout -Untitled DnD -Turnabout Date -A Family Turnabout -The Perfect Wedding Turnabout -2 Bonus Fics

FranMaya Narumitsu Kids Au

Original post - full AU breakdown. Warning it's long

Ask about the Richards relationship to his sisters

Plan:

I'd love to do some fun comics. Maybe a fic but it would be a bitch to format as such. May become a series of drabbles instead

Current status:

No words on the page for fics. Ideas planned for comic but I'm really not happy with my art style at the moment and struggling to get someone drawn that I don't instantly hate and want to restart. Happy to take ideas to expand on this AU with questions

Turnabout Orca

Original post - Concept Breakdown

Additional post - Additional discussion of concept

Fic link

Plan:

Fic. A part of my larger series I have planned that I don't talk about that much here but separate enough to be posted on its own before the rest

Current Status:

Chapter 1 published. Chapter 2 needs edits but could honestly be posted whenever. I just keep procrastinating. I had ideas for a chapter 3 when playing this case but don't remember what it was so I'd need to replay the case.

Ace Attorney DnD

Original post - Character role breakdown

Character sheets

Plan:

A spin off midquel of a fic within my extended fic universe

Current status:

Ugh. So. I have a Klapollo Christmas fic within the previously mentioned extended fic series. There are 4 fics I need to post first or else it will make no sense.

The fic itself has a good amount written but is not finished but I probably could write the remaining scenes pretty easily. I would love to post this at Christmas but erm. We'll see.

I could cut down the previous references and just have it all be out of order as I post.

The first fic is a good good way done.The second is short sweet and basically done. The forth is a short sweet fluff fic that's not got too much written yet but should be easy enough to bang out. The third one is a complete god damn shitshow that I'm really unhappy with at the moment. I want to rearrange a tone of stuff before I post it. There's some stuff in there I adore. Then there's other stuff I hate and want to cut out immediately but can't because the stuff I like its currently dependant on it. It's got no coherent structure. There's a million things I want to cover in it but not over riding theme. A lot of the later stuff hinges on events in this one so I can't just completely kill it. It's overstuffed and just a complete Trainwreck. I recognize that what I post doesn't have to be good and this is a fan space but I genuinely don't want to put this out there in this state. Like to explain what a state it's in its currently dealing with a mirror to FmT, sibling reveal, setting up Klapollo, Manfred's execution, Narumitsu proposal, another thing on this list, AJ fallout, and Edgeworth's promotion and very very little connective tissue between these concepts.

This is relevent because the DND fic is kind of a midquel to said Christmas fic so need to come out after it.

Idk guys Christmas sounds a little too optimistic. I may post the Christmas fic very very late.

Narumitsu Enjoying Art

Original post - concept breakdown

Plan

Included in a part of one of the fics in the extended fic universe

Current status

Hey so remember what I just said about the third fic having a planned segment for another point in this list. Suprise guess which one it was. This one. So yeah development hell. I've not even written that part yet because even opening that doc demoralises me. Will it be in the end product? I literally have no fucking clue. It's linked in with the FmT mirror segment which is the most likely to get the axe and also the hardest to fucking cut so just ugh.

Trucy V Kristoph

Original post - beginnings of concept

Extended post on this idea - concept breakdown

Plan:

Finally, its own thing. A multi chapter canon divergence fic

Current status:

Honestly doing pretty well. I've got like 3 chapters written but am struggling to know where to go from where I am. Kind of on hiatus but I could also just post what I have so far and then have it be a more public hiatus.

PTA Narumitsu

Original post - concept discussion

Plan

Fic. Similar to Turnabout Orca in that it fits within the canon of the extended fic universe and may get plonked in there as a series but works as a stand alone

Current status:

One scene written. I have ideas but it's a hard one to get motivated to write. I love the concept but it's just not the document I instinctively open up.

