#just trying to figure out how to draw her
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
ᥣđ© WE WERE BORN SICK
FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: that sinking feeling that's been looming over you both has finally come to fruition. truths are revealed, questions are answered, but one big one remains: is love enough for you and dazai's relationship to survive this?
AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy fridayyyyy, i can't believe we only have one chapter left of civzai, it's actually makin me emotional </3 this chapter was quite a doozy to write, and i hope it's equally a doozy to read HAHAH no no jkjk , i hope you enjoy. also do u guys want to add an arcane au to the dazaiverse .. ive been thinking heavily about it. comments & reblogs appreciated
GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).
CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. angsty chapter. explicit depiction of suicide (past recollection of dazai), implications of past self-harm (dazai), very toxic thought processes at certain parts (dazai), past (and a bit of current) suicide ideation (dazai), manic behavior (reader).
SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST
âIâve been eager to meet you for quite a while. In all of the years Iâve known her, my little hime has never let something as trivial as a boy come between her and our work⊠I knew you must be special, but I never couldâve imagined just how special. Iâm so pleasantly surprised.â
Dazaiâs head throbs as he comes to his surroundings. Heâs laying in an uncomfortable bedâa hospital bed, he thinks, he can smell the unfortunately familiar scent of antiseptic, but the walls arenât the typical white heâs used to. He winces as he sits up, unable to recall where he is or what happened to him. Everything is too fuzzy, he remembers being with Fitzgerald, the car ride to the tea house, and-
And he remembers you.Â
He remembers you.
He lets out a shaky breath as he recalls the way youâd pulled him into your arms, cradling him close as soon as you got him back from Fitzgerald. God, he only got to be with you for what felt like a second. It wasnât enough time. It wasnât nearly enough time. You sent him off, he remembersâyou sent him with two of your subordinates, the weretiger and that freaky little girl, and thenâŠÂ
âShhh⊠Donât speak. I want to get this done and over with.â
The gun to his back, Atsushi and Kyoukaâs cries of shock, the baton to his head.
âNo can do, weretiger. On orders from the boss.â
His mind tracks back to the words that had been spoken as he was teetering on the edge of consciousness, mouth going dry and eyes widening as he becomes acutely aware of the other person in the room with him. His gaze flicks up to where a vaguely familiar man sits at a desk watching himâstraight chin-length black hair, inquisitive purple eyes, a long black coat, Dazai isnât sure where he recalls this man from but he knows that theyâve met before.Â
âWhoâŠâ Dazai asks, voice wavering as pain shoots through his head with every little movement. âWho are you? Have we⊠met before?â
His wrist hurts. His motherâs nails dig into his skin so deep that it draws blood, and he doesnât know whatâs going on. Heâd just been sleepingâis he still sleeping? He isnât sure. Heâs stumbling over his own feet trying to keep up with her, he keeps asking her whatâs going on but she doesnât answer him.Â
They turn a hall and his mother stops so suddenly that he slams right into her, nearly tripping over onto the ground. He doesnât even regain his footing before his mother is pulling him back the way he came, he looks over his shoulder trying to figure out what caused his mother to panic so badly and he looks atâa man?Â
Who is that?Â
Why is he coming from grandfatherâs room?
Is that-
Blood?
âShuji! Shuji, donât look back! Keep moving!â
Shuji? Whoâs Shu-
âI think you know the answer to that already.â Dazai is startled out of the memoryâwas that a memory?âby the manâs voice. He sounds amused, and from the way that his eyes are glittering, Dazai can tell heâs finding great entertainment out of this situation. It pisses Dazai off. âDonât you?â
âTane-chan, you know you wonât be able to hide him forever. Youâre just making this harder on yourself.â
Dazaiâs breath catches. He shifts backward on the bed to press his back against the wall. Everything is wrongâthe air is too cold, his bandages are itching, his head hurts, and he doesnât know whatâs going on. Who is Shuji? Why is he thinking of his mother after all of these years? And what⊠what was he remembering?Â
Memories of his youth have always been sparse and fleetingâhe can vaguely recall the faces of his siblings, the anxiety he felt around his grandfather, the lonelinessïżœïżœbut something like this⊠The panic on his mothers face, the pain in his wrist, the way she was dragging him around, the fear in her voice when she screamed at Dazaiâwas he Shuji? But then whyâto not look back, to keep moving. He would remember something like that. That would be⊠crazy to forget, right?
What is going on?
âYouâre Mori,â Dazai breathes out, clearing his throat. He hopes he doesnât look as disconcerted as he feels, but he thinks he must. âYouâreâŠâ
The leader of the Port Mafia.Â
The closest thing you have to a father.
So, how does Dazai remember him from years ago? It doesnât make sense. He couldnât have been older than thirteen, maybe fourteen in that memory. What did he forget? When did he meet him? Whatâs going on? Dazai wants to scream, his mind is still slow from just waking upâhe doesnât even know how long he was unconscious, it couldnât have been that long.
Moriâs smile widens as if Dazai just walked right into whatever trap that had been laid out for him, violet eyes flashing with a type of cruel amusement that makes Dazai sick to his stomach. Dazai has to circle back to remember what he just said, he needs to snap out of the daze heâs in. He needs to think. He made a mistakeâDazai made a mistake. He shouldnât have admitted that he knew Mori. That was a mistake.
How does he fix it?Â
Can he fix it?
âYou do know,â Mori says, like he didnât actually expect Dazai to admit that he knew him. Like heâs pleasantly surprised. Again. Like Dazai just made things much easier for him. Shit. âInteresting.â
Heâs going to use it against Dazai. Dazai knows it. Heâs going to use it against him to hurt you. He remembers everything heâs learned about your relationship with Moriâhow he pit you against that other girl, Yosano, to get results from you. And he already said it. He already said that Dazai is getting between you and your work, heâll do the same thing here. Heâll pit you against him.
Heâs going to tell you that Dazai knew who Mori was, and that Dazai is someone that heâs notâwho is Shuji? Why doesnât he remember his own name? Is that really his name? How does Mori know all of this? Who is Dazai?âand Dazai needs to be able to say something. He needs to be able to explain. How does he explain this when he doesnât even know whatâs going on? Dazai needs to remember; he needs to remember now, he needed to remember yesterday, because if heâs not the one to tell you this⊠If he canât explain thisâŠ
This cannot be happeningâit canât. Right when he thought everything would be okay, when he would be with you. His throat starts to clog as anxiety clouds his head and weighs on his chest, a panic attack that he canât afford right now. He needs to think, he needs to figure out whatâs going onâMori knows something about Dazai that he doesnât know himself, and heâs going to use it against him to drive a wedge between the two of you. Heâs going to tell you, and-
Dazaiâs world feels woozy. Why canât he remember? How does he know Mori? What was happening that night with his mother? He needs to snap out of this, needs to think, but he canât even breathe. Fearâthe mind killer.
âI donât know whatâs going on,â Dazai rasps, his voice is hoarse, and he feels sick, and he hates admitting that he doesnât know whatâs happening, but he needs Mori to believe it so that he doesnât tell you something thatâs not true. âI donât know how I know you. I donât-â
âYou might believe that,â Mori says amused, âbut will she?â
Dazai stares at Mori, his stomach churns violently and his vision swims as the answer becomes abundantly clear to him.
He doesnât know.Â
âââ
The gun in your hand weighs heavily.
You hid it in the inside of your blazer to get up to the conference room. No weapons are allowed up past the thirty-fifth floor unless youâre one of the Bossâs hand-picked personal guardsâeven executives are forced to disarm themselves before going up, but security is much more lax for the upper echelon. Because youâre youâthe hime, second-in-command, the Bossâs daughterâthe guards outside of the elevator that goes directly to the top floor wave you past the metal detectors to go on up.
A mistake.
(Who is Tsushima Shuji? It canât be Dazai. You know Dazai. Mori must be wrong.)
The smile on your face is bland and doesnât meet your eyes as you walk down the hall to the conference room attached to Moriâs office. You greet the guards, and they donât notice how off your demeanor is, too starstruck over the fact that theyâre being acknowledged for once. They also donât notice the way your hand is curled around the grip of your gun in your blazer.
A mistake.Â
(Mori is never wrong. Do you really know Dazai?)
When you reach the end of the hallway, you toss them one last brilliant smile. This one is a bit more genuine because youâve realized that youâve gotten through the top notch security of the upper levels of the Port Mafia headquarters without a hitch. That youâre one step closer to finishing this. Theyâre so blinded by the beauty of your smile that they donât realize your teeth have sharpened into knives and the floral perfume you wear masks a putrid bloodlust.Â
A mistake.Â
(Itâs always been odd, hasnât it? The way he approached you. The way he was so insistent on pushing himself into your life. You always questioned it. There was a sinking feeling that something wasnât as it seemed. Why didnât you question it more?)
You keep your back turned as you slip into the room. You can feel four presences behind youâKouyou, Piano Man, Chuuya, Ace. No Mori. No Dazai. Thatâs fineâyou have something to take care of before they show up anyway. The conference room is soundproof; Mori designed it that way because he didnât want the guards outside to overhear any discussion of sensitive topics. Even if he handpicked them for their loyalty, he understands that money can make the most devout manâs faith waver. Still, itâs not them rushing in that youâre worried aboutâitâs the people in the room with you rushing out, so you very carefully twist the nub of the lock and then reach up to fix the deadbolt. It wonât stop them, but it will slow them. You can feel their eyes on you as you make sure the door is locked, but none of them call you out for it or try to stop you.
A mistake.Â
(Mori always told you that the Tsushimas were like cockroaches. If they all werenât killed, one would eventually return to reclaim their grandfatherâs empire. Thereâd be a power struggle between the factions loyal to the new regime and the ones that still hid in the shadows believing that the Tsushima blood belonged at the head of the organization. Everything the two of you had built would crumble to ashes.)
You turn to make your way over to the conference table where the four of them are sitting. You havenât decided how you want to go about this yet. You donât know who all was aware of what Mori did, and because of that, you donât know who needs to die. Treachery has always faced a death penaltyâyou donât care if Mori ordered it, you donât care that the Bossâs word is absolute, you have bled and breathed for the Port Mafia. Youâve sacrificed everything youâve ever owned and wanted for the Port Mafia. You have made the Port Mafia into what it is today with your efforts abroad and at homeâforeign governments, foreign criminal organizations, the Japanese government and other domestic mafias, all of them are just puppets that you pull the strings of to ensure the Port Mafia stays on top. Treachery against you will face the same penalty one would receive if they betrayed the Port Mafia, because you are the Port MafiaâMori has made sure of that.Â
Chuuya and Piano Man share a look with one another as you approach the table. Neither of them say anythingâis it confusion? Is it guilt? Did they know? Were you the only one unaware of the schemes going on around you? Were you the only one loyal? The only one you could trust?
Did they know?
Did they know?
(No one could ever love you without your ability at work influencing them. Youâve known that since the very beginning, but you were so quick to forget that when you discovered Dazaiâs ability. You should have had more questions, you should have been more suspicious. Mori had been right from the very beginning. You were emotionally compromised. You were weak.)
Ace opens his mouth to speak.
A mistake.Â
âIt was nice meeting your-â
Aceâs head hits the conference table with a hard thunk, his eyes wide and glassy, his mouth open around the words you didnât let him finish speaking. Blood seeps from the bullet hole in his temple and pools around his head and the ground beneath his chair, staining the glass table and the white floors.Â
Instead of lowering your arm, you shift it so that the gun is pressed against Piano Manâs temple next. Chuuya says your nameâitâs awful, something caught between a gasp of shock and confusion, heâs never said your name like that before. Like he doesnât know what youâre doing. Like he doesnât understand you. Like youâre something unfamiliar. Unrecognizable. You ignore him anyway, and the pangs that come along with it, and instead, you keep your gaze trained on Piano Manâs face.
Heâs not as panicked as Chuuya, but you can tell that heâs just as caught off guard from the way his lips are twisted. He watches you carefully, waiting for you to say whatever youâre going to sayâif you were going to pull the trigger, you wouldâve done so immediately, he knows that. Heâs always been good at reading you, better than even Chuuya sometimes.
âDid you know?â
Your voice is steadier than you expect it to be. Cold almost. Distant. You donât recognize it yourself, you suppose itâs no wonder that Chuuyaâs staring at you with such a foreign expression. You watch him just as carefully as he does you. He has a tell when he lies: he squints. Not an obvious squint, just the barest hint of his eyes squeezing shut like heâs calculating exactly what he wants to say, in what tone and with what fluctuation he wants to say it.
A subtle tell, but a tell nonetheless.Â
âNo.â
He stares at you steadily as he says it. Thereâs no squintâheâs telling the truth. You donât let out a breath of relief, but you certainly feel the weight off of your shoulders. You lower the gun, satisfied with his response, and then you walk over to where Chuuya is sitting.
You donât raise the gun to his temple immediately. He looks up at you, you look down at him, a whole conversation is had in the silence between you, and eventually he lowers his lashes in resignation, telling you to do what needs to be done for you to feel more at ease.
Heâs always put others before himself.Â
You lift the gun at the same time he lifts his gaze to meet yours. He could activate the Tainted Sorrow and end this before it starts, but he doesnâtâyou know in your gut that if you pulled the trigger right now, he would accept the fate you delivered. Probably would take it as a better one than he deservedâit being at your hands rather than Arahabaki.Â
âDid you know?â you ask. The words taste bitter, rancidâthey donât belong there, Chuuya would never betray you, but you had to hear it from him.Â
Chuuya doesnât have many tells when he liesâheâs a good actor, much better than people give him credit for. If he wanted to lie to you, he might be able to get away with it. But he wonât lie to you, not when heâs looking you in the eye.Â
âNo,â he says, voice soft and raspy like he canât believe he has to say it.
You let the gun drop to your side. It weighs heavier nowâheavier than it did in the elevator, heavier than it did in the hallway leading to the room, heavier than it did when it was pressed against Piano Manâs head. You can hardly bear to keep holding it, but youâre not done yet.
Slowly, your gaze turns to Kouyou. Her expression is cold and unreadable, gaze pinned on you in the same way a lion stalks its prey through the tall grass⊠No, thatâs not right. She stares at you with the same look in her eyes that a snake does when itâs curled in a corner, rattle shaking and hissing to try to scare off the predator that has it trapped.
âYou knew,â you breathe out softly in disbelief. Your voice hardens and tightens as you repeat, âYou knew!â
Before you can raise your gunâbefore you can pull the trigger four, five, six times, before you can riddle her body with holes because how dare she know, how dare she know and not tell you after what the previous boss did to herâthe door that separates the conference room from Moriâs office opens, and your attention is drawn to the one person who caused all of this.
âOh my,â Mori says airly, looking between you, Aceâs body, and Kouyou with an expression that is frustratingly amused. âI see youâve been busy.â
You donât even know what to say to that. You almost want to laugh. You think you do laugh, actuallyâsomeone does, and you think itâs you, because you feel yourself walking away, you lift your hands to your head to tug at your ears in frustration. Your vision is blurryâare you crying?
âYou betrayed me,â you finally say, voice quieter than you intend, so you raise it as you repeat yourself. âYou betrayed me. You. Of all people I never thought you would be the one to-â
You canât even finish the sentence, your voice cracks over the words. It makes you feel sick, it makes you angry, it makes you want to crawl out of your skin, because how could he? To you? You donât know why youâre so angry, why youâre so betrayed. Mori has always made it clear that his priority is the Port Mafia, but still, to do this to you. To do this to his-
To his what?
Youâre not his daughter. You hate when people imply that you are, you hate being called hime, you hate being called âMiss Moriâ, you hate when people give you respect because of your perceived relationship to him.Â
Heâs the only father youâve ever known. Almost every decision youâve made has been with the motive of making him proud of you. When he seeks out your opinion specifically during meetings, your chest becomes warm with pride.
