#might have to ask someone to come over and do me a really weird favor (watch the videos and tell me whats happening)

[anotherpapercut]

I have an extreme panic inducing fear of all bugs and all of my biology assignments this week involving watching videos of crickets interacting with each other. I thought "maybe it won't be so bad" until I opened an assignment saw an up close picture of a cricket and started gagging

[sugawarassoulmate]

someone else tries to get with them

feat: bully!osamu, best friend!iwa, and rich bf!sakusa inspired by

part 2

cw: fem!reader

bully!osamu

you wanted to be anywhere but here right now, listening to this girl act as if she was your friend. you'd much rather be home, or at work, or at the library—quite literally anywhere but in front of this person you barely knew.

"i just think that osamu is a bit more extroverted and you might be too shy for him!" she said in a shrill, condescending voice. "he's always going to all these parties and i always see him talking to people...maybe he should date someone that's a more like him, you know?"

she must not know osamu all that well. he only goes to those parties because his brother or one of his friends drags him there and he spends the entire night blowing up your phone. as for talking to people, osamu can barely remember the name of his own lab partner, so it wouldn't surprise you if he got into meaningless conversations with people just to pass the time.

but on the surface, it looks as if one of the most popular guys on campus decided to date his weird, quiet childhood best friend and some people appeared to have a problem with that.

you tried to walk away from the conversation but the girl was persistent, not letting you leave until you vowed to leave osamu alone.

"don't you think it's selfish to stay with him when the two of you are so different?"

before you could respond—what you were going to say, you still had no idea—you were yanked into a solid figure, one you immediately recognized as your boyfriend already huffing in annoyance.

"been lookin' everywhere fer ya, jesus christ," he chastises, planting a quick kiss on the side of your head. "c'mon, let's go home—"

"samu! hiiii, i was actually just talking about y—"

osamu doesn't pay the girl any mind, rolling his eyes as he continues talking to you. "who the fuck is that? this is why i can't leave ya alone, babe. yer always talkin' to weirdos, let's go."

osamu pulls you away to talk about plans for dinner, leaving the strange girl dumbfounded by what she just witnessed.

best friend!iwa

"do you know if iwaizumi is seeing anyone?" the girl asked as she approached you on campus. it wasn't uncommon for random girls to come out of the woodwork to ask you about your best friend—he's a sweet, respectful, incredibly handsome man.

most of these girls figured that if they could get on your sweet side, they could get closer to their dream man. little did they know you were judging them every second they spoke to you.

when was the last time she even bothered washing her hair? or ew, her voice is annoying, haji would hate that. you let them get through their whole spiel, how they've liked iwa for ages but didn't know how to approach him and how they have a whole date planned, only for you to throw down the proverbial hammer.

"i'm sorry, haji isn't actually interested in dating anyone right now. he's really focused on his studies," you said confidently, watching the light in their eyes die.

"oh, but—"

"yeah, i would really give up if i were you," you shrugged, walking away before she could get another word in.

if anything, you were doing iwa a favor. there was no way he'd be interested in a girl like that. besides, if he got into a relationship now, he'd be too distracted to spend time with you.

"who were you talking you?" iwaizumi asks a bit later, noticing the weird interaction you had with a girl he didn't recognize.

"ugh, just another bimbo asking me about oikawa again," you lied so easily, throwing your legs over iwaizumi's lap as the two of you sat in the campus lounge. "you'd think they'd give it a break already."

iwaizumi doesn't question it. why would he? as far as he knew, you had nothing to gain by lying to him.

rich bf!sakusa

sakusa told you he had to take an important phone call and stepped away, leaving you in the shop. though, you weren't left alone for long. a few moments later you could hear incessant giggling behind you and after a while, you got the feeling it was about you.

turning around, you see a face that you're sure you've seen before but couldn't exactly place where. she must have known you, though, as she had no issue judging you with her eyes. "so kiyoomi does leave his little pet unattended. it's hard to recognize you when you're not in his shadow."

she was flanked on either side by one of her equally pompous, identical-looking friends, who both laughed at her cruel joke.

"excuse me?" fully turning around, you finally got a good look at the woman and realized that she was the daughter of a colleague that sakusa's father knew. you vaguely remembered your boyfriend complaining about having to entertain his father's guests during a boring gala a few weeks ago.

it wasn't uncommon for women to flaunt themselves at sakusa. he was the son of a prominent ceo, the heir to a successful company, and is absolutely breathtaking when he bothers to put his face mask down.

"it's just cute that kiyoomi still bothers to keep you around but he's always loved doing charity work." you weren't sure what was worse, her pathetic attempts to get a rise out of you or the shrill laughter of her air-headed friends. "our fathers are very close so don't be surprised when i'm the one on his arm whenever he gets tired of you."

"i'll be sure to remember that," you shrug your shoulders, turning your attention back to the rack of stupid clothes sakusa wanted you to try on. another day, another stupid business dinner with more spoiled brats of his father's stupid colleagues.

you tried to ignore the constant snicker, how they loudly wondered if you could even afford the clothes you were looking at—of course, you couldn't but sakusa loved to spoil you despite your attempts to dissuade him.

the teasing gets the better of you and you're about to snap back at them when the noises finally stop. you weren't sure when sakusa walked back into the store but he's by your side, staring daggers at the girl and her clique.

"and you shouldn't be surprised if my father never does business with yours again," he says curtly. his features soften the second he locks eyes with you. "here, babe. this gown will look perfect on you. go try it on for me."

the other girl tries to get a word in but she's stopped dead in her tracks by sakusa's harsh gaze returning to her. "you can go. i don't associate with trash."

the trio of mean girls drop the pieces they were looking at and scurry out of the store before they could embarrass themselves yet again. "do we still have to do this dumb business dinner?"

sakusa snorts, pushing you towards the dressing room. "of course, love, don't be foolish. you're going to be the most beautiful woman there.”

©sugawarassoulmate 2023 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!

[wynnyfryd]

Since you asked so nicely…and I’m nothing if not a giver… Steve very seriously saying to Eddie “That’s rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me less than two hours ago” in whatever scenario your Big Brain can come up with (ily ur amazing btw)

“Can’t believe you let a twelve year old drive off with your car,” Eddie snorts as he tosses another bottle cap into the hole in the floor of the boathouse.

“Can you stop that?” Steve clips. He doesn’t understand why Eddie’s bothering to do it, anyway. It’s too fucking dark to see the caps once they hit the water, but the steady plunk plunk plunk is starting to drive him a little nuts. Eddie is starting to drive him a little nuts.

You have to stay with him, Steve.

No one else is strong enough to protect him if someone comes looking for him, Steve.

Goddamn horseshit, is what it is.

Without Eddie’s little game of toss, the boathouse is… really creepy, actually. All creaking wood and nocturnal animal noises and Eddie’s shaky, rattling breaths.

“She’s fourteen,” Steve says to fill the silence he regrets asking for.

“Huh?”

“Max. She’s fourteen, not twelve.”

Eddie scoffs, lets his head drop again, hiding behind a curtain of hair. He brings a strand up to his mouth, mumbles, “Like that makes it any better.”

Okay, you know what? Steve doesn’t need this. He just does not need this. Not from the fully grown drug-dealing goth weirdo he’s being forced to babysit.

Seriously, who is Eddie Munson to go questioning his judgement when he’s trying to do the guy a fucking favor?

“That’s rich coming from the guy who tried to kill me less than two hours ago,” he bites, rubbing at the spot on his neck where the jagged glass pressed in.

“Oh, fuck off, man,” Eddie rolls his eyes. “I didn’t try to fuckin’- I wouldn’t… w-wouldn’t-”

Oh, no. Goddammit.

Eddie’s eyes go all wide and wet, his lip quivering around the word ‘kill,’ and Steve can just hear his mother tutting about his lack of decorum. The boy just witnessed a murder, Steven.

“Shit, man, Eddie, I’m-”

Eddie makes this sound — this pathetic thing, stuttering and damp, like mildew in his lungs, and his cheeks burn red as a tear tips over his lashes. Shit.

Shit.

“Hey,” Steve tries, reaching out to clap a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, but Eddie rears back, voice cracking as he snaps, “Don’t touch me!”

Eyes hot. Breath wet and heaving.

Steve’s gonna get decked for this.

“I’m- just… Just come here, man,” Steve says, wrapping an arm around Eddie, pulling him in, and Eddie folds like crumpled paper, collapses into Steve’s side and sobs, shaking them both so violently that Steve scoots them back a little from the edge of the hole in the floor just to be safe. He wraps Eddie up with both arms, and Eddie slumps down into his lap, and they’re-

Jesus. They’re cuddling. Steve Harrington is cuddling with Eddie Munson. What the fuck. What the fuck?

“You’re okay,” Steve murmurs, rocking them gently and brushing damp curls out of Eddie’s eyes, because, like. Might as well, right? This is already so weird.

[hydrangea-mon-amor]

「 ✦  Yandere Angel ✦ 」

Yandere Male! x fem! reader!

Trigger warning! Yandere behavior, obsessive behavior

A/N guys, I feel like I’m on drugs right now, I’ve worked on this for who knows how many hours just so I could drop it in time of New Years. It’s a long one, and I think you guys will love this one.

Summary! He is your Guardian Angel, sworn to protect you against any and all evil. You are a simple mortal girl, who ensnared the wrong angel in your circle… (no seriously girl how the hell did you do that….)

Side note — if you think there should be more trigger warnings added, let me know.

Every Angel is assigned to a human, but not every angel harbors the ability to form a genuine relationship with them. It isn’t in their clause, and, in any case, the act in itself is generally treated as something to avoid.

After all, angels are immortal, ephemeral creatures, beings of light itself. They cannot die like ordinary humans do, and they do not have the lifespan of one either…

No, they live long, immortality is something they are branded with. How could, if one could ask, would an angel live if they grew to love their charge, but had to acquiesce and give them up in the name of death?

Is it possible for life to be so unfair?

Is it possible for life to be so irrevocably cruel?

Peliel, was the name of your guardian Angel. He has been looking over you, you know? Each moment—every encounter that has mysteriously worked in your favor, it was all because of him. Truly he had your best interest in mind.

Do you remember, when it was your seventeenth birthday, your friends and you hopped in that Uber, only to be led astray but then back again? Remember how relieved you were when you had realized that you weren’t being kidnapped?

You should thank Peliel.

No, really, it’s insisted that you thank your protective guardian Angel…

On a drowsy Sunday morning, with leaves swaying to the persuasive winds, Peliel is slumped under a tree. He watches over you, you are outside a cafe, studying for a future exam. Peliel looks around for danger, he always has, he has never complained, he never will complain.

A dumb smile finds its way on his face.

‘You look so adorable…’ he thinks—he has always thought that.

His eyes perk up, where are you going?

Peliel, removes himself from the trees shade, and starts stalking towards you. No mortal can see him, he is, infact, hidden in plain sight. He watches you cross roads, than follow the same path. He follows, quite diligently too, until he comes to a stop.

