#i've gone and made myself sad

[weaponizedducks]

my love mine all mine by mitski is the most merthur from arthur's pov ever

[hxhhasmysoul]

wouldn't it be nice if the author of the fics finished them. the author is me.

[nostalgia-tblr]

. (further)

[brielarsonist]

a close friend's mom died last week, and I've known her and her family since I was in about first grade, so I've been feeling very weird this week, mostly very sad for my friend since she was so close to her mom and was her caretaker for years. I went to spend time with her on saturday and it just breaks my heart to see her so depressed and knowing that she's going to be missing her mom for the rest of her life... I just wish there was more I could do for her, but I'm trying to be there for her the best I can

[whysamwhy123]

Ain't done this in a while but it's sorely needed because I have had A Week. So, if anyone has any spare serotonin lying around and would like to share, through the form of asks, it would be greatly appreciated.

[musical-chick-13]

.

[rollinsland]

Screenshotting the Usos together is one of the hardest things lol If Jey ain't moving Jimmy is and when Jimmy's staying still (which is like 80% of the time lol) Jey's bouncing off the walls 😭😂 Idk if it's his nerves or he's just super energetic but Jey bby moves A LOT and I adore that cutie pie 🥰 I love both of them I want Jimmy back 😭

[thatblokeyouforgot]

This is literally all I do anymore

[hemi-demi]

I've seen it said in places that Jon and Martin's relationship (specifically Jon realizing he has feelings for Martin) feels rushed and out of nowhere, and there's a perspective here that I want to share.

I think some people see them as explicitly a gay couple and expect them both to react a certain way to each other, but I have some thoughts as to why Jon is different and their relationship might not look like a traditional MLM story.

I feel that Jon's affections for Martin are absolutely there and growing over time, but with him being acespec, possibly autistic (the "I feel...sad" moment screams alexithymia to me. He doesn't fully understand his internal feelings until they're too big to ignore), and trying very hard to not get murdered for several seasons, I think it's perfectly reasonable his feelings for Martin would take time to develop.

We do see him softening to Martin over time. We see him thinking about Martin unprompted when he's alone. We see him going from "this man is going to ruin this delicate facade I've put up to seem professional, and I want him gone immediately." to "Oh, you're actually capable. So capable you might be trying to kill me." To "I don't want him to get involved or he might get hurt. I need to keep my distance so he's safe." To "I'm going to make myself tea out of nowhere because the guy who usually made it for me all the time isn't here and now it's part of my routine and I want to keep that part of him around while I'm hiding out for murder."

But once he identifies his own feelings, he overcorrects right into hopeless romantic. He's pining hard all S4, because he finally realized himself that he's in love and it's at the worst possible time. It is abrupt. Dude only just figured it out and he's throwing his whole ass into this.

I think even without the autistic headcanon, the acespec nature of how he views relationships and his whole "I feel...sad" moment indicates clearly that he was just oblivious to his own feelings for a very long time.

I know it feels sudden, but some of us are oblivious, okay? I was friends with a girl for 2 years before my brain flipped the switch and Jon's reaction felt so familiar, and I love it. I just hardly ever get to see "me" in media, and it's a bummer when people say it feels unrealistic. It's not, it's just not the norm.

[sneak-a-cat]

.

[literalgrill]

Do NOT Support Hard Drive On Patreon

You might see friends today suggesting you support Hard Drive on Patreon today. You know, the funny video games version of The Onion? As a journalist, I will firmly tell you DO NOT GIVE THEM A DIME.

The CEO has pushed out all former staff that have built the site up to its current greatness and has been pushing the use of AI. The staff begged to have a Patreon before basically all being pushed out, but the idea was refused until now, when it will only line the pockets of a single person instead of hard working writers.

I know they might have provided laughs before, but Hard Drive is a shell of what it was once. Let it die and support the people who actually made those moments of joy possible. Don't believe me? Check out what former employees are saying below:

Kevin Podas: Okay you know what, I would feel bad saying nothing about this, so here goes:🚨SAVE YOUR MONEY🚨

We passionately advocated for a Patreon at Hard Drive & were aggressively shot down. The talent & people who built the site were pushed out. To see this now is beyond upsetting. For the past few years or so I put a lot of myself into this website. I pitched a ton of jokes, got over 120 articles published, & met a lot of great people. I'm sure if you've been following me for some time you could easily see this.

However, there is a lot of misinformation. I was eventually promoted to Managing Editor of the site & was ecstatic. Grateful for the opportunity. Felt like all of my hard work in the comedy mines was finally paying off. But things took a turn for the worst, & each day there were new surprises that affected our livelihoods. These were all very avoidable surprises, mind you.

A patreon was going to be our hail mary, but alas, for some reason, the power that be did not want it. Causing us to leave a dream job behind. "At least we did all we could," we consoled ourselves afterwards. I put a lot of myself into this project. I pitched all sorts of ideas that could have helped-- we all did. Merch collaborations, Patreon-integrated YouTube content, so much more. And most of them were shot down out of sheer stubbornness and nothing more. To see lie after lie spread, and multiple big publications and YouTubers that I am a fan of promote this Patreon under these pretenses is incredibly upsetting. There are so many receipts.

Please share this and consider pulling out if you've already put money into this. On Hard Drive using AI, also from Kevin Podas: I can't personally confirm that part aside from some of the recent header images for articles on both Hard Drive and Hard Times are being made with AI. As far as writing, it's been mentioned in the past, but I personally do not know. Maybe others do, maybe not. MORE From Kevin Podas suggesting the owner denying a Patreon being set up earlier cost an artist a job that was replaced by AI: We had a social media person who was awesome! He made the images until this AI implementation. He had to leave because ad revenue was low and a Patreon was aggressively refused.

Luca Fisher: at the risk of burning some bridges, i have to back up kevin here. i've only been part-time, in-and-out of hard drive since i got in last year, but i can corroborate that management doubled and tripled down about not hosting a patreon/crowdfunding and that many other suggestions and ideas, including mine (and ones much smarter than mine!), were shot down in really long, apocalyptic threads of everyone left on deck desperately trying to come up with ways to keep the lights on. managerially it has been messy and sad

i've written for multiple publications that have long since died, ones that were in the process of dying, and ones that, in this case, are soon to be put in the ground. it is sad and sucks every time. i don't know what could have been done differently, but i do know that a lot of great writers and content creators were left shorthanded and unhappy by the way things have gone. and it is sort of puzzling to see the sudden championing of patreon after we were all told plenty of times that it couldn't work and we should move on also, just to add my own personal two cents here, i was really disappointed by the shuttering of many different article sections on the site over the past 6-8 months. i understand cutting corners in a deficit, and i know it had to be done. that said…

all in all, i'm really sad to see this all happen. i don't fault anyone, if only because i don't really know enough about how this all can happen to make sense of it. games journalism is in a sad, sorry state, and will likely no longer be a thing in the next decade

VideoSealMan: I'm gonna say this because I think I deserve to. For months, MONTHS on end I was bugging Hard Drive management about a Patreon. Often I got ignored for a week+, but when I actually got a response I was encouraged to - of all things, write up a Google Doc pitching the concept I did it regardless. I wasn't the only one trying to sway management on a Patreon, but so fiercely was I fighting for it that last night, I was accused of making this comment directly by the CEO! With no evidence whatsoever! After I'd been gone for over a month.

I vouched so hard for Patreon because I wanted all the writers and creatives working with Hard Drive including myself to get paid better. When I actually got a response, the idea was often shut down. Eventually due to the state of my company, my pay was cut for a second time I confronted management alongside a couple other important figureheads at the org and told them that if we couldn't do a Patreon - I could no longer financially justify staying there. The answer was still no, so I left. Baffled at the decision, but whatever.

It is unendingly frustrating to know that myself and many other people who put their soul into Hard Drive LEFT because of management's absolute refusal to compromise on a Patreon, to then see them launch one anyway a month later and get over 1000 people pledging money. I'm seeing a lot of things float around about greed and people being fired. No one was fired. Everyone who left, left because they were sick of management's decision-making. And honestly, management is a lot of things but I would not call them greedy. (From my experience.) They did genuinely make an effort to pay people as much as possible. I found the pay very fair for a while. I am not disputing that I was paid what I was owed - yet management frequently feels the need to remind critics of that. Lmao, yes. I was paid what I was owed. No one is disputing payment. You did the bare minimum a business owner should do and paid everyone their due, very well done. I make no allegations of greed, cheating or foul play. I make allegations of poor management and incompetence that has fucked over other people.

Basically the only people left at Hard Drive have been there for about 2 months. They will reap the rewards of this successful Patreon I and so many others passionately fought for for so long. We will not see a dime.

I do not know the new people at Hard Drive, But I feel bad for them. They were haphazardly thrust into Hard Drive's workplace with little to no explanation on how anything works, or given any context on the state of the place. Even now managements feeds them half-truths and misinformation about other people's grievances. I am broke and have been for a while. I had to move out of my flat in Reading and back with my family because of how little money I was making. This has basically doomed my flatmate to moving back in with abusive parents, which is something I feel guilty about every day. If we had gone with the Patreon I worked myself hoarse over back then, this could have been avoided. Some of my other good pals could also not have been fucked over.

It was a bad judgment call, but it's not a crime. It's just management getting it wrong.

So should you give to the Hard Drive Patreon? I don't know! I don't think any of the new people working there to patch up the holes left by the recent mass exodus have any bad intentions. Maybe they deserve it! But it is not the same site you knew a year ago, or even a month ago. Myself and many people who were there far longer than me and did far more for it than I did are all gone now because we could not deal with management's terrible decision-making and dogass communication any longer. That's what you should know, imo

I had an agreement in place with management that I would receive the next 8 months of revenue from the Hard Drive YT channel from my leaving in November. This was a deal I appreciated, and thought was very fair on management's behalf. So far, the deal has been honoured for 2 months. However as of last night I was removed from the Hard Drive Slack without warning, and as an editor for the YouTube channel. This means I no longer have any way of verifying how much I am owed, I just have to take their word for it. I'm sure management will make their own statements full of half-truths and weird language on the many cases being brought against them - I'd take everything they say with a pinch of salt if some of the screenshots I've seen of them talking about me are any indication lol

To management; I do not want to talk to you. I want you to DM me a screenshot of how much I'm owed every month and then send me the money per our agreement until June, then we can go our separate ways. Do that and admit to your mistakes, and maybe you can recover your reputation! That's it from me, lol. If they pull out of the deal and fuck me over I'll have more to say, but most of what I know is other people's stories of incompetence and poor decision-making, lol. I genuinely get no pleasure out of doing this; I do not think management is evil - I just think they're really bad at what they do and it's cost other, more talented people, lol. You should believe the writers imo

One last thing I wanna say btw, management did often stress that no one should try to make Hard Drive a full time thing. They were transparent about that, and that is fair. I was working on it because at a few points, I was lead to believe we actually were doing a Patreon. Many other ppl have similar stories of being strung along by management changing their minds and stop-starting shit every 2 weeks. We all made the fatal mistake of overestimating our manager - who would tell you one thing one day and something totally opposite the next week lol

Hunter R. Thompson:

I'm not your dad, but speaking as a Hard Drive writer, I don't know that funding Hard Drive on Patreon is worth it

The driving talent on the back end—behind the kickass site I joined in 2019—have peaced out over the years as the site's been (in our view) increasingly mismanaged. Mismanagement like, not setting up crowdfunding before the ship sank and all its best crew failed; or publishing a screenshot of Andy Ngo pedojacketing a trans writer, complete with her deadname; or a disgruntled ex-writer getting falsely accused of shit-talk, by actual staff. I'm grateful for the writing I've gotten to produce for HD (and will forever be kicking myself for not writing even more, in the four years I've had to do it!! i'm a dumbass!!!) but it is very much no longer the site I signed up for.