No Children Krisnix

Original post- lyric by lyric scene description

Link to homeforall's own version of said idea

Plan

Animatic

Current status

I have done a handful of scenes but I'm having the same issue I was with the Au comic. I just need my art to be a bit better to feel comfortable.

Narumitsu Who Wait Too Long

Proper concept breakdown

Related prior post

Plan:

It's own fic as its own thing but also a general feeling and concept I try to bring in whenever I write 7yg stuff

Current status:

A brief scene written as its own thing though I may change it to go a different way because I have being think about it more. Also a theme I have in the first of the extended fic universe stories

Aforementioned extended fic universe

Ok so this one is more complicated because I don't really have posts for it but I did want to break it down for me and for future reference.

1: Untitled: Disbarment

Concept:

Begins with some small stuff during the trilogy, Choosing death, forbbien hospital scene and what not but is primarily about Phoenix's disbarment. Narumitsu fic mainly but there's a good deal of Franmaya and also some deeply toxic Krisnix.

Status:

A lot written but missing a lot of connective tissue and I want to put in some fluff padding at points. Also there's probably a smut scene or two that I want to write but have been putting off.

2: Untitled- Turnabout Trump Missing Scenes and Fallout

Concept:

Kind of tieing some loose ends from the last fic with some headcaons I have about this case in particular. Short. Probably a one shot. Could be an epilogue to the previous but I think will be worth publishing as its own thing.

Status:

Basically done. Need to be published in order.

3: Untitled Hell

Concept:

After Turnabout succession Phoenix goes to Europe with Edgeworth and Trucy and Apollo stay behind to take a case. When Apollo is writing up his journal notes from the Misham Trial they look through Phoenix's paper work to clear up some loose ends and find out a lot they didn't know. Meanwhile stuff gets more and more out of hand in Europe

Status:

Already said. Absolute hell.

4: Turnabout PTA

Concept:

When Edgeworth gets promoted to Chief Procecutor, Phoenix takes him to the PTA to show off. Chaos ensues

Status:

Already said. This and turnabout Orca are the only ons before the Christmas Turnabout that doesn't have to be posted before it. This one could probably come out on its own but it's best after the 3rd fic

5: A Stray turnabout

Concept:

Short sweet fluff fic. Athena meets her Boss's fiance. Edgeworth worried about Trucy's grades. Phoenix adopts a stray puppy. Apollo gets to subject the agency to one of his special interests

Status:

Like half written and the other half is inmy brain. It's just not been a priority.

6: Turnabout Orca

Concept:

Turnabout reclaimed from Edgeworth's perspective

Status:

Already said. Will be posted when it's posted.

7: A Christmas Turnabout

Concept:

Just after the end of dual destinies, Apollo invites Klavier to the Wright-Edgeworth Christmas party given that his previous plus one is now dead. It's the obligatory Klavier joins the found family and gets "forgiven" (read: realised he was never blamed I'm the first place) for Phoenix's disbarment fic that I always eat up. Also dealing with the fallout of DD and Clays death and Klavier's fallout after AJ. Big ensemble cast. Angst and fluff.

Status:

Solid half way done

7.5 Untitled DnD

Concept:

Some for the cast are bored and unable to sleep on Christmas Eve so Trucy runs a Christmas one shot for their DnD party.

The idea for this was that all the family members have a DnD character but it's kind of expected that not everyone can always make it. So it's an induction for Klavier and Simon into the fold by making their characters and joining in. The players for this fic are Klavier, Apollo, Simon, Athena, Kay, Pearl and Sebastian. Maya, Phoenix, Ema and Edgeworth all also have characters but aren't present for the game for reasons that make sense in context.

Status:

Already said

8: Turnabout Date

Concept:

A direct sequel to A Christmas Turnabout taking place a day or so after that one leaves off. Klavier has asked Apollo on a dated to an intimidatingly fancy restaurant.