The Public Library.

He smiles dumbly to himself. Of course someone as adorable and motivated as you would go to the library to study…

He moves through the door, tucking himself away into a corner so where he could watch you promptly. He has never loved being a guardian so much, he wishes death wasn’t a thing so he could forever be your Guardian Angel…

You sit in between two chairs on a desk, clasping a medical textbook in your hands. You lay it on top the surface, diligently tracing your fingers along the words, taking notes as you do. Hair cascading down your delectable visage, and Peliel watches it all, he will watch it all.

Sometimes, when you sleep in your bed, Peliel will sit at the edge of the mattress and just…stare. It isn’t weird, really it’s just him protecting what is his. He is in charge of your protection, what kind of Guardian Angel would he be if he didn’t take it upon himself catering to your protection in every circumstance?

Who would he be? No really, he might as-well be committing an act of transgression upon the Heavens.

No…the wording is wrong, in actuality, he’d be committing transgressions against you.

He sits in his corner, looking upon you like how mortals look upon their worldly desires. But, to him, you are more than just “desires.” You are his reason for living.

“Fuck.” He’s startled, it isn’t often he hears you curse…

You look upon your textbook, frustrated with the topic you’re currently studying. You look up, desperate for some notion of reprieve.

Your eyes squint.

“Can I help you? Why are you in the corner like that?”

Peliel is confused, you shouldn’t be able to see him. It isn’t natural, it isn’t possible. He is invisible to the mortal eye, he cannot be seen by ordinary folk, how can you…

“Are you referring to me?”

You should really be more gentle with him, he speaks so timidly, frightened he’s going to disappoint you…

You look over your shoulder, “I don’t see anyone huddled up in a corner like you are, so yes, as if it wasn’t obvious already, but I am looking at you. And seriously? Who would I have to look at besides you?”

Who would I have to look at besides you…

He seriously shouldn’t be getting butterflies from this, poor thing, all riled up for nothing.

“I-I’m not sure.” He attempts to smile, his face definitely dusted in red, he’s squeamish now, unbecoming. You really shouldn’t have acknowledged him.

“Don’t sit there, you’ll damage your spine.”

“How do you know?”

You hold up the textbook, “studying to become a doctor.”

He looks at you surprised.

“Really?”

As if he didn’t already know that…

“Mhmm, exam next Thursday, wish me luck won’t you?” You were being sarcastic, but he was not.

“O-of course!”

Your phone rings. “Have to go now, bye, don’t make me catch you in a position like that again. Well, that is if we ever meet again.”

He watches in awe, you leave the library, hesitant smile his way.

He feels like he’s on cloud nine, or ten, or eleven. He feels weightless, light, fluttering, untouchable.

Of course, the reason why you could see him was because of fate… you are destined for him, as he is destined for you… that’s why you could see him, that’s why he could converse with you…. Fate, you are fated to him…

He’s watching you.

Well, he always has, but something about this encounter is different… he doesn’t know, it feels more intimate, more romantic.

He sits upon a tree branch, an apple in his hands. He’s been meaning to take a bite, but he is so enamored with you that he simply just forgot… but, of course, could you blame him? You are simply so you, and he is irrevocably engrossed with you.

You are star-gazing, by yourself. Wearing a divine skirt, a tank top, and a simple, cute cardigan. You have a basket of mangoes by you, waiting a few moments to eat the next piece.

He can’t stop thinking about you, he can’t stop himself from being near you. Even if you don’t know he’s here, it still doesn’t change the fact that he’s there…

He will always be there.

Always, for you.

In the wake of the glowing moon, the dance of the twinkling constellations, Peliels whispers, sounds odd but no. He whispers to you, don’t you understand? Fate has communicated that you two are meant for eachother, bless Peliel, all he is doing is seeing it to fruition.

These whispers, these statements of fervor, are carried by the ever persistent winds.

They are carried to you.

Heaven cannot compare to the bliss you have given.

Your face is as delicate as dew drops, and your voice as placid as the clearest of waters…you are an illustration of exalted life.

He almost giggles to himself when he sees you startled, playing it off as something amiss with your hearing.

It was probably the smartest thing you’ve done thus far.

He shouldn’t intervene this much, really, it isn’t ethical. And, his higher ups would probably not be too fond of his recent behavior either. But can he help it? Really, can he?

Honestly he thinks it’s your fault.

If you weren’t so infatuating, so alluring, he wouldn’t have to do this.

If he didn’t love you like he did, he probably would’ve stepped back, but he does love you, he loves you so much that he cannot bear the sight of you being inconvenienced. No matter how minor.

So why is that you aren’t grateful? Why do you look on in terror as if he had done something so outrageous? So heinous?

“Please, someone, dial 911!” You shout, shaking as you watch the bleeding corpse of your boss.

How did he even get that way?

A part of you is at odds with one another. He was a shit boss, always targetting people who couldn’t fight back, he was rude, mean, crude, narcissistic, evil—

“I—he’s losing a lot of blood please!” You shout, cursing yourself for not having your phone on you.

Peliel watches on, not liking the feeling swirling in his stomach.

Why aren’t you showing any signs of gratitude? You hated him, Peliel knows how much you hated him. So why, why do you want people do help the coward! He’s helping you! He’s doing you a favor, how could you be so insolent and—

Wait.

You are so lucky to have a very smart Guardian Angel, did you know that?

Peliel, transforms into a mortal body, akin to how you saw him in the library, just less…divine. He transforms into the uniform of your workplace, a co-worker. He pushes pass the doors, until he reaches you the body.

“I know how to bandage deep wounds.” He said, not realizing the logistics of the situation he has put himself in.

He didn’t take note to factor in the fact that you have never seen him working with you before, or the fact that it has been a complete month since your last interaction, or the fact that this just seems so convenient…

He supposes he is lucky enough to have a human so traumatized to not question it.

“Please h-help, I don’t know how he ended up like this.” You said, voice trembling.

Cute.

Peliel thinks how he could be the cause of that trembling voice.

“Do you have a first aid kid?” He said, you nodded, still shaking. When you leave his sight to fetch the kit, Peliel looks upon the corpse like it has personally offended him.

He didn’t plan for this to happen, it wasn’t what he originally wanted. But he supposes it isn’t a complete loss, since, he does have you.

With a snap of his finger, the corpse he so assiduously butchered was bandaged up in an instant. The bleeding, to a minimum.

When you came back, you were stunned.

“How did you…I thought you—“

“I realized I had a first aid kid with me. Sorry if I bothered you.”

“No—not at all! I just…thank you for helping. I am so grateful—god—I don’t understand how this could even happen.”

Grateful.

So now you are grateful.

Peliel thinks he may have to switch tactics, but nevertheless, he is happy. He is happy he made you happy.

“Of course, it’s nothing—“

Peliel is cut off from ambulance sirens.

What a hinderance.

Alas, at the end of the day, when you have high given your police statements, you both stand outside the police station.

“Really again, I’m so grateful you showed up, if you hadn’t I don’t think he would’ve been able to—“

Peliel realizes that he may have overstepped here, but he doesn’t care. He pulls you close, hugging you. He is close enough to smell your scent.

“Really it’s nothing. You have just scene a traumatizing scene, you shouldn’t think about scenarios that haven’t passed.”

Peliel is honestly, such a lucky angel to have a mortal so blissfully naive.

You don’t think him creepy for hugging you, infact, you think the gesture was nice, comforting.

“Y/N.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My name, it’s Y/N.”

He smiles, “my name is”—he thinks for a moment—“Pete, my name is Pete.”

You look up at him, your visage twisting to remembrance.

“I know you, you were at the library.” It’s now that you two are a reasonable distance from one another. “You were crouched in that little corner—“

“And you told me you were studying to be a doctor.” He said. “That makes me wonder, shouldn’t you have been able to help him?”

You frown, your face taking a shade of shame.

“I…didn’t pass, turns out I wasn’t even familiar with half the things I doctor should be able to do.”

He rests his hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay, you’ll find your calling.”

For now, Peliel can be the doctor, your doctor.

“I uh, I didn’t know you worked here.”

Peliel purses his lips. “I didn’t know you worked here too.” Liar. “I think I should quit though, after what happened, I don’t think It’d be safe If you—I mean—I continued to work there.”

You smile dimly, “yeah, I guess that makes sense.” You take out a piece of parchment, a pen next, you scribble numbers onto the page. Peliel has no idea what you are trying to do.

It’s cute really, how bashful your getting, presenting the paper to him. “It’s my number. Call me if you need anything.”

He smiles, taking the paper in hand, “alright.”

He sees you more often now.

How lucky he is.

He gets to speak to you more as well. By the heavenly principles, he shouldn’t have such easy access to you, it isn’t in his job description, really, he should only converse with you durning pivotal moments in your life, but bless his heart, he just can’t help it!

He loves you, don’t you know that? He loves you so much it pains his heart.

You’re at a coffee shop, gaze fixed on a laptop screen and fingers tapping gently on the keyboards. For a few moments, he stands outside the window, just watching you.

He loves watching you.

A shaky breath leaves his lips, he wonders how he can merge his life into yours, how he can have you all to himself.

He wants you so bad, did you know that?

No, he needs you.

He mouths the words I love you a million times, then a million times more.

He wants to say it in person.

He watches you.

You tap the keyboards gently.

He watches you.

Your eyes are fixed in the screen.

They should be fixed on him.

He watches you.

Your lips look so soft.

How soft are they to kiss?

He watches you.

Your eyes dazzle his soul.

How will they look when he has you under his d—

He watches you.

He’s always watching you.

How lucky.

He’s infiltrated your day to day life.

One might think this is what Guardian Angels do, they walk through your life as you live it, but Peliel is not the same. He shouldn’t be with you like this.

It’s as If he’s casted a spell on you.

The flowers are more dazzling, the sky is more eccentric, you smell things more in depth now, you feel things more intimately, emotions are more raw, your vision more clear and it is all thanks to you know who.

Well, in actuality you don’t, but that doesn’t matter.

He likes seeing you happy, and yo are happy.

Right?

Well, Peliel thinks you are.

You smile more.

Laugh more.

You are just so…you!

He loves It.

He’s giggling now, thinking about what he is going to do.

What he will do just so he can talk to you.

The winds take a sharp turn, you walk alongside the sidewalk, earphones locked in place, listening to a song on your playlist. When a sharp breeze sets you off your course. Your body slams down on the other direction, hitting a wall of some sort.

No, not a wall, something soft.

Something soft and breathing and moving.

“I think you have some sort of penchant running into me.” He said, recognizing you so much more faster than you can even think to remember him.

His voice is soft, and his hand is around you protectively, so that you don’t injure yourself further.

As if he wasn’t the cause for this.

Sometimes, he thinks why you don’t react the way other mortals do. Usually, they’d scream and curse at someone they see so often and nit know personally, perhaps it is paranoia.