I don't want to resign as a contributor altogether, because I'm open to the idea of the site recovering and bad practices being retired as finances level out-- it would just be dishonest for potential backers to not be Aware Of The Circumstances, I think.

Jeremy Kaplowitz: i truly don't want to start shit, but feel compelled to say: i want to see Hard Drive succeed w/o resorting to throwing former writers & editors, myself included, under the bus. surely there's a way to save the site without building it over the corpses of those who left. my $0.02 i don't blame anyone who wants to sign up for the HD patreon and i support the website, but that includes those who worked on it for years, have complaints, and don't deserve to be treated like bitter assholes like this kind of stuff is just objectively true, meanwhile there's these new writers who joined the site after i left (meaning, in the last ~3 months) claiming people are liars. decide for yourself if you care, but this is what happened! [Quotes this Tweet]

Seth Finkelstein: Writing for Hard Drive has been a privilege the past few years, and it makes me so angry to see people I looked up to get jerked around behind the scenes. The amount of grenades the editors jumped on our behalf is immense, and I don't think the way they're being treated is right.

Other Bits On AI: We do know for sure however that AI art has been used by the site. Its fucking owner confirms it here:https://twitter.com/MattSaincome/status/1743040541603123622. Seems the owner pushed AI written articles as well! TayFabe: My vaguetweet is making the rounds & these made me apoplectic. - owner regularly lobbied using ai. Once he tested it & said ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. - ai images were used on the site & socials w/o consulting the team or disclosing it publicly I found the ai bit relevant to include bc 1) it illuminates a stark change in HD's current direction & leadership, 2) ai images have previously been used on the site and (since deleted) ig posts, 3) ai content fucking sucks, and repeatedly pushing to use it is a telling quality The "handful of writers who chose to leave" includes 2 editors-in-chief (both cofounders who wrote a combined total of >1,000 articles & defined the voice of HD), & at least 3 other editors. These guys put in WORK since 2017, so cool to be corrected by ppl who joined in Nov 2023 [Link to mentioned vague tweet from post.] More from TayFabe: owner continuously lobbied for using ai in every possible way. No one else wanted to do it, but he kept on, saying ai was writing better satire than 25% of the HT/HD writers. Also, ai images were used on the site & socials without public disclosure or consulting the team.

The owner has responded now multiple times in a private discord... Thank you for people sharing screenshots! First Screenshot:

Kevin's Response: He banned me from the server for speaking out, so no, I didn't see it. And he gave no indication of a timeline, it was just "we'll do one when *I* say so" and gave every inclination he was totally against it. It bred an environment that pushed our hands to have to leave. Screenshot Round Two:

Kevin's Response: "Starting one in 3 months" is an absolute lie. He denied it, I have screenshots and others who can confirm. No timeline was given. Just "this is what it is now" and like, I couldn't live off of that. I wanted to do more but he was allergic to good ideas from others around him.

Matt, owner of Hard Drive, responds publicly on Twitter.

Matt: Kevin, the patreon launch was delayed because I didn't think it would work. Everyone is happy that it did work. Everyone who left the site because we didn't have money to pay for creative content which didn't revenue is welcome to return home. But unclear why the hostility.

Hard Drive paid out literally every dollar it had, then a bunch more, to creative people who worked on the site. When we ran out of money, we couldn't pay anymore. We did our best.

Kevin: Right, and my point of this thread was that it was completely and totally avoidable. This is reasonable to be upset about. How could I have been any more clear?

Matt: If we knew with 100% certainly that the community would have supported us via patreon, we would have done that. We didn't know. We had tried 4 years ago and got no support. We were wrong this time. We did our best to figure it out. We paid all the money we could.

Kevin: So you knew with 100% certainty this time? Or you took a leap of faith?

Matt: It was a last gasp panic effort after ad rates got cut in half on january 1st due to seasonal spending changes. We didn't know it would work. We were embarrassed to ask for support. We wanted to figure it out.

Kevin: Every site has a Patreon. Every YouTuber, comedy group, etc. But you insisted that nobody cared about Hard Drive. Which is wildly untrue. I know you see that now, but again, I think you can see why I and many others are pretty upset. A last ditch panic effort was long overdue. A couple more things from Matt:

It was about the size of the hole we needed plugged budget wise, the time I had left of personal resources, and the past data I had about us trying a patreon (which turned out to be a bad indicator). I didn't think the Patreon would help us fast enough. I made a bad estimation

aka "if we make $1000 more dollars a month via patreon, which would be 10x what we got last time, we will not solve any of our problems. If instead we try to plow down path B, we might make it out in time." That was the thinking. I chose the wrong path, but didn't mean to Kevin also retweeted this comment from the user Matt was responding to: So you're saying that you're bad at running the business, didn't listen to any of your employees until after they were forced to leave their jobs, and now you're going to get more of the money from the Patreon that was their idea in the first place? Matt's Response: Respectfully, I made a mistake delaying the patreon decision. But keeping a comedy site alive for 9 years is not easy, there are lots of potential ideas, and think overall we've done a good and honorable job. Will leave this thread in peace now to allow people their space.

Sorry for linking to Elon's hellsite (derogatory), but sources need links so...

[mcmansionhell]

pre-recession, post-taste

Hello, everyone. I hope this blog can bring some well-needed laughs in really trying times. That's why I've gone back into the archives of that precipitous year 2007, a year where the McMansion was sleepwalking into being a symbol of the financial calamity to follow. We return to the Chicago suburbs once more because they remain the highest concentration of houses in their original conditions. Thanks to our flipping predilection, these houses become rarer and rarer and I have to admit even I have developed a fondness for them as a result.

Our present house is ostensibly "French Provincial" in style, which is McMansion for "Chateaux designed by Carmela Soprano". It boasts 7 bedrooms, 8.5 bathrooms, and comes in at a completely reasonable 15,000 square feet. It can be yours for an equally reasonable $1.5 million.

Every 2007 McMansion needed two things: a plethora of sitting rooms and those dark wood floors. This house actually has around five or six sitting rooms (depending if you count the tiled sunroom) but for brevity's sake, I'll only provide two of them.

With regards to the second sitting room, I'm really not one to talk statuary here because beside me there is a bust of Dante where the sculptor made him look simultaneously sickly and lowkey hot.

Technically, if we are devising a dichotomy between sitting and not sitting (yes, I know about the song), the dining room also counts as a sitting room. The more chairs in your McMansion dining room, the more people allegedly like you enough to travel 2.5 hours in traffic to see you twice a year.

Here's the thing about nostalgia: the world as we knew it then is never coming back. In some ways this is sad (kitchens are entirely white now and marble countertops will look terrible in about 3 years) but in other ways this is very good (guys in manhattan have switched to private equity instead of betting the farm on credit default swaps made from junk mortgages proffered to America's most vulnerable and exploited populations.) Progress!

Okay I really don't understand the 50 bed pillows thing. Every night my parents tossed their gazillion decorative pillows on the floor just to put them back on the bed the next morning. Like, for WHAT? Who was going in there? The Pope?

Here's a fun one for your liminal spaces moodboards. (Speaking for myself.)

Yes, I know about skibidi toilet. And sticking out your gyatt for the rizzler. I wish I didn't. I wish I couldn't read. Literacy is like a mirror in which I only see the aging contours of my face.

When your kids move out every room becomes a guest room.

Anyway, let's see what the rear of this house has to offer.

The migratory birds will not forgive them for their crimes. But also seriously, not even a garden?

Anyway, that does it for this round of McMansion Hell. Happy Halloween!

If you like this post and want more like it, support McMansion Hell on Patreon for as little as $1/month for access to great bonus content including a discord server, extra posts, and livestreams.

Not into recurring payments? Try the tip jar! Student loans just started back up!

[mywritersmind]

hey girl! are you writing for franco atm??? if so I wanted to see if you could write smth like fluff or reader and franco get in a fight maybe bcs of the time zones and races and he surprises her one night before race weekend like he catches a flight to see her but she still won’t budge on talking to him xxx

YELL AND FLY - FC43

listen up : just arguing but ending in comfort. thanks for the request this lowk almost made me cry

word count : 877

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I can hear him pacing, the sounds of drilling and tires in the background, “I’m just tired, Franco.” We’ve been like this for an hour, I keep hearing him swear in spanish and making sure everyone leaves him alone.

“You don’t think I am?” he groans as someone tries to speak to him again, “Fuck, obviously I’m tired! You’re not the one working every weekend.”

I scoff and sit up in my bed, the sun not even up yet, “That's unfair and you know it, Franco! I work! I work even more when you’re away!” I say sarcastically, “But I'm sorry that you have to do the job you chose and you love!”

I shake my head as he responds, “I didn’t mean that, love.”

“Yes you did. And that’s fine but don’t push your anger onto me. You always do shit like this.”

“Like what?” His voice raises.

I run my hand into my hair, “You don’t think I support you.”

“Well it’s hard to think that when you’re not here supporting me.” I want to hit him, then myself. How could he think that? After I said I wanted to be there but couldn’t because I was fucking working. He takes it back quickly, “I’m sorry i’m just overwhelmed-”

“Franco. I’m tired.” Tired of this. Tired of waking up so early and staying up late for a ten minute call where we just fight, “we should talk about this later.”

He still sounds angry, “I’m busy all day.”

I stay silent. What am I supposed to say? Cry and tell him to not be? I have no choice but to nod.

“Good luck.”

He sighs, I hear the ruffling of his hair, “I’m sorry. I wish you were here.”

“Me too.” He’s mad at me and I’m mad at him. I’ve been with Franco long before his F1 debut, but us yelling over the phone every weekend isn’t something I expected with the job.

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I watched his race, texted him, and logged off social media for the day. He’s off to Mexico but I just can’t leave right now. I’m sitting in the kitchen, eating my cereal and leaning over the counter while listening to Taylor Swift.

There’s a knock at the door, I groan. I’m in the same pajamas as two days ago and my hair is in the messiest bun I've seen in a while.

When I open the door, my jaw actually drops.

“Franco?” I poke him as if I think he’s some figment of my imagination. Have I really gone that crazy that I'm imagining my boyfriend at my door?

“Hi, love.” He’s real. He walks in, shutting the door softly. I want to cry as he slips his arms around me, “I’m so sorry.”

His voice washes over me and I hug him tighter, breathing him in and realizing how much I missed how he smells.

“I’m mad at you.” It comes out as a whisper, my voice broken and sad.

“You can be.” I pull back a bit, his hands in my hair, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Why are you here?” I cross my arms, stepping back.