You donât love him. How could you? Look at what youâve become because of him.Â
Then why do you feel so betrayed? Why did you think he would be the last person to do something like this to you when you know the type of person he is? Why does your chest feel like itâs caving in? Like your heartâs been ripped right out of it? Why does this hurt as muchâwhy does this hurt more than Dazaiâs potential betrayal?
And he certainly doesnât love you. He never would have done this if he did.Â
Heâs killed people for disrespecting youâhe hardly ever gets his own hands dirty, but he does when itâs you and your dignity on the line. He spends hours meticulously picking out birthday presents that he knows youâll like. He gets sad when he invites you for lunch and you donât join him, reminiscing about the days where you clung to the back of his coat.
He touches your shoulder, and your finger twitches on the trigger of the gun. You want to lift it, press it to his temple and pull the trigger just like you did to Ace, but you canât. Your arm feels like lead, and when his hand slides down to your bicep to force you to turn around and face him so that your back is to the rest of the executives, you dutifully follow along.
His expression is unreadable as he looks down at you, violet eyes swimming with an emotion youâve never seen in them before. He lifts his hand to wipe away one of the tears that had spilled over your cheeks with his knuckle, and then taps your cheek twice, chiding you silently.Â
Do not cry here, little hime. Not here.
âYou have always been so dramatic,â Mori hums just loud enough for you to hear, but the words are fond, and the corners of his lip curl up as he looks down at you. âI would not betray you. Not ever, dear.âÂ
You look at Ace pointedly in response and then back to Mori, the man sighs dramatically and gives you a disappointed look. The nerve, you think bitterly, narrowing your eyes on him as you wait for his explanation.
âI told you,â Mori says. âI did this to protect you. I wanted to get ahold of the boy-â
âBecause you have some mistaken belief that heâs a Tsushima,â you interrupt coolly. âHow did you even manage to come up with that ridiculous theory?â
Moriâs eyes flicker with something akin to interest, but shifts quickly into pityâyou canât tell if itâs genuine or mocking, and you donât know which would be worse. He must be mistaken, he has to be. You donât think you can handle the implications of if he isnât, of what it might mean for you. For Dazai. Your whole relationship with him. How much was manufactured for him to get information about the Port Mafia? So he could get a foothold in the organization? Get in contact with the remaining loyalists to his family?
âSit,â he tells you, guiding you over to the seat at the right of the head of the table. âIâll explain everything, but first⊠Shuji-kun, why donât you come out and join us?âÂ
Your breath catches at Moriâs words, gaze twisting to the side over to the door that heâd come out of. You watch as the door creaks open, and the achingly familiar sight of his face finally comes into view. Youâve missed himâyouâve missed him, and you hate this. You should be back at your apartment with him, you should have him curled up in your arms, you should be listening to him complain about how long he was stuck with the Guild.Â
This shouldnât be happening. You shouldnât be sitting at the executive roundtable with Aceâs dead body a few feet away, and Dazai entering the room, questions of his identity, of whether or not heâs been using you for information and opportunity to take back his grandfatherâs legacy.Â
You hoped that Dazai would enter the room angry, irritated by the kidnapping and the accusations, but you donât think youâve ever seen Dazai look like this before. He looks a mess, fidgeting, brown hair matted to his forehead, dark eyes wide and swirling with emotion. When he seeks you out, theyâre pleading, imploring, like he already knows that whatever is about to be said is going to be bad for him.Â
He looks⊠frazzled. Nervous. Confused.Â
He looks guilty, and you know that Mori is telling the truth.Â
How much of this was a lie? All of it?
Your throat feels uncomfortably tight, gaze sliding from Dazai back to Mori.
âTell me.â
Who are you, Dazai Osamu?
âââ
Despite his body being wracked with a strange sense of guilt, Dazai pushes open the door to enter the room where he assumes youâll be waiting. Youâre not the only one there sitting at the tableâthereâs five⊠no, four othersâbut Dazai canât help the way he immediately seeks you out. He recognizes his mistake instantly. That highly unwelcome, and highly misplaced, guilt amplifies the moment his gaze meets yours and he sees how crushed you are by all of this. His face twists into something that he knows condemns himself more. and from the way you instantly look away from him, directing your full attention to Mori, he knows he has.Â
Now, you wonât meet his eyes at all.
Dazai sits stiffly across from you to the left of Mori. Nakahara Chuuya is on his opposite side, glaring holes into the side of Dazaiâs head, but he canât drag his gaze from you. Heâs never seen you like this beforeâeven back at the beach house when youâd been so close to breaking down under the weight of everything on your shoulders, youâd held yourself together as best you could.Â
Youâre unraveling now; he can tell youâre still trying to hold yourself together, but itâs as good as trying to pick up water with your fists, your emotions spill out through the cracks carved into the walls you used to hide yourself behind. Mori hasnât even begun talking, yet your breath is unsteady and your eyes are swimming with emotion; your fingers are still wrapped tight around the grip of your gun, and Dazai is very acutely aware of Aceâs dead body slouched over the table not even a few feet away.Â
And you wonât even meet his eyes.
Maybe itâs a good thing, he realizes, because Dazai isnât sure what you might see if you do. You clearly didnât like what you saw the first time. He just feels so guilty, and he doesnât even know why he feels guilty because heâs not-he didnât do any of what Mori implied. He didnât use you, he didnât know who you were before meeting you, it wasnât all some scheme to try to take over the mafia. Thatâs ludicrousâheâs a literature student at YNU, not some gang lord. He just-
He loved you. Loves you. No ulterior motives. No strings attached.Â
âI said tell me,â you snap when Mori doesnât immediately begin talking. âYou love talking, so why are you holding back now? Tell me, or Iâm leaving.â
Dazai feels a bit sick to his stomach when you say âIâ with no implication of taking him with you. He tries to get you to look at him again, silently pleading with you to just spare one glance in his direction, but youâre irritated now. He can see it in the way your fingers flex around the gun, knuckles whitening and finger twitching on the triggerâitâs pointed at the woman sitting next to you, who is very acutely aware of the fact from how stiff she is.Â
âDo you remember the night we took over the Port Mafia, dear?â Mori asks her, voice a low hum.Â
âWhat kind of question is that?â you answer tightly. Your lip curls up in irritation, Dazai can see you become more and more antsy and angryâheâs never seen you so out of control before. âOf course, I do.âÂ
âAnd you, Shuji-kun?â Mori turns his attention to Dazai and he wants to spit in his faceâhis name is Dazaiâbut his voice fails him when he sees the way your face twists at the sound of the unfamiliar name. He stares at Mori instead, hating how amused the man becomes at his silence. âIâll take that as a no, allow me to refresh you.â
âEight years ago, a coup was staged against your grandfatherâs regime,â Mori says, and Dazai feels like heâs being studied under a microscope. All eyes are on him nowâeven yours, but now, he canât bring himself to look at you. He doesnât know what heâll find, and heâs scared itâs going to be something he doesnât like. âYour grandfather was mad, killing civilians and mafiosos indiscriminately, something had to be done, and nobody was willing to do it, so we did.â
âWe had to wipe out the whole family, and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my ageâthe previous bossâs grandaughterâŠâ
Dazaiâs gaze drags over to you. Youâre staring ahead now, gaze listless and expression eerily blank like youâre slowly starting to realize what this means. Dazai hasnât come to terms with it yet, because if even a little of what Mori is saying is true thenâŠ
âWe wiped out the whole bloodline and as many loyalists as we could,â Mori continues, âor we thought we did, at least. My dear hime was who I sent to kill the heirs, I trusted in her to make it quick and painless. We didnât realize one of the grandchildren were missing until it was too lateâhe wasnât in his bedroom, apparently liked to wander around at night because he couldnât sleep. His mother was able to swoop in and get him out of the estate before our men took over the building⊠Tsushima Shuji, the youngest of the previous bossâs grandsons. Does this sound familiar yet, Shuji-kun?â
He has the best view of the night sky from an alcove on the fourth floor of the estateâhis grandfatherâs floor. Itâs where he likes to go when he canât sleep at night, and ever since his cousins and siblings started fighting over their grandfatherâs legacy, thatâs been just about every night: half because of fear now that things have started escalating to violence, half because heâs not even sure why heâs still here.
His knees are tucked tight to his chest, arms wrapped around them and head resting against the cool glass as he looks up at the stars. He hears a commotion happening somewhere downstairs, but thereâs always a commotion happening at the estate, so he thinks nothing of it. He submerges himself in the darkness instead, letting his mind float away as he stares up at the skyâitâs the only time heâs able to relax, escape from the shadows of his own mind.
Heâs not sure how long he sits there admiring the night, time passes immeasurably when heâs lost in the starsâheâs only snapped out of it when he hears feet slamming against the ground in his direction. He stiffens, eyes wide, wondering if another one of his cousins has finally turned to bloodshed as the way to inherit their grandfatherâs legacy, but instead his mother turns the corner, her smooth face contorted in a type of panic heâs never seen on her before.
âMotheâŠâ he starts to say, confused, but he doesnât even get a chance to finish the word, gasping as his mother grabs his wrist and yanks him off the cushioned seat in the alcove.
âShuji, we have to go,â she gasps, âwe need to get out of here. Itâs not safe.â
He stumbles after his mother, struggling to keep up with her quick pace and longer legs. Her grip was painful, nails digging into the bandages around his wrists, right into the fresh wounds they covered. He grimaces in pain, breathing heavy as he follows his mother down the hall, assumingly toward the steps near his grandfatherâs room.Â
âWhatâs going on?â he asks. âWhat about Bunji? Akane? T-â
His mother chokes over what sounds like a sob and his eyes widenâheâs never heard his mother cry before.Â
âThereâs no time,â she chokes out, âwe have to leave without them. We-â
They turn a hall, she skids to a stop and-
âIt seems that it does⊠Allow me to continue then,â Mori hums, drawing Dazai out of the memory. He sounds unbearably amused, and Dazai would be angry if he wasnât so shaken. He pulls his hands off of the table to rest them in his lap to hide the way his fingers are trembling. âYour mother was able to hide you from us for half a year, I warned her that she wouldnât be able to for long and since she didnât share your grandfatherâs blood, promised to spare her life if she gave you up to us, but she refused. She tried to take you out of the Kanagawa Prefecture, but our men were catching up to her, and she took⊠drastic measures to ensure we couldnât track you down. That Iâm sure you remember.â
âMother,â he whispered, staring up at the rope, her limp body, gaze trailing down to the kicked over chair. âMother, I donât⊠why did youâŠâ
He takes a step closer. A step back. Another step closer. He reaches out, fingers brushing the white nightgown sheâd worn the night before while getting him settled in bed, but he snatches them back instantly like heâd been burned, clutching his hand to his chest.
Heâs not breathing, he realizes when his lungs start to burn. His eyes sting painfully, unable to draw his eyes awayâunable to even blinkâis it a nightmare? Is he hallucinating? She swaysâsways like when she used to distract him when he was settling into a depressive episode by putting on music and forcing him to spin with her in the kitchen, sways like the wind chimes she keeps outside because the house doesnât feel homely enough without him, sways-
âShuji! Shuji, get away from there!â The voice that calls to him is familiarïżœïżœAunt Kiye? Why is she here? âGod, I tried to get here earlier. Nee-san, forgive me.â
Aunt Kiye grabs his wrist, yanking him away from his mother, dragging him out of her bedroom and down the hall. His voice is hoarse as he screams, he doesnât know what heâs screaming, if heâs even screaming anything intelligible. He doesnât stop until heâs out of the house and sheâs kneeling in front of him, shaking him out of his panic.
âEnough, Shuji! We have to go, we canât stay here, theyâll be here soon,â Aunt Kiye shouts at him, expression twisted and eyes pooling with tears that she doesnât let spill over. âWe need to go, and we-we need to change your name, change everything. I promised I would hide you, I-â
âWe canât leave her there,â he argues, voice shrill. âI donât understand, why did she do that? What did I do? It was my fault, It was my fault, wasnât it? It-â
Aunt Kiye doesnât answer his question. She looks bitter, angry, hateful. âWe have no time. We have to leave,â she whispers, dragging him to the car despite his protests. She continues talking, more to herself than to him, but the words make his chest cave in. âI told her not to get involved with that family. Their blood is black, cursed. Everyone knows nothing good comes from associating with those people.â
His fault, he realizes, breath becoming thin and shallow. Itâs his fault, his blood, his fault that his mother-
âYes, quite the unfortunate scene we walked into,â Mori says dismissively. âShe was smart for it though, she never wouldâve survived a night with our sweet hime interrogating her. You should see what she did to that despicable journalist. Of course, she wasnât as fine-tuned with her ability back then, but that wouldâve been at your motherâs expenseâher first few attempts at conditioning were quite⊠unfortunate for her test sub-â
âEnough,â you spit out, interrupting him. Dazai wants to believe that itâs because you can see how uncomfortable heâs getting, but heâs not even sure that you care. Heâs not even sure you remember heâs in the room. âGet to the point. You think heâs the Tsushima kid we missedâthat doesnât prove shit. It doesnât mean-â
You donât finish what youâre going to say, but you do look at him, and Dazaiâs breath catches when his gaze finally meets yours again. He canât tell what youâre thinkingâthe expression on your face is entirely indecipherable, something caught between being accusatory and guilty. Dazai doesnât know if heâs going to make it out of this room alive. Even if by some miracle, you decide to believe him, thereâs a good chance that Mori will order his death anyway, and heâs not sure if youâll pick him over the Port Mafia.Â
That being said, Dazai doesnât even know if he wants to make it out of here alive. His brain is fogged with memories that he locked so deep within him that they never shouldâve resurfacedâevery time Mori speaks, Dazaiâs recalling something new, something awful, something that proves that heâs every bit the freak people have always claimed him to be. Every bit as bad. Every bit as wrong. Not like other people. A monster whose mother killed herself because of him, a monster who's been cursed since the day he was born.Â
â... blood is black, cursed⊠nothing good comes from associating with those people.â
More than that, he doesnât see how the two of you are going to be able to come back from this, and that scares him more than anything. Youâre the only good thing left in his life, and he doesnât think heâll make it without you, but he doesnât think that after all of this things are just going to work out. You killed his siblings. His cousins. And yeah, Dazai was never close to themâthey thought he was too quiet, too strange, all of the things that the other students at school whispered, his family was the first toâbut⊠they were still his family, and if Dazai had been in his room that night, he wouldâve been just as dead at your hands as the rest of them.
You killed his family. You would have killed him. The Port Mafia is the reason his mother killed herself, the reason why he walked into her bedroom and saw her hanging from a fan. The Port Mafia is the reason his aunt hated him so much that she couldnât even bear looking at him, the reason why he was left to die in Suribachi City.Â
Would you ever be able to get over the guilt of that? Would Dazai be able to accept it? You had a heavy hand in ruining his life, is it enough that you saved him years later? He doesnât know, heâs hardly even processed it, he just knows that he has to cling to what little he has left, dig his nails in and not let go even if it makes you choke on guilt, even if it makes him sick with shame. He wonât let go.Â
âSo impatient,â Mori sighs. âYour aunt hid you for almost another half a year, but she wasnât able to move out of the Yokohama area. She did well though, Iâll give her that. We had our best trying to find you, but she was very careful. It was partially our own fault that we didnât get our hands on you back thenâsome loyalists to your grandfather snuck under our radar, told her when we were closing in on the two of you. She got rid of you before we got to her⊠but we did get to her. Kouyou-kun was the one who handled her, if I recall it got quite⊠messy. I canât imagine how it must feel knowing that your mother and aunt sacrificed themselves to protect you only for you to throw it all away in an arrogant attempt to reclaim your grandfatherâs legacy.â
Dazai doesnât even zero in on the last bit of what Mori says because heâs too busy trying to wrap his head around the rest of it. Aunt Kiye didnât⊠die for him. Aunt Kiye hated him. He remembers that clear enoughâhe remembers how she could hardly stand to look at him, he remembers the way she was always so cold and rough with him, he remembers-
âYou have to go, Osamu.â Aunt Kiye is shouting at him, and heâs sitting in the passenger seat of her car. He doesnât move, he thinks maybe if he sits still enough, she wonât see him there and wonât make him leave. âOsamu, get out of the car and go, we donât have time! Theyâve found us.â
The name is still unfamiliarâheâs not used to it, and he doesnât know if he likes it, but Aunt Kiye insists that Tsushima Shuji is dead and that name can never be uttered again. She gets mad when he doesnât immediately answer to it, tells him not to let his motherâs death be in vain, and thatâs usually enough to get him to stop being stubborn over it.