But you are so accepting, so naive—

“It seems I always bump into you when I need saving.” You say shyly.

He blushes.

Saving.

Need.

You need him.

He knew you loved him.

“Are you hurt? That seemed like a really hard fall you had there.”

He is so happy you had that fall. Because if not, he wouldn’t be in this situation. You in his arms.

“I’m fine, are you fine? You tumbled down with me, I’m sorry, I’m probably causing you a lot of pain.” You move to stand up, Peliel has to physically fight himself so he doesn’t pull you down. So he doesn’t come on too strong.

“Do you want to get coffee with me?” He said, blurting it out before he can form cohesive thoughts.

He doesn’t regret it though, not when you gave him such an enticing response.

“Sure, maybe we can get to know each other a bit more.”

He already knows every inch of your being.

But sure, he’ll humor you for the time being.

You get gifts now.

He delivers them to you.

How considerate.

You open the door to your front porch, a crystal, white box addressed to you. Delivered in pristine condition. On it there is an attached note.

For the loveliest rose the heavens could gaze on.

He doesn’t sign it off with his name however. But you are so curious you just simply had to know, you needed to know.

How stupid you were.

A heinous, disgusting shrill came out of your mouth. The birds changed their course and the crickets and insects that surrounded your house grew silent.

Inside the box were a pair of two eyes, another note placed inside.

For the men who dared to look at the loviest rose.

You wanted to puke, you wanted to hurl yourself into a corner and just sob.

Peliel watches.

And truth be told, he does not like the reacting you had given him.

He worked so hard to get this right, to give you a present worthy of your magnificence. And this is how you respond? By screaming as if it is something to abhor? Do you have no gratitude?

But that is okay, he has other gifts in mind.

The next week, you get another package. And this time you had no Will to open it. You didn’t want to open it. You were only outside to read the nite attached to the box.

Lovely rose, I hope you like this present better than the…one before.

You don’t open it. You can’t open it. You won’t open it.

But curiosity knows at you like cornered claws, you can’t continue your day without thinking about it.

It’s always in the back of your mind.

Lovey rose.

Lovely rose.

Lovey rose.

It chips away at you until it is finally night and you cannot go another second without knowing so like a ravaged animal you grasp the box like a depraved creature and claw at it. Until it rips open to reveal…an amethyst ring.

What?

But this makes no sense…

On the ring is another attached note.

The loveliest mineral for the loveliest rose.

Oh you’re fucked now.

Peliel curses himself.

He’s let you stray far away from him.

Your at the same coffee shop, same table, same laptop, but it isn’t the same. Because if it was the same he would be watching you like he always does, he’d be watching you while you tap your delicate fingers gently on the keyboards.

But it is not the same.

Do you want to know why?

Because a incompetent, insolent mortal boy is besides you.

His finger is on you lap, he smiles at you, his gaze fixed on you.

Who does he think he is? Doesn’t he know that position is only reserved for him? Wasn’t this the place you and him visited just last week? Wasn’t this the place you two bought coffees together and had a pleasant conversation? Wasn’t this the place you smiled at him like you knew him even before your birth? Wasn’t this the place that cemented the fact that you belonged to him?

That he belonged to you?

He watches in rage, he watches seething, fingers curling into a fist, all he wants to do is wipe that mortal boy off the face of this planet.

He doesn’t deserve you like Peliel does.

He didn’t earn you like Peliel did.

What is this?

Have you forsaken him? Was every encounter you had with him nothing? You said you needed him, you said that exact word remember?

So why is he watching this.

Why is he watching this and feeling so—so jealous!

But Peliel, your very smart Guardian Angel, always has a plan. He watches you, rage mixed with absolute devotion and adoration and devises a plan.

He smiles just thinking about.

This way, he can have you all to himself, without…hinderances.

Yes, you might be a little angry with him for the first couple of weeks. You may actually be a little scared. Confused, distraught, anxious.

But it’ll all be worth it.

Besides, he’s sure you’ll come around to living with him in the mountains, isolated from the rest if the world, just you and him, forever.

Hell just have to kidnap you there first.

—

A/N: thank you for being so patient while I worked on this. I made it extra long so you guys could savor it a bit more, and also because I believe it needed to be this long so you could understand fully Peliel infatuation with Y/N. I have ideas on how I can expand this story, but don’t get your hopes up because I’m not sure if it’ll come into fruition. I love you all so much and thank you for reading.

Happy new year!

[aroeddiediaz]

7x04 Coda

Sprained ankles hurt. Eddie shouldn’t be as surprised as he is by the pain, because he knows all too well that the amount of pain injuries feel like is almost inverse with the actual damage they cause. A shot from a sniper felt like almost nothing, while a stubbed toe sends ricochets up his spine.

But that’s nothing compared to the encroaching feeling of dread as Eddie thinks back on his interactions with Buck over the last two weeks, and what might have caused his best friend to lash out at him.

“I think we fucked up,” he grumbles to Tommy, who gives him a quick glance before returning his attention to the road.

“You mean with Evan?” Tommy says.

Evan. That was kind of weird, right? Eddie had only ever heard Buck’s sister and parents call him by his first name before. He’d only used the name once himself, when he told Buck about his will.

But Buck hadn’t corrected Tommy on it, so he must not mind, Eddie supposes.

Eddie shakes that stray thought away.

“Yeah,” he continues, even though talking kind of hurts right now. That didn’t seem fair, it’s Eddie’s ankle that’s injured, not his lungs. “I mean, with me kind of blowing him off to come to that karaoke night… and the UFC fight in Vegas… and the pickup game…”

Looking back on it now, Eddie’s not sure when it all got so out of hand. He and Tommy had hit it off on the Coast Guard ride back to LA, while Buck was off checking in with Bobby and Athena. He’d been so excited as they shared their similar interests and history- army, MMA, old cars- that he’d immediately made plans to hang out. When Tommy mentioned that he could get them rinkside tickets in Vegas, Eddie had jumped on it immediately. He didn’t even think about mentioning it to Buck.

And the babysitting thing… Eddie kind of wants to curl up thinking back to the strange face Buck had made when Eddie asked him to watch over Chris. Buck usually loved hanging out with Chris, even volunteering for it when Eddie mentioned having plans, so he didn’t think twice about asking it of him. He should have known.

“Ooh, yeah.” Tommy lets out a whistle. “We did fuck up, huh. Could have at least invited him to muay thai after the match.”

Eddie laughs a little, strained by the pain and the stirrings of shame. “Buck doesn’t know muay thai. Just boxing.”

“Yeah?” There’s a funny tone to Tommy’s voice. “Maybe we should teach him.”

Eddie does a careful rotation of his inflamed joint. The stretch does help ease the pain a little. “Maybe you should offer him lessons,” he says. “I’m gonna be out of commission for a little bit.”

Tommy glances at him again. A slightly longer one, with them stopped at a red light, kind of searching. “You think he’d be interested in learning from me?”

“Oh yeah. You’re great. And Buck’s a quick study for sure.” Eddie glances out the window, and sees the urgent care clinic sign just past the intersection. “Actually, you think you could do me a favor?”

The light turns green. Tommy drives forward. “Of course.”

“Could you talk to Buck for me?” Eddie asks. “I’m sure he’s feeling all sorts of guilty right now, and it’s not his fault. He just got a little too aggressive at the game.”

It’s really too bad. Buck’s really good at basketball, for someone who hates the game so much. Eddie’s sure he’ll never get Buck to touch a ball again.

“Uh, yeah,” Tommy says, slowly, as he pulls up into the parking lot. “If you’re sure you want me to speak with him.”

Eddie nods. “He’s probably licking his wounds at his loft right now, and he’ll need a bit of a kick in the pants before he comes to see me. I trust you.”

Tommy chuckles a little. “Alright, then. I’ll swing by his place in the morning, before my shift, check in on him for you.”

That’s a relief. They find a parking spot close to the clinic entrance, and Eddie hisses a little as he opens the door and swings his legs out. He needs to be more considerate of Buck’s feelings, going forward. He has the sinking feeling that he’s started to take him for granted.

He’ll have to pay him more attention.

[paragonrobits]

Talk to the people that fight the monsters in the dark, skulking in the alleys no one remembers and hiding behind suits and smiling faces in the expensive buildings, they'll tell you stories. They say there's a city block that doesn't belong to the city anymore.

Don't make trouble for the people there. The unspoken statement is that the people there aren't... exactly human anymore. They used to be. But there's worse things in the dark then men with the hearts of wolves or undying monsters that drink the blood of the living; worse than patchwork men that spread disaster in their wake and don't understand why. Sometimes, a terrible mystery ensnares someone, trapping them in promises and story and lies, and drags them away.

What comes back isn't human anymore. It's still a person, though. They reason and understand things, same as the humans they were, once. You leave them alone, the local Union rep says. They're no harm to no one, as long as you don't bring trouble to them.

Don't rat to them, you get warned. If someone who looks too good to be true comes around sniffing for their addresses, you just smile and nod and say you never heard a damn thing. Don't rat them out. Because the people in that place will know, and they'll find you, and your family. You try to throw them back into hell, they'll return the favor three times over.

But it goes both ways; if you watch out for them, mind your business and keep their secrets, they'll help you out.

The Union rep tells you a short little story; he says that most of the time, the people in that city block look the same as you or me. There might be a few signs; a girl with teeth unnaturally sharp and pointy, or a man who knocks on wood and it makes a noise like HE'S made of wood. But if things are going normal, you won't see what they really look like, just a kind of magical mask that hides them. But they got their fancy tricks, and they know all about escaping bad situations.

So if you do your part in the deal, they'll help you out. Pretty much anything; a single mother went down to them after some bad business with her ex came up and her kids went missing. Well, she talked to Pop Hammerfist, the big ol' dude that looks like someone carved a tree into a man. Her ex was on the news in the hospital a few days after, yelling about the trees following him, and her kids were back home safe and sound, and with the ex having already signed a few agreements to pay his damn alimony already.

Or a little boy with a missing cat came up to them and asked for help. If any of the real hunters or Union folk had heard about it, they would have stopped him, but the people in the city block didn't turn him away. They nodded, and listened, a few hours later came back with the little boy's cat, safe and purring up a storm. You help them out, they help you out; I hear that kid tells 'em stuff he heard. 'Spose there's a lesson in that. We're all in this together, long as we don't tear the boat down with us in it.

Reminds me of a story about the lady who brought the cat in, in fact. A big lady; has to go to special shops to get clothes that fit. Weird shiny teeth, too, with the weirdest damn braces I ever saw, if those are braces. You hear some funny stories about her, that when she comes knocking the whole floor shakes, but she couldn't be a sweeter lady. Nice to kids, loves cats, always help out. If she's got the weird habit of speaking in rhyme before she says anything else, well, we all got our promises, I guess.