Franco looks nervous, a bag by his side, “I wanted to see you. I thought you wanted that too…”

“Of course I did!” I sigh dramatically.

He smiles at my anger, “So, I'm here for you.”

I shake my head, going to the kitchen and cleaning up my breakfast. I don’t know how to feel. I’m so happy he’s here. But then what? He’ll just leave again and I’ll watch two second clips of him on the TV?

He follows me into the kitchen, “Love… Let me do it.” I let him because I hate the dishes.

I sit on the counter, watching him gently washing the bowl with his sleeves rolled up. He drys his hands, then looks up at me.

“I’m sorry for being mad.” I look at the floor but he steps in between my legs so I look at him, “It’s just hard.”

“It’s hard for me too. I want you there all the time but I'm so proud of you!” he puts his hands on my outer thighs, “Time Zones suck.”

I laugh, wiping my eyes from the tears that spill down my face, “I’m proud of you too. Shit, you’re so amazing. I hate working.”

“Quit.” He says it so fast.

“Franco!” I swat at his arm, letting out a sort of sob laugh.

“Okay, you can quit when I get a full time seat.” I laugh as he smiles softly up at me, “I know it’s rough right now.”

“We can work through it. We’re us.” His thumbs smooth over my cheeks.

He nods, “We’re us.”

“How long are you here for?”

He frowns, “I leave tomorrow night.” I frown with him, “But I'm here now.”

I sigh, knowing he’s right. I look up at my boyfriend, his hands on me. I know I need to live in the moment now.

I kiss him softly and he pulls me into another hug, his arms around my waist, “I love you.”

I run my hands through his hair, “I love you too. We can do this.”

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 LOST IN THE DARK (THEN I FOUND YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: with a blizzard rocking yokohama, you find yourself seeking refuge in nakahara chuuya's apartment because, somehow, his building is the only one that has working generators... yet you find yourself becoming a bit suspicious (and concerned) when you realize the one person you expected to be there isn't. so you decide to go looking for him yourself, forcing chuuya to come along, and you end up maybe biting off more than you could chew.

wordcount: 8.2k; sfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, i don't think any other warnings necessary but lmk if i've missed any

AUTHOR'S NOTES: ughhhhhhh i was not going to post today BUT 1) i remembered that it was ghostienon's birthday yesterday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!) and 2) sophie said she was sad so i forced myself out of bed to edit and format. i hope you guys enjoy the background to how reader and dazai started living with each other ;) i love being able to write them as stupid teens HAHAH if u guys can't tell. we also get some hints as to mori's opinion on her and dazai's growing relatioship in this installment, though that will have its own dedicated fic <.<

“God, it’s fucking cold.” Chuuya shivers, tucked beneath a blanket in his apartment, scowling out the tall windows looking over the city. “When will this storm end? I swear it's never ending."

A blizzard has been tearing through the entire Kanagawa prefecture the past two days, and right now, Yokohama is taking the full force of it, has been since three am. The harsh winds knocked the power out hours ago, and none of the building’s generators are working. The easternmost building, the one where you live, was the first to go, so you dragged yourself all the way across to the westernmost building to force your way into Chuuya’s apartment, the only building that’s power was still holding strong by the time you made your decision.

Evidently, you were not the only one that had that idea. Ozaki Kouyou sits primly in a bundle of furs as she reads through mission reports from her subordinates, Hirotsu Ryuro flips through files on an upcoming mission for the Black Lizards, and the Colonel is berating one of his subordinates over a walkie-talkie in the corner of the room. You and Chuuya are huddled on the couch with each other, trying to keep each other warm as you wait for the worst of this to pass.

“Says you,” you say bitterly, burrowed in three of his blankets as you glare at him. “You’re like a furnace, I think I’m going to freeze to death.”

The power in his building had gone out an hour ago, and being on one of the upper floors, his apartment became chilly quickly. Chuuya scowls at you and his hand darts out to press against the back of your neck. You shriek and give him an accusing look at the feeling of his icy fingers against your bare skin, slapping his hand away hard. He snorts, looking thoroughly smug at his actions and you have half a mind to beat him to death with a pillow.

“Better than being out on the streets, hm, boy?” Kouyou says idly, glancing up from her papers, raising her eyebrows.

You watch as Chuuya’s gaze flickers down to the ground, a guilty expression crossing his face. You don’t know much about what happened last year that led to Chuuya joining the Port Mafia—you do know that evidently he’d been monikered ‘King of the Sheep,’ a small organization of teenagers that had stupidly taken to trying to siphon off territory from the Mafia, and he’d been exiled by his kingdom of orphans courtesy of Dazai. You think maybe he’s probably wondering if they’re still out there, trying to wait out this storm in whatever back alleys they can find.

You nudge your shoulder against his, trying to draw him out of his thoughts, and he gives you a tight smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

At least you guys don’t have to worry about any attacks until the storm passes. 

The Dragon’s Head Conflict has been raging for a month now, you came back to Yokohama at the start of it and it's only continued to escalate with each passing day. There are so many foreign organizations trying to get footholds in Yokohama for the money that started this conflict, the entire city has become a bloody battlefield. You’ve hardly slept the past few weeks trying to work with Mori to figure out a game plan for handling Strain, the biggest threat of this conflict by far, but it’s hard when the Mafia’s warehouses and ports are getting assaulted day after day. 

Chuuya’s been taking on the brunt of the attacks, single-handedly pushing them back, but you know he’s getting tired. You see the exhaustion on his face and the bags beneath his eyes—the storm, as awful as it is, is bringing him a break that he very much needs. And Dazai-

“Dazai.”

You sit up straight, blankets tumbling off of you as your eyes widen. Instantly, you can feel all of the eyes in this room on you.

“What about that bastard?” Chuuya asks irritably.

“Where is he?” you demand. You haven’t seen him since the storm started, don’t know where he is; you don’t even know what building he lives in. You figured that he would have wormed his way into Chuuya’s apartment too when he realized his building lasted the longest with power, but you didn’t even think anything of it until now just because of how cold you were. “Where does he even live, actually?”

A month you’ve been in Yokohama and you’ve never been to Dazai’s apartment. You spend a lot of time with Chuuya up in his, and Dazai usually pops in too whenever you’re there; they come up to yours once in a blue moon. But you’ve never been to his.

“Out in some shipping container in the yards in southern Naka-ku,” Hirotsu answers your question and you turn to look at him, appalled.

“What?” you ask bluntly. “A shipping container?”

“The Boss offered him a nice apartment in the central building,” Kouyou hums. “He refused many times.”

“I wouldn’t want to live in the same building as Mori either,” you say snippily. “He’s out there now? In this storm?”

Kouyou lifts her shoulders in an elegant shrug, raising her eyebrows as she finally looks up at you, there’s something chilly in her eyes that you don’t like as she studies you. Chuuya doesn’t meet your eyes when you give him a pressing look.

“Those containers aren’t insulated,” you continue. “He’ll freeze to death.”

Kouyou scoffs. “That boy won’t be killed by something as mundane as the cold,” she says dismissively. “He will be fine.”

You give her a dismayed look. You’re not too close with Dazai, you’ve only known him for a month, and in that time, you haven’t really had the opportunity to spend much time with him besides the occasional invasion of Chuuya’s apartment. The two of you always seem to have missions scheduled at opposite times of each other—whenever you’re free, he’s gone and whenever you’re gone, he’s free. Sometimes, you think Mori does it on purpose, but you don’t know why.

“It’s blizzarding out there,” you argue. “He’s stick and bones in an uninsulated piece of metal that’s probably buried in snow. We can’t just leave him out there.”

“Leave him be,” Kouyou says sharply, and you’re almost taken aback by her tone, giving her a cool look. “Don’t involve yourself with that boy.”

You draw back at the sternness—you and Kouyou have been on good terms, so you don’t really know where this is coming from, and it pisses you off a bit, but that might just be because you’re cold and already irritable.

“Excuse me?” you gape, looking between her and Chuuya, noticing how Chuuya immediately averts his gaze from you. “Chuuya?” 

“You heard me, girl,” Kouyou tells you firmly. “Keep away from him.”

“Why?” You’re half convinced you’re not hearing her correctly because what does that even mean. Your voice rises as you become more incensed. “What do you even mean? Chuuya hangs with him all the time-”

“Mori has forced the two of them into a partnership,” Kouyou interrupts. “Chuuya has no choice in the matter. You-”

You bristle, about to rise to your feet, but before you can say anything, Hirotsu speaks up: “Kouyou-san is right, hime. The Boss has that boy on a tight leash for a reason, he does not like anything trying to interfere with it. Even you. Especially you.”

Chuuya gives you a look from the corner of his eye. “The Boss is weird about him,” he agrees quietly, but he does seem distinctly uncomfortable, like a part of him wants to go out searching for Dazai. “You’ve had to have noticed.”

Of course, you have. It’s impossible to miss the way Mori hangs over him. He has Dazai shadow him everywhere he goes, never far out of sight. He’s harsher with Dazai than he was even with you back when he first took you in years ago, has impossibly high expectations and refuses to accept failure from him. You think maybe it’s part of the reason why he’s always so careful to ensure that you’re on missions at opposite times—Dazai has shown interest in you since your arrival in Yokohama, becoming giddy like a kid whenever he runs into you, and Mori already warned you not to distract him.

You rise to your feet, shaking your head. “I’m not leaving him out there to freeze.”

“Girl,” Kouyou says, voice tight, finally looking up from her reports again to give you a stern look. “I won’t say it again-”

“Or what?” you ask coolly. “What is he going to do to me? I’ve known Mori longer than any of you. I know what he’ll do if he doesn’t like what I’m doing, it’s not worth leaving Dazai out there alone, especially in this weather.”

You toss off the blankets and storm over to where you’d hung your jacket up, looking back at Chuuya over your shoulder. “Are you coming?” you ask, annoyed. 

Chuuya glances between you and Kouyou nervously before sighing and tossing his own blankets off. “Whatever. You’re bringing him to your apartment. I don’t want his shitty ass here.”

“Whatever.”

“I don’t know why the fuck I agreed to this,” Chuuya spits out complaints as the two of you trudge off the road through knee deep snow to the slope leading down to the shipping yards. “You’re insane. Dazai would not do this for you.”

“I wouldn’t be stupid enough to be in this situation,” you scowl, tossing Chuuya a dirty look before your eyes trail across the shipping yard. “Do you know which container is his? They all look the same.”

“That red one out there, I think,” Chuuya says, pointing out across the shipping yard to one of the few containers not falling apart. You grimace, it’s all the way out in the center of the yard in the deepest parts of the snow. Chuuya sees your displeasure and rolls his eyes. “Come here.”

You yelp when he grabs your arm and yanks you closer to him. The Tainted Sorrow is an ability you’ve become well acquainted with over the past few weeks, but it’s still jarring to feel it wash over you so suddenly. Chuuya gives you a sharp smile when he feels your grip on his arm tighten as he uses his ability to launch the two of you in the air; your stomach lurches at the sudden feeling of weightlessness that spreads through you.

It takes a total of maybe five seconds for him to get the two of you in front of Dazai’s supposed shipping container, and you shiver when the two of you land in the knee deep snow, casting him a dirty look when he keeps himself floating right above it.