âOsamu, go!â She grabs his bicep hard to try to get his attention, but he flinches and squirms out of her grip, still not responding to her. He canât remember the last time heâs spokenâhe thinks maybe since they left the cabin that morning. âYou-â
Aunt Kiye sounds angry now, but he canât bring himself to look at her. Itâs only when he hears her unbuckle and feels her start reaching over him that he starts to panic. He reaches up to grab her bicep, trying to stop her from grabbing the handle of the door to open it, but sheâs stronger than him. Heâs hardly been eating lately, and heâs never been particularly strongâhe was always the smallest among his siblings.Â
It takes no effort for her to bat his hands away, pushing open the door and unbuckling his seatbelt. He struggles against her as she tries to push him out of the car, and sheâs still speakingâshouting at him, begging him, he thinks she might be crying too, but he canât even tell. His mind is fogged with panic and fearâhe doesnât want to be alone in Suribachi City, he doesnât want to be alone at all. He wants to stay with Aunt Kiye even if she hates him because he doesnât want to be alone.Â
Eventually, Aunt Kiye wins the fightâeven with him fighting tooth and nail, she manages to push him out of the car. He hits the ground hard, gasping when he lands poorly on his elbow. Heâs stunned for a moment by the shock and pain, and Aunt Kiye takes the chance to toss out a backpack from the back seat and close the door behind him, locking it quickly.Â
âNo!â His voice is raspy from lack of use over the past few months. He scrambles to his feet and tries to pry the door open but canât. Aunt Kiye wonât even look at him, she stares ahead as she switches the car into gear and he slams his hands against the window. âAunt Kiye! Aunt Kiye, donât leave me here! Donât leave me here, please, Iâll be better, Iâll do better, just donât-â
He stumbles back as she pulls the car away, falling when he trips over the backpack onto the asphalt, scraping up his hands and forearms. Heâs not sure how long he sits there staring after where the car disappeared waiting for her to come back for him.
She doesnât.
She didnât die for him, Dazai thinks again, nails digging crescents into his palm. She didnât die for him, she couldnât have. Dazai wonât believe it. Aunt Kiye hated him, she abandoned him in Suribachiânone of this can be true. It canât. His mother killed herself to be free of him, not to protect him; and Aunt Kiye abandoned him because she hated him, not to save him.
Thatâs the truth. It has to be. They couldnât have died for himâfor him. It doesnât make any sense. He doesnât want to remember all of thisâhe was better off thinking that they hated him, that they wanted to be free of him.
He can feel you looking at him now, but Dazai is back to being unable to look at you. Heâs staring down at the glass table looking at his reflection, his eyes are wide and dark and far too blackâhe looks warped, inhuman almost. His expression is blank, none of the turmoil within him is reflected on it, and he doesnât even understand why. He thinks itâs probably just making him seem more guilty.
âWe figured she left you somewhere in Suribachi City, but we werenât able to track you down,â Mori says flippantly. Dazai wants him to stop talking, but he has a sick feeling things are only going to get worse from here. âNot until you ended up with Oda Sakunosuke, at least, weâŠâ
Dazaiâs ears ring at his old friendâs name. Mori is still talking, but his words become a distant buzz. Everything starts coming back to him at onceâhis time alone in Suribachi City, the weeks he spent rationing the little food he had, getting the shit kicked out of him by some low rung gang who stole his motherâs ring from him. He remembers giving up, questioning the point of his own existence with a detached logic that left him with only one answerâthere was no point to his existence, so he was as good dead as he was alive.Â
He remembers seeing on a sign that it was the eve of his fifteenth birthday, and he remembers dropping himself in the bay during a storm, hoping that the tide dragged him so far beneath the surface that heâd never see the light of day again.
He remembers waking up the next morning to an unfamiliar face at his bedside, brows knit in disapproval and lips turned down, and he distinctly remembers feeling put out by a stranger looking at him that way.
âWhatâs your name, kid?â
Dazai couldnât remember anything but the name Aunt Kiye had drilled into him over and over again the past few months.
âDazai Osamu.â
âHm. Oda Sakunosuke. You got a family, Dazai?
Odasaku brought him in.Â
Odasaku saved him.Â
The doctors said heâd been dead for almost three minutes when Odasaku found him washed up on the beachâsaid his memory might return over time, but it might notâbut Dazai didnât even care, because Odasaku brought him in. He gave him a roof over his head, food to eat, and a reason to live. He sent him to school so he could feel like a normal kid his age. He played board games with him and didnât even care when Dazai was a sore loser and quit mid-game when he realized he wouldnât win. He humored Dazai when he faked being sick because he didnât want to go to school. When Dazai was going through bad depressive episodes, Odasaku would sit with him silently and write his book so Dazai never felt alone. Odasaku introduced him to Ango and they were-
They were his friends.
Family, maybe.
They were all he had, and they were all he needed.Â
And then-
âWe were the ones who killed him.â
Dazaiâs gaze drags up from the table to focus on Mori. The manâs lips are curved into a cruel smile, his eyes are sharp, and Dazai is moving before he can stop himself. He lunges across the table, but Mori doesnât even flinch because Nakahara Chuuya grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him back down into his seat.Â
âYou-â Dazai spits, voice raspy and angry.
âDonât look at me like that, we were trying to get to you,â Mori says casually as if the words donât shatter Dazaiâs entire world. âWe wouldâve loved to have Oda Sakunosuke amongst our ranks. His death was unfortunate. Collateral damage. He was an assassin for a long timeâone of the best in the world. He was pretty much unkillable, his ability allowed him to see six seconds into the future. I never understood how our sniper managed to get him that day, but now I do. He saw you getting shot with his foresight and tried to pull you out of the way, but your ability is nullification, so when he touched you to save you, he damned himself. In those split seconds when he was pulling you to safety, he couldnât see the future, and couldnât see the bullets aimed for you that lodged into his chest instead.â
Dazai canât do this anymore. He tries to push himself up to his feet but his legs are numb and uncooperative, and he canât move his hands or arms. Moriâs lips part to continue speaking but Dazai canât do this, he canât hear anymore of this. Heâd always known in his heart that Odasakuâs death was his fault even if he couldnât remember much about his mother and Aunt Kiye and their desperate attempts to hide him from the Port Mafia. Heâd known, but hearing it-hearing the confirmation, itâs too much for him.
Before Mori can say anything, Dazai is startled from his spiraling thoughts when you stand up so abruptly that your chair goes flying back. Your expression is haunted and youâre not looking at him again, but Dazai is glad for it, because he thinks heâs about to throw up.
âI⊠I need a minute. I just need a minute,â you say shakily before fleeing the room into Moriâs office so quickly that you almost trip over the chair you knocked over.
The room is silent in your wake, and after a few impossibly long moments, Mori stands to follow you into the other room. The three Port Mafia executives left in the room donât say anything for a moment, and Dazai is just trying to breathe. Heâs trying to breathe and process what Mori just said, but heâs failing miserably at it.Â
Itâs the woman, Kouyou, who speaks first.
âSheâs going to kill me for knowing about this,â she says simply, sparing a glance down at the dead body on her opposite side. âIâve never seen her like this before. Even when Chuuya-kun went missing for a few days, thisâŠâ
âWell, maybe you shouldnât have conspired against her,â Piano Man sings, looking entirely unperturbed. âI mean honestly, after what the previous boss did to you, I wouldâve thought youâd be more sympathetic. Silly me to think you arenât a cold-hearted bitch.â
Dazai tries to pay attention to what theyâre saying, he tries to ground himself with the conversation happening so he can forget the feeling of Odasakuâs blood all over his hands, staining his clothes, smeared on his face. He tries to replace Moriâs echoing words with what theyâre saying but he canât.
âWe were trying to get to you.â
âIt has nothing to do with sympathy,â Kouyou snaps, but she does look ashamed. âItâs a security threat, itâs bigger than love. This boy could spell the end of everything weâve built.â
âShe wonât kill you, Ane-san,â Chuuya finally speaks up, his knuckles are tight around the armrest of the chair heâs sitting in. âIâll talk to her, I just-â
âWhen he touched you to save you, he damned himself.â
âChuuya-kun, she almost killed you,â Kouyou says so dryly that the words almost donât even register to Dazai, but when they do, theyâre the only thing that effectively draws him from his spiraling thoughts. He looks at Chuuya sharply to see if what Kouyou said was true, and his eyes widen when he only grimaces and looks down. âYou and Piano Man. She didnât even hesitate before pulling the trigger on Ace. Sheâs unstable right now, thereâs no talking to her.â
âBut she didnât,â Chuuya says tightly. âIâll talk to her, but firstâŠâ
Chuuya looks at Dazai so suddenly that he almost wants to snap his head away and ignore him, but he canât. The ginger studies Dazai so intensely that it makes him want to crawl out of his own skin.
âDid you know?â Chuuya asks, voice low. Heâs angry, Dazai can tell from the way a dark red color starts to flicker around his hands, but heâs trying to keep it together. âTell me. Did you know who she was and use her to get closer to the Mafia for revenge? Iâll spare her the pain of having to put a bullet through your fucking head and kill you myself right now. Did you know who she was and purposely-â
âNo,â Dazai interrupts, voice hoarse. âNo. I didnât-I didnât know.â
Chuuya stares at him for a few seconds, studying him like he doesnât know if he actually believes him, but after what feels like an eternity, he finally shakes his head and looks away, rubbing his face with his hands.
âFuck, this is such a mess,â Chuuya breathes out, voice strained. âFuck. She-â
Chuuya doesnât finish his sentence because the door to Moriâs office reopens and you step back into the room, Mori at your heels. Your eyes are red, but your expression is withdrawn now, void of the tumultuous emotions that had been raging across it just a few minutes before. You settle back in your seat. Your eyes flit over Dazai like heâs not even there before focusing on Mori.
Dazai suddenly has a bad feeling.
âIâm not quite sure how you escaped us after that,â Mori continues where he left off, and Dazai is so sick of the manâs voice that he almost wants to rip his own ears off. âProbably Sakaguchi-san from the SDUP, I recall him and Oda-san being close⊠but that brings us to the present, doesnât it? Four years later, you stumble into our lovely hime⊠Come, dear, let me tell you my running theory, and you tell me how accurate I am, yeah?â
Mori is looking at you now, eyes glittering as he waits for your response. Dazai has his own serious issues with the man, but he thinks itâs sick the way heâs enjoying your clear discomfort and increasing distress. Your jaw tightens a bit, but you nod, signaling for Mori to speak. Dazaiâs nails dig into his pants as he waits for Mori to continue. Neither of you look at him, and Dazaiâs lips part to speak so he can preemptively deny whatever Mori is about to accuse him of, but he canât push a single word out.Â
âYour first meeting with him wasnât by chance. A cafe, maybe⊠a bar?â Mori offers, watching your face carefully for a reason. You look away at the second option, and the manâs lips curve up. âA bar, then. One you frequent, I bet. The one in Hodogaya-ku, perhaps? Your first meeting, but not Shuji-kunâs first time seeing you. Ui Koutarouâhis journalism professor at YNUâwrote his first article implicating the Mori Corporationâs connection with the Port Mafia in February of this year, around a month before rising fourth year students register for classes. Shuji-kun, naturally, has been following anything related to the Port Mafia closely, so when he sees a class being offered in the fall by the same man who has been openly targeting the Port Mafia, he sees an opportunity and signs up for the class.â
No, Dazai tries to say. His lips form the word, but the sound doesnât come from his lips. No. No, no, no, no. You look haunted suddenly, and Dazai remembers the argument he had with you during the government event in Tokyo. How cold and withdrawn youâd become. How when he confronted you next, you accused him of working with Ui Koutarou and blackmailing you for money. Mori is reigniting all of the initial fears you once had.
âUi-san has had his sights set on you for quite a while, dear. You donât need me to tell you that, youâre very well aware of the manâs hatred of you⊠When Shuji-kun started classes in the fall, Ui-san roped him into his plans, and you became his project. That wretched man had many documents on you. I had the Black Lizards raid his apartment after we captured himâmost were harmless, detailing places you frequented and people seen around you, but when Shuji-kun became involved, he started using that information to manufacture meetings between you. I imagine that after you met him that first time, he started appearing around you rather regularly. Bump-ins at that cafe you like in Minami-ku, on the streetsâhe even started renting an apartment on property that we own after he realized the opportunity he had with Ui⊠heâs only been living there since the summer, you know?â
His last apartment wasnât close enough to the school, Dazai wants to argue desperately. Heâd been lucky that a cheap apartment opened up in Hodogaya-ku before the semester startedâheâs been trying to get one since his first year. It has nothing to do with-
Dazai suddenly feels nauseous again, everything is spinning around himâhe still hears Aunt Kiye screaming at him, he still hears the creaking of the rope his mother hung himself on, he still hears Moriâs confirming that Odasakuâs death was his fault. And now this, and youâre not looking at him again, and heâs not saying anything, why isnât he saying anything? Why isnât he denying this?
âHe attached himself to you quickly, didnât he?â Mori asks rhetorically. âToo quickly, Iâm sure you had doubtsânot even your ability makes people reliant on you as swift as he became. How long did it take for him to start prying for information? Trying to make you slip up and implicate yourself with the Mafia? Confess yourself as an ability user?â
The night of the earthquake when you showed up at his apartment, he remembers dizzily. He started pressing you on your political opinion because he remembered Ui saying that all of the criminal syndicates in Japan are going to do whatever it takes to prevent the military bill from passing. But he wasnât⊠doing it to prove anything? He just wanted to know more about you, he was curious, he was finally putting the mystery that you are together. It wasnât maliciousâhe just wanted to know you. Thatâs all it ever was, heâs only ever wanted to know you.
âWhen did you tell him about your ability? More about our organization? Around when the Guild started making their move in Yokohama, Iâm sure. He never told you about his ability until his hand was forced. In fact, Iâm willing to bet he lied and said he didnât know he had one, but tell me, do you really think an assassin of the caliber of Oda Sakunosuke would not realize his ward had an ability that negated his own? That he wouldnât be trained in how to use it⊠Most importantly, if all of this wasnât a scheme of revengeâif he really did love youâthen why did he never get rid of the flash drive that contained the proof that his journalism house published? The proof that got you thrown in prison?â
Youâre crying.
Dazaiâs throat swells when he sees the tears silently tracking over your cheeks. At once, he realizes that heâs never seen you cry before; he itches to reach over to you, to grab your hand or wipe away the tears. He doesnâtâpartially because he doesnât think he could move if he tried, but mostly because he knows that heâs the reason youâre crying.Â
He wants to assure you that none of this is true. He had nothing to do with the Guildâthey kidnapped him for fuckâs sake. He didnât know about his ability, he didnât even know Odasaku was an assassin. And he was just⊠careless with the flash drive, and he shouldnât have been, but there was always so much going on, and he was so new to having someone in his life that really loved him that he was quick to bask in it and forget everything else.
He doesnât assure you of anything, instead he watches as Mori reaches out to do what Dazai wants to do. He brushes away your tears and turns your face to look at him, a disgustingly sympathetic look on his face.