Well, a while back, we had a Slasher. Yeah; the thing that happens when a Hunter goes bad, or someone just gets too much of a taste for murder. Killing opens up a soul, and some part of us leaks out, or something else gets in. This particular fellow liked to call himself a real genius; a real nasty piece of work that liked making elaborate death traps and leaving people to die. Well, we worked out he was there when they started finding the bodies, and by that point he'd already gotten the Big Lady.

...Yeah, that's the name of that lady I mentioned. Long story.

Well, we found what was left of him, and his death traps. The whole place was smashed to pieces by something big. Big and helliciously strong, I'd say. It was like the set of those torture horror movies got hit by a storm. And they found the guy, or. What was left of him. Looked like a wild animal had bit him up, or a jaguar.

Well, from what we heard, he got her all right. But she might have been a bit more than he bargained for. I'm not sure exactly what she did to him, but they were cleaning his blood and bone off the wall for weeks. They said his skull looked like something real strong had just slugged him, so hard he sorta splashed. Don't make me draw you a picture, pal.

But, yeah. Funny thing is, they said the fist mark was so big you'd need a person the size of an elephant to throw that kind of punch. And we kept seeing cats around the area. Really, really big cats.

..You remember about promises. You keep 'em with the city block folk, because they got all kinds of things keeping promises to them.

What happened to the Big Lady, you ask? Oh, she's still around. Helps out the local Union cell now and then. Good hand if you need brute force.

She don't much like having to handle anything that's got too much iron in it; steel is fine, but not real iron. She saws its an allergy.

...Yeah, I know how it sounds. But we got our funny ways, and she keeps her promises, so keep your nose out of it, yeah?

[siconetribal]

Put it on My Tab (16)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!reader

Warning:

Backpack newbie, All the green flags, It is time for...the talk

A/N:

I originally came on here about 45 minutes ago to post this and got completely side tracked and distracted by a draft that was just staring at me for days. (I normally don't see it on the app and I might have been avoiding it because I couldn't decide on what to choose.) Anyways, without further ado, the next installment!

Please comment/like/reblog. If you’d like to be tagged moving forward, please let me know!

As always, a huge thank you and shout out to @harlequin-hangout for the amazing banners you made for me.

If you’re new to the story, please check out the master post for the rest of the chapters.

Jason waited patiently for her to climb on. He watched her shuffle bit by bit closer to him and his bike. He could not see her face because of the helmet, but he did not have to. He knew the type of face she must be making, and he had to keep his composure to not laugh at how cute this all was. Y/N was not the first innocent young woman he has dealt with, nor the first one to sass him back. She was a weird combination of the two that was uniquely her, and that is what drew him to her. Normally, someone like her would have never spoken to someone like him. Their worlds would have never collided. In reality, anyway. The fact that she’s IAmBatman still throws me for a loop. I would’ve bet big money it was one of the other Robins trolling me. He was about to ask if she needed help when he felt his bike shift from the added weight and her arms squeeze him tight, in what probably was her version of a death grip but ended up as more of a bear hug for him. Yeah, I’ve been squeezed harder by worse. I don’t mind this. He lightly patted her arms.

“I promise, I won’t do anything to scare you. Just follow my body and don’t be too stiff, ok?” He looked over his shoulder to see her try to look up at him, but his helmet was not doing her any favors. He snorted out a chocked laugh and quickly looked forward once more. “Sorry, sorry,” he reached back and hooked his hand under her thigh by her knee, tugging her leg up to rest her foot on a proper place. The motion had her scooting closer, and she jumped again when he pulled her other leg. “Keep your feet here and just enjoy the ride. Did you want me to put on some music? I have Bluetooth in my helmet. It won’t be easy to talk, since you won’t be able to hear well.”

“Music is fine, but how will you hear?” She spoke a little louder to not come out muffled.

“I’ll be fine, I rather you be comfortable.” Yup, she’s definitely having trouble hearing me. “Do you listen to anything in particular?”

“Anything is fine by me, but I tend to do more 90s rock. Linkin Park, Coldplay, or My Chemical Romance are always appreciated.” 

“Really?” He looked over his shoulder again to see if she was lying, but was met with his helmet. Right, I forgot about that. He rolled his eyes at his little lapse in memory. Didn’t expect that list from her. She really knows how to surprise me every time. He searched around a bit and managed to build a small playlist of songs for her to listen to. “Let me know if this is too loud.” He played a song and waited until they found a good setting for her. “Hold tight when the music starts and just move with me, ok?” He secured his phone and pulled out his red half mask that covered his mouth.

I don’t think any of the guys I’ve dated have ever been this considerate. He’s not a textbook gentleman, but he’s pretty close. Y/N was genuinely surprised with how much care he was taking with her. She was nervous that he may find her burdensome and tried not to cause much trouble. The tug on her legs caught her off guard, literally pulling her from her thoughts and scooting her closer to him. His voice was a bit muffled, but she was not sure which made it worse: the beating of her heart that was now magically in her ears or the helmet. Either way, she managed to figure out what he was saying and answer.

“Do you listen to anything in particular?”

“Anything is fine by me, but I tend to do more 90s rock. Linkin Park, Coldplay, or My Chemical Romance are always appreciated.” Is that weird to say? Maybe I should've said something more pop or indie? But I like them and they’re my go-to music.

“Really?” she felt him twist, so she looked up, or at least tried to but could only see part of his face.

How do people ride with big, clunky things like these? Then again, this is his size, so it’s probably not so big or clunky to him. She reasoned. 

Soon enough, everything seemed settled and as soon as the music started, she tightly held onto him. As promised, he kept to an easy speed which allowed her to take in her surroundings. It was not as scary as she thought it would be. The cars that zipped by were not the best, but Jason clearly knew what he was doing and avoided all trouble. At a red light there was a car revving its engine and some passengers were heckling them, but he seemed to just ignore it.

I wonder, would he have responded to them if I wasn’t here? They’re pretty annoying. This is the third light they’ve stopped at with us and are still trying to get a rise out of him. She frowned, unable to hear them thanks to the music. A bunch of rowdy losers. She tightened her grip on Jason. The pat to her arms surprised her, but it was reassuring. Cici’s right, I need to talk to him about the bill. He’s not going to throw a fit and storm off. 

Y/N looked up as they pulled into a parking lot. It was a diner she had seen on a few of the bus rides when the usual bus was not running. She had always thought about stopping by, but it was always a fleeting thought until she saw it again.

“We’re here,” she heard him as the music stopped. “You climb off first, I’ll keep the bike balanced.” She quickly followed his instructions and managed to get off without fumbling, much to her own surprise. Feeling proud, she stood a little taller and pulled off the helmet

“Not so bad, right?” He grinned, his mask hidden in his jacket once more.

“I’ll admit, not as scary as everyone makes it out to be. You were a textbook motorcyclist. I thank you for not trying to give me a heart attack.”

“Bikes get a bad rep, couldn’t let that happen again. Want your bag? It’ll be safe here if not.” Y/N hesitated for a moment. If he does end up freaking out on me, I’ll lose my things. It’s unlikely he would, but I can’t risk it. Who knows what’ll happen. 4k isn’t just some simple bake sale change. “Yeah, I probably should. My phone is there. I should have it on me in case Cici tries to reach me.”

“Say no more,” he carefully handed it to her and took his helmet in return. “C’mon, let’s get some grub. I'm starving!” He led the way inside.

“Well look who it is, back again? Oh, you’re not alone this time?” Y/N looked up at the sound of the gruff voice to a big older guy standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Hey Charlie, what can I say, I like your food. Yeah, I brought a friend, we’ll seat ourselves.” Jason hooked his arm around her shoulders and led her to a booth where there were not as many people. A young woman came around with the sticky laminated menus, pouting at the sight of Y/N. It was evident that the waitress was interested in the handsome regular and Y/N was not off to a good start.

Better not do anything to get her spitting in my food. She nervously smiled, picking up the menu.

Jason watched Y/N as she looked over the choices, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recalled how proud she looked when she dismounted his bike with ease. He was nervous that she may not have liked the ride because of the overcompensating teens that were trying to get him to race, but she had yet to say anything so he let it be 

Those dumbasses were lucky they were allowed to keep up with me. I'd been impossible to catch if I was alone. I’m just glad she wasn't annoyed by them. The ride was peaceful aside from that. She was not stiff and followed his lead well, which was great for him. Feeling her pressed against his back made him realize just how much smaller she was compared to him. She was not frail or sickly, but she was comparably weaker than him or many of the other females he has worked with. Then again, none of them are run-of-the-mill either. He realized the unfair comparison. It was different though, a good difference. He could not really put his finger on why it mattered, but it had. Instead of stressing on it, he let the thought come and go.

When they reached the diner, he asked her about her belongings and she hesitated. She was clearly weighing the risks and benefits. It was not shrewd, it was logical. Even though he was a secret vigilante, she should be cautious. If he was anyone else, she could have been a lot of trouble. Hearing her answer was a relief. He had no intention of just up and leaving her, but anything could happen. Duty could call, and he would need to go, and she would be stuck here. The idea of abandoning her did not sit well with him, and he could not figure out why.

Regardless, everything is going pretty smoothly for now, maybe we can have a decent conversation. I need to bring up the money, but she’s yet to even ask for my name. What does a guy gotta do to be inquired about around here!?  He propped an elbow on the table and glared at her reflection in the window, chin resting in his hand.

“So, I suppose I should start with a name, huh?” His ears perked up at the words, and he quickly turned to face her. “We’ve obviously met a bunch of times, but I didn’t really think we’d ever meet again after so I never bothered. My name's Y/N Y/LN, what’s yours?”

Did I hear right? Did she just and then just? Have I died? Like actually died-died?  “Took you long enough,” he grinned. “Nice to meet you officially, my name is Jason Todd. Now I can change your contact name from ‘Trouble Magnet Barista’ to your actual name.”

“You did not,” he showed her his phone and she whacked him with the menu. He laughed as he dodged the hit.

“You refused to give me your name. What was I supposed to call you? The Expensive Inquisition? Or D.I.D. #1?” He smirked as she scowled at him. “You have no one to blame but yourself for that.”

“I should change your name to Sir Questions-a-lot.” He heard her grumble as she took out her phone and changed his name while he changed hers in his phone. “Something tells you wanted to say more than just your name, what’s up?”

Y/N stared at the words on the menu but paid them no attention. She needed to get her thoughts in order and strike up the conversation without insulting or angering him. It’s not every day some chick comes demanding a large sum of money like that. She glanced at him over the top of the menu. Well for normal people anyway. Trust fund kids with a playboy father might have people knocking on their door all the time. I need to make sure he knows I'm not one of those people.

“So, I suppose I should start with a name, huh?” She finally built up the courage to speak up. “We’ve obviously met a bunch of times, but I didn’t really think we’d ever meet again after so I never bothered. My name's Y/N Y/LN, what’s yours?” She anxiously waited for his response as he simply stared at her with wide eyes. Oh no, did I do that wrong? How else was I supposed to do it? I can’t just say ‘hi’ like we weren’t just with each other!