“Asshole,” you mutter, ignoring his smug look as you trudge forward to the door of the shipping container. “Dazai! Dazai, are you in there?”

Your voice strains as you shout over the howling wind, grimacing and blinking rapidly at the snow pelting your face. You get no response from inside the container and you give Chuuya a scowl.

“Are you sure this is the right container?” you demand as your fingers enclose around the bitterly cold metal handle.

Chuuya shrugs. “I’m pretty sure.”

“I can’t stand you,” you snap as you try and fail to yank open the container, the deep snow preventing it from budging even an inch.

“Here, move,” Chuuya says, coming to stand next to you, finally dropping down into the snow as he nudges you out of the way to use his ability to pull open the heavy, jammed door.

You squint as you look into the dark container—it’s mostly empty and you’re about to turn on Chuuya for having the wrong one before you notice a chair and a desk in the far back corner. The snow spills into the container as soon as Chuuya gets the door open and you yelp as you slide in, nearly slipping to the floor. 

Chuuya snorts. 

You glare at him, but you have more pressing matters to attend to.

“Dazai,” you call again, frowning when you don’t see him in the container, wondering if you came all the way out here for nothing. Chuuya would kill you. “Do you see him?”

“I’m gonna kill you if we came all the way out here for nothing,” Chuuya says, voicing your thoughts. You wince as he jumps down to stand next to you. “Maybe he went over to those other friends of his? That low ranking guy?”

Maybe, you think, taking a few steps further into the container, eyes straining in the dark to try to make sure he’s not there before facing Chuuya’s wrath and leaving. Just as you’re about to give up, you spot a lump covered by a thin blanket in the corner of the container and you frown. You think at first it’s a pile of dirty clothes until you draw a bit closer and see that it’s moving, a slow and steady rise and fall that could only be Dazai huddled beneath it.

“Dazai?” you repeat again, making your way over to the corner of the container and kneeling next to the lump. Chuuya trails a few steps behind you slowly, pausing when you reach out to snatch the blanket off of the lump. “Jesus, Dazai…”

He’s sleeping beneath the blanket—sleeping or just straight up unconscious, you’re not sure. He looks small curled into a ball in the corner of the container, his skin and lips are paler than usual, breath concerningly slow. You reach out to press your hand against his cheek, feeling how cold and clammy his skin is.

“And you wanted to leave him out here,” you hiss at Chuuya, shooting him an accusing look. To his credit, he does look guilty as he looks down at Dazai, brows twisted and lips curled down, an unreadable look in his bicolored eyes. “Help me get him up.”

Dazai is lighter than you expected—he’s tall and gangly but there’s so little meat to his bones that you can almost lift him up on your own but it’s just awkward because of his height. Chuuya grabs his feet, you grab under his arms; his body is limp, like you’re carrying a corpse and not a living, breathing human being.

“Chuuya, hold on, I’m gonna put him down,” you say before the two of you get to the entrance of his shipping container.

Chuuya grunts as the two of you lower him to the ground, giving you a questioning look. You ignore it, pulling off your thick fur coat and wrapping it around Dazai, trying to warm him up even just a little because you fear that if you bring him out in his thin button-up and slacks, he’s just going to get even more sick. 

“You’re gonna freeze,” Chuuya says with a sigh, shaking his head. He pulls off his own jacket and tosses it at you. “I run hot anyway. Take it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, shrugging it over your shoulders and then looking back down at Dazai. “Ready?” 

“Yup,” Chuuya agrees, leaning down to grab Dazai’s feet again.

You grimace as the harsh and bitter winds immediately sting your face, a shiver running down your body. You glance over at Chuuya, whose face is already becoming red with the cold, he looks distinctly uncomfortable although he’s trying to hide it, and you feel a bit guilty. You look to the side, all the way across the shipping container yard up the hill to the road the two of you had come from, all of it covered in several feet of snow.

You realize, a bit dreadfully, that Chuuya will not be able to use his ability while carrying Dazai and you give him an agonized look.

Chuuya looks just as harrowed.

“This is going to suck.”

“Give me your blankets,” Chuuya demands, shivering violently once the two of you get Dazai up to your apartment. 

Luckily, the backup generators had come back on while the two of you were out so you didn’t have to walk up literally nearly forty stories to get to your apartment. The heat is still off though, so it’s freezing and you really need to change into something warmer, but you’re more concerned with the boy curled up beneath your covers, still breathing but still also concerningly slow.

“He’s not looking too good,” you say quietly, reaching out to pull the blankets tighter around him. You brush your fingers across his cheekbone, trying to see if he’ll stir at all, but he remains frighteningly still. “Do you think maybe I should call Mori?”

You don’t want to call Mori and you’re pretty sure Dazai wouldn’t want you to call Mori, but you think that if he doesn’t move or show some kind of life in the next ten minutes, you’re going to have to. As much as you don’t want to get the man involved, you want Dazai to die in your bed even less. You sigh as you take a seat at his bedside, pulling out your phone to try to figure out what exactly you should do if he’s hypothermic.

“Yo, I asked for blankets,” Chuuya says irritably, rifling around your clothes closet for blankets. “Where are they?”

“Downstairs,” you say dismissively, “I thought you weren’t staying.”

Chuuya’s shoulders slump as he scowls at you. “Only long enough for you to figure out if he’s gonna live,” he mutters and then storms downstairs to find blankets as you finally find a website that will load so you can figure out what to do with Dazai.

Be gentle. When helping someone with hypothermia, handle them gently. Only move the person as much as is necessary. Don't massage or rub the person. Vigorous or jarring movements may trigger cardiac arrest.

Move the person out of the cold. Move the person to a warm, dry location if possible. If moving is not possible, shield the person from the cold and wind as much as possible. The person should be kept in a flat position if possible.

Remove wet clothing. If the person is wearing wet clothing, remove it. Cut away clothing if necessary to avoid too much movement.

Cover the person with blankets. Use layers of dry blankets or coats to warm the person. Cover the person's head, leaving only the face exposed.

Monitor breathing. A person with severe hypothermia may appear unconscious, with no clear signs of a pulse or breathing. If the person's breathing has stopped or appears dangerously low or shallow, begin CPR right away if you're trained.

Supply warm beverages. If the affected person is alert and able to swallow, give the person a warm, sweet, nonalcoholic, noncaffeinated drink. Warm drinks can help warm the body.

Well, you think, he’s not conscious for a warm drink and Chuuya changed him into a warm pair of your thick sweatshirts and sweatpants. He’s piled under the blankets in your room and he didn’t go into cardiac arrest from the two of you jostling him out of the shipping yard and into your apartment, so you think the only thing really left for you to do is make sure he keeps breathing.

You can do that.

You turn your attention back to Dazai, chewing the inside of your cheek as you look down at him. You shift into a cross-legged position, hesitantly reaching out to touch his cheek. His skin is cold under your touch but your breath hitches when he finally moves on his own; you almost draw your hand back like you’ve been burned when you see his lashes flutter, but you don’t. Your lips part when he unconsciously leans into your touch, a soft puff of air escaping his lips as he shifts into a more comfortable position, pressing his face into your hand. 

You’re only snapped back to reality when Chuuya walks back into your bedroom, your fluffy blanket from the couch downstairs pulled entirely around him. He gives you a judgmental look, eyes drawing from where you’d very inconspicuously yanked your hand back into your lap before looking back up to your face and your cheeks heats up.

“I was checking his temperature,” you hiss, lying through your teeth. “Don’t look at me like that when you look like an egg.”

“Yeah, okay.” Chuuya rolls his eyes as he waddles over to you, sitting on the bed next to you as the two of you look over Dazai. “How is he?”

“Alive,” you say with a shrug. “There’s nothing else to really do but make sure he keeps breathing. Give him warm water to drink when he wakes up. You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

“It’s fine,” he replies awkwardly. “I’ll stay for a bit. Don’t want to go back so Ane-san can scold me anyway…”

You think it’s more that he feels guilty over wanting to leave Dazai out there while he was suffering but you don’t shatter the facade he’s putting up because if he feels bad, it’ll be easier for you to make him do the things you don’t want to do while he’s here.

“Yeah, she’ll probably be mad,” you agree, glancing down at Dazai again, some of your tension easing when you see that his chest is rising and falling a bit more steadily and much more deeply now. “I’m not happy with her.”

“Why?” Chuuya asks.

“What do you mean why?” you ask. “You know why.”

“She was just trying to look out for you,” Chuuya says with a frown. “She’s right, the Boss gets weird about Dazai. I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen it yourself but you haven’t been here the past year. I always thought it was weird that he never introduced Dazai to the Flags like he did for me but… I just don’t think he likes it when people get close to Dazai.”

It is weird, you won’t deny that, but it’s not worth leaving him out there to die. Plus… you remember the day you first met him, his excitement at having someone else his age around, his disappointment when he thought you didn’t like him… he’s just a boy, a lonely one at that, and Mori is cruel for trying to keep him isolated.

“I don’t care what Mori wants,” you say tightly. 

It’s a lie—the thought of doing something that pisses him off chills you to the bone. Your throat spasms as your mind is drawn back to the warzone he found you in; the way he’d give you small smiles and pats on the head all the while telling you that if you couldn’t get a hold of your ability, he’d send you back where you came from. The thought is cold and haunting, a constant reminder that if you can’t prove your worth to him he’ll discard you like a useless tool, but…

Your gaze drifts back over to Dazai, still shivering from where tucked underneath your blankets, but he looks much more comfortable. Much more at peace. You think again of the way he was so happy to meet you. The way he was so bothered by the thought of you not liking him. The way he constantly tries to seek you out even though Mori ensures that the two of you have opposite mission schedules. The way he so instinctively leaned into your touch. 

But maybe just this once you’ll do what you want regardless of Mori’s wishes.

Chuuya gives you a heavy side eye before shaking his head. “Wanna play cards?”

“... Yeah, sure.”

The first time Dazai wakes up, he’s not even coherent.

He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, doesn't know who you are, and is panicked over something. Chuuya had left hours ago once the two of you were mostly certain that Dazai wouldn’t suddenly die, going back to his apartment to face the wrath of Kouyou for disobeying her. You’re starting to doze off when you feel him jerk up next to you; he thrashes under the covers as he tries to free himself, nearly knocking you off of the bed.

“Dazai,” you gasp, startled. You shift around to try to get him to calm down and nearly end up with a fist to the face. “Jesus, Dazai, chill.”

You grab his hand and try to pin him down to the bed but it only ends with him thrashing harder, eyes wild, more panicked. You let go of his wrist and he scrambles away, tripping off the bed and onto the floor, yanking the blankets with him. You curse as you follow after him, kneeling on the floor next to him as he scuttles back into the corner like a frightened animal.

He looks… terrible, actually. His skin is pale and clammy, you think he must have developed a fever from the cold. He looks half delirious, his visible eye is glazed over and full of fear and your throat tightens as you lift your hands to try to show you mean no harm. Dazai doesn’t calm down, kicks his feet out when you try to get close and you sigh before stopping a few feet away from him.

“Dazai, calm down, it’s just me,” you say quietly. 