âI know you were eager to believe that someone could love you without your ability at work influencing them, dear,â Mori murmurs, âbut people like us will never find a love that pure. There will always be other factors at work sullying itâwealth, revenge, threats. You understand now what this was, donât you?â
No, Dazai wants to scream at you. He does love you, this wasnât some ridiculous revenge plot for family he hardly remembered until this meeting, that-
âI do.â
Dazai finally is able to make a noise when those two words leave your lips. Itâs weakâsomething caught between a wheeze and a whimper that sounds too loud in the silent room. He feels eyes on himâChuuya and Kouyouâs in particular. Not yours. You stare down at the table.
âOgai-dono,â Kouyou clears her throat. âIf I may⊠perhaps we could⊠send the boy away. Abroad. Ensure he never comes back to Japan so we donât have to risk him coming back and disrupting things.â
âWe could give him a seat at the table,â Chuuya interrupts, ignoring the wide-eyed look both Kouyou and Piano Man give him because of the radical idea. âWeâre down an executive anyway. We tell people who he is, that he supports the new regime. Itâs what you wanted to begin with, right, boss? You wanted one of the grandchildren to legitimize the passing of power. We could make it work.â
âItâs too risky.â Mori isnât the one to speak, Piano Man is, but he doesnât look happy to do it. âMaybe back then it couldâve worked, but the Port Mafia killed his friends and family, and hunted him down. Too much has happened, heâs an unpredictable variable that we canât risk. We canât trust that heâll just accept it all, that he wonât work behind the scenes to take us down. Giving him any leverage in the organization is the last thing we should do, but what Kouyou-â
âLeave him alive and we risk everything weâve built falling apartâa civil war igniting, Yokohama being caught in the crossfires and all of our foreign enemies crawling into the city to reap the benefits of our fall. Itâs one life or hundredsâthousands, even,â Mori interrupts, voice cool. He turns his gaze onto you. âI trust you know what has to be done, dear.â
Your expression is resolved, a heavy emotion in your eyes that tells him your answer before you even speak. âYeah, I know.â
You stand up, and Dazai knows that itâs over. When you look down at him, itâs with a type of apathy that makes his stomach twistâheâd rather hate than nothing. His lips part to speak but he pauses when you shake your head slightly, so subtly that he almost doesnât even notice it.
âGet up,â you say flatly, and then glance at Chuuya. âChuuya, will youâŠ?âÂ
âYeah,â Chuuya replies without you even needing to finish the question. His voice is hoarse, he looks more than a little disturbed. âYeah. Of course.â
Chuuya rises to his feet and then grabs Dazaiâs bicep to pull him up to his feet too. Dazai doesnât even have the heart to give him a dirty look in response, following along as he leads him out of the conference room and into the hallway.Â
For a split second, Dazai really believes that maybe youâre just trying to fool Mori, you made him think you were taking Dazai to have him killed so that you can get him out of here safely, but even once youâre out of the conference room without Moriâs eyes carefully watching you, you donât look at him.
âGet one of the clean up crews up here,â you tell one of the guards waiting in the hall instead as you frown at your phone, typing out a quick text to someone. You pointedly ignore how alarmed they are by the offhand comment to click on the button to the elevator.
When you look back at the two of them, itâs not to look at Dazaiâitâs to look at Chuuya. The two of you are having a conversation, Dazai can tell that much, and he thinks that maybe he should be putting in the effort to figure out whatâs going on, what you have planned, but heâs just⊠tired. Heâs not even sure if he cares what happens to him anymore, and he figures the worst case scenario is that he dies at your hands, and of all of the ways he could go, he thinks that would be the most preferable, because at least you would be the last thing he saw.
He doesnât try to speak again until the three of you are in the elevator and the doors have closed.Â
âI-â
âStop.â
Dazai is startled by the sharpness in your voice. He looks at you, but youâre still not looking at him, your lips are curved down as you stare at your phone, typing furiously. He glances up into the left corner of the elevator, noticing the camerasâmaybe thatâs why, he thinks a bit unsurely, deciding to stay quiet until out of the building.Â
When the elevator doors open, itâs Chuuya that urges him to keep walking by nudging his shoulder. You donât touch him, donât look at him. Thereâs nobody in the main entrance of the building, which Dazai thinks is a bit odd, but he bites back any comments he might have when he sees a black car waiting outside the building.
The doors to the building open at your approach, and Dazai inhales the crisp, fresh air greedily, not even having realized how stifled heâd felt in that room with Mori, you, and the other Port Mafia executives. He thinks maybe that youâll sit in the backseat with him and heâll finally be able to talk to you, but you donât. You open the door to the passenger seat and sit there without even sparing him a glance.
Dazaiâs throat starts to swell again, stopping in his tracks as he stares at where you disappeared behind the car door. Chuuya pushes him forward, not letting him linger for longâhe opens the door to the backseat and pretty much manhandles Dazai into the car before taking a seat next to him.
He recognizes the person at the wheelâAlbatross, your friend. Heâs driven you and Dazai around before, every time Dazai gets in the car with him, he makes a sharp comment aimed to embarrass you in some manner. This time, he doesnât even look at Dazai through the rearview mirror. He just puts the car in gear and starts driving.
A pit starts to form in Dazaiâs stomach. Dazai tries to initiate conversation with you again now that youâre outside of the Port Mafia headquarters within closed quarters, nails scraping against his pants as he decides what he wants to say.
âI d-â
âStop.â
When you cut him off now, Dazaiâs stomach flips. He stares at the side of your face, trying to understand why you wonât even listen to him. You canât actually believe what Mori was saying, you canât. You were faking him out, tricking him into thinking you fell for itâyou had to be, you have to be. You canât possibly believe him.Â
âYou wonât⊠even hear me out?â Dazai asks you quietly.
âThereâs nothing left to say.â
Oh, Dazai thinks to himself, withdrawing. He stares at you for a moment before turning away stiffly, expression tight and strained as he stares out the window, watching the buildings pass by as they get closer and closer to the ports.Â
You believe it, he realizes dully. You believe that it was all just a scheme. You believe that everything was manufactured, that he used you for some fantastical revenge plan, that he never loved you. You believe it.
But it doesnât make sense, he thinks desperately. He doesnât understand how youâre not seeing through it, and if you are, why arenât you at least giving him some hint? He should try to say something againâhe knows that, but he finds himself unable to. Heâs a smooth-talker, quick on his feet, but never when it comes to youâsince the day he met you, heâs been fumbling over words awkwardly, but now itâs costing him everything. He finds ash in his mouth preventing him from salvaging anything he mightâve had with you.
Dig your nails in and cling, he reminds himself, but his nails have become rounded out and blunted from how long he was scratching at his pants and skin while remembering all those memories he locked away. He tries to dig his nails in and cling, but his voice fails him and his nails canât even find purchase on your skin, you slip out of his hands as easily as an eel.
Heâs going to lose you. He mightâve lost you already.
Dazai thinks thatâs worse than the realization that he really might be about to die.
The car comes to a stop much quicker than Dazai had hoped, and he stiffens when you waste no time before getting out of the car. He makes no move to join you outside, and Chuuya sighs next to him.
âGet out,â Chuuya says flatly. When Dazai doesnât budge again, Chuuya snaps, âGet out of the car-â
â-and go, we donât have time! Theyâve found us.â
Dazai draws his knees to his chest, breath becoming a bit labored as his auntâs voice echoes in his ears. He doesnât even realize that Chuuya has gotten out of the car until Dazaiâs car door is pried open. For a split second, he confuses the executive with his aunt as heâs yanked out of the carâheâs fourteen again and being abandoned by the only person he has left, and he can just barely bite back the âdonât leave me here!â that almost spills from his lips as his knees hit the ground hard.
Dazai is instantly hit with a thick scent that makes him gag. Itâs noxious, almost entirely unbearable, clogs his throat to the point he almost struggles to breatheâa blend of rot, acrid chemicals, and something he doesnât recognize, but itâs sickeningly sweet. As he pushes himself to his feet, he notices you pass your gun over to Chuuya, but in that moment, Dazai is more concerned with figuring out where he is, and when he does, his stomach drops.
The dumping grounds by ports stretch endlessly under the heavy, overcast sky. Mounds of trash rose like grotesque hills patched with scraps of torn plastic and suspicious lumps that Dazai doesnât have to get close to know what they are. The ground is uneven and treacherousâa mix of sticky mud and sharp shards of discarded glass and plastic, and pools of murky water shimmering with oil slicks.Â
Itâs disgusting, and Dazai has a feeling it might be his final resting place.Â
He trails over to the side of the road and his gaze tracks down to the ground directly below him. Itâs not a far drop, hardly a foot or two, and certainly less gross than some of the other parts of the area, but thatâs a low bar to meet. He tears his eyes away from the scenery around him to look back at you, lips parted to speak but he doesnât say anything.
Youâre leaning against the front of the car, watching him with an expression that Dazai canât describe. Sad, maybe, resigned. Chuuya is back in the car, from what Dazai can tell, he's still fiddling with your gunâhe wonders if this is his way of letting the two of you say goodbye in private.
âI do love you,â Dazai says. His voice cracks over the words. âNo ulterior motives. No schemes. I just loved you. Love you.â
You donât say anything for a moment, eyes drawing from him somewhere over to the side like youâre looking for something, but after a moment, you look back at him, your face a little softer than it was before.
âI know,â you tell him quietly. âI know, Osamu.â
Dazaiâs lips part to say something backâhe doesnât even know what he wants to say, because confusion fogs his mind. If you know, then why-
Why are you doing this?
He doesnât get the chance to ask. The car door opens and Chuuya steps back out, he passes your gun back to you and Dazai sees you subtly slide something into his hand too, but he canât tell what it is. You sigh as you look down at the gun before looking back up at him again, he holds his breath as you make your way closer to him.
His lashes flutter shut, expecting to feel the cool barrel of the gun against his forehead, but his breath hitches when he instead feels the familiar warmth of your hand cradling his cheek. Your fingertips are flaked with Aceâs dried blood, but Dazai still leans into your touch, eyes sliding back open to look at you.
Up close, your expression is twisted with regret and⊠is that fear? Dazai canât tell, he doesnât care, heâs more preoccupied with memorizing the image of you before he runs out of time to.
âForgive me,â you whisper so faintly that Dazai almost doesnât hear you.
âI do,â he replies just as softly.
Your face crumbles as you look away. You take a step away from him, and your hand drops down from his face. Dazai instantly mourns the loss. You let out a heavy, shaky breath, sparing one last look down at the gun in your hand, one to Chuuya who stands half a step behind you, and then you look at Dazai again.
âForgive me,â you say again, this time as you lift the gunâyour voice is raspy, breath uneven.
Your fingers tremble so violently that the whole gun is unsteady, but Dazai doesnât even care to look at it, gaze focused on your face instead.Â
âI do,â Dazai repeats.
You pull the trigger.Â
393 notes
·
View notes
Text
reaching out [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]
synopsis: just one moment out of very many of tennis!h pining over y/n before they teamed up.
word count: 5.5k
contains: enemies to lovers, pining h, angst, abusive parents, mentions of physical abuse, tennis rivals, fluff
a/n: very first tennis!h blurb omggg - i missed my babies so much!! For those who don't know, this is a blurb for my tennis!h series which you can read here !!
. . .
Harry stretched his legs, working his calf muscles, as people settled into their seats in the stands. Today was a big day, one that had drawn a large crowd, but he paid them no mind. Performing in front of a big audience never shook Harryâs confidence. When it came to tennis, his focus was entirely on the game.
It was the county cup semi-final. Harry had competed in the same event last year, finishing in second place behind Henry Waver, who took home the gold before heading to rehab a month later for using performance-enhancing drugs. Harry had come a long way since then, and he was determined to make it to the final and claim first place.
Some might have thought Harry no longer needed to compete in these smaller events, given his path toward qualifying for the Olympics, but he couldnât stay away. Maybe it was the rush of winning, or perhaps the quiet focus that settled over him when the game beganâjust him, his opponent, and the swift rhythm of the ball being hit back and forth between them.
He walked over to his bench, some people cheering as he walked onto the court. He was wearing all white, a towel around his shoulders and his racket bag hanging from his shoulder. He reached for his water bottle, pouring it into his mouth.Â
His eyes scanned the growing crowd, but there was no sign of his parentsânot that he had expected anything different. He caught a glimpse of Mitch chatting with a few girls from their year group on the stairs, but Harry's focus shifted immediately to the center of the stands, only to find it empty.
A frown tugged at his lips, the first sign of emotion since this morning. He glanced around, searching for the one person his heart longed to see, but before he could spot her, his coach clapped him on the back.
"Remember what we worked on yesterdayâdonât overstep the baseline and make sure to follow through," his coach muttered, his tone more routine than encouraging.
Harry barely registered the words. He shrugged off his coachâs hand, distracted. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he mumbled, his mind still preoccupied with trying to figure out why she hadnât shown up yet.
The opposing crowd erupted into cheers as Lionel Boyce stepped onto the court, raising a hand to acknowledge their applause. Harry barely spared him a glance. He had crossed paths with Lionel plenty of times in his tennis journey and knew the truth behind the polished exteriorâLionel was an arrogant opportunist, desperate for sponsorship deals.
Harry took a swig of water, his grip tightening on the bottle as he set it down and reached for his racket. The game was drawing closer, but the empty seat in the center of the standsâthe one he had been watching all afternoonâremained vacant. His chest tightened at the thought of someone else filling it. He wasnât sure how heâd play with a stranger sitting there instead of the person he was hoping for.
The umpire climbed into his seat, and the announcement for the gameâs start echoed across the court. Harry felt a firm pat on the back from his coach as he stepped forward.
âGo show him what youâre made of,â his coach said with a nod.
The crowd erupted as Harry walked onto the court. Most of the cheers came from the Crestwood supporters, and while it wasnât the loudest reception, it was enough to steady his nerves.
Across the court, Lionel sauntered into position, basking in the applause. Harry couldnât stop his eyes from rolling as Lionel flashed his best grin to the crowd. He didnât miss the way a group of girls in the front row seemed to swoon, whispering excitedly among themselves.
The umpire adjusted the microphone and cleared his throat, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, play shall begin. First setâHarry Styles to serve."
Harry stepped into position at the baseline, gripping his racket tightly. As always, he raised it and pointed toward the center of the crowdâa ritual that steadied his nerves and granted him good luck for the game.
But this time, his breath hitched.
There she was, sliding into the seat heâd been watching all afternoon. Y/N.
Her eyes found his almost instantly, and for a fleeting moment, the world around him fell awayâthe roaring crowd, the pressure of the match, even Lionelâs smug presence on the other side of the net. It was just her, sitting there with that familiar stoic expression.
A small smile tugged at Harryâs lips. She was always like this at his matches, focused and intense, watching every move with the same concentration as if she were playing herself. Her unwavering focus sent a spark of determination surging through him.
He adjusted his stance, exhaling slowly as he prepared to serve. With her gaze burning into him, he played to win the entire thing.Â
. . .
Mitch had thrown a party to celebrate Harryâs victory over Lionel, just as he always did whenever Harry won anything. It was a tradition Harry had grown fond of, even though he often found himself dreading the expectation to win every time he played. Victory wasnât typically celebrated in his worldâit was expected. But his friends? They always found a way to make a big deal out of it, and Harry appreciated that, even if the attention wasnât his favorite part. Being around his friends was.
Harry stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of something he couldnât identify. Mitch was across the room, chatting animatedly with Sarah. Harry was pretty sure Mitch had been infatuated with her ever since sheâd transferred to Crestwood four years ago. Watching them, he wondered if Mitch would ever work up the courage to act on it.
He couldnât help but glance around, hoping to spot someone else. He knew Sarahâs best friend and roommate might be here, too, but there was no guarantee. Unlike Sarah, who thrived on Crestwoodâs social gatherings, her quieter counterpart was more selective about where she spent her evenings.