“Took you long enough,” he grinned. “Nice to meet you officially, my name is Jason Todd. Now I can change your contact name from ‘Trouble Magnet Barista’ to your actual name.”

“You did not,” she gasped when he showed her the screen and she swung the first thing in her hands, which was the floppy menu. Sadly he was able to avoid the feeble strike.

Y/N stiffened at his reminder of why she even brought up their names. He was right. She made the decision to talk to him about the hotel bill. Jason had to have known he broke the machine, but was unaware of the bill that followed. How else would he be so carefree?

“Yes, there is something else.” She set her weapon down and took a deep breath. Just rip it off like a bandaid. “The hotel we stayed at,” she paused for a moment, shifting her gaze from his face to the table. “They contacted me that weekend and told me there was damage to the room. I know you didn’t do it on purpose, but the price to pay is really steep. I won’t demand you to pay all of it since I’ve already started paying it off, but I’d appreciate it if you’d help me with the rest. Which is why I’ve been working like crazy to cover the costs, but it’s slow progress and the hotel is starting to get annoyed with how slow the progress is. Not only that, but I’m afraid they’ll throw me into collections, which will only cause more problems. I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, nor did I want to blame you, but Cici and I are already living tight as is.” She tried to speak as calmly as possible, but her tempo sped up a bit towards the end as her nerves got the best of her. There, I said it! Now all she had to do was wait for him to respond.

Tag: @vbecker10 @wordsfromshona @harlequin-hangout @harpy-space @tild3ath @gone-batty-fics @princessbl0ss0m @dakotali  @antiquecultistst

[nagito-kissmaeda]

Cute Movie night with komaeda,,,,? :3

ミ☆ This probably isnt 100% what you wanted but the idea came to me in a rush and i couldn't stop writing. I could be convinced to do a second part later lol maybe.

ミ☆ It's also just a little one, i hope that's okay! Word count: 1088 Contains: the cringest reader in the world, violence and blood ment (they're watching a horror movie) ミ☆ Please send me a DM or an ask if you’d like me to write something for you!

You probably should have been more clear with your intentions, you realize, as you sit uncomfortably in your theater seat. Clear is not a word that you would use to describe your usual methods, more circuitous, confusing and awkward. It has not worked in your favor. 

The movie is alright, you haven't really been watching all that much of it. Every few minutes your eyes dart to the side to peer at Komaeda where he sits in the seat beside you, desperately trying to gauge if he is having a good time or not. You should have told him it was a date, you really should have just told him. 

Falling back on usual anxious and unhelpful habits, you had tried to seem cool, to seem aloof, like you really didn't care whether he said yes or no. You’d made up some lie about having a spare ticket, and not having anyone else to go with you, laughing a lot more than you really should have and (in retrospect, the most embarrassing part of the whole thing) trying to lean against the wall in a way that looked effortless, and devil may care. Komaeda had thought you were slumped over in exhaustion, so it hadn't worked one bit. 

There's a loud noise from the movie and you jump in your seat. You don’t actually like slasher movies, but you thought it might be a good excuse to hold Komaeda’s hand or something. He looks over at you with a polite expression (no emotion really, just polite) to check if you are okay. You give him two thumbs up without thinking and immediately want to die. 

He has his hands tucked politely in his lap, not even doing you the service of using your shared armrest so you can do the classic slow pinkie intertwine move that you usually rely on in these situations. Your hands are clasped in your own lap, much less politely, aggressively, more like, and god are they sweaty. 

Komaeda thinks you only invited him because he was your last option, and it’s all your fault. You should have just told him you like him, that you really like him. It’s stupid, how much you worried about putting on airs when proposing this little excursion, Komaeda doesn’t care about that sort of thing, that’s why you like him so much! 

Someone on screen gets cut in half with a chainsaw and blood sprays everywhere, you avert your eyes, and notice that Komaeda looks very pretty in the blood red lighting. Weird thought to have, so weird. You avert your eyes in the other direction instead. Luckily the cinema is mostly empty, it’s mid-afternoon on a weekday so you don’t need to worry about accidentally making eye contact with a stranger. There are some very yucky sounds coming from the movie now, so you just keep not looking. 

“Are you alright?”

You turn to face Komaeda again, shielding your eyes from the screen with a hand. His expression is not just polite now, it’s concerned.

“Uh, yeah. I’m okay.”

He doesn’t believe you, you can tell, “We can go if you aren’t enjoying yourself.”

“No-No it’s okay, I am having a stellar time.” You say, your voice is squeaker than you’d intended, and oh god you realize that probably sounded sarcastic, “I mean it, i’m serious, being here with you right now is so cool and good-”

You overhear what sounds like a person being torn asunder and feel instantly sick to your stomach. Komaeda’s eyes dart up to the screen for a moment, and his eyebrows jump up in shock, “Don’t look up, okay?”

“H-Huh?” You ask, terrible instinct making you instantly start to look in the direction he just told you not to.

Komaeda grabs your face in both his hands, they’re cold and a little sweaty. It has the desired effect, you are shocked into absolute stillness, whatever is happening in the movie is the last thing on your mind right now. 

He laughs a little, nervously, like he’s worried about offending you, “I know it’s out of line for me to ask this, aha, but ah…why did you buy tickets for a movie that you can’t even watch?”

It takes you second to even realize that he’s asked you a question, his face is awash in red light, his eyes wide and beautiful. You can see his pale eyelashes, and a few sparse freckles on the bridge of his nose, so faint that you’ve never noticed them before, you realize you’ve been staring too long, “Oh uh, sorry I- um, I guess I wanted you to think I was like…” the next word comes out so weakly that you once again wish to die on the spot, “hardcore?”

Komaeda laughs again, warmly this time, “Ah, I don’t know why you even care what I think of you, but i certainly wouldn't think any less of you for not being hardcore” 

 “Should we go, then?” You say quietly, worrying your lower lip for a moment before muttering, “We could watch a better movie at my place?”

“A-Ah…” Komaeda starts, it’s pretty dark in the theater now that the slaughter has stopped for a moment, but you swear there's color to his cheeks, “Well, I’m sure you don’t need me for that, I know that I’m only here because you accidentally bought a second ticket and everyone else was busy.”

“Komaeda-kun, I’m asking you on a date.” You say quickly before you have a chance to change your mind, “This was supposed to be a date, but I was too scared to ask you properly, so I lied about the ticket thing, I bought two on purpose.”

“Oh.” He replies, slowly removing his hands from your cheeks and chewing thoughtfully on his thumbnail. 

“Yeah, oh.” You say, staring down at your hands.

Komaeda laughs breathlessly, “That changes things, then, doesn’t it?” He hums to himself for a moment and then says, “Well, if you’re certain you’d like to spend time with me…I’d be glad to.”

You look up at him, a wide grin tugging at your mouth. Unfortunately though, the movie is showing a scene where one of the main characters gets all his intestines pulled out. Komaeda is quick, though, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and tugging your face into his chest before you can get a proper look. He laughs, “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

Date number two is going to be much better, you can already tell.

[dirtbra1n]

he kind of doesn’t know why he does it, didn’t really take the time to think about it. all he knows is that the time read 2:41 a moment ago and changed the second shirahama’s voice crackled over the phone, “what?”

“gonna tell you something weird.”

“…mhm…?“

tashiro squeezes his eyes shut, groggily rubbing a thumb over quick-drying salt at the outer corner of his eye. “just dreamed about hanzawa senpai dying on me.”

“…” shirahama breathes in; tashiro can hear him hold it. similarly, the sound of his hand being dragged over his face is crisp and loud.

finally, he says, “fascinating.”

—

thing is that tashiro could go for a vending machine drink, right about now.

not that he’s bored. the underclassman sweating and fighting for his life across the net is putting up a solid fight, and sweating enough to really make you believe it. tashiro’s having a lot of fun just watching the kid’s expressions alone.

he returns the ball, hard; there’s a sour taste in his mouth all of a sudden. he wonders if the president position makes sadism into a contagion. the ball floats back in his direction. he sends it back with spin.

his point. his chest inflates with fresh air.

could go for a vending machine drink, yeah, but he hasn’t had the chance to yet. hard to sneak out of club when you’re the president. harder still when you’ve got a nosy little ghost creeping over your shoulder about it.

not that anyone’s dead. that was a metaphor. the ball’s put back in play. tashiro’s mind wanders back outward.

somewhere between here and there, points a and b, aka kinda always aka from the beginning, tashiro started worrying about hanzawa senpai, started thinking about him a lot. started keeping a personal score of how many piercings he’s got to compare against the cagey answers he gets when he asks the question, Hey, senpai, how many piercings have you got now? it’s really not about the words that come out of his mouth, see. there’re more of them now than there were a year ago than there were two years ago. eyes on the prize—sharp eyes pay big dividends. you get the idea.

tashiro gonzaburou is curious about hanzawa masato and wants to know things about him.

it’s hard not to. right? he spent so much time seeing this guy who had a network of something like one hundred people in one single group chat to snitch on tashiro when he tried to play hooky. someone who had piercings before and more piercings after, and likes milk tea, and will not turn down a favor asked of him no matter how many other favors he’s doing already. a weird senpai who decided out of the blue one day to finally hammer in that last nail in tashiro’s custom-made president-shaped coffin.

ping—pong—ping-pong-PING—PONG. “ha-HA!”

tashiro gonzaburou notices and notices and notices, hears and sees and gathers and wonders and thinks thoughts that unspool into these big long tangents of thought that might start with ‘You should sleep more’ but end up right back at ear piercings again.

he also wins games of ping pong.

tashiro, spooling thought back up as neatly as he can the table’s net, clocks two corrections to make.

“see the lot of you tomorrow!”

he wasn’t worried about senpai from the beginning, not the way he is now. and that coffin isn’t custom-made.

—

sat with his legs criss-crossed on unfinished stone, knife getting weaved through idle fingers, tashiro watches up the river.

he’s sat a long time before a massive, shuddering, foreign boat appears there.

he’s sat for three more blinks before he hears one solitary CRACK, maybe a musket, some kind of old-timey gun for sure, and falls back with a hole in his forehead.

—

figures that he spends this much time being curious about hanzawa senpai and, out of the blue, as his reward, goes and finds him sat on hard concrete with his back against the wall, his eyes wide open, his hands at his face.

it’s kind of so far removed from the enigmatic senpai tashiro got used to seeing and wondering about that it’s—like—a bucket of cold water dumped over his head, maybe. waking up out of real deep sleep because of an alarm he didn’t remember setting. another last step on a staircase, followed by another followed by another. or something.

hanzawa senpai, spoken of by the devil, is here in front of him, and he looks…

scared. big shoulders shuddering a little, strong arms connected to shapely, masculine, trembling hands, toned legs tense enough to break into a run, handsome face almost hidden in full, half-dozen piercings in his ear, at least, glinting.

hanzawa senpai, who tashiro didn’t know he could describe so well, is sitting on the ground, against the wall, and he looks scared.