When he finally starts to calm down, you shift forward to place your hands on his ankles, stopping him from kicking out again if something sets him off. When he doesn’t immediately start thrashing under your touch, you take it as an okay to come closer. Scooting against the floor, you come to sit next to him, pressing your shoulder against his. Dazai instantly is leaning into you, body exhausted, head falling against your shoulder.

“We have to get you back up on the bed,” you tell him but you feel him weakly shake his head from where it’s resting on your shoulder. “We have to, Dazai. You can't stay on the floor.”

“Why are you here?” he croaks out. “... Why am I here? Is this your apartment?”

“You were going to freeze to death out there,” you tell him. “I-”

“But why? Why do you care? I don’t-no one cares so why…” Dazai doesn’t even finish the question, tongue loosened in his half-delirious state. He sounds distressed but more than that he sounds confused, like he can’t understand why you would go out of your way for him. Him.

“C’mon, Dazai, back in bed,” is all you say, voice quiet as you shift into a kneeling position, wrapping an arm around his waist to help him stumble back to his feet.

He’s light, but his limbs are awkwardly long so you stumble a bit when he leans his full body weight onto you, nearly tripping over one of his legs as you help him onto the bed. As soon as you get him situated, you reach back over onto the floor to grab the blankets he’d pulled off the bed and tuck him back under them.

His eye tracks you—big and black and empty as you leave his side to grab the chamomile tea you’d brewed when he finally started stirring thirty minutes ago. It’s not as hot now but it’s warm enough.

You sit at his side, shoulder pressed to his and back against the headboard as you lift the mug to his lips. He stares down at the mug for a moment, making no move to drink it, but then he lets his head fall on your shoulder again, pressing his lips to the rim of the mug.

You tilt the mug back, using your other hand to keep his head steady, watching as he takes a few sips before stubbornly turning his head away, pressing his face into your shoulder so that you can’t force him to drink anymore.

“You should take a few more sips,” you tell him quietly. “It’ll make you feel better.”

“No,” he says, voice muffled against your shirt. It’s only when he hears you put the mug back down does he finally lift his face. He still looks entirely out of it, but his gaze still somehow manages to take upon a more accusing look. “Why am I here?”

“I told you why,” you frown, side-eyeing him.

“Why am I really here? Did Mori tell you to come check on me? I don’t need-”

“I came because I wanted to,” you say as you become increasingly more irritated. “I’m not Mori’s lapdog. I do what I want.”

Dazai stares at you, more withdrawn now and an uncertain look in his eye. “But why?” he asks, a bit quieter this time like he can’t possibly fathom why someone would come for him because they wanted to. You almost want to reach down and grab his hand but you refrain. Instead, you knock the side of your head gently against his.

“I told you back when we met that I wanted to know you. Wanted to be your friend,” you say, honestly.

“You didn’t say that,” Dazai accuses, averting his gaze. “That you wanted to be my friend. You didn’t say that.”

“It was kind of implied,” you reply, rolling your eyes and that add a bit more quietly, “I do. I do want to be your friend. And friends look out for each other.”

Dazai’s entire expression shifts at your words, expression crumbling. Just as suddenly as his expression changes, he throws himself back into a laying position, turning away from you and lifting the covers up above his head to hide himself from you. You stare at him, unsure of how to take his reaction—a rejection? Or maybe he’s just flustered? He murmurs something that you can’t hear because it’s smothered by the layers of blankets on top of him.

“Huh?”

“I said that I’m allowing you to be my friend,” Dazai raises his voice, pitched and wobbly, like he’s trying to make it come across more snooty than it actually does. As if it’s a bother for you to want to be his friend. It’s almost funny but you can’t help the way you roll your eyes again. “Be grateful.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you say sarcastically, “for gracing me with this most honored title.”

You hear him sniffle and then sneeze beneath the lump of blankets. “It is an honored title. You’re welcome.”

You roll your eyes. Again. But you don’t respond this time, resigning to just leaning back against the headboard and grab the book you were starting before you’d started dozing off. You think maybe he might be right—it is an honored title. Dazai doesn’t have many friends, doesn’t let people get too close and certainly doesn’t let them think they mean anything to him. He’s very selective with the people he chooses to associate with.

“The next time you wake up, as your friend, I’m forcing you to eat some soup.”

You hear him grumble but you think he must be too tired to protest because he doesn’t even get any words out before you notice that his breath has evened out beneath the blankets. You sigh and pull them down a bit so that he doesn’t accidentally smother himself to death in his sleep, ignoring the small smile that twitches to your lips as you turn your attention back to your book.

The second time Dazai wakes up, he’s much more alert and entirely more difficult.

“You need to eat something,” you hiss, trying to wrangle Dazai up out of bed. “And you need to drink something, you’ve sweat so much that my sheets are soaked through. You’re going to be dehydrated and then you’re going to feel worse.”

“Go away,” Dazai shrieks, nearly smacking you in the face as he tries to push you away. “Go away, I don’t want your help, just let me go back to the shipping container to die. I don’t-”

“Oh, would you just shut up?” you hiss, taking the pillow he was laying on and whacking him over the head with it hard. Dazai flops back on the bed hard, staring up at the ceiling in disbelief. You raise the pillow again threateningly. “Get up and eat soup or I’ll hit you again.”

“You just whacked me with a pillow while I’m dying of fever,” Dazai says, voice riddled with shock. “I can’t believe you just-”

“Eat the soup,” you demand, winding back your arms again as you prepare to hit him again. 

Dazai gives the pillow a wary look before sitting up and scooching across the bed to the nightstand, staring at the now lukewarm soup with a contemplative expression. “Do you eat or drink soup? It’s liquid, isn’t it? Wouldn’t I be drinking the soup?” 

You stare at him flatly. “There’s carrots in it. You’re eating the carrots, so you’re eating the soup.”

Dazai’s face twists in disgust as soon as the c-word leaves your lips and you know you’ve made a mistake. Everything happens in a split second—you see him look at you from the corner of his eye, you see his gaze dart to the door, and you see his body tense as he prepares to make a break for it.

He doesn’t get more than an inch before you’re bringing the pillow back down on his head, sending him sprawling back down against the mattress with a loud ‘oof.’

“You can’t just beat me until I eat the soup,” Dazai protests loudly, disgruntled as he looks around trying to figure out if he can try to make another break for it, casting the pillow a wary look. Luckily, even if he is more coherent now, his brain and body are still sluggish from the fever. “You can’t.”

“Watch me,” you say, and just for good measure, you whack him with it again.

“Stop! I didn’t even move that time,” he cries out. “Now you’re hitting me just to hit me!” 

“You’re not eating it fast enough.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair!”

Dazai bristles like an irritated cat as he stares at you, but his shoulders slump as he drags himself back over to the nightstand. You’re almost insulted, honestly, considering you spent an hour trying to figure out how to cook it properly for him, but you simmer down when he lifts the spoon from the bowl.

He blinks suddenly, eyes wide and owlish. “This spoon is large.”

You stare at him. “It’s a soup spoon,” you say flatly. 

“Can I keep it?” he asks, twisting it around to look at it more carefully.

“No, Dazai, you can’t keep my spoon.”

Dazai pouts at you but then lets out a heavy, disappointed sigh as he gives the soup one last wary look before taking his first spoonful of soup. For a split second, you watch with bated breath to see his reaction to it, but then his face lights up as he spoons up another mouthful of the soup. You pretend that you’re not entirely pleased and smug that he likes the soup you made him, but you can’t help yourself from making a snide comment.

“So after all of that, you like it,” you say dryly. 

Dazai scowls. “I’m just hungry,” he disagrees, but his cheeks are flushed pink. “That’s all.”

“Sure,” you agree blandly.

“It’s true.”

You don’t say anything else after that, staring at the wall as Dazai scarfs down the entire bowl of soup because whenever you look at him, he stops mid-spoonful and waits for you to look away again. You think he’s ridiculous and want to roll your eyes, but you also can’t help the fondness that blooms in you as you pull your knees to your chest and wait for him to finish.

It’s not long before you hear the spoon scraping against the bottom of the bowl. When you look over at him, you see the frown on his face as he looks down at the bowl—as if he hadn’t realized that he’d finished all of the soup already. You nudge his shoulder with yours, drawing his attention away from the empty bowl. 

“There’s more in the pot if you want it,” you offer, watching as a conflicted expression crosses his face as he looks back down at the bowl. “It’s gonna go to waste if you don’t. I ate earlier.”

Finally, Dazai mutters, “Only because you’re forcing me.”

You give him a flat look but don’t say anything else, taking the bowl from him and making your wait out of the bedroom to the kitchen. It’s been a little over a day since you first got him in your apartment. It’s dark again, the moon high in the sky and stars glittering prettily—you pause at the towering windows in your living room to look up at the sky and you find yourself thinking of Dazai. 

Or, of his eyes that is.

When you hear people talk about Dazai, they mostly talk about his mass of terrifying feats. They talk about how he’s sixteen and already in command of one of the Port Mafia’s most elite combat squads, they talk about how he’s sixteen and rivaling the Colonel’s success rate on operations, they talk about how he’s on track to be the next promoted executive whenever there’s another opening. They talk about how his blood is blacker than anyone else in the upper echelon, they talk about how he was born to be one of them. You can never tell if they’re scared of him or if they admire him—probably both, and you think they’re probably more scared than anything. 

They also talk about his eyes. Eye. Whatever. Too dark, too emotionless, too dull. Soulless, hollow, creepy. They’re uncomfortable meeting his gaze—they say he’s inhuman, that only a demon could have eyes so hauntingly empty. 

You think they’re wrong, they remind you more of the night sky than anything else.

You love the stars. 

You sigh as you walk over to the kitchen and pour the rest of the soup into the bowl. You heat it back up in the microwave for a few seconds before bringing it back over to the spare bedroom where Dazai is staying. You think you’ve probably not been gone for more than two minutes, but by the time you’re back, Dazai is curled up beneath the covers again, dozing off. 

He doesn’t notice you enter the room and you watch him for a moment, tilting your head to the side as take note of the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his lashes flutter as his eyes droop shut. There’s still sweat beaded on his forehead, a faint flush over his cheeks that proves the fever is still running him down—you find your lips curving up, you think he’s much more pleasant when he doesn’t speak. 

He only jerks back awake when you take a few steps closer to him, eyes wild with panic as if he was surprised by your presence. He doesn’t seem to recognize you for a moment but when he does, he visibly relaxes, brows furrowing in confusion as if he didn’t realize he’d started falling asleep.

“You can sleep if you’re tired,” you say as you place the soup down on the nightstand and take a seat on the edge of the bed next to him. “I can heat up the soup later.”

Dazai stares at you with an unreadable expression, he looks like he wants to ask you something or say something but his lips remain sealed shut. After a few moments, he sits up silently and shifts into a sitting position. Your shoulders brush and his thigh is pressed against yours as he starts to eat the soup carefully again, slower this time.

Too slow, you realize almost a second too late when Dazai’s head lolls to the side and he nearly drops a whole spoonful of soup onto the bed. Luckily, you’re quick enough to grab the bowl and catch the spoon and soup before it hits the sheets. His head drops on your shoulder and that fondness in your chest starts to spread again. 