âHi, Harry.â He turned to see Astrid approaching, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her skin glowing with a fresh tan from her recent holiday in the Maldives. Heâd only known about it because his mother, after scrolling through Facebook, couldnât resist mentioning it during their last phone call.
âHey, Astrid,â Harry said with a polite smile. He didnât mind her company, but unlike most of the guys in their year, he didnât feel attracted to her in the same way they did. Sure, she was stunningâlegs for days, an effortless smileâbut their shared interests barely went beyond tennis and the fact their parents were friends. Friends who, annoyingly, had been dropping hints about the two of them dating for as long as Harry could remember.
âCongrats on the win. You were amazing out there,â she said, her voice smooth and practiced.
âThanks. I heard you did well at the Championships the other week,â he replied. He hadnât actually seen her match but knew through their coach that sheâd won.
âYeah, Iâm hoping to qualify for the Australian Open,â she said, her grin widening.
Harry nodded, letting the conversation drift until his gaze caught somethingâor rather, someoneâin the living room. His heart skipped a beat.
There she was.
Her smile lit up her face, radiant and warm, eclipsing even the moonlight streaming through the large windows. Her hair spilled to one side, leaving her neck bare, and she was wearing a sleek black maxi dress paired with chunky heelsâan outfit so out of the ordinary for her that it was almost disarming. Harryâs eyes lingered on her longer than they should have, but he didnât care. Heâd been hoping sheâd come.
His smile faltered when Adam appeared beside her. Harryâs stomach tightened at the sight. He knew Adam had a soft spot for herâheâd admitted as muchâbut assured everyone he wasnât looking for a relationship. Still, seeing them together made something uneasy churn in Harryâs chest.
âHarry?â Astridâs voice snapped him back to reality. He blinked, realizing he hadnât heard a word sheâd been saying. She followed his line of sight and spotted Y/N. Her tone shifted, tinged with something that wasnât quite approval.
âOh, Y/Nâs here,â Astrid remarked flatly. âIâm surprised afterâŠeverything.â
Harryâs head whipped toward her, brows furrowed. âWhat do you mean?â
âYou didnât know?â Astrid asked, her surprise seeming genuine. âOne of my friends was at the Country Club a couple of weekends ago. She got lost trying to find the bathroom near the pool and overheard her dad yelling at herâapparently for getting a bad grade on her report card. She said he slapped her.â
Harryâs stomach dropped, cold fury replacing the unease. âHe what?â
Astrid shrugged, completely unbothered. âIâve always thought her family was messed up. My dad had a horrible experience at their Country Clubâalmost sued them after Mom got food poisoning there.â She kept talking, but Harry wasnât listening anymore.
His attention snapped back to Y/N, watching her closely. Something was different. To anyone else, she probably seemed the same, but Harry knew her too well. He noticed the way her fingers twisted together, fidgeting nervously. Her smile, though bright, didnât quite reach her eyes. Her makeup seemed heavier than usual; she rarely wore much or applied it sparingly, but today, it looked as though she was trying to mask somethingâmaybe a shadow or imperfection on her cheek, though he couldnât be sure.
Harryâs hands clenched into fists at his sides. If what Astrid said was true, there was no doubt in his mindâheâd track down her father and make him regret it in ways that didnât bear sunlight. But first, he needed to talk to her, to make sure she was okay. The problem was, Harry knew her well enough to realise she wouldnât just open up if he asked. They werenât even friends. In fact, Harry was pretty sure Y/N didnât like him at all.Â
It wasnât really a surprise, considering how theyâd metâand the fact that heâd spent most of his days tormenting her just to get her attention. It was childish, he knew, but it was easier than admitting how much he actually cared. And he did careâmore than he should, more than she probably realised. Beneath all the teasing and arguments, she mattered to him. So, if she was hurt, none of that other stuff mattered. He just needed to make sure she was okay.
When Harry saw Adam walk away, he seized the opportunity to sneak in. As if she could sense his presence, Y/N looked up, her smile immediately fading, and her jaw tightened. Harry couldnât help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. There was something exhilarating about her reaction, the way she shifted from neutral to visibly irritated, even if it was driven by nothing but disdain for him.
âIâm surprised you were willing to show up, love,â he said, his voice carrying the familiar, mocking tone.
Y/Nâs eyes flashed with irritation at the nickname, her posture stiffening even further. Harry had always loved calling her thatâit was almost like a reflex, especially since she absolutely hated it. He relished in the way she bristled, every time.
âNot so willingly, as a matter of fact,â she shot back, her arms folding across her chest. âIâm only here because Sarah wanted me to come.â She still hadnât taken a sip from her drink, Harry noticed, as if it were some kind of shield between them.
âExcuses, excuses.â He clicked his tongue with a grin, leaning casually against the edge of the table. âWhat did you think of the match?â
Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by his question. âYou care what I have to say?â she asked, a slight edge to her voice.
âNo,â Yes. he replied, his eyes gleamed with a spark of challenge. âBut I know youâve got something to say anyway.â
She gave him a wry smile, the faintest hint of a laugh on her lips. âWell, it wasnât one of your best, thatâs for sure. Your tracking was terrible. You were lucky Lionel cared more about his appearance than his technique.â
Harry couldnât suppress the chuckle that escaped him. He knew she wasnât wrongâtracking had been off, and Lionel had certainly played a little too carefully. The dig was unsurprising to say the least but he took it all on board.
âYou always have such charming critiques, donât you?â Harry smirked. âShould I be worried about your career in commentary?â
Y/Nâs replied, the sarcasm was back in full force. âOh, I donât know. Maybe Iâll just stick to calling it how I see it. You wouldnât last five minutes with me in your corner, would you?â
Harry leaned in a little closer, their banter familiar and comfortable despite the tension. âYouâd be too distracted by my charm to focus,â he said with a grin, savoring the challenge in her eyes.
Y/N scoffed but couldnât entirely hide the small smile tugging at her lips. âRight. I think youâd find me too busy pointing out all the flaws you refuse to see.â
âSounds like a good time,â he replied smoothly, his grin widening.
She rolled her eyes but didnât look away, the intensity between them palpable in the silence that followed.
âSo,â Harry started, the tone shifting slightly, more serious, âwhat else? What else did you think of the match?â He genuinely wanted to knowâpart of him knew her critique might actually help him. But the other part of him just liked the way she made him think.
Y/N seemed to hesitate for a split second, the walls she kept up around her cracking just enough for him to notice. âYour footwork was off, too. You were slow on some of your returns, andââ
Harry laughed, cutting her off. âI thought you said you werenât a fan?â
Y/N raised an eyebrow at him. âIâm not. But Iâve watched enough matches to know when someoneâs not giving it their all.â Her gaze flicked to his eyes, sharp and clear. âAnd I know you can do better.â
Harryâs smile faltered, something unspoken passing between them, something that felt almost like respect. He had a feeling she wasnât just talking about the match anymore.
âWell,â he said after a beat, straightening up, âI guess Iâll have to show you just how much better I can be, then.â
Y/N didnât answer right away, her lips pursed as if she were weighing her options. Finally, she shrugged, that same familiar look of defiance in her eyes. âWeâll see.â
Harryâs eyes lingered on her for longer than he intended, âWhat about you?â He took a sip of his drink.Â
She frowns, âWhat about me?â
âI havenât seen you training recently,â He said.Â
Y/Nâs expression faltered, her eyes flashing with something like hurt or fear. âI havenât had time.â
âWhat do you mean? I donât think Iâve spent a day where I havenât seen you on the court.â
âI donât want to talk about it.â
Harryâs brows furrowed as he studied her. There was something about the way she shifted on her feet, the subtle way her fingers tightened around the cup in her hand. It wasnât the first time heâd sensed something was off, but hearing her say she didnât want to talk about it made his curiosity spike. It was rare for Y/N to hide anything, especially from him. Heâd spent enough time observing herâdissecting her every reaction, every wordâto know when something wasnât right.
âY/N,â he said quietly, leaning forward, his voice losing its usual teasing edge. âYou know you can talk to me, right?â He almost regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Not because he didnât mean them, but because he knew she wouldnât believe itânot after everything.
Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Harry thought she might brush him off entirely. Instead, she let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. âYeah, right,â she muttered, not meeting his eyes. âSince when?â
He didnât have an answer for that. She was rightâhe had never given her much reason to trust him. But right now, as much as it pissed him off that she was shutting him out, he couldnât help but feel... protective. There was something going on with her, something more than she was letting on, and it was like a switch had flipped inside him.
âY/N,â he repeated, his voice softer now, âIâm not gonna push you, but if somethingâs going on, you donât have to go through it alone. You know that, right?â
Her eyes finally met his, and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw a crack in her tough exteriorâa flicker of vulnerabilityâbut it was gone in an instant. She shook her head, her gaze hardening.
âIâm fine,â she said, though her voice lacked conviction.
Harry didnât buy it, and he didnât think she expected him to. He knew he was on dangerous territoryâone misstep, and no doubt she would lash out at him for putting his nose into business that was nothing to do with him. But something in him refused to let this go. He couldnât just sit there, watching her shut him out.
âCome with me,â he said, motioning for her to follow him, the command in his voice surprising even him.
Y/N glanced at him, confused, her arms still crossed defensively. âWhat?â
âIâm taking you outside,â Harry said, already standing and grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He could tell she was about to protest, could see the hesitation in her eyes. He couldnât help but feel a surge of somethingâdetermination, maybe, or a mix of things he couldnât quite name. âYou need a break. Youâre tense as hell, and I donât like seeing you like this.â
She opened her mouth to argue, but Harry cut her off. âTrust me. Itâll be good for you.â
For a moment, Y/N seemed like she might just walk away, but then she sighed, as if giving in to the inevitable. âFine. But donât get any ideas.â
Harry smirked, fighting the urge to laugh. âNo promises,â he teased, already walking toward the door.
Outside, the late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the empty tennis courts. Harry tossed her a tennis racket, watching as she caught it awkwardly. He was doing this for herâfor whatever was weighing on her, for whatever had her retreating behind that wall. He wasnât sure if tennis was the right call, but it was something he knew they both shared, something that might bring down some of her defenses.
Y/N raised an eyebrow. âYouâre serious about this?â
âDead serious,â Harry replied, stepping onto the court. He grinned at her.
She hesitated before stepping onto the court, but when she did, Harry could see a flicker of something else in herâthe tension in her shoulders loosening, just a bit. She wasnât fully on board yet, but the corners of her lips twitched upward, and that was something.
They began to rally, hitting the ball back and forth with the kind of casual ease that came from years of practice. Y/Nâs form was sharp, fluid, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed, as he always was. But it wasnât just the way she played that had him captivated.
It was the way she laughed.
The sound was light, unguarded, a sound he hadnât heard from her in so long. It was like the weight of everything had lifted for a moment, leaving behind only the carefree side of Y/N he rarely got to see. She had a natural smile, the kind that reached her eyes and made them sparkle with a mischievous glint. Harry couldnât look away.
Her laughter filled the air, echoing across the empty courts, and for a fleeting second, everything felt right. Harryâs heart skipped in his chest as he watched her, the way her eyes shone with a genuine sense of freedom. It wasnât just the way she looked in that momentâit was how she felt, and how much he wanted to be the reason she smiled like that.
His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He had always known he had a thing for herâhe didnât even try to deny it anymore. But this was different. He wasnât just in awe of how she looked, or the way she challenged him to be betterâhe was infatuated with her.
The thought hit him hard, and he tried to push it aside, to focus on the game. But with every smile, every laugh, Harry found himself falling deeper, in a way that he couldnât control. There was something about herâthe way she made everything feel effortless, the way her presence seemed to fill up the space, making everything more vibrant. She was everything he wasnâtâbold, unafraid, untouchable in some ways. And Harry was starting to realize how much he wanted to be the one to reach her.
When Y/N hit a particularly good shot and spun around with that radiant smile, Harry felt a flutter in his chest. He swallowed, his throat tight, and for a moment, he wasnât sure if he could handle being this close to her without completely falling apart.
âYouâre not half bad,â she teased, breathless from the rally.
Harry grinned, the praise warming him in a way he hadnât expected. âI know. You should be honored to play with me.â
Y/N rolled her eyes but couldnât quite suppress the grin tugging at her lips. âYouâre insufferable.â
And there it was againâher laugh, the way she made everything feel lighter. Harry caught himself smiling at her, not the cocky, playful smile he usually wore, but something more sincere. Something that spoke volumes of how much he was starting to feel for herâhow much he had already felt.
They rallied for another few minutes, the sun dipping lower as the evening air turned cooler. But Harry wasnât paying attention to the time, or the way the game was unfolding. All he could focus on was the way her hair caught the last of the sunlight, the way her eyes gleamed with happinessâand how damn beautiful she was.
âYouâre good,â Harry finally said, his voice quieter than usual, almost like a confession.
Y/N gave him a curious look, then smirked. âYou finally noticing?â
He wanted to say more, to tell her exactly what he was thinkingâbut it would only complicate things. Instead, he just nodded, watching her carefully, trying to keep his emotions in check. âIâve always noticed,â he said, his voice a little too soft, betraying the quiet ache he felt inside.
Y/N paused, her expression softening for a brief moment before her usual mask of sarcasm slipped back into place. âWell, Iâm glad you finally decided to admit it.â
The smile she gave him in return was genuine, full of warmth. And for a moment, Harry forgot about the rest of the world, just watching her, heart in his throat, wondering how he had gotten so luckyâand so lost in someone who would never even look at him the same way.
Y/N took a few steps back, wiping a hand across her forehead, trying to shake off the intensity of the game and the weight of the conversation that had been hanging between them. Harry still stood there, watching her, his breath a little heavier from the rally but his focus unwavering. It was as if he was waiting for something to break, for her to say the words he didnât want to hear but somehow feared.
She didnât look at him for a moment, her eyes scanning the ground like she was trying to find some way out. But then, when she spoke, her voice was softer than usual, almost reluctant. "You were right earlier... about me being tense," she said, barely above a whisper.
Harry tilted his head, unsure if heâd heard her correctly. His heart rate picked up, and he took a tentative step toward her. âWhat do you mean?â
Y/N hesitated, clearly at war with herself, as if saying the words out loud would somehow make them more real. But Harry could see the way her fingers curled tighter around her tennis racket, the way her shoulders were drawn up protectively.
âSomething happened... with my dad,â she finally admitted, the words slipping out in a rush, like she couldnât stop them once she started.
Harryâs chest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, unwilling to push her too much. "What happened?"
Y/N looked up at him, her eyes redder than usual, her face more vulnerable than he'd ever seen it. "He... slapped me," she said, the words a simple admission but heavy enough to make the air around them thick with tension.
The air in Harryâs lungs seemed to stop for a moment. His chest tightened, fists clenching at his sides as the words echoed in his mind. Slapped her.
He was careful not to let the anger build, though it was hard. The thought of anyone hurting herâlet alone her fatherâlit a fire of fury inside him, but he knew he couldnât let it show. Not now. Not when she was looking at him like that, so fragile and raw.
âY/N,â Harry said softly, stepping closer. His voice was low, almost as if he were afraid the words might break something inside her. âIâm so sorry.â
She shook her head, her lips trembling slightly. âYou donât have to apologize,â she murmured, her voice thick with something he couldnât quite place. âI donât want your pity.â
âIâm not pitying you,â Harry replied quickly, his gaze steady. He took a slow, steadying breath. âIâm angry, though. At him. But Iâm not pitying you, Y/N. Youâre... youâre strong. You donât deserve that. You never have.â
She blinked, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to steady herself. Harry could see her fighting itâfighting the tears, fighting the emotions that were threatening to spill over.
âI got a low grade on my report card this semester,â she whispered after a beat, her voice so small it almost hurt to hear. âMy parents think itâs because I spend too much time playing. They threatened to stop funding my schooling if I didnât quit. Not that Iâm going to quit, but I have to lay low for a while.â
Harryâs heart broke at her words. He didnât know how much more of this he could take, the thought of her in such a difficult situation, but he forced himself to stay composed. She was so strong, but there was only so much someone could take.