“tashiro-kun,” he says. tashiro startles. feels a little stupid after. hanzawa senpai raises his head enough to look at tashiro’s face, sort of. “how are you?”

how are you? “alright, I guess.” tashiro swallows, looks around a little. “are you, um. what’s up with you, hanzawa senpai?”

it’s not really an answer to his question when hanzawa senpai says, plainly, lightheartedly, his eyes sliding shut and that smile pulling at his lips, “I’m doing bad.”

“oh. why?”

the lull that follows feels a little like what tashiro thinks a black hole would feel like. like it’s sucking all the oxygen out of the air and the breath out of his lungs and the words out of his mind and the everything out of the everywhere. the words that follow throw all of it back out, mach speed.

“I like someone.”

oh, wow. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

hanzawa senpai’s eyes are back on tashiro’s face. “neither did I.”

—

he’s home and wearing one less shoe than he was a second ago when a big long reel of spooled memory barrels over him.

he’s wearing no shoes when he says, out loud, “Wait.”

—

embrace it. go into the water, take hold of his wrist before he plunges under, go down with him. pull him into your chest before you can think better of it. let the water carry you down,

down

down

down

down

down,

cold in your ears and eyes and nose and lungs.

feel it all as much as you can. you don’t have the best grasp of dreams even still, after all this time, but you know that this here won’t ever really compare to the real thing. might as well play at being a kettle for a while, let water fill up any space water could. senpai’s warmth clings stubbornly to your chest—he’s far from small, so the temperature feels like a botched seam in your subconscious; pressure from the inside and out, water pressure compressing you to one single, massive point of contact.

not the real thing. you won’t know what drowning feels like after this, let alone the other thing.

they’re fun things, dreams. in a second you’ll start plummeting, the two of you, divorced from the water. you’ll cough, hard, to expel the water from your body, and it won’t really work but you’ll pull senpai away from your chest to get him to do the same anyway.

and your vision will be blurry, so it won’t really matter when something like a sixth sense has your shoulders tensing up. you won’t see the glossy stone you rocket into; only hear the sickening crack.

what you have to do is embrace it all. it’s not drowning, at least.

—

I’ve played a game like this before, you know. girl insists on cleaning up all on her own and she gets—

—

sopping wet, tashiro says, “this is so gross.”

worse than wet, a gnarly broken… everything, replies, “you’re telling me.”

—

the timing’s off.

tashiro feels he wants to be alone in the classroom after school. he doesn’t really know why. he falls asleep.

jolts, pitches, watches his heart plummet. watches himself plummet, too.

the classroom he wakes up to is pitch dark. figures.

paranoid unsafety gets its claws in him. shirahama’s words drudge themselves up. a girl gets what? tashiro holds a broom stern in his hands and swings it around like there’s something sharp at the end of it.

he gives the classroom a courtesy sweep.

after much debate, he leaves the broom behind when he goes to throw out the trash. probably won’t need it.

the cold has a numbing, vicious bite to it. the sound of his shoes on cement and old, dead, dry grass is deafeningly loud cutting through the still.

it’s not his or shirahama’s genre, but tashiro feels eerily like the protagonist of one of those first-person horror games. crunching and slipping, no good foothold. he swallows stiffly; his collar, pressed up against his adam’s apple, is too tight.

this is something he can blame shirahama for, and he does.

finally he puts out the trash. shoves his back up against the nearest wall and looks up at the sky. shadow of the moon, not much else to look at. he takes a picture to send shirahama, accompanies it with a text that reads have u gone outside today

obviously he has. it’s the principle of the thing.

quickly shirahama replies, You’re just putting the trash out aren’t you

You fell asleep didn’t you

I tried to warn you and everything. Stuuuupid

tashiro squints. takes another photo, of the trash bag. u should be here. two thumbs down emojis. he mutes the conversation before shirahama can reply and shuts his phone off again. pushes himself off the wall.

walks three absent steps towards the door, hands to his lips, blowing into them. the timing’s really off. still unstained, tashiro squints wearily at his reflection in the cleaver’s face. another step. he feels his heart overshoot all the way back up into his throat, distantly for a second, at the sound of a message notification.

those claws dig in a little deeper. he can’t help feeling a little watched. he waits ‘til he’s back inside to take his phone back out. hanzawa senpai.

ta—shi—ro—kuuun. tashiro cradles his phone in his hands as he goes back down the hall. are you free? I know it’s late.

tashiro brings his hands to his chest, trying to leach enough warmth to reply. halfway rickety fingers manage, yea

another few seconds of friction against his sweater. i’m at the school still

hanzawa senpai doesn’t reply for a minute. the classroom door clatters extra loud when he pulls it open. tashiro picks up his bag and creeps down the hall for a third time, footsteps either light or muted. at one point or another, he takes the cleaver to old wood.

the notification tone spooks him again. tashiro grasps his chest.

you didn’t happen to fall asleep there, did you?

tashiro doesn’t reply to that text. where are you, senpai?

a panda sticker laughs at him. the location comes a moment later.

tashiro’s looking down at hanzawa senpai standing in a dried up waterway with a trash claw in his hand.

really, really off. tashiro’s been calling so long his voice has gone raw, rumblier, and hanzawa masato hears it through the din of blood in his ears and static behind his eyes and he croaks, so quiet, reverent, out of his mind, “god?”

—

hanzawa senpai, with something like a dozen cuts in each foot, is leaving a bloody trail; it makes tashiro wince. senpai won’t let him wrap the—he’s not gonna admit it but he won’t let tashiro touch him, damn it.

you’d think, running from a flood—taxing, tiring, kind of pointless, a massive pain in the ass—that you’d take a leg up when it’s offered to you. tashiro swallows around something. tashiro does not ease up on his pace.

senpai, though. he’s running like—tashiro swallows around that something again. he’s running like he’s not bleeding out, first of all. like his eyes aren’t foggy. like you can’t nearly see straight through him—this would be funny irony if anything funny was happening at all.

but really, senpai runs like he’s having fun.

he laughs every time his feet catch on something, every time he jumps over a tree root—always pushing up stones, always reaching for his legs—and every time he’s back on the ground. laughs as he apologizes to the faceless people he blusters past, even though they haven’t heard one single objection. laughs and laughs and—

he’s laughing when he goes skidding on cobbled stone and crashes into a dilapidated market stall. curls into himself, laughing so hard that it sounds like something comes up.

tashiro hisses as he hits the ground beside him, momentum skinning his knees.

“come on, senpai, let’s go,” tashiro reaches for his elbow. “get up.”

“tashiro-kun,” hanzawa senpai manages, pulling the less mangled arm, the one tashiro moved to take hold of, up to his face to wipe at his eyes. “hey, tashiro-kun,” his gaping chest heaves, “go already.”

“yeah,” tashiro says, “let’s go.”

another peal of rough laughter sees old blood spat onto the stone. “no. you go.”

he hears the roar of water. he kind of really doesn’t give a shit about it anymore. “I don’t want to.”

tashiro watches senpai’s throat bob. old blood gets older, looks like it’s been there forever. “you’re going to see me cry.”

what’s so funny? tashiro’s own throat bobs. “wh—“

“go.”

get up. “you can’t really—“

“go.”

tashiro, maybe as angry as he’s ever been in his entire life, stays planted on the ground.

it doesn’t even really sound like laughter anymore. “now why did I know…?” hanzawa senpai puppets himself back onto his feet, listing sideways. tashiro pushes onto a knee to reach for him again and crumples in on himself.

hanzawa senpai drops limply into the river.

“no, wait. wait, just—hold on, you can’t. senpai, you…” tashiro swallows. off the ground, his own blood seeps into the stone. on unsteady legs scraped raw, two steps forward.

tashiro gonzaburou, from on high, spits, “god damn it.”

—

he’s lying down in bed when he says, “oh, my drink.”

—

why shouldn’t he get mad and frustrated and have cracks in his composure spilling over each other. why shouldn’t his face fall when he sees someone he cares about dying all over again for the—

he doesn’t even know how many times it’s been. a nightmare is a nightmare is a nightmare.

why shouldn’t tashiro crumple when the moon drops out of the sky. why shouldn’t he stare up at it when he’s fallen on his back, hard, with a stupid, smoking hole in his forehead.

a witness, mourner, undertaker. the only person around to look the corpse in the eyes.

tashiro got brought into it. all of it has hurt. it can’t be helped; if you see someone drowning, you try to pull them up. that’s all.

if he’s been here once, and more times after that, so many times he can’t even remember, then he’ll keep trying. tashiro sees him drowning, and tashiro tries to pull him up. he tries. he’s trying. he’s—

“come ON. please. please,” he spits out a mouthful of silt. “come on.”

gasping, grasping, coughing, free fall. three beats: CRAAACK.

tashiro wakes up with a groan. rolls sluggishly onto his side, grasps for his phone, texts are u awake

startles a second later when his phone starts buzzing in his hand.

“you scared me.”

“sorry,” says shirahama, raspy. “can’t use my hands right now. talk.”

“wh—what are—”

click. click. br-ri-ring!

ah. “never mind.”

“are you hanging up?”

“no!” tashiro rolls back onto his back, resting his phone on his sternum. “had another one.”

“oh, I see. ‘another one’.”

tashiro ignores him, humming noncommittally. “I think these are… maaaybe. making me worse.”

shirahama sighs, big and drawn-out. he pauses for a second like he’s mulling something over. “…you know…”

a chill rushes down tashiro’s spine like a cold marble. “don’t start—”

“played a game once with a plot like this…”

“dude—”

“really didn’t end well…”

isn’t that because you did a bad job!? “st—”

shirahama ignores him, speaks over him, is suddenly right up to his phone’s receiver. “you could die.”

tashiro digs his palms into his eyes. “you could die.”

he’s still close enough to the receiver that tashiro hears him exhale a sleepy laugh, “juuust saying.” shirahama has returned to his game. click. …click… ba-woomp.

“are you winning?”

another big sigh. ��I am losing. so bad.” a thud on the other line. too close, “tashirooo...”

“did you die?”

“she hasn’t killed me but I bet she wants to.”

tashiro sucks on his teeth, grasping around in his memory. “which one is she?”

shirahama weeps, “mysterious older girl.”

a crease forms between tashiro’s brow. “I think… I probably can’t help.”

sniffling. “could you pull up a guide for me?”

tashiro rolls onto the floor and crawls towards his laptop. “do you really think I’m gonna die?”

“well…” silence. tashiro lies on his side and curls up. he closes one eye and goes blind in the other. “probably not.”

massive vote of confidence. “what happened in,” he sighs, kind of defeated, “what happened in your game? and what’s her name.”

a note of longing floats from one bedroom to the other, “mirai.” tashiro guesses at the spelling and completely whiffs it. shirahama’s longing cuts short. “they died, tashiro.”