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Dazai so at peace before, and yes, it might be because he’s half dead with exhaustion, but you think it’s a welcome difference from the tight expressions you’ve seen from him when you happen to cross paths with him at headquarters. When he’s not Dazai Osamu, but the Demon Prodigy, the Black Wraith, cold and distant, intimidating and cruel, not a sixteen-year-old boy who dislikes carrots and has a fascination with soup spoons. You think back to his refusal to believe that you were helping him of your own free will and you can’t help but frown a bit.

You let him lay on your shoulder for a second longer than necessary before shifting him back into a lying position and tucking him beneath the comforter. You sigh as you take a seat next to him, back against the headboard as you pull out your phone to shoot a text to Chuuya so you can let him know that Dazai is doing better.

You yawn as you think to yourself that you’ll stay a bit longer—watch over Dazai to make sure he doesn’t get worse again before heading back up to your own room… but you find yourself sinking into the mattress, a bit too sleepy and a bit too comfortable…

Dazai feels better the next time he wakes up. 

He yawns as he shifts in bed to nuzzle into the thick blankets and soft pillows. He feels warm, comfortable, surrounded by a familiar and pleasant scent that leaves his defenses dangerously low. A bit alarmed by how at ease he feels, Dazai’s eyes fly open, trying to figure out where the fuck he is and why the fuck he feels so good.

He tries to sit up, but there’s a weight pressed against his side that makes him pause, so he turns his head to the side slowly, unsure of what he’s going to find. He freezes when he sees you propped up against the headboard next to him, fast asleep, neck turned at an uncomfortable angle.

“Friends look out for each other.”

At once, the past day or so comes back to him—most of it is a fog but he vividly remembers him waking up a few hours ago and you whacking him around with pillows until he got some soup in him. He finds his lips curling up into an amused smile as he looks down at you, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest that makes him feel almost… Dazai doesn’t dare to admit it. He’s never had someone take care of him like that before.

He sighs as he reaches out to shift you into a more comfortable position. Carefully, laying you down against the mattress and placing your head on the pillow where his had been resting. He pulls the covers over you and watches as you let out a sleepy hum of appreciation, rubbing your face against the pillow before settling back down into a deep sleep.

His hands drop back down to his lap and he stares at you for a moment, wondering if you meant what you said, wondering if you were telling the truth when you told him Mori hadn’t been the one to send you to check on him, wondering if maybe… 

Wondering if maybe you really did want to be his friend. 

Dazai doesn’t have many friends. He has Oda, but he pretty much forced himself into Oda’s life by almost dying on his doorstep—literally—so he doesn’t think that really counts. Chuuya… well, he pretty much coerces Chuuya into hanging out with him by antagonizing him into video game challenges, so he doesn’t think that really counts either. 

Dazai might not have any friends, actually. 

He decidedly doesn’t like the emotion spreading through him now. It's light and airy and it clings to his black heart dangerously. It blooms in a way that nothing should be able to bloom in the dark. It’s too… feels too close to hope and Dazai knows better than anyone that hope is a dangerous, dangerous emotion—one that he shouldn’t allow to take root in him unless he wants to be hurt in ways that he’s tried to carefully guard himself from.

He should leave.

He should leave now. 

He’s feeling better, there’s no reason for him to stay now that he can move around and think but…

But this bed is so much more comfortable than the floor of his shipping container… The sheets and comforter are warmer than the thin and ripped blanket he uses to cover himself at night… The pillows are so much softer than the clothes he props behind his head as a pillow. Dazai has never slept so well in his entire life—the nights that he is able to sleep are restless and plagued with faces he’d rather forget and voices that haunt him. This is the first time in… well, forever, that he’s been able to sleep peacefully, that he actually feels rested when he wakes up in the morning. The thought of going back to that metal box almost makes his body itch with discomfort. 

He’s just so warm and so comfortable and you smell so nice… and Dazai... for the first time in his life, he feels content.

As soon as Dazai is awake, he feels his eyes drooping back shut just as quickly, breath evening out again as he drifts back to sleep.

“So he’s just… living with you now?” Chuuya asks, baffled.

“I mean, I guess so,” you shrug helplessly. “He just… never left after we brought him there that day.”

Never left and brought his few belongings into the spare room he’d been staying in when he was sick, but you don’t add that part. Honestly, you don’t mind that Dazai has usurped your spare room—your apartment is too big for just you to be living in, you don’t mind the company after spending two years alone in Kyoto and Dazai is fun to be around despite the awful movie he picked on Friday and his terrible taste in food. 

Plus, you think it’s a bit of a much deserved, subtle rebellion from Mori, who has seemed to do everything in his power to make sure that the two of you never have time to interact with each other. You’re still not quite sure why he seems to be against the idea of you and Dazai becoming friends—probably something to do with a future plan of his, or maybe he really is just worried that you’ll distract Dazai from the carefully constructed path Mori has set him down—but you’ve decided that you like Dazai and you want to be his friend whether Mori likes it or not… which is saying a lot, considering you don’t think you’ve ever wanted something more than you want to impress Mori.

He’s not happy with you—you can tell by the disapproving stares and the disappointed comments that make you want to curl in on yourself, and you have a feeling that as soon as this conflict is over with, he’s going to send you right back to Kyoto, but that’s an issue for you to deal with in the future. 

For now, you’ll enjoy not being alone. Not having to watch your back and sleep with one eye open. Having people to rely on. 

Having friends. 

“And you didn’t tell him to get the fuck out?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you do that?” Chuuya demands. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“He lived in a shipping container, Chuuya,” you defend yourself, “and I have a spare bedroom, it’s not a big deal.”

Chuuya stares at you for a moment, gaze sharp and accusatory, and then his expression shifts into one of disgust. “No.”

“Excuse me?” you demand, baffled.

“No. No, no, no. No.” Chuuya shakes his head, taking a step away from you. “You need to see a goddamn shrink. There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

“Something wrong with me? What are you even talking about?” 

Chuuya doesn’t even respond, looking severely disturbed as he storms off in the opposite direction, leaving you standing there, perplexed and slightly insulted. 

“What’s the pipsqueak crying about this time? Is it his height or his terrible taste in clothes?” A familiar voice mocks from behind you. 

You brighten a bit at Dazai’s voice, feeling him hanging over your shoulder as he looks over to where Chuuya had left. His cheek brushes yours from how close he is—he has no concept of personal space, you’ve realized in the past few days he’s decided to make himself at home in your apartment, but you don’t really mind.

“Couldn’t tell you,” you answer. “Just ran off mid-conversation.”

Dazai clicks his tongue. “Stupid slug is always getting emotional about something,” he says. “Whatever. More popcorn for me. I finished my assignment early. Movie?”

“You’re not picking this one.”

“What? My movie was great.”

“Hah! If you say so.”

“I do say so, and I have another that you’re gonna looooove.”

“You will literally have to tie me down and clamp my eyes open to make me watch another movie of yours, Dazai.”

“...”

“... Stop looking at me like that.”

“...”

“Dazai!”

[rowdyluv]

Lies, Lies, Lies jh86

summary: in which Jack returns home after practice feeling better about the situation they had been put in, but it’s when explaining everything to Y/n she lets a big secret she’d held on to out of the bag.

word count: 2.2k

warnings: flashback insert, fluff -> angst -> needing, sad jack(?), use of y/n, profanity, nicknames, a lot of dialogue

notes: self protection (I made myself cry a little) the flashback is indented and italicized, pardon the wait, life has been a bit crazy recently. *see second note after fic*

© property of rowdyluv ; do not copy and re-upload as your own - anywhere. do not place my work inside AI codes, do not translate.

Jack pushed open the apartment door, the cool evening breeze whispering a gentle greeting as it trailed in behind him. The room was bathed in the soft glow of a single lamp, casting a warm halo around the soft figure curled up on the couch. "Y/n," he murmured, his voice barely disturbing the quiet, "you fell asleep on the couch again." Jack picked up the book that had fallen into the floor and sat it on the table.

Her hair spilled over the couch's arm, and her chest rose and fell with each peaceful breath. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of her, so peacefully lost to the world in her slumber. For a moment, Jack debated whether to let her sleep, but the looming shadow of the reality of how close the gala was weighed on him. The charity gala was a big night in itself, and now it’s even bigger for them.

He sat on the edge of the couch cushion next to her, his movements as delicate as a kitten. He didn't want to startle her. Gently, he touched her arm, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips. She stirred slightly, but didn't wake. He watched her intently, his heart skipping a beat as he contemplated the words he needed to say, how to tell her the convoluted plan that was constructed.

He leaned over slightly, reached up towards her face and barely ran the back of his fingers across her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, revealing a pair of sleepy pools that searched for understanding in the dimly lit room. She blinked a few times before finally focusing on him.

"Jack," she whispered, her voice groggy with sleep. "What time is it?"

“Hi there, sleepy girl. It’s a little after 6.” Jack chuckled as she jolted up in a seated position.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise and she pushed the mess of her hair back out of her face, and took a few moments before looking back at him trying to shake off the last vestiges of sleep. She met his gaze with confusion as his own gaze held nervousness? Worry?

Jack felt his heart race as he gathered the words that had been playing on his mind all day. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. "Y/n, I need to tell you something important."

The seriousness etched in his expression had her readjusting and she sat up fully, pushing aside the very old maple leafs blanket she hadn't realized she'd been using. It's a blanket from Jack’s childhood that typically stays hidden from everyone, but it’s one of her favorites in the apartment for when he’s gone. It permanently smells like him, no matter how many times you wash it. Or maybe it’s just her brain making her think it does, either way it’s now also her comfort item, not just his.

"Okay," she said, her voice soft and a little hint of a nervous tone. "What's going on?"

Jack leaned closer, talking softer as if someone else could hear him, his eyes never leaving hers. "You know the charity gala coming up? The one I've been telling you about?" He paused, watching for her nod before continuing. "I've worked with the PR team to settle everything." Jack kept his eyes on her’s,

“And this is one of the events I have to go to?” She asks hesitantly.

Jack nods solemnly before going into explaining the details of what was made up for them.

"Yeah," Y/n said, her voice barely above a whisper, "but I don't have anything to wear for something like that. I've never really... you know, done the fancy thing." She felt self-conscious suddenly, her eyes dropping to her worn out canucks t-shirt and leggings.

“Of course you have?” Jack asks incredulously. “You’ll go look at some dresses like you did for prom. Find one you like and I’ll pay for it. Just maybe don’t get prom fancy, you don’t need poofy princess. Something nice to go with a suit.” Jack smiled.

Y/n’s face fell. “Guess I walked myself into telling you now.” She murmured. “Jack, I didn't go to our prom. Truthfully, I didn’t do much of anything after you left in November.”

“Then why did Lu..” He started to ask but she cut him off.

“I threatened Luke with his life to not tell you the truth. I told him to stick to the story I had come up with.” Y/n ashamedly admitted.

Jack’s signature golden boy smile disappeared, and his eyes searched hers, then he searched her face, desperately looking for a sign that she was joking with him. He swallowed hard, feeling like a knife had been thrust into his chest.

"What do you mean you didn't go to prom? You were so excited every time we talked about it?" Jack shifted to sit on the coffee table across from her.

“It’s no big deal now. It can’t be changed, let’s not worry about it. What we should worry about is that I’m not really sure what to shop for?” It came out more like a question than anything.