Meanwhile as the anniversary of DL6 draws closer Edgeworth ends up giving up and giving the prosecutors office a holiday break until the New Year. In turn Phoenix gives the WAA the time off too given the stress of the last week. Both offices decide to help their respective idiot in love prepare for the date. Though the weird girls of Maya and Kay end up on the opposite of their usual sides as Phoenix needs requests the aid of everyone's favourite great thief and Maya get caught up in the chaos after an attempt to seduce her girlfriend.

Status:

About a third written. I'm really really fond of this one though.

9: A Family Turnabout

Concept:

A pair of ghosts from Phoenix's past turn up on the agency door all related to Athena's most recent case. A poisoning in a tea shop that she herself witnessed.

Tensions are high as more than one Wright family member's life hang in the balance. As Phoenix's mental state grows slowly more unstable, his relationship with his daughter is put to the test.

While Athena and Apollo butt heads about how much their powers are to be trusted and ask they begin to learn more and more about the mysterious group the victim and defendant belong to, Phoenix's protegee are forced to ask serious questions about what justice really means and if the WAA's tactics in court are really moral and safe.

Status:

Hey idk if you can tell. This is my favourite. If I could just post this and focus on it I would. Unfortunately it needs a lot of fucking context. Stuff that's fine to just be explained to a reader who knows they can learn more in other available fics but will sound insane if not. How much is written. A whole lot. The stuff that's missing is the case fic stuff but I know exactly what I'm doing with that now so it just needs to be properly written out. There's probably a few posts I could have linked to put this bad boy on the mentioned works in progress section but that would probably spoil it a bit and I don't want to do that.

10: A Perfect wedding Turnabout

Concept:

Narumitsu wedding. Big old ensemble piece. Stuff will get crazy but I don't want to spoil anything. But those two could never have a normal wedding come on.

Status:

This was like the 3rd fic is started writing and well. It shows. I don't love how a lot of it reads. I want to rewrite a tone. But there is a lot already on the page. The other 2 I wrote this early were a very early draft of the first fic which has been revised enough to be fixed and then the 3rd fic which is the bane of my existence. I like the plot concept I have. But I worry about the prose. When I wrote this is had been a long ass while since I'd tried to write a big cast like this and it fucking shows. Also just the character voice is off. It's kind of expositiony. It's not as unsalvageable as 3 it's just not there yet.

2 Bonus fics

Status:

Completely unwritten

Concept:

I kind of want to do a narumitsu fluff fic of them buying a house together and putting up furniture after 3 and I wouldn't mind a reunion faraskye fic before 3. But the benefit of me having written nothing and having planned nothing is that they have no vital link to the others so they can just be punished whenever and I'll say where they are in the timeline.

[double-detonation]

Chapter 5

I grumbled to myself as the comforting darkness of sleep was interrupted as morning sunlight reached my eyes. The light engulfed the dark in a soft orange that made me squint. Groaning in annoyance, I lazily kick at the blankets, the task taking a few tries to get them fully off me. I slowly sat up from the bed. While doing so, I stretched, hearing a couple of satisfying pops and cracks from various joints. “God that felt good…” I mumbled quietly, walking to the closet to get dressed for the day. Today was the day of the entrance exam, so something practical was probably for the best. I dug through the rack of clothes, pulling out a maroon-red shirt and a pair of black leggings. Throwing on some off-white sneakers and brushing my hair into a ponytail, I ran downstairs into the kitchen where I was greeted by Mom making breakfast and Katsuki already eating.

“Morning dear, eggs, bacon, and toast for today, sit down.” Mom said as she scooped up the fried eggs, placing them down on a plate with the rest of the mentioned food.

“Thanks, Mom.” I sat down next to Katsuki, watching him eat. “Surprised you didn't wake me up.” I chuckled as he sent a glare in mid-bite of his toast. 

“Yeuh, like I-” He paused for a second to chew and swallow his bite. “I'm going to play with fire. You get so fucking cranky if someone wakes you up if you are in a bad mood.” He says, turning back to his plate.

“I do NOT-” Before I could finish my sentence, Mom jokingly scoffs as she walks over, setting a plate down in front of me.