“before that, though. what happened to them.”

shirahama sniffles some more. “we shared dreams and I tried to save her and I couldn’t. and then we died. they died.” tashiro hears him laugh at himself a little resentfully. “the characters died.”

he refocuses his seeing eye. “what chapter are you on?”

“seven.”

“did you give her the bracelet or her book back?”

“I—” shirahama’s voice travels like his face is in his pillow. “I gave her… melon bread...”

“ohhh.” Her humiliation at the perceived transparency drops her affection low enough to trigger a bad ending, regardless of current standing. “she does want to kill you, a little.”

shirahama sobs.

tashiro’s throat closes up a bit. “shouldn’t have said that, sorry. I’m sorry. give the book back, return the bracelet later.”

face still in the pillow, “the bread?”

“chapter, um. chapter eleven. she really doesn’t want you to know she likes it right now.”

miserably, shirahama replies, “okaaay.” tashiro hears him whisper, I’m really sorry.

click. click. …click. whoosh. tashiro scrolls a little further. a screenshot of the game menu reads, ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO RESTART?

tashiro gives him a minute before asking, “in the other game, that was a bad ending?”

shirahama blows his nose. “yeah.”

“did you go back to fix it?”

he doesn’t reply for a while. br-ri-ring! “I was too scared.”

tashiro flinches.

“I just… I messed it up really bad. it was my fault and she wasn’t even mad at me when she died. held her with blood everywhere ‘cause mine didn’t stick.” tashiro’s eyes fly open. blinding, ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO RESTART?

shirahama keeps going, “I didn’t leave her side after, but I couldn’t carry her home, too weak, so we both just stayed there. I couldn’t do anything. and then I died. and it was over.”

a little nauseous, tashiro reaches out slowly to shut his laptop. “do you know—mm.” what happens when you get it right? “do you think you’re ever gonna try again?”

shirahama’s voice comes out rough. “I wanna save her.”

tashiro climbs back under his covers and throws an arm over his eyes. swallows hard. an echo of words he wanted to hear just once: I want to. “are you doing anything tomorrow?”

tashiro can hear the scowl on his face. “you know I’m not.”

“it’s not too late. to—save her, I mean.”

tashiro can hear the scowl falling away. “yeah. fine, whatever, I’ll go to sleep.”

he finally takes his phone off speaker. “thank youuu. and you’re welcome.”

shirahama grumbles, “I don’t think it’s making you worse, your—this. just kind of…” shirahama sighs through his nose, “different.”

tashiro peels his arm off his face to stare at the fan spinning overhead. “I guess. see you tomorrow.”

“yeah.”

the silence stretches blandly. tashiro presses his lips together. “good night.”

“mm. night.”

—

tashiro’s still flat on his back when he hears hanzawa senpai’s voice say, dull and rumbly and cracking, “please, god, just make me clean.”

—

tashiro forgot to end the call. there’s only snoring on the other end. kyouji grumbles, “hey, tashiro, I’m gonna tell you something you might think sounds crazy.”

no response. he wasn’t expecting one. “those dreams you’re having are your dreams, and generally I think it means something when you get into these… situations… over and over with one person in those dreams.”

tashiro hardly says, “hrngh?”

kyouji says, “go back to bed, punk,” and hangs up the call.

—

hanzawa senpai’s voice is reaching a quality it only ever got to once, during the last quarter of a tournament day—harsher, raspier, more mean than usual. irritable, impatient. waiting for something lying flat on a dozen broken… back… bones. “I miss when I was alone,” he announces at the sky. a boat horn bellows way far off. “I miss when you weren’t here. do you know how easy it was to die then?”

tashiro, someplace between bored and enraptured, and able to stand on two feet, is carving notches into rotting wood. “I bet I could guess. how long do you think this thing has been here?”

hanzawa senpai throws an arm over his eyes, deflates a little. “not as long as its occupant, I wager.”

—

“ta—shi—ro.” he felt warm breath on his ear and jumped. “d’you wanna free pass to say my name?”

tashiro spun on his heel, covered both ears. “aaahhh????”

the president stood there still, bent a little at the waist, hands behind his back. he asked, “you didn’t hear me?”

tashiro caught his breath enough to say, “what would I want that for?!”

“oh, you did.”

tashiro grasped at his chest. “just ‘president’ is fine with me.” he got a funny look.

“I didn’t spook you that bad, did I?”

“huh?” tashiro looked down at where his hand was rubbing the space over his heart. “uh. hm.” tashiro looked up at the president. the president was looking down at where tashiro was rubbing the space over his heart. tashiro stopped. “maybe a little,” he conceded the apparent truth, sounding a little petulant out of the corner of his mouth.

the president’s eyes narrowed a little, like he was holding back an indulgent smile.

tashiro got back to packing his bag.

out of his periphery he saw the president bring his arms over his head, fingers interlocked.

“I don’t think it’s fine with me, though.”

tashiro paused to take a sip of his water. “...mm?” a little dribbled out the corner of his mouth.

the president seemed to notice before he could wipe it. he didn’t repeat himself.

“what’d you say just now, president?”

realization clicked on. “you didn’t hear me. just as well—nothing much.” two long strides; he crouched right in front of him. brought his glasses up to sit atop his head. went over the corner of tashiro’s mouth with his pinky, like tashiro didn’t already wipe the water there.

he smiled knowingly. “break’s over. up we get.”

“wh—I’m done for today!”

the president towed him by the forearm back towards the last table left set up. used his big, booming voice to announce, “one more round!” to a room without an audience.

hanzawa senpai, from the storage room, called back distantly, “one more round!”

—

another lifetime, maybe, when tashiro through the throbbing in his forehead hears a low voice—electrifyingly familiar—ask liltingly, “do you want to be clean or don’t you?”

strong arms hook under tashiro’s armpits. hanzawa senpai drawls, somewhere, like his filter has gone completely, “is this wise to do?”

just above him, rumbling through him, “what’s ‘wise’?” tashiro cracks his eyes open to see lips curling up over shining, dull teeth, “aren’t I wise? you don’t trust me?”

tashiro interrupts with his cotton mouth, “what’s this got to do with me?”

he’s someplace else entirely when he hears the two of them at once tell him, “nothing.”

—

“tashiro, focus up.” the ball went whizzing at the wall.

“I’m focused…” tashiro grumbled, tongue feeling numb. his eyes slid over the room—each match a brutal pace, the few members who weren't playing dispensing incisive commentary while pulling new balls out of infinite pockets. the room was buzzing and the air was warm. tashiro shuddered to think of going back outside. he forgot his jacket. icicles were gonna be hanging off him by the time he got to the bathhouse.

“tashiro.” his name jolted through him, and another ball went flying past him, closer this time. tashiro’s gaze fell back across the table just in time to see hanzawa senpai reloading the president with another missile.

tashiro’s whole mouth feels kind of numb, actually. “what?”

“I want you to focus on the game.” hanzawa senpai moved to another table.

tashiro slid back into position. “yeah,” he murmured, “I don’t think that’ll make much of a difference.”

he saw a smile tugging at the president’s lips out of the corner of his eyes. “‘that so? why not? practice against me off the record… thought you’d do more with it.”

tashiro’s brow furrowed. “your arm’s like a gun.”

loud laughter hit him at the back of his knees. the president’s arm drew back. “hey, tashiro,” he said gamely. tashiro dropped his weight into his feet. “incoming.”

—

an arm holds him up by the waist; tashiro’s head rolls limply onto a broad shoulder. warmth drips low in his ear, “guess you’ve got sharper ears than I gave you credit for after all, huh?”

—

tashiro figured it out a while ago. that he wants to win, but not the way everyone else does. this much time spent playing against the old folks at the bathhouse, more time spent in club without him than with him, and he still gets a taste in his mouth, once in a while, that says, I want to beat him.

hungering for the chance. hungering for the chance to get one over him.

on a separate layer, tashiro watches a fraction of the president’s face shifting in low light; it’s still him, but different. tashiro drags his head back up and looks down at him. the stranger doesn’t turn his head, but watches him out the corner of his eye.

tashiro watches the eye roll, watches a smile tug at his lips.

the entire thing feels like tashiro’s got this unfulfilled something, playing out this game of cat and mouse. because they saw something in you.

he saw something in you. you don’t even realize you’re idolizing him until—

“aw, hell,” tashiro murmurs, half-asleep, arm aching under his pillow, “did I ever even learn his name?”

—

desperate times. he doesn’t recognize the hand that’s holding the cleaver and he doesn’t recognize the white hot feeling that’s lighting him up. they don’t really reconcile with one another.

yet.

shirahama’d amended his statement:

“well,” he’d said, hand brought conspiratorially to cover his mouth, sweat beading at his brow, “define what you think is ‘worse.’”

tashiro doesn’t recognize the cleaver but he knows it’s his hand holding it because he sees the trembling of the blade and feels the trembling in his wrist and forearm, bicep, shoulder, chest, ribs. connective tissue being sheared by the fiber. he doesn’t recognize the cleaver but he still sees his reflection in the metal.

some time ago—he doesn’t know, it doesn’t matter—tashiro pinched his lips together. “uh.” wet them. turning to look at hanzawa senpai, he was faced with the full weight of his characteristically threatening smile. he ended up saying, under these circumstances, “okay. don’t get mad.”

hanzawa senpai replied, levitously, “tashiro-kun.”

“…but I’m kind of… trying to…”

hanzawa senpai cut in, levitously, “tashiro-kun.”

“…get you before the water does?”

senpai closed his eyes.

senpai covered his face.

senpai… sighed. “tashiro.”

“…yeah?”

“come here, please.”

“got it.”

tashiro took an unsteady step forward. took another one. stood before hanzawa senpai, kneeling on the ground, and got a dizzying feeling of déjà vu.

hanzawa senpai looked up at him with a weird look on his face. “you need to kneel down, don’t you?”

a couple moments ago, tashiro still felt like this was out of his hands. he knelt. hanzawa senpai took one of those steadying breaths that tashiro is supposed to take before a serve and has yet to follow through on.

“okay, tashiro-kun,” he says pointedly, now, in a funny kind of way, “don’t get mad.”

it’s like a shutter had gone up. tashiro can’t figure out why he would ever be mad. ‘mad’ couldn’t begin to cover any of this.

senpai has got that damn look in his eyes now, too many moving parts; self loathing and good humor, anger and pity and hurt. he asks skeptically, like it’s been weighing on him, “you couldn’t use a normal knife?”

tashiro wants to tell him, it wouldn’t be enough, this’ll be faster. you’re like livestock. that’s not right, sorry. prey?

senpai looks at him dubiously, filmy glaze creeping in over his eyes.

tashiro wants to tell him, you don’t trust me. I’m better with this thing than I look, I’ll show you. it’ll tell me something, so give me the worst you’ve got.

the breath catches on something in his throat. whatever listless feeling he had a moment ago plunks dully into the water.

tashiro tells him, “just watch.”

the instant he wakes up, confident he’d be awake even still, tashiro calls him raspy-voiced. “there weren’t any endings where you killed her to save her, right?”