Jack felt a twinge of anger, his mind racing with questions and accusations. He had missed so much of her life in those few months. He felt like he had failed her, like he wasn’t there when she needed him. She had told him time and time again that she had the perfect dress, the guy she had been crushing on asked her to prom, and that she was super excited about it all.

When did things change?

When did Luke decide that he could lie to him?

He took a deep breath, trying to push down the emotions that threatened to spill over. "Okay," he said through gritted teeth, “I’ll be back in a little bit. I just need to process this. Lukey keeping something from me, you? You lying to me…”

“What, Jack?” Worry filled her voice. Jack paused mid-step and turned to look at her. “I can explain. Ple-“

“I’m sure you had a valid reason for it. We can talk later.” Jack slipped his shoes on and walked out the door. He wasn’t sure why he felt the need to leave to clear his head for something in the past or why he didn’t just hear her out now, but he did know that he needed one person and that one person was states over.

Sitting in his car he took his phone out of pocket and absentmindedly dialed his mom’s number, it connected within seconds.

“Hi honey, how are you?” Ellen’s sweet soft voice sounded like a hug that he needed so desperately.

“Momma.” He gasped as if he had been holding his breath. “Can we talk? I don’t know what to say to Y/n without making the situation bigger..” Jack pleaded and Ellen sighed softly with a ‘mhmm’ of acknowledgment.

“I must say, it’s nice that you’re calling about something other than hockey troubles. But I wondered how long before you two would have your first argument.” Jack grimaced. Hating that he was upset with his best friend for lying to him when they’re lying to everyone else. “Okay, Jack let’s talk.”

“Mom, did you know she didn’t go to prom? Did you lie to me too? Or was it just her and Luke? Or oh my god… does everyone know but me?” He felt like a little preteen having a melt down over getting their phone taken away, but if she only knew. If anyone else outside of his parents knew what he went through accepting her apparent lie it wouldn’t seem that big of a deal.

There was a long silence except for some shuffling and a door closing on the opposite end before Ellen answered.”Yes.” An evident hard swallow from the mother came through the phone speaker. It was obvious she didn’t want to tell her middle son.

“I know this doesn’t make it better, but I didn’t know until it was too late to get you home. Your father and I decided it was best not to tell you what really happened because it wasn’t going to change anything.” Her voice was soft, an attempt to soothe the hurt she knew he was going to feel.

“It’s one thing if I couldn’t get home, but did you not think of how I would feel if I found out all the people I’ve always trusted kept something from me?” His heart pounding in his chest, a knot in his throat hurting so bad from holding back his cries.

“Momma you know..” Hiccup. “You know she’s it for me, always has been, if I could have done something to stop her from hurting, or, or-“ He was hiccuping trying to hold off crying now and Ellen cut him off.

“That’s just it honey, you couldn’t have done anything. Take a minute to think, how hard was it for you the days after you left home from visiting last year?”

“Pretty hard..”

“Exactly. But you had a job to do, a distraction from the turmoil. Y/n didn’t. She had school and nothing else. There were times she came over and we let her sleep in your bed. Yet instead of sleeping we just heard her cry. The next morning we would always find Luke asleep on the floor. He’d come crying to your father and I about what he needed to do, to be more like you so he could make her happy again. That is why Luke kept quiet. He wanted to be sure to help her, not make it worse. Honey, I’m not telling you this to hurt you worse than you are already. But if you’re truly wanting to know you have to start somewhere. This is the lift of the bandaid. It’s your job to rip it off.”

He sniffled. He hadn’t realized it but a few tears had fallen when his mom was recalling the events.

“Thanks mom. While I have you..could I ask you for a favor? Please.”

“Anything you need.”

“Can you come out to Jersey? If she’s never had the whole shopping for a dress experience and getting ready for something like the gala event, she’s going to want help. And I can’t do that? I don’t know how to do most of that.” He laughs awkwardly. “I know her mom won’t be able to and you would mean just as much.”

Ellen’s heart was so full at Jack’s request. He was feeling torn and broken from all of this evening, yet he still was putting her needs first. “Of course, I can arrange to come down on Friday and stay until Tuesday. Now, you need to go talk with Y/n before she starts calling me too.” Jack hears his dad laugh in the background and he shakes his head knowing it will happen.

They share their goodbyes but he can’t make himself get out of his car just yet. A million thoughts about what his mom told him, about what he doesn’t know vs the version he was told running through his head.

“So,” Jack says, dragging out the ‘O’ after having watched Y/n work on her homework over FaceTime. “Prom is coming up, eh?”

“Yup.” She answers by popping the ‘P’ not bothering to look up.

“What if I come home for a few days, I talked to management and they said I could go for it? We could go together, just like we had planned.” Excitement laced in Jack’s voice.

“Uhh, no need to waste money on a plane ticket. I have a date.” She finally looked up and met Jack’s gaze through the phone. “I’m going with Alex.” She smiled. “He asked me the other day after school. So really, no need Jackey.”

That’s when it hit him. He jumped out of his car and ran back inside to find her.

“I’m sorry!” He blurted out when he found her in the same place he left her. “I.. I should’ve known then you weren’t telling me the truth.” Jack pulled at his hair, before walking up to her taking the spot on the coffee table again.

“Fuck. Toots I’m so sorry. I’ve only ever been Jackey when you really really needed me and I missed it back then.” Jack’s voice was much softer. “If I had just really listened to you that night instead of thinking about how upset I was.”

He reached up with both hands wiping the tears from her cheeks, then pulling her down to cradle her head in the crook of his neck.

“I’m sorry toots. But please never keep something like your half from me either.” Jack pleaded. He received a soft squeeze in return and he was content with it.

She didn’t know how much he loved holding her or how right it felt for him to hold her in his arms, so he was not going to do anything that caused this moment to end. He could stay this way the rest of the evening.

authors note: hello! thank you for reading this after reading the fic. i had an ask sent in the other day that requested this series be turned into an AU. if this something others are interested in please let me know! thank you🩵

[sincerestlove]

My Angel (Part 2) - R.G.

hello hello! so sorry i've been gone for a while - kinda lost inspiration and energy to write, but i wanted to put this out! so here is part 2 :) let me know if you'd like part 3, which will likely be the last part.

Pairing: Regina George x Reader

Warnings: None; possessive Regina, oblivious, gay and pining Y/N, jealous and kinda crazy/obsessed Cady

hope you enjoy!

~

The next few weeks passed without much incident. Regina and I had been spending more and more time together, just the two of us - going shopping, trying new restaurants, sleeping over at her house. Some days, they almost felt like real dates.

Almost.

Halloween was coming up soon, and of course Regina decided to throw a party for our entire class. I was currently in Regina's room getting ready for said event - we only had a few hours before people would start showing up.

Regina looked gorgeous in her angel costume, finished with large, feathered wings. The costume was ironic, given her nickname for me.

Regina easily somehow convinced me to dress up in a matching devil costume, adorned with plastic horns and a pointy tail. I felt way out of my comfort zone in the outfit, but Regina insisted that I "looked hot", so I kept it on. Obviously.

Regina decided to do my makeup on top of it all, reassuring me that it wouldn't be too much, just a little to match the costume. I, once again, agreed, sitting in front of the vanity as she leaned over me. Her face was so close to mine, I could see the pretty colors of her eyes swirling together and the faint dusting of freckles on her cheeks. She looked absolutely breathtaking. I could feel my heart restricting in my chest by simply looking at her.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Regina teased, a smirk resting on her painted lips. I felt myself blushing, clearing my throat awkwardly.

"Nothing, I just...your eyes are really pretty."

Regina smiled, flashing her white teeth at me. "Aw. Thanks, angel." She leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, lips lingering for a few moments. "You're sweet."

I don't think I could've been any redder.

Regina finished my makeup in silence, tongue poking out from between her lips as she concentrated. After a handful of minutes she was done, leaning back to let me see myself in the mirror. It actually looked really natural, which I was happy about. Looking closer, I noticed a bright red lipstick mark on my cheek. "Leave it. Looks cute on you."

I nodded shyly, smiling to myself as Regina turned around, cleaning up her room a bit, as people were going to start arriving soon. Not that anyone was going to come up here. If anyone did, she would actually throw them out her window. "You ready to go downstairs?" She glanced over at me, ensuring that my costume sat in all the right places.

"Yeah, let's go."

As we made our way down, Gretchen and Karen were already here, waving at us excitedly. They both looked super cute in their costumes.

"Hi, Y/N! You look so good!" They complimented me sincerely, moving to fix my hair a little so it fell just right over my shoulders. I looked around for Regina, but she had already left the room, finishing last minute touches on decorations and food prep.

"So...cute lipstick mark." Karen teased me playfully, fingers poking into my sides. Gretchen smirked. I rolled your eyes at the pair's teasing, hand instinctively moving to touch the mark, making sure not to smear it.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up, you two." I flipped them off jokingly, allowing them to drag me into the living room to set up the playlist for the night.

As the sunlight disappeared, people began flooding into the house, music pulsing through the speakers. I still hadn't seen Regina since earlier, a sad pang thrumming in my chest. I was sure she was just being a good party host, but another part of me felt like maybe she didn't want to spend time with me.

Karen made sure I had a drink in my hand to sip on throughout the night, and after a good while I felt myself start to loosen up a bit. Karen pulled me into the middle of the room, dancing to a song I had heard on the radio a few times, but couldn't possibly name.

It felt nice to relax and have fun for once, not thinking about schoolwork or responsibilities. The song was almost over, when I faintly heard someone calling my name. I looked around confused, until my eyes landed on someone in an actual scary looking costume. The girl waved at me, taking out her fake teeth to smile at me.

It was Cady.

Yikes.

I waved back reluctantly, turning my back on her to see Karen already cringing. "Why is she here?" She whispered-yelled. I shrugged, genuinely not knowing. Regina definitely didn't invite her. Karen continued, "You should be careful, Y/N."

I looked at her, confused. "Why?"

"'Cause she has a huge crush on you."

I laughed nervously, glancing over my shoulder to see Cady trying to push her way through the crowd toward me. Fuck. "Really?"

Karen nodded, eyes looking at me with sympathy. "Be careful, okay? I'll be right back, Gretchen is bitching about Jason again. He brought some other girl with him." I didn't want her to leave me alone, but I reluctantly let her go, hoping that I could get away before Cady reached me.

I couldn't.

"Y/N, hi!" I turned around, almost jumping out of my skin at Cady's costume. She looked even scarier up close, dark makeup and fake blood all over her face.

"Hi, Cady."

"Wow, you look great tonight." Her eyes wandered along my body, an immediate feeling of discomfort rushing through my veins. I didn't like the way she looked at me.

"Um...thanks. Your costume is...cool."

Cady lit up excitedly, smiling from ear to ear. "Really? You think so? I actually made it myself." I nodded at her ramble, glancing nervously around the room to see if I could spot Regina. I didn't see her or her gigantic wings anywhere.

"Do you want to dance? I love this song." Looking back at Cady, I noticed she had moved closer to me. I stumbled backwards in shock, apologizing to a girl from my Geography class that I bumped into.