âDoes heâŠâ Harry hesitated, the words feeling too heavy to speak, but he forced them out anyway, âDoes he do that often?â
Y/N opened her mouth to speak but paused, her gaze dropping to the ground for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, and Harry felt that pit in his stomach grow deeper with each passing second. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.
âIt wasnât the first time,â she said, her voice faltering. âBut he doesnât do it often.â
Harryâs eyes darkened with barely-contained anger. His hands clenched at his sides, a reflex he couldnât control. âY/N, he shouldnât be doing it at all,â he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and tight. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close and hold her, but something held him back. He knew she wasnât ready for that, and he didnât want to push her further away.
âNo man should ever lay a hand on you,â he added, his voice raw with emotion. âNot ever. You donât deserve that. No one does.â
Y/N stayed quiet for a long time, her face a mixture of exhaustion and something else Harry couldnât name. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, but there was no hint of softness in her expression. She had her walls up again, already rebuilding what little had cracked.
âI donât want your sympathy, Harry,â she said firmly, her voice regaining some of its usual sharpness. âAnd I donât need you to protect me. Iâll deal with it.â
Harryâs chest tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. âBut you donât have to do it alone,â he said, taking a step closer, his voice softer now. âI canât just stand by and pretend like nothingâs wrong. You shouldnât have to carry this by yourself.â
She shook her head, but this time, there was no bite in itâjust a sad resignation. âYou donât get it,â she muttered, her eyes darting to the side. âIâm not some fragile thing that needs to be protected. I donât want your help. I just want to get through this on my own.â
Harry could feel the walls sheâd built between themâwalls made of pain and prideâclimbing higher, and the instinct to break them down was strong. But he knew, deep down, he couldnât force her to open up, especially not when she wasnât ready.
âIâm not trying to save you, Y/N,â he said softly, his voice tinged with something like regret. âIâm just here. Whenever you need someone to listen, or... whatever else you need. Just know that.â
She didnât meet his eyes, but he could see the smallest tremor in her shoulders as she exhaled. Finally, after a long pause, she spoke again, her voice quiet but firm.
âI don't need help,â she said, her words like a wall being slammed shut. âI donât need your pity, and I donât need anyone to try and fix me.â
Harryâs heart dropped, the weight of her words hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. But he understood. She was trying to keep control of a situation that was already slipping through her fingers. And maybe she wasnât ready to let him in, no matter how much he wanted to be there for her.
âIâm not trying to fix you,â he said, his voice barely a whisper now, the weight of his emotions slipping through despite himself. âI just... I care about you, Y/N. I donât want to see you hurt.â
Her eyes flicked to his, sharp and guarded. âI donât need help but Iâll keep that in mind.â
Harryâs chest tightened, but he didnât let his gaze drop. âAlright,â he said softly. âBut Iâll be here. Whenever you need me.â
Y/N didnât respond, and Harry didnât push. Instead, he stood there for a moment longer, looking at her, wishing he could say moreâdo moreâmake her feel safe, but knowing it wasnât his place to force anything. For now, all he could do was wait.
And somehow, that felt worse than anything.
âWant to go another round?â Harry asked, his voice lighter, searching for a way to ease the tension.
âI think we should probably head back. Sarah might be looking for me.â Y/Ns expression softens.
âRightâ the last thing Harry wanted to do was leave this pocket of space they were in together. He savoured any rare moment of time he had with her alone and this was one of them.
They walked side by side, the silence between them not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken truths. As they approached his flat, Y/N glanced at him, her voice quiet but firm. âThis doesnât change anything, you know. I donât want you to look at me differently just because I couldnât defend myself against my dad. Iâm strongâit just⊠it caught me off guard, thatâs all.â
Harry stopped, turning to her with an earnestness that made her chest tighten. âY/N, this doesnât change a thing. Not about how I see you, or what I think of you. Youâre still the strongest person I know.â
Her lips quirked in a small, tentative smile. âGood,â she said softly. Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she added, âAnd you better win the final.â
Harry chuckled, his own smile breaking through. For her, he would.
For her, heâd do anything.
. . .Â
Harry walked into the school the next day with his tie askew, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his white t-shirt underneath, and his blazer slung casually over his shoulder, hooked with his middle finger. He had no particular reason to look so disheveledâhe just liked the chaos it seemed to cause.
As he passed Mitchâs locker, he caught sight of Y/N walking down the hallway. Her eyes were trained straight ahead, like she was in her own world, but Harry couldnât resist. He flashed a smirk and called out, âHey, love.â
She immediately paused and turned to face him. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, then the corner of her lips twitched slightly, but her eyes were all ice.
âSeriously?â she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
âYeah, seriously,â Harry teased, not backing down. âYou got something against me saying hello?â
âNot really,â she replied dryly, her arms crossing over her chest. âBut Iâm guessing youâre doing it just to get a reaction.â
ïżœïżœYou know me too well,â Harry said with a grin. âBut still, canât help it. You just look... irresistible when youâre pissed off.â
Y/Nâs eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement hiding beneath the irritation. Without saying a word, she lifted her middle finger and gave him a quick, deliberate flip-off. Then, as she turned to walk away, she allowed herself to smile, just a littleâjust enough for Harry to catch it.
He watched her walk off, his smirk fading as something tighter, warmer, filled his chest. He had always loved the way she carried herselfâso confident, even when she was annoyed with him. He liked that she never made it easy. But right now, as she walked away, all he could think was how much he was falling for her.
"God," he muttered under his breath, watching her disappear down the hallway. "Iâm so screwed."
#harry styles fic rec#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles#harry styles blurb#harry styles x reader#harry styles fanfic#harry styles imagines#harry styles imagine#tennisplayer!h#tennis rivals#tennisplayer!y/n#y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles fic#harry edward styles#harry styles one shot#enemies to lovers#fic rec#fanfiction#harry styles writing#one direction#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst
298 notes
·
View notes
Note
yandere!young justice x magician and sorcerer!reader
BUUUUUUUUUT,the readed is a part of the team,however,shows no interest in them,and it just there because she kinda just has to,and no matter how much they try to get her attention,she never gives them any of it.
(I love your writing btwđŒ)
Yandere! Young Justice x magician! Reader
The Cave was quiet, as it always was at night, the hum of machines and distant murmurs of the world outside barely touching the stillness that clung to the mountain like a second skin. In this isolated hollow, surrounded by the cool stone walls, you could hear your own thoughtsâthe whisper of spells, the pulse of magic, the unspoken words you chose not to say.
You never had to explain yourself here, never had to wear the mask of pleasantries or pretend you cared about anything more than the mission. The others, they didnât understand. They couldnât, not really. You werenât like them, never had been. You didnât need the comfort of their companionship. You didnât want their attention, their curiosity, or their pity.
And yet, they tried.
Conner was always watching. A silent presence, brooding and intense, always lingering in the background, his eyes following your every movement. He never asked questionsâno, that wasnât his style. Instead, he observed, the way a predator watches its prey, calculating, waiting. He never made an effort to speak, not in the way Wally did with his incessant jokes or M'gann with her quiet warmth. Conner was patient, cold, waiting for something to crack, for something to change.
His silence was a constant reminder. He didnât need to speak; you could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, always at the edge of your vision, always waiting.
It was unsettling, but you never let it show.
Wally was a different story altogether. His energy was like a crackling fire, unpredictable, always bouncing from one thing to the next. He couldnât sit still, couldnât leave you be. "Come on," he would say, leaning over your shoulder as you worked on a spell, his grin wide and carefree. "Show me something cool. You know youâve got some crazy magic tricks up your sleeve."
His insistence was always accompanied by that grin of his, mischievous and bright, as though his charm could draw you out of your shell. But you never did. You never gave him the satisfaction of seeing you smile, never let him see you as more than just another teammate. It wasnât his faultâhe was just trying to make the team feel more like a family. But you didnât care about family. You didnât care about any of them.
âIâm busy,â youâd say, dismissing him with a flick of your hand, returning to your spell. And Wally, ever the optimist, would laugh and zip away, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he left you to your silence.
But it wasnât enough for him, no. His persistence was a thing of legend. Sometimes youâd catch him watching you, his gaze fixed, a question burning in his eyes. "Why are you always like this?" he seemed to ask with every look. But he never voiced it. Instead, heâd turn away, hoping that somehow, eventually, youâd change your mind.
Then there was Robin. The dark and silent watcher. He knew how to stay in the shadows, how to be everywhere without being seen. His presence was like the night itselfâalways there, always watching, never truly gone. Robin was the most subtle of them all. He never asked outright; instead, he would drop little comments, observations that always felt like a puzzle, like he was trying to figure you out, piece by piece.
"You know, you could talk to us more," heâd say, casually leaning against the wall as he watched you work. His tone was light, almost playful, but you could sense the undercurrent of something moreâsomething deeper. âWe donât bite, you know.â
You didnât respond. Of course, you didnât. The only response he got was the steady flick of your fingers over the spellbook, the quiet hum of magic filling the space between you. He didnât try to get too close, not like Wally or M'gann, but his eyes never stopped tracking you, always measuring, always calculating. Robin was patient, the kind of person who knew that some things took time, that some people had walls that needed to be broken down slowly.
And you? You werenât going to let him.
M'gann was the opposite. Her presence was always warm, soft, inviting. She would sit beside you, her legs tucked under her, her eyes wide with curiosity. "You know," she would say with that gentle voice of hers, "I could help you with your spells. I can be a good study partner, if you ever need one."
Her kindness wasnât forced, never had been. It was natural for her, as natural as breathing. She wasnât like the others who were driven by some sense of duty or curiosity. No, M'gannâs attention was genuine, a quiet offer of companionship. She was the one who tried to reach you without asking, without expecting anything in return.
But you didnât need help. You didnât need her to reach you. And so, youâd quietly decline, giving her nothing more than a polite smile before returning to the words in your book, the pages filled with symbols that had no need for her warmth.
And then there was Artemis. The sharp, straightforward one. She didnât waste time on subtlety. Her approach was always direct, blunt, like a sharp blade that never hesitated. "You donât have to be so closed off, you know," sheâd say, her voice a mix of irritation and something else. It was hard to tell with Artemisâher eyes were always guarded, her emotions always hidden behind a wall of indifference. "Weâre all in this together."
She had a point, of course. But you didnât care. You didnât care about being âin it together.â You had your own path to follow, and they werenât a part of it. You didnât need to explain that to her, or to anyone. So, youâd give her a nod, a brief acknowledgment that wasnât really an acknowledgment, and move on with your work.
Kaldur was the calm one, the quiet one. His respect for you was obvious, but it never crossed the line into anything more. He would offer you a nod as he passed, his gaze soft, his presence steady like the water he controlled. He didnât push you the way the others did. He didnât try to break down your walls. He simply respected them, kept his distance, and allowed you to be as you were.
But even Kaldur had moments when his gaze would linger on you, just a second too long, like he was waiting for you to finally open up, to let him see more than the cold silence you kept locked behind your eyes.
It wasnât much, but it was enough. Enough for you to feel the weight of their gaze, the quiet pressure of their attention. They thought they understood you. They thought that if they just tried enough, kept reaching out, eventually, youâd let them in.
But you wouldnât.
In the midst of their attempts, you kept your distance, always lost in the pages of your spells, your incantations, the quiet hum of power that thrummed beneath your fingertips. They were drawn to you, like moths to a flame, their fascination burning just beneath the surface of their words, their glances, their actions.
But you would remain untouched. You would keep your secrets locked away, your magic a barrier between you and the world they wanted to draw you into.
They didnât understand it, not really. They couldnât. You were not like them. You didnât need what they offered. You didnât need to be a part of their team, their family, their world. You were the silent watcher, the one who kept their distance while they reached out, always hoping that something would change.
But it wouldnât.
You werenât there for them. You were there because you had a purpose, one that had nothing to do with them, nothing to do with the team, and nothing to do with any of their quiet, unspoken obsessions. You would remain distant, and they would keep trying, never understanding why you remained so cold, so unreachable.
And that, for now, was enough.
(A/n: thank you kind fellow furđ€đœ)
#đșâ request#yandere dc#yandere connor#yandere batboys#yandere robin#yandere artemis#yandere justice league#yandere dc x reader#dc x reader#yandere dick grayson x reader#yandere dick grayson#dick grayson x reader#yandere young justice x reader#yandere young justice#young justice x reader#yandere batfam#batfam x reader
285 notes
·
View notes
Note
what about reader comes home with an entirely different hair colour (for arcane characters) đđ
This is such a fun idea! This is how each character would react if the reader came home with a completely new hair color:
ââââââââââââââââââââââââ
Jinx
Jinx would flip when she sees you walk through the door with a new hair color. Sheâd be so hyper about it, her eyes wide with excitement as she zooms over to inspect your hair, her mind racing with a thousand chaotic thoughts.
âWhat is this?! This is amazing!!â Jinx would say, bouncing around you in circles. âYou look like a whole new person, and I love it! What do we call this color? I need it for one of my bombs!â
Sheâd spend the next few hours trying to match your new hair color to all her gadgets, constantly admiring you with a gleeful grin. âIâm jealous! Look at you! This is gonna drive everyone crazy!â
Vi
Vi would blink in surprise when she first sees you, not sure if sheâs seeing things. Sheâd run a hand through her own hair and chuckle, making her way toward you.
âWhoa, thatâs⊠bold. I like it though. You look good, real good,â sheâd say, stepping closer to get a better look. âMakes you look even fiercer. But, uh, howâs the new color feel? You feel different?â
Vi would be all about how confident you are in your new look. She might even ask if she can try it out for fun next time, because sheâs feeling inspired by your boldness.
Sevika
Sevika would give you a slow, assessing look when you walk in. She wouldnât be the type to show too much excitement, but thereâs a clear flicker of approval in her eyes.
âYou always look good,â sheâd say, her voice low but full of admiration. âBut Iâll admit, thatâs a bit unexpected. I like it. Definitely makes a statement.â
Sevika would then casually run a hand through her own hair and add, âJust make sure you donât draw too much attention. People might get the wrong idea.â But underneath that protective edge, sheâd secretly love how you stand out.
Silco
Silco is all about control, so when he sees your new hair, his first instinct is to process the change. He might pause, his gaze scanning you with that sharp, intense focus. After a beat, heâd give you a small, approving nod.
âBold choice,â heâd say, his tone smooth. âI do enjoy someone who isnât afraid to stand out.â
Heâd approach you, placing a hand on your shoulder, and murmur, âJust make sure it doesnât draw unnecessary attention. But with you⊠I trust itâs all part of your plan.â Silco would be fascinated by how much confidence you exude with your new look.
Vander
Vander would blink a couple of times, surprised by the drastic change. But after a few moments, his face would break into a soft smile, his heart swelling with pride.
âYouâre always beautiful, no matter the color,â heâd say gently, stepping closer to admire you. âBut Iâve gotta admit, this is a change I wasnât expecting. Looks like youâre embracing your individuality.â
Vander would reach out and brush a strand of your new hair behind your ear, clearly fond of how you embrace your own unique style.
Ekko
Ekko would be caught off guard at first, eyes widening when he sees you walk in with an entirely different hair color. Then heâd break into an awed smile, his usual cool demeanor slipping for a second.
âWhoa, you look like you just stepped out of a dream!â heâd exclaim, stepping closer to you. âSeriously, howâd you pull that off? You look amazing!â
Ekko would spend the next few minutes asking you about the process and maybe even trying to figure out how he could pull off a new look too. âI gotta admit, you look even more like a legend now. How do you keep doing this?â
Jayce
Jayce might not be overly emotional about it at first, but the moment he sees your new hair color, his eyes brighten with admiration.