“Yeah right, I remember waking you up last week and you were so pissed. Thought you were going to blow me up for a second.”

“Mom!” I whined. “That was because you interrupted a damn good dream I was having!” I huffed, quickly starting to eat my food.

“Probably about that guy you've been texting.” Katsuki deadpans, as he gets up to put his plate in the sink.

I cough, choking lightly on a piece of food. “I don't dream about him, what the hell! I've only known him for about three weeks!” I shouted, a bit embarrassed at the thought, feeling a slight blush overcoming my cheeks.

“So when am I gonna meet the guy?” Mitsuki smiles, sitting down at the table. “You mention him quite frequently. Even though Katsuki's being a brat, perhaps he's on to something.” She said with a grin.

“Mom, stop, you're supposed to be on my side!”

“You should know by now I love some tea, especially if it regards my kids.” She chuckles.

“Ugh, you both are so annoying!” I complained, getting up from the table. As I start to walk off, my phone starts to buzz with a familiar song.

“Speaking of the devil!” Katsuki shouts, recognizing the ringtone that has started playing in the house a lot recently.

“Mind your own business! My god!” I yelled, going back up to my room. I grabbed my backpack, threw it onto the bed, and sat beside it, answering the call. “Mornin’ Kiri, what’s up,” I spoke, unzipping my backpack, and stuffing some stray notebooks and papers inside.

“Hey, man! You’re heading to UA soon right?” Kirishima asked.

“Yeah, we’re finishing breakfast and heading over in about half an hour, why?”

“Did you want to meet up at the gate, we could hang out before the exam.”

“Oh, sure, I’ll keep an eye out for you!” I smiled.

“Cool, see you there Bakugou!”

I shake my head, putting up my phone, tossing my backpack over my shoulders and walk out of my room. Today is going to be a long day.

Katsuki and I are walking up towards the gates of UA, a nervous expression on my face. This is nerve-racking. The writing part of the exam was pretty easy. I'm more worried about the physical part of it. I know I will have a decent chance with my quirk. I just hope I don't choke out there. Fighting actual enemies is something I haven't done before. Though, I doubt they would seriously injure anyone in the exams. I wrote down some ways to use my quirk in my notebook so hopefully rereading them will make me a lil' more prepared. Knowing that they're robots helps. I also hope introducing my brother to Kirishima won’t be awkward. I know they become best friends in the show, but that’s much later in the series. I look through the crowd of people, hoping to spot the vibrant redhead.

“Yo, Bakugou!” a familiar voice shouts, waving us down.

“Hah?” My brother said with irritation, both of us looking at the speaker. My eyes light up at the sight. “Kiri!” I said happily, speeding up to meet him halfway, my brother dragging slowly behind.

Kirishima looks between us and smiles at my brother. “You must be the brother she talks about, uh, Katsuki right? Nice to finally meet ya!” He says, reaching his hand out.

“Who the hell you think you are, calling me by my first name, shitty hair.” My brother growls at him.

“Woah, chill, I can't just call both of you Bakugou in front of you guys, it might get confusing.” The redhead says, scratching the back of his head anxiously.

I rolled my eyes at my brother's behavior. “Sorry about him, I tried warning ya. You can just call me Kazumi from now on.” 

Kirishima's eyes sparkled. “Sweet, works for me, you can use my first name too if you want.”

I swear, I can see my brother's patience fading away as he storms off. “I didn't come here to see you fucking flirt with an extra.” He shouts, his voice quieting as he walks inside the building. Kirishima and I stare at each other awkwardly.

“Again…sorry, he isn't really good at socializing.” I said with a chuckle as we started walking inside.

“No worries man, he seems a bit intense, I don't know how you can live with that.” He commented, making me laugh. “You get used to his attitude after so many years of dealing with it.”

Making our way to the auditorium that is already flooded with students seated. We walked around for a few minutes before finding a spot together. Sitting down, I plopped my bag on the table, pulling out a notebook. The cover of it caught Kirishima's attention. “Which hero is that?” He asks, gesturing to the cover.