"Oh, uh...I was actually just going to use the bathroom. I'll...be right back." Shooting her a nervous smile, I shoved my way through the crowd, thankfully close to the stairs. I made my way up and into Regina's room, breathing a sigh of relief as the door shut behind me.

Was she always so...weird?

"Hey, angel." An unexpected voice spooked me, looking over at the bed to see Regina sitting comfortably on it, eyebrows raised at me curiously. She must've noticed my anxious state because she stood up and walked over, cupping my face in her hands. "You okay?" I nodded, falling into her arms, almost knocking her over.

I just needed her comfort right now. The interaction with Cady left a bad taste in my mouth, not to mention what Karen told me about her.

"What happened?" Regina questioned, quickly taking me into her embrace, her feathered outfit tickling my cheeks. I shook my head, not wanting to talk about it just yet.

"I couldn't find you." I decided to say, nestling further into her warm arms. The blonde cooed at me, running a hand down my back soothingly.

"I just needed a break from all the chaos, so I came up here for a bit." She sighed, resting her cheek on the top of my head. "I didn't think so many people would show up."

I scoffed at her, fingers digging into her sides playfully. "You're the most popular girl in school, of course everyone is going to show up to your party, Gina." The vibrations of her laugh reverberated through my chest, causing me to smile.

"Yeah, well, the only person who I actually wanted to come to this stupid party was you."

I blushed at that, looking up at her to see that she was already looking down at me. Comfortable silence filled the air around us both for a few minutes. "Why are you so nice to me, Gina?" I asked her softly, only a little bit scared of her answer.

The blonde paused, just looking at me. There was something in her eyes that I couldn't quite place, but it made my heart skip a beat. Several beats, actually. "Because you deserve it." She said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

For some reason, the response made tears well up in my eyes. The sight made Regina's heart melt, her hands reaching up to gently wipe the dampened skin, careful not to ruin my mascara. "How about we go finish the rest of this party, and you can stay over? I promise not to hog all the blankets this time."

"Yeah, I'd like that."

~~~

You smiled softly, boldly taking Regina's hand in yours for once, the pair of you making your way back downstairs. You weren't paying attention to anyone but Regina, never taking your eyes off of her, bright smile never leaving your face.

So much so that you didn't notice Cady lurking in the foyer, eyes filling with hate at the sight of you with Regina.

She left the party without another word, stealing one last glance at you. It should've been her holding your hand. Not Regina.

~~~

"Fuck, I am exhausted." Regina groaned tiredly, flopping into the large couch at the front of her room.

I followed suit, falling face first onto her bed, feeling my own tiredness lingering deep in my bones. The two of us, along with Gretchen and Karen's help, managed to push the last few stragglers out the front door. I made sure to call the two girls an Uber home, ordering them both to text once arriving back at home. Regina dragged me to her room once the house was locked up, the pair of us exhausted by the events of tonight. 

Clean-up was a problem for the morning.

"Y/N, you need to take that makeup off."

I grumbled in protest, feeling way too comfortable on the massive bed, the sheets flooding my senses with Regina's scent. "C'mon, sit up. Let me take it off."

"Fine." I complained, but did as she asked, sitting up on the edge of the mattress. Regina was already waiting, looking at me with soft eyes. She could tell how tired I was, my eyes blinking slowly. Luckily I had already changed into a pair of her sweatpants and t-shirt. 

"I'll be fast, I promise." The blonde assured and moved to carefully straddle my legs, gripping my chin in her left hand, makeup wipe in the other. I was far too tired and far too drunk to actually realize that she, Regina George, who I had a big, fat, lesbian crush on, was actually sitting on my lap, gently wiping the makeup off of my face.

"There, see? Done." She kissed my forehead sweetly, adjusting some pillows to allow me to fully lay down while she finished getting ready for bed. I wasn't sure how much time had passed, but the lights turned off eventually. The bed dipped beside me, Regina scooting closer to my side. She pulled me closer, adjusting me so that my head rested on her chest. Near her boobs.

Her boobs.

"G'night, Gina." I mumbled into her shirt, flinging a leg to wrap around her hips.

The blonde laughed lightly, holding me closer to her. "Goodnight, angel."

~~~

I woke up to a loud bang on the front door.

It startled me awake, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes to glance at Regina's large wall clock. The time read 1:23am. The house fell silent again, until the same loud bang resonated through the house. I could hear it even with Regina's bedroom door closed.

Speaking of, the blonde was still fast asleep beside me, arm slung around my shoulders. I gently removed her arm, slipping out of bed to go investigate the noise.

Was this a really stupid idea?

Yes.

But, I was also nosy and had a strong urge to protect Regina from anything and everything.

I grabbed my phone and put it in my pocket, moving slowly toward the door. I spotted Regina's old softball bat sitting in the corner of the room, decided that would be a good enough option to arm myself with.

The front door banged again. Fuck.

I took one last glance at Regina's bedroom door, choosing to keep it open. Gripping the cold metal bat between my hands, I descended the stairs, eyes flicking back and forth in case I spotted anything out of the ordinary.

"Open the door!" A loud, slurred voice yelled from the other side of the front door, my eyebrows furrowing at the sound. The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

"Helloooo?" The person called out again, fist pounding incessantly on the wood. Taking a step to the side, I peeked out the side window, stomach sinking through the floor once I saw who it was.

They were still clad in their Halloween costume, hair messy and eyes looking scarily glazed over. I don't even know if they realized where they were right now.

It was Cady.

My heart rate sped up, hoping and praying that she would just leave. "Y/N," She sing-songed, the sound sending an uncomfortable chill up my spine. "I know you're in there. I can smell that bitch all over you."

Bitch? Was she talking about Regina?

Cady laughed, sounding way past drunk. She was nearly falling over onto the pavement, knocking over the potted plants in the front yard. "Come out here, Y/N. You should be with someone better. You should be with me."

I took a deep breath, willing myself to speak. "Get the hell out of here, Cady. You're drunk." The redhead just laughed, moving back to lean against the door. She kicked it a few times, the sound making me jump.

"Let me in, Y/N. You can come home with me instead. That bitch doesn't even like you. She's just using you for attention - you follow her around like a lovesick puppy." Cady hiccuped before continuing. "She keeps you around just to make herself feel better. She doesn't give a fuck about you. You think I didn't see you two holding hands at the party? That meant nothing to her, just like you mean nothing to her."

I don't know why I was so emotional, but Cady's words stung my heart deeply. I began to question if what she was saying might have some truth behind it. Did Regina really not like me? Was she just using me all of this time?

The silence that filled the home was deafening. So much so, that I began to cry, sliding to the floor of the foyer. The softball bat clanked onto the marble floor, pulling my knees up to my chest like a child. I didn't know what was wrong with me, but every ounce of emotion that I had been holding in, seemed to all pour out at once. My feelings for Regina, my fears about how she felt for me and Cady being a total stalker weirdo, all coming out right now. So very timely. I'm sure all of the alcohol I had wasn't helping. 

Cady continued drunkenly yelling for me outside - I had to cover my ears to try and drown it out. I wasn't sure how long I was sitting there, but eventually, I heard footsteps running downstairs. Regina entered the foyer, a frenzied look on her face. She was looking for me, but kept her eyes on the door for a beat. "Y/N? Where are you?" She called out, eyes alert and quickly scanning the room. They landed on me curled up on the floor, tears streaming down my face. The blonde rushed over, hands resting on my shoulders. "Hey, hey, it's okay, I'm here. What is going on? Who the hell is that?"

Before I could even say anything, Cady pounded on the front door. "The queen bitch is here! Regina George!" Regina's eyes steeled, turning to face the noise. She grabbed the bat in her hands, standing up and marching over.

"Gina, don't!" I cried, fear bubbling up in my chest for her. I didn't know if Cady had some kind of weapon or something that could possibly hurt Regina. Just the thought of that terrified me.

The blonde stopped in her tracks, glancing over her shoulder at me. She sent me a reassuring, confident smile, that sent flutters in my chest. "Don't worry, angel. I've got this. I won't ever let anything happen to you." She gripped the bat tighter, flipping it in her hands. "Plus, that bitch made you cry. She's not getting away with that."

Without wasting another moment, she swung the door open. I scrambled to my feet and followed closely behind her, peeking around the door to see Cady, completely wasted. It was almost scary. She didn't look like a human being.

Regina fully squared her body to the redhead, raising the bat over her head. "Get. The. Fuck. Off. My. Lawn."

Cady simply laughed, acting as if she had no regarding or understanding of the situation. She was just talking out loud and to no one in particular. "Look here, one and all! The bitch is acting tough!" Cady turned to Regina, a scary looking smile on her face. "You don't deserve Y/N. Give her to me."

Regina's brows furrowed, eyes darkening - there was a look on her face that I'd never seen before. Regina looked genuinely scary. "Give her to you?" The blonde stalked closer, looking even taller than she actually was. Even from here, I could see the vast height advantage that Regina had over Cady. "Y/N is not my, or anyone's, property." Regina spat, moving closer with each sentence. Cady's face was slowly changing, her glazed eyes beginning to realize the grave mistake she made and who she was standing in front of. "She does not belong to me. She chooses to be here, she chooses to be around me." Cady began to walk backwards, almost tripping over the shrubs scattered across the lawn. 

"Me. Not you. You want to know why? Because I appreciate her, I adore her, I would to anything for her, I treat her with the respect that she deserves. You could never give her that." The blonde didn't stop advancing. "You think I haven't seen how you look at her? Like a fucking piece of meat?" She was in Cady's personal space now, stopping directly in front of her face. "You don't know a god damn thing about me, or her, or our relationship. You will never hold a flame to that. Ever." Regina clenched her hands, knuckles nearly white around the bat. "If I ever see you near me, Y/N, or my home again, I will fucking kill you. Don't speak to her, don't look at her, don't breathe the same air as her. You don't deserve to." Regina simply pointed in the opposite direction of the house before speaking one final sentence, voice dripping with venom. "Get. The. Fuck. Off. My. Lawn. Before I call the police and ruin your entire life."

Cady, with the fear of God in her eyes, stumbled off in the direction Regina pointed, thankfully not turning around or stopping. I let out a deep sigh of relief I hadn't realized I was holding, running out into the yard to Regina. She stood there with her shoulders slumped, breathing heavily. The bat slipped from her hands and fell onto the grass. "Gina!" I called out to her, nearly football tackling her to the ground. Luckily she steadied me, holding me snug to her own body.

She was shaking.

"It's okay, Gina. She's gone. It's over."

The blonde broke out into a sob, gripping onto my arms tightly, as if I would disappear. "I was so scared, Y/N. I woke up and you were gone. I heard the banging, and I thought the absolute worst." She cried into my hair. I rubbed circles into her back soothingly, reassuring her that I was safe, nothing happened to me, and everything was fine. I don't know how long we were standing there, holding each other.

It was something we both needed, I think.

"Come on. Let's go inside." The blonde nodded in agreement, taking my hands as we walked inside, together. Regina triple checked that the front door was locked before guiding us both upstairs and back into bed.

~

this is the end of the main storyline! i have a part 3 basically ready to go, which is basically just a time skip of y/n and regina's relationship.

i will be working through the rest of my asks in my inbox before opening requests back up again!

thanks again for reading! it means the world to me!