âThatâs⊠different. But in a good way!â Jayce would say, his voice full of genuine curiosity. âYou pull it off really well. Makes you stand out even more. You were already striking, but now?â
Heâd take a step closer, maybe even run a hand through your hair, and add, âDefinitely suits you. Youâre always full of surprises.â
Viktor
Viktor would tilt his head in curiosity when he first sees you, clearly intrigued by the change. Heâs used to seeing things in a different light, so this new look would be something that fascinates him.
âAn interesting choice, but you wear it well,â Viktor would say, adjusting his glasses. âIt suits your personalityâbold, unconventional⊠yet undeniably you.â
Viktor would be a bit shy about touching your hair, but heâd eventually run his fingers through it, intrigued by the softness and the new feel. âIâd love to study how youâre able to make such a striking change with ease. Youâve always been captivating.â
Caitlyn
Caitlyn would smile warmly when she sees you with your new hair color. She would love how bold you are in expressing yourself, and sheâd find herself admiring you even more.
âI think it looks perfect on you,â sheâd say, reaching out to touch a strand of your hair. âItâs not the color that makes you stunning, itâs your confidence. But this color? It just adds to your already unique beauty.â
Caitlyn would definitely want to show you off to others, completely unafraid of how people might stare. Sheâd be proud to be with someone so brave and unapologetically themselves.
Mel Medarda
Mel would be intrigued and impressed by your new look. She values elegance and power, and she can immediately see how this new hair color is a reflection of your strength.
âIt suits you,â sheâd say, her voice cool but sincere. âItâs a striking choice. I must admit, I didnât expect this from you, but it works.â
Mel would be the type to get up close, fingers gently brushing through your hair as she admires the way it complements your features. âNo matter what color it is, you will always stand out. Thatâs one thing I admire about you.â
Ambessa Medarda
Ambessa would take one look at you and nod with approval, clearly impressed by your boldness. She doesnât show much surprise but is clearly fond of how youâre unafraid to push boundaries.
âYouâve got a way of making any change look like itâs meant to be,â Ambessa would say, crossing her arms and surveying you with a calculated gaze. âI see the power in this choice. It suits you.â
Sheâd be less overtly affectionate, but sheâd definitely respect the confidence you exude with your new look. Ambessa would also see it as another sign of your strength.
Maddie Nolen
Maddie would gasp in delight when she first sees you, her eyes lighting up with excitement. âThatâs⊠itâs so you!â sheâd say, grinning as she walks over to you. âItâs like you were made for this color.â
Sheâd give you a big hug, absolutely thrilled about your bold choice. âHonestly, I couldnât imagine you with anything else now! You look amazing!â
Maddie would be the type to gush over your hair, constantly asking to touch it and comment on how perfect it looks on you. Sheâs just so in awe of your confidence and beauty.
Lest
Lest wouldnât be the type to make a big deal out of it, but sheâd immediately notice the change and give you a slow, appreciative nod.
âYouâre a woman of mystery, arenât you?â Lest would smirk, her tone playful. âIt suits you. I like how you make everything look effortless.â
Sheâd get up close, lightly brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. âNo matter what you do, you always manage to catch my attention. You look even more stunning now.â
#x reader#arcane x reader#character x reader#imagine#arcane imagine#headcannons#arcane#arcane headcanon#jinx arcane#jinx x reader#arcane ekko#arcane vi#ekko arcane#arcane jayce#arcane caitlyn#vi arcane#arcane silco#arcane sevika#victor arcane#arcane vander#lest arcane#maddie arcane#ambessa medarda#mel medarda#use me pls
132 notes
·
View notes
Note
Saw you had STP requests open! May I request Beast trying to give Thorn survival/evasion training lessons and/or just carrying her around like an unamused mother cat? I feel like theyâd have some disagreements with the cruelty vs mercy stance on how to handle LQ.
...Man, did I struggle with drawing the Beast, for some reason. Took me a while to get it done, and I'm still not entirely happy with how it turned out... but it's probably the best I got for now :[
I'll also include a bonus sketch that I drew while figuring out how to draw Beast :]
Next request: Adversary :]
[Find my Slay the Princess art here] [Princess art] [TLQ art] [Voices art]
#ask#slay the princess#stp#slay the princess fanart#stp fanart#stp princess#stp beast#stp thorn#art#digital art#fanart#artists on tumblr
57 notes
·
View notes
Text
Until I Find You
Prince!Javier Peña x Plus Size!Reader
êš warnings: prince!javi, cinderella au in a way, toxic mothers, plus size reader, if i missed any please let me know!
êš a/n: with all these new gladiator/f4 pics it was giving nothing but prince vibes so i had to. as always if you don't like it don't bite it! and yes- there will be a part 2 đââïž
Main Masterlist â Javier Peña Masterlist
âWhy do we have to go?â
âBecause the king and queen are looking for a princess for the prince.â your mother muttered, tightening your dress and pulling a small grunt from your lips. âTold you to lose weight. Who's gonna want a fat princess in the royal family?â
You rolled your eyes at the comment, completely drowning her voice out. She'd been on you for years about your weight but you loved the way you looked- curves and thick thighs, with an ass that was out of this world if you do say so yourself. She kept rambling on but her voice was muffled. You focused on your reflection, admiring how the dress you'd sewn yourself accented your lucious figure.
âAlright.â she muttered, gently patting you on the side and snapping you out of your thoughts.
âThanks mama!â You grabbed your heels and ran out the back door barefoot, hearing your mother yell to you about not being late to the ceremony. You ran down the pebble sidewalk and into the small forest behind your home, needing a moment before going to the ceremony. What better place to go than into a secluded forest.
â
He sighed, leaning back against a tree as he tucked his sketchbook back into his satchel. He needed a break from it all- the high maintenance from his mother, the castle being swarmed by other royal families he's never seen before- all because he needs to find a princess. As much as he wanted to stay out here, it was only a matter of time before his mother sent out the entire army to look for him.
He stood up, walking back to his horse to head back home when he let out a grunt and fell to the ground.
âShit.â you grunted, pulling yourself off whoever you just ran into. Your eyes widened in realization, quickly getting off of him- it's the prince. âPrince Javier. I-I'm so so sorry I didn't see you and-â
He let out a small chuckle and sat up, rubbing the back of his head. âIt's alright. Good thing the ground is soft.â he joked, making you chuckle.
You pulled yourself up to your feet, reaching a hand down to him. He reached up, placing his much bigger hand into yours as he pulled himself up, causing his satchel to fall off his shoulder and his book to fall out. You bent down, picking up his satchel and fallen sketchbook. Your eyes scanned the open page, admiring the detail of his drawing.
âThis is beautifulâŠâ
Javier smiled, looking down at the book in your hands. âThank you. Little hobby of mine.â
âThe prince has hobbies?â you teased, making him laugh.
âBelieve it or not- yes. Yes I do.â
You looked up at him, getting lost in the sparkle of his deep brown eyes. He admired the soft features of your face, getting lost in your eyes as well. The moment was broken by the sound of the bells echoing through the forest. Javier cleared his throat, gently taking his book from your hands.
âI gotta get going.â
You nodded, watching him as he got back on his horse.
âHope to see you at the ceremony. Try not to tackle me this time.â
You felt the heat rise to your cheeks by embarrassment. âNo promises.â
â
âLook at you! Your dress is a mess.â your mother pouted as she frantically dusted off the dress. âLadies don't run off into the forest!â
âMama-â
âSupposed to be impressing the royal family- not having them think we're poor.â
âHate to burst your bubble but we are poor mama.â you let out a small hiss at the feel of your mothers hand hitting your bare back.
âWe can't have them thinking that.â
You rolled your eyes, slipping on your heels and adjusting the skirt of your dress. âBetter?â
She shrugged, reaching up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind a bobby pin. âIt'll have to do⊠Remember, smile with your eyes and take that hateful look off your face. And be home before midnight. You know how your father isâŠâ
âYes mamaâŠâ you muttered, turning away from her and walking up the stone pathway that led to the castle. You tried your best to blend into the crowd of girls- all trying to achieve the same result- becoming a princess. You felt a bit out of place from the others. You didn't have perfect skin with sparkling blue eyes and blonde hair. You've always loved the way you looked, but being around others who were the complete opposite kicked your confidence down a few pegs.
The crowd flowed into the ballroom, everyone's eyes going straight to the prize- prince Javier sitting across the room on his chair.
His eyes scanned the room, all the girls looking the same. Some tall, some short, but all with their noses in the air like they're better than anyone here- reminding him of his own mother- which isn't what he wants.
âJavier put it away.â his mother hissed, motioning down to the sketchbook in his lap. He rolled his eyes and closed the book, laying it on the floor behind him.
âYou know I'm old enough to do as I please.â
âAnd until you find yourself a wife- you're doing as I tell you. Now go.â she scolded, pulling a soft sigh from Javier's lips as he got up and walked through the crowd. Everyone greeted him as he walked by, girls practically throwing themselves into his arms trying to get his attention but he politely declined. The closer he got to the doors of the ballroom, the more he could feel his sense of freedom. But then you walked in.
You smiled, giving him a small wave. He smiled back and walked over to you.
âDidn't think to see you here.â
âThought you could use the company.â
He chuckled, reaching over and grabbing your hand, placing a small kiss on your knuckles. âHappy to see a familiar face.â He looked around and saw his mother was distracted and then looked back at you. âWanna get out of here?â he asked.
âWhat do you have in mind?â
â
You sat in the garden, laughing and talking with Javier for hours and hours. He was the opposite of what you'd thought a prince would be. He made you laugh, made you smile, made you feel like you were the only girl in the world.
âI kept you from your ceremony.â
He shrugged, âBetter out here then in there with all of them.â
âSaying I made your night?â
He chuckled and nodded. âDefinitely.â His eyes trailed down to your lips, slowly leaning in closer. You caught on to what he was wanting to do and you started to lean in, hoping to meet in the middle. Suddenly the bells of the castle rang, pulling your attention to the big clock on the bell tower. Midnight.
âDamnit.â you gasped, quickly getting up and grabbing your heels. âI-I gotta go.â
âWait-â
âJavi, I'm so sorry, I have to.â you quickly ran out of the garden and down the massive staircase that led to the castle. You'd been so focused on making it home before your father found out that one of your heels slipped out of your grip and landed on the staircase. Javi reached down and picked it up, watching as you disappeared into the night, hoping he'd find you again soon.
credits
êš beta'd: @joelmillerisapunk @80ssong @peepawispunk @half-moon16 đ
#javier peña#javier peña x reader#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña x plus size reader#javier pena narcos#javier pena x you#javier pena fic#javier pena fanfiction#javier pena x y/n#javier pena fluff#javier peña x you#javier peña x y/n#javier peña x f!reader#plus size reader#javier peña x female reader#javier pena x reader#pedro pascal character#new fanfic#cinderella au
48 notes
·
View notes
Text
Youâre oblivious to his past, and he almost cries. He misses his family.
Warnings: Angst. Swearing. Sad Gun.
Careful, for me. Please?
Gun x reader.
âWatch this.â
You lift the sofa up after 6 months of going to the gym to show off just how strong your getting before knocking a drawer where the new boxed up toaster he gifted you fell and almost cracked your skull open. He literally zoomed and pulled you into his chest before catching the toaster in one hand.
You laughed before looking to his face and seeing him with that look on his face. Like a confused squirrel. Lemme rephrase that, a sad kitten.
You tilted your head before looking at his face.
âWhatâs up? You good?â
His eyes flicked down to yours.
ââŠâŠ.have you lost your mind?â
You blinked twice.
âMayb-â
He slammed the toaster down.
âThis isnât a fucking game! You almost got hurt- hell almost fucking died! Do you know how fucking stressful that was?! You goddamn weasel-â
He clutched you closer with one arm and gripped his hair in a stressful grip while glaring up at the ceiling.
âI almost lost you.â
Now youâre very, very, very concerned. You look up at his face. A tight jaw, furrowed brows, weary eyesâŠâŠworry. You blink before gently holding his cheeks between your palms and tilting his head down to meet yours. The circular silver moons of his night sky eyes met yours. He looked drained, lost in a stormy memory that refused to slow down. You softly stroke his chubby and somehow sharp cheek bones.
âTalk to me.â
You whisper.
âIs it something else ? Or me almost getting hurt? You can always be honest. You know that right?â
He blinked down at you. Your willingness to help leading him out the storm with the extended hand you offered him in his mind through that havoc that tore at his insanity. And he took your beaconing hand.
He leaned down, a gentle peck against your plushy lips and heâs finally groundedâŠâŠâŠ.before spilling out the guts of his journey of blood, violence and death.
After he broke, you were stunned. He fidgeted with his pockets. Trying to find the cigarettes he comfortably left on the counter, figuring be didnât need to indulge in a quick death when heâs with you. ButâŠâŠâŠ.he aches for the Smokey burn sensations for his lungs right now.
You gently take his calloused hands before kissing along his knuckles, up to his right wrist, gently tugging him into a 2 steps forward and he drowned into your awaiting loving arms. His holding you close like metal bars.
ââŠâŠ..thank you.â
You kiss his temple tenderly.
ââŠ..no. Thank you.â
He clutched her tighter.
âJustâŠâŠ..be careful next time ok? For me?â
You smile and let your fingers draw circles in his hair.
âPromise.â
#lookism x reader#lookism comic#lookism webtoon#lookism#gun park x reader#gun x reader#gun park#park jonggun#lookism jonggun#jonggun x reader
48 notes
·
View notes
Text
ARCANE ENDING ANALYSIS
****obviously SPOILERS ahead****
Everyone is debating whether jinx is alive or dead so hereâs my thoughts first Iâm going to try and explain my view on WHY jinx is alive but made to look dead and then Iâm going to prove HOW she is Alive. And why air vents have nothing to do with it.
WHY JINX IS ALIVE
With ARCANE coming to an end we are to believe that The piltover part of the show is over, the reason?
Well⊠we all think this season felt rushed, the beats didnât land properly and character development felt shallow. That is because it was rushed itâs been 9 years since they started writing this story arc and they wanted to end this story arc that had to end at this point in this way.
if they could have produced the more quickly over a shorter period of time they would have streched the arcs and have had better pacing but itâs a long time and they wanted to move on to the next arc of this universe.
That doesnât mean this is the last weâll see of these characters or even piltover as a lot of piltover champions havenât been introduced because this wasnât the arc for that yet. We get hints of that as we see sevika become a councillor but be met with distrust and being looked down upon so now the class division and healing will go on in the background as we explore different parts of runterra (cause the writers donât have the competence to write engaging happy stories).
The characters will come back to begin the next arc of their character growth.
Take Vi for example she is not even a person in her own right, right now sheâs just âdirt beneath Caitlynâs fingernailsâ that does not seem like a fulfilling way to live your life for anyone. But makes sense for Vi, she needs to grow relax not be a person for a while because for her being a person means sacrificing everything she is to save others live for others but sheâs never successfully done that she needs to do that live for someone else (1 person- cait) be successful in protecting them so she one day live for herself, find herself, find the meaning of being a person, her own goals. Till now we havenât seen the story of Vi - just Powderâs sister her keeper since the first scene when she became wholly responsible for her a role that Vander did nothing to deter her from but pushed more heavily onto her.
And we kinda got a happyish end for jinx, NOT because she died so is free, NO, but because she finally got to save Vi not just from death but also stop Vi from killing herself (cause thatâs what she has doing staying on that ledge not because she thought she could save Vander but because she left his dead body behind once). Show her that she has to rise above her self sacrificing bulshit, cause that only works when she is the only one protecting others not when she is fighting with others together, cause in those scenarios if she puts herself uncaringly in danger someone else will protect her and get hurt doing so.
She is alive but more importantly ready to go go on a journey of self discovery and define for herself her identity (herself not silco as Viâs sister but not one dependent on her) away from Piltover and Zaun. Truly find herself, and be ready to come back on her own terms not bcz the outside forces dictate it.