I sighed, flipping it open. “His hero name is Eraserhead, he's an underground hero.” I explained, reading over my notes. 

Kirishima hums at the thought. “What are you even reading in there?”

“Trying to remember some ideas I wrote on my quirk for the exam, just in case” I said. All of the sudden, the auditorium lights dim and a pro-hero with long blonde hair walks onto the center stage.

“What's up UA candidates! Thanks for tuning into me, your school DJ…come on, let me hear ya!” He spoke, striking a pose.

Recognizing Present Mic, I couldn't help myself. “WOOO!” I shouted, making Kirishima jump in his seat next to me. The silence from everyone else is a bit embarrassing…eh, too late now.

“Aye! Glad to see some enthusiasm from ya, examine 2933!” Mic shouted in happiness.

“Like your application says, you lovely boys and girls will be conducting a two minute mock battle in a suburban setting!” He says, turning to a slide on the giant smart screen. 

“After I drop the mic, you'll be heading out to your designated battle centers.” He explained to his audience. “Sounds good?”

Kirishima and I looked down at our cards. “Looks like we're getting split up Eiji.” I said sadly, glancing between our cards. 

“That stinks, I was hoping to see you in action.” Red sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe next time.” He murmured as the pro hero started talking again.

“Okay okay, let's check out your targets. There are three types of villains in every battle center. You'll earn points based on their level of difficulty!” He explains, three silhouettes popping up on the screen. 

“Better choose wisely. You need to use your quirks to defeat these villains, racking up points as you go like a mid guitar solo!” He shouts, striking another pose. “But check that you are keeping things heroic. Attacking other examanies of UA is a big no no, ya dig?” Before he could continue with his speech, a student stood up.

“Excuse me sir, but I have a question.” The blue haired teen demands.

“Hit me!” Mic shouts, pointing his finger at the student, a light beam shines on the guy. 

“On the print out, you listed four types of villains, not three. With all respect, if this is an error on official UA material, it is shameful! We are exemplary students, we expect the best from Japan's most notable school. Such a mistake as this won't do!” He shouts, putting a hand into a fist.

Ugh, this guy is talking up a storm, so fucking annoying. My irritation grows as he calls out Midoriya. I quickly stood up from my seat, shouting. “Yo, four eyes!” A light shines on me as well. “Shut the fuck up and sit down! Your blabbering is extremely annoying for those who are trying to focus!” 

The guy stares at me with shock. You would think he'd never been yelled at before by the look on his stupid face. Four eyes snapped out of his stupor and did a ninety degree bow.

"My apologies.” He says, going back to his usual, proper stance, and sitting back down. The light above him turns off. I grunt and sit back down that's what I thought. My light beam also goes out.

“Alright alright examine number 7111, thanks for calling in with your request.” Mic says before things could escalate any further, giving the crowd a thumbs up. “The 4th villain type is worth 0 points. That guy is just an obstacle that we'll be throwing in your way. There is one in every battlefield, think of it as a hurdle you should try to avoid. It's not that it can't be beaten…there, just kinda no point.”

“Thank you very much!” The blue-haired voice is heard from the audience.

“That's all I got for you today, I'll sign off with a little present, a sample of our school moto. A true hero is one who overcomes life's misfortunes. Mhm, now that's a tasty sound bite!” Mic starts moving around dramatically.

“You ready to go beyond?” Holding his hands out, he shouts. “Let's here a PLUS ULTRA!”

Fuck it, I already embarrassed myself earlier, might as well keep it consistent. “PLUS ULTRAA!!” I shouted, jumping up from my seat, throwing the pro hero some matching energy hand signs. Kirishima next to me groans, putting his head down, covering his face as others stare at us.

“YeAAAAH, LOVE TO HEAR IT!” Mic screamed. “Good Luck, hope you all studied more than just hitting the books!”