HOW IS JINX ALIVE
I want to preface this by first cursing the guy responsible for camera work on Ep9 May seven generations of your family cry tears of blood!!
it was so hard to figure everything out!
letâs start with our North Star the stationary point around which everything revolves.
Youâll understand that in a moment.
Iâll like to draw everyoneâs attention to this Frame.
Aww⊠Sob.. jinx hugging Vander while she kills them both⊠đą Forget that focus on the background!
the glowing runes the circular shape with an opening in the middle in 3 rings like oh? The hex gate beam!
but that could just be a pretty backdrop yeah I wouldnât believe that even if this was the first time I was seeing it but itâs not. Weâve seen it beforeâŠ
here
Here
Directly followed by
then after cutting to jayce and victor in the tunnel, different backgrounds for a sec but none of them from a consistent camera angle
and weâre back here again
Then another cut to jayvik, them finally entering the sphere, and again different backgrounds for jinx/vi/vander
and then? Weâre back here again
And itâs here that jayvik enter
Disrupting the vi/jinx/vander fight and creating the ledge.
now the North Star why do I mention it? Because the existence of the gate itself is not enough to prove that the hexgate turned on, so what is?
letâs go back to the image of the blast
Notice that rune in the corner?
thatâs also a repeating marker it first appears not when we get the first look at the inside of the hex gate where where jinx/Vi/Ekko/Vander have crashed but after jayvik have started their ascent and the tunnel lights up.
and again when jayvik finally enter the sphere
and again after Viktor has blasted through the ledges and is exiting the sphere
notice the lack of light entering the scene from the hole created by Vi/jinx/ekko But in all these instances the rune has the top horizontal straight line facing away from the tunnel but when the explosion happens the line is facing inwards towards the tunnel that means a the rune turned in its casing implying that a mechanism was activated.
vs
also notice how the tunnel is between the tube on which jinx lands and the ledge vi and vander land on no way that somebody moving like this
will fall towards the centre of the tunnel.
also take these 3 frames
vander gets a hold of jinx
cut to vi coming to rescue
Back to vander with jinx in his grasp turns his head towards incoming vi
The camera in the first and second image is the same, a split second has passed but the background changed.
because the sphere started rotating the moment the tunnel light up the first time, the first time we see the North Star.
Letâs have a positive outlook for the future and until then see you all on ao3
P.S. - If you think my theory makes no sense or the evidence is insufficient or disapproved do let me knowâŠ.
#arcane#vi arcane#jinx#jinx arcane#arcane season 2#arcane spoilers#jinx lives#arcane analysis#arcane theory#arcane thoughts
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
What Shall We Become 37 - Um???
So. That happened? UM??!?
On AO3.
Jesus fucking christ fucking lord holy fuck oh god oh god. You lost your whole mind.
Youâd felt so small and weak. Had scrubbed at your skin with your nails in that ice-fuck stream until your nails started to hurt.
Then remembered the mushrooms growing outta Astarionâs arm and what if them spores just drift along in the air down here?
You got practice crying silently. All yâall farmstead kids learned it quick. You never grew outta it. Not camped out on Sashaâs couch, not in the group home she helped you find, not even when her organization helped you find a closet of a studio apartment with two garbage bags full of dollar store supplies they all pitched in to help you with. The walls in that place had been so thin, and drawing attention is always, always bad. Nothing chums the water better than audible crying.
But Astarion got fucking elf vampire ears. And he heard you anyway. Brought over a too-tight shirt that rolled up your belly to make a fucked up crop top straining at the seams. And then he gave you armor.
Heâd been right there. Hadnât made fun of you, or even acknowledged it (thank fuck). Just quietly helped you lace up (and you ainât gonna think about how stupid you look in this, still bursting out along the edges).
On the inside, you was stripped down to nothing. Felt like somebody split you open and scooped out your insides with a rusty fucking spoon. And you remembered him leaning in, and heâs been after you for weeks and weeks and you justâŠyou wanted to feel something that wasnât small and pitiful.
It ainât nothing like your first kiss. With him. All caught up in your own head back then, full of panic and shame and trying to analyze everything and figure out what you was supposed to be doing.
ThisâŠis nice. His skin is warmer than the cave air. Probably because his breath smells metallic. You donât let yourself think too hard about that. Heâs right there. Fills all your senses. Scent of blood, yeah, and that weird basement smell. But also that perfume or hair oil, and that bright, kinda spiciness you inhale deep into your lungs (maybe if you can suck down enough of that, the molecules can replace the sad, whimpering molecules youâre naturally made out of).
Then you ainât getting enough air. Everything goes haywire. Your lips seem to buzz and your whole face goes sensitive, almost ticklish.
When his fingertips brush your cheek, a bone-deep shudder runs from the top of your head all the way down to your pinkie toes. Takes a major detour along the way to slam between your legs.
Jesus fuck. No wonder people get stupid about this. Itâs likeâŠlikeâŠcrack cocaine, is what it is. You want to grab him and haul him to you. Run your hands over his face and bury your fingers in his hair (jesus, it looks soft). Want to mash your face to his and breathe him all the way in and you ainât even tongue kissing this time.
He came back. He ran a goddamn birdshark into that camp from god knows where and he saved your ass and gave you armor. Now heâs kissing you and you canât fucking breathe.
Then he pulls you closer and your thoughts turn to mashed fucking potatoes. All of the shit, the hurt, the humiliation; all of it gets buried under the onslaught of dopamine and good god almighty, his lips is soft and you could try tongue. That would be fine, and then he does that and youâre actually throbbing in your nethers and does that make you easy, oh who the fuck caresâ
He breaks off. You stand there, blinking stupidly at him.
âSorry,â you say reflexively. For touching him? For breathing on him? For daring to insert your presence into his awareness? You donât even know.
He only smiles, all soft, and his fingers brush your hair and your skin almost bursts into flames. âNo sorry.â
He stays like that for a long moment, fingers of his other hand still knotted through the lacing of your armor. Itâs long enough you lean back to get a better look at his face.
He releases you. Blinks. Looks to the lizard and says something ending with âMove this way, darling.â
Because them drow ainât gonna let you off after stealing their stupid crystal coordinates and their reptilian pony. Astarion helps this thought by nudging your mind: the burst of green light that hit you. Hadnât hurt, and you thought it was a magic misfire. But he saw the X shimmer above you. Itâs a tracking spell.
He helps you climb back up. Thereâs a bit more room now that he ditched his man-sized capri-sun. You ainât sure what to think of that, so you bury it for now. Yâall gotta go.
He seats himself right behind you, this time. You do your best to shove down the instinctive flinch (yâall just had your lips on each other and you can still fucking taste the man).
Then you take up the reins, give the lizard a heal nudge (theyâre trained like horses, interesting) and off yâall go.
Two steps in, and Astarionâs hand taps the front of your armor.
May I, he wonders.
Oh. Right.
Thatâs like, protocol for riding double (without a man getting drained to death between you). People ride like that on motorcycles.
âYe-aw,â you say. It comes out more accented than you intend.
Your face could still light a match, you reckon. Kinda glad heâs behind you, so he canât see that. Then his arm snakes around your waist, just enough to secure himself, and your ears go hot.
Jesus fucking lord, you are so screwed.
***
You come to at the thin, warbling wail in the distance. Almost launch yourself right outta the saddle. But the arm around your waist tightens and holds you down. Astarion eases up the second you take a deep breath.
âFar, far over there,â he says, by way of drawing out the âoverâ part of the verb that makes up that phrase. Over the group chat (now a private chat, because you can feel the others in the distance but donât want that kind of audience now) he adds that drow outpace a walking lizard when they run, but the lizard vastly outpaces drow when it runs. Yâall put some good distance between yâall at that initial retreat.
Then he moves, and you realize he had both arms around you, and you was full on slouched against him. Dozing mouth open, judging from how dry your tongue is.
Good lord.
Your bladder gives you a good out. He hops off and helps you slide down (the last time you rode a horse was as a kid, until the Pastor received word from the lord that it diminished the feminine delicacy girls were born to exemplify).
The insides of your thighs is sore. Gonna start chafing, especially in a fucking skirt. Youâd like to waddle far enough away Astarion canât hear you relieve yourself, but that horn still warbles in the distance, and that stupid man can hear a pulse at a hundred feet.
You make it quick. Donât got no rags to wipe yourself down, and youâre gonna burn this fucking skirt the second you find some goddamn pants.
Then you have to walk back to Astarion, the both of you knowing all of that, and climb back up and pretend everything is peachy keen.
He still loops both arms around you. Keeps his grip loose enough even as you nudge the lizard into a bizarre, alligator shuffle.
AreâŠare you a couple now? You donât know the protocol on this between humans from your own culture, let alone Middle fucking Narnia with vampire elves. Maybe his folk donât got a concept of, like, going steady. Or maybe Astarion (and his dozens of lovers) just arenât into all that.
What if this was a mistake? You read it all wrong. Wouldnât be the first time (though usually youâre in the other seat). It was adrenaline and nerves and the come down from, like, trauma. That makes people do weird shit. Like kiss a man. Like kiss a murder hobo of a goblin man who knew you all of a week before he tried to have sex with you.
Heâs justâŠwhat did he call it? Having fun. Canât mean much to him.
Right?
Youâd be an idiot to think a kiss meant anything. Children do that to each other, even on the farmstead.
Shit, you donât even know what it could mean. What youâd want out of it. If youâd want out of it.
(He came back for you.)
Yâall depend on each other down here. Itâs group survival.
(He said he would leave you, but he came back with a birdshark and got you out.)
Survival bonding. Hardwired instinct to form a group when scared. Thatâs what let humans survive all kinds of disasters.
(He singled out that drow who hurt you without you saying a damn thing. And he killed Charbroil all slow, too.)
Thatâs sociopath behavior. Cat behavior, actually, which is about the same thing (and you like cats). The man is interested in not dying again, and getting some tailâ
âDarling,â he says. Holy god his voice is right in your ear.
You really hope he doesnât notice the quiver that shoots down your spine. But he probably did, because 1. That is precisely your luck and 2. Heâs right against your back.
How is he having that effect on you?
(Youâve been feeling it the whole time, huh.)
No, you have not. You would have noticed.
(Been building like water trickling out under a dam. A drip, drip, drip eroding soil, excavating a cavern, hollowing the earth.)
No. Heâs funny and fucked up and interesting, but you meet plenty of people, especially recently, that meet that criteria.
(Weakening the ground until it finally gives and the whole thing collapses in on itself and swallows a house whole. Thatâs you, babygirl.)
âFuck off,â you say.
And finally notice the bottle Astarion wiggles at you, next to your head. Itâs almost the same color as a healing potion, but in a slightly larger container and with a deeper hue.
âSorry, what?â you say.
âDrink this,â Astarion says.
Yâall should save itâ
âDarling. Drink.â He ainât gonna hear talk about saving just now. Youâre still recovering, and you both need to get to safety.
The bones of your hands still ache. The beds of your nails tingle in a way that makes you think of tissue decay and nail beds blackening and falling off.
You sigh and slam it back. Let Astarion take the bottle from you (and shout when he tosses it over his shoulder). But you ainât gonna turn around to get it. And it does soothe the tingling. Brings warmth back to the pads of your fingers.
So you sigh and settle in. Nudge the lizard into a run. This time, Astarion clings to you. Tucks his face against the back of your neck and his breath fans over you (goosebumps sweep up your arms and down your chest) and you try to tell yourself itâs just to make yâall more aerodynamic.
#what shall we become#these two shitheads#tavstarion#astarion#astarion fic#the burn part of the slow burn#lost in a cave#they're both idiots your honor#they're trying#The Kiss continued
23 notes
·
View notes
Text
mothra is real and my friend
#just trying to figure out how to draw her#not satisfied with her back legs thoughâŠ#my art#digitalart#kaiju#mothra#mosura#mothra queen of the monsters#toho kaiju
469 notes
·
View notes
Text
ylfa snotball
#ylfa snorgelsson#ylfa neverafter#neverafter#dimension 20#d20#just trying to figure out how to draw her
27 notes
·
View notes
Text
why me?
#this is quick but been itching to draw her. i miss her#isat#mirabelle#isat spoilers#?#art#sorry everyone for dropping off the face of the earth im still alive. im just trying to make 40 comic pages in a month#im still around just poke me w a stick#also for my entire life i have not figured out how to draw noses from this angle. forgive me
492 notes
·
View notes
Note
could you draw ribbon please?
sure!
Ribbon is a character I actually don't draw a lot, I think I quickly drew her like three times before so I never took the time to properly make art centered around her. She's adorable that's for sure and I wanted to draw her dynamic with Adeleine (a character i also draw rarely lol), together they make a great duo (thanks star allies for that hehe)
Thank you for your request ^^
#i added gooey just for fun with how ado is apparently afraid of him but here gooey just wanted to taste paint or smth lmao#like i said i also dont draw ado much and i always struggle to figure out how to draw her so i always base myself on her renders#that kinda have weird proportions maybe due to the kirby style so i think one day ill try to properly draw adeleine in myway (maybe gijinka#kirby#ribbon#ribbon kirby#adeleine#gooey#fafa art#fafa's answers
400 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! If you're still accepting requests for the poly poses!! How about IH for Obi-Wan, Cody and Satine? Because yk he has two hands đ«Ąđ„č
He does indeed have two hands, and both of them should be occupied at all times :3 Thank you for asking @lightasthesun đ„°
Polyamorous/platonic poses for sketching
and the other drawings Iâve made for them (I am halfway through all your lovely requests for reals this time!!)
#I've finally made a Very Important phone call so I decided to try a pastel palette as a treat#I'm not doing this to myself with the other ones I am NOT#cobitine#??? what is the ship name for this one???#commander cody#obi wan kenobi#satine kryze#codywan#obitine#and then there is Cody and then there is Satine respectively#poly sketches#my art#digital art#tcw fanart#artists on tumblr#the two of them together would make obi wan go grey and he would enjoy it and that's a flavour I'm here for#I quite love satine as a character#and her wardrobe#she is so pretty and has such a shaped face I cannot wait to draw her into the hades au!#did I flip the pose around just so I don't have to figure out how obi wan's hair flops over his forehead? yes yes I did#also obi wan is taller than cody and that was completely intentional#I only regret a little that I didn't also make satine taller than Cody too#it would have been funny
354 notes
·
View notes
Text
BG3 has taken over my personal life haha so here's a sketch dump of my Tav! She's a half-elf Rogue with a Sage background. I wanted to go for an archeologist/explorer background - like a mix of Evelyn and Rick from The Mummy :)! I stole lots of paintings and it always made me laugh the animation of Tav stuffing a huge painting into her inventory so I had to do a comic of her actually trying to sneak one out haha
#bg3#baldur's gate 3#gale dekarios#gale x tav#astarion ancunin#bg3 astarion#bg3 gale#bg3 raphael#her name is Layla :) it was fun to come up with a background for her but basically she's studying Netheril and netherese artifacts!#I don't know a lot about Baldur's Gate or DnD but I had a lot of fun! And want to know more!#And it's been fun trying to figure out how to draw the characters!#and i love a wizard especially a dorky one XD#I already started another game with a different character haha but I have a soft place in my heart for Layla and the story I made for her :#my art#my fanart#digital art#i haven't posted in ages but I have been drawing! I just need to get back into posting more regularly!
155 notes
·
View notes
Text
#let's pretend i wanted to draw him at different ages and it wasn't completely accidental#that i didn't actually started drawing to try and figure out how i want to draw him#which turned out to be a futile exercise since i. just. can't. draw the same character the same way#consistency? don't know her#at least the colours are pretty#the last one could also be read as casual zuko aka not on firelord duty hanging out with the gaang laid back zuko#failed attempts at a character sheet#âmaking a tag for it 'cause there's gonna be more in the future#atla mai#avatar the last airbender#atla#zuko#prince zuko#artists on tumblr#atla fanart
397 notes
·
View notes