“man,” says shirahama, muffled, distressed, “do you remember ‘hey’?”

—

“look at you, tashiro,” the arm curling just under his hip trembles for a second. “tall enough now that I have to really hoist you to keep you off the ground.”

tashiro pulls an eye open.

all he sees is skin. he heaves a sigh and feels a jolt run up the body carrying him so vividly it pings in his brain as plain electricity.

“...figure yourself a tease these days, huh?”

tashiro swallows down around the cotton in his mouth enough to say, “nope.”

lifting his head’s a chore, but he does it anyway—hanzawa senpai’s thrown over the other shoulder, sack-style.

“hm,” tashiro says.

“don’t wanna hear any accusations of favoritism.”

bullet hole be damned, tashiro drops his head back onto its perch. thinks about blood and brain gunk staining an otherwise pristine uniform.

un-damning the bullet hole, “your favoritism looks a little funny to me.”

the quarter of a face he can see smiles a little. “you can handle a little cruelty from me, can’t you?”

tashiro squints at him. before he gets a chance to stitch together a response—feels like thoughts are just spilling out his forehead and onto the ground—hanzawa senpai groans, “let me off here.”

rumbling through them both, “hmmm?”

hanzawa senpai laughs, then sighs like he hadn’t meant to. “...please.”

the hum that means half-hearted consideration. “almost there. request denied.”

tashiro chokes on his own laughter when hanzawa senpai replies weakly, “damn you.”

—

talking to the train tracks, tashiro announces, “I think something is really wrong.”

shirahama only replies, “congratulations on finally hitting puberty.”

—

“hup!” tashiro watches hanzawa senpai fall bonelessly into the bath.

lasts only until he emerges with a little kid’s wet cough before laughing hard enough to push tears out his eyes.

warmth poured over itself again in his ear, “nope, you aren’t safe eith—”

“AUH!” water’s hot. he resurfaces. wiping his hair off his forehead, he asks blandly, “is something funny, senpai?”

hanzawa senpai squeaks a little, gripping his stomach where he kneels in the water. his own hair has already been swept back. their catapult stands triumphant with his hands on his hips. the stains on his clothes are apparently a nonissue. the only indication of exertion is a shudder that runs up from his feet and shakes the sweat-matted hair on his head.

tashiro experiences a feeling of clarity so strong watching the two of them that it knocks him on his ass.

“now then,” tashiro and hanzawa senpai watch him reach over his head to tug at the neckline of his uniform shirt. it comes off in one motion after that. “should be for the best that you two make way…!”

—

there’s a sign over hanzawa senpai’s head. if tashiro squints—it’s a dusty ditch-sign and the evening’s only getting dimmer—he can barely make out the words NO DIVING.

—

“you’re not supposed to use soap here.”

“ask your senpai if he wants to get out to actually clean himself up before nagging me, you.”

hanzawa senpai, dropping his head back onto the elbow he’s got resting on the ledge, groans.

tashiro’s head is lying on—

“could I call you ‘president’ once?”

his face twitches, amused, “if you really want to.”

—the president’s forearm. there is the occasional muscle tremor. tashiro feels no particular way about this.

he stares up at nothing.

no time or tolerance for musing, the president cups water in his hand and dumps it on tashiro’s face, stubbornly brushing his bangs back down. “now if you’d just close your eyeees…”

tashiro pushes his face back ‘til his elbow locks. the president just guffaws.

stretching his neck, the president sings, “ought to see about a change of clothes, huh…” tashiro watches him climb out of the bath with exaggerated effort. pretends he isn’t watching when the president massages his shoulder. he vanishes around a corner.

hanzawa senpai has got his wide eyes on when tashiro turns his head. startles him so bad he slips up to his neck in the water.

“am I some kind of clown to you, senpai?”

senpai wipes his eyes, “only the best one.”

tashiro lets his eyes fall shut and sighs. “are you alive yet?”

long pause. tashiro squints an eye to see hanzawa senpai pinching his lips. “...hold still for a second.” tashiro’s eyes fly open as hanzawa senpai takes his more busted hand to brush up tashiro’s bangs. “I suppose so.” he takes a finger and flicks tashiro’s forehead dead center. “you’re back in one piece, after all.”

tashiro can really only hear static anymore. “huh?”

“self-indulgence. you should be proud of me.” a towel gets dropped over his eyes. “I think he’s been boiled enough, don’t you?”

strong arms hook under his armpits; déjà vu as a feeling moves quick. the tile’s cold.

the president crouches to lean over him, takes his towel and chucks it. in snapshots, tashiro watches his hand lift off the ground, reach upward, be taken. in an instant, “welcome back to the world of the living, tashiro.” a snapshot: tashiro’s wrist, between jaws, and a crunch.

—

“hey,” tashiro says.

shirahama groans affirmatively.

is this something I should say out loud?

YES / NO

“do you think I should’ve touched the president?”

shirahama goes stiff.

“like not in a weird way. I’ve just been dreaming some more stuff lately.”

shirahama sits up to look at him. he has tears in his eyes. “can you give me like twenty minutes to pretend I’m dead.”

“I think I’m just really touch-starved.”

“Please.”

—

if it’s a contagion, tashiro is so, so sick.

old man kumano-san asks him, "say, tashiro... what’s got you gripping the paddle like that?"

he doesn't look down at it to swing it right again. sheepishly, he coughs, "cosplaying the meat guy at the supermarket."

—

“ain't enough for you to just let me haunt you, huh, tashiro?”

tashiro shifts his feet, squints, exasperated, across the table. “I can’t just take it lying down forever, you know.”

the table rattles. tashiro hasn’t ever felt his heart pound like this. he’s asked: “spoiling for a fight?”

“...not any more than before, I guess.”

the ball bounds over the net—tashiro returns it, narrowly; caught off guard.

dull teeth grin sharply at him. “bzzt.” his eyes are shining with something. “try that again.”

tashiro drops out of a dream at the bathhouse in worse shape than he's ever been at that river.

he clears sleep gunk out of his throat. purses his lips. dreamed he was at the bathhouse, at the bathhouse. feels, right now, like a squeezed lime.

he doesn’t remember who won. he doesn't know who he wants to have won.

"tashiro,” yamada-san says flatly, “I told you to get a move on already. look at the time!"

"yeah, yeah," tashiro groans. yamada-san—just before standing from where he was sat keeping vigil over him, apparently—balances a milk carton, still cool, on his forehead.

"get home quick. and, ah, good luck tomorrow," he says.

tashiro, saluting at the ceiling, replies, "...roger."

—

over the bustle beyond the open window, tashiro finds himself saying, to no one in particular, “did you know that heat makes you dream weird?”

miyano, to his right, looks at him with massive doll eyes. kuresawa, to his left, fixes him with a stare over his glasses before going back to his phone.

hanzawa senpai, dead center, looks down at him, hands ghosting over his neck where he was ‘evening his complexion’ a second ago, before tashiro went and opened his mouth, and he says, “really?”

like it’s news.

something in his throat keeps down a disbelieving you didn’t know?

tashiro catches his eye. squints hard. something shutters where he can’t see.

“hmmm?”

tashiro throws his head back with an exasperated sigh, and the extensions whip down his—

“senpai,” tashiro calls, louder than the music outside, it feels like, “what were the parts of the spine called again?”

“pfft,” hanzawa senpai, behind him now, murmurs like he doesn’t mean to, “they’re called vertebrae.”

fingers poke lightheartedly where bone juts. tashiro’s in a glass jar, and he flinches.

“gon-chan,” kuresawa chides disingenuously, standing to stretch his back and head for the door, “ladies tend to have more poise.”

miyano, in his periphery, blinks for the first time. he brings a hand to his chin, nods. “pretty good appeal.”

probably bl. tashiro poses with a hand on his cheek and says, “thanks, miyano.”

—

tashiro’s phone pings with a message from shirahama that reads, If you do anything to screw up your hair I’m shaving it all off your head

ping. And making you eat it

ping. Keep one foot on the ground at all times if you do anything insane I’m really gonna do it

tashiro purses his lips. glances out the open window; first floor.

the picture he takes of his feet, hovering as he sits on the windowsill and clad in black crew socks—he left the shoes somewhere else, he figures miyano will chase him down about them later—is waiting to be sent with incomplete text suck i when he spots someone out the very corner of his vision.

the very corner. an unmistakable figure at the edge of the crowd, staring over the living mass of strangers, right into tashiro stood in the window, until he isn’t anymore.

funny thing about crossdressing, see, is the worldview shift. that broad back looks broader, a piece-of-work senpai haunting his memory like a grief-hallucination.

that was him though. there are only so many people tashiro could recognize from the moon and he’s one of them. how many people in the world could possibly look like that.

it’s a second of stirring in his stomach that bridges the space between shoujo manga and violent murder. his feet are back on the ground but they might as well be dangling out the window; an impulse in the shape of today you are a girl has him gripped by the shoulders, nearly chasing after a living ghost and using strangers as stepping stones to do it.

one foot on the ground with his hands braced on the sill, he hears, “tashiro.”

sky still looks like rain. indistinct collective murmur hangs over the crowd outside like smog. a metal rod’s pang clefts clean through his forehead, up between his eyes. taiko drums. dwarfed by encroaching shadow miyano calls again, “tashiro,” from down the hall. tashiro’s shoes dangle limply from his hands.

thundering resonance. tashiro croaks, “what?”

—

“hey, senpai,” tashiro calls, “where’s, uh. where’s the coffin?”

hanzawa senpai points factually at the water. “go after it, if you want.” he smiles at him; a chill zips down tashiro’s… vertebrae. “maybe you’ll catch him this time.”

—

“—this vision of a lost lover. and she goes running after him, obviously, because he moved away when they were kids or whatever. and she missed him sooo bad, so she’s really hoofing it down the stairs and out the front gate and she’s only delicately out of breath, after the whole thing, which I thought was kinda stupid, but whatever. he’s standing a block away, staring back at her over his shoul—tashiro what are you doing?”

tashiro points at shirahama’s window over the crowd and waves him off. he huffs into the receiver, “I’ll be back in time.” he hangs up the call.

he’s standing two blocks away.

tashiro calls, “could you slow down? please?”

the president tilts his head and grins at him. “haven’t moved much at all, just now.”

he’s standing a block and a half away.

the president’s voice carries like it’s nothing, “you look pretty cute today.”

one block. now or never, “hey, president.”

the lopsided grin widens affectionately. “not the president anymore.”

tell me your name for real this time. it’s not really fine with me either. “have you, uh. been dreaming about anyone lately?”

the president’s shoulders shake, lips splitting impossibly wider. his eyes shine. tashiro hears thunder. “nooope.”

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Burning Hearts Part 8

Pairing: Law x Straw Hat Zoan Type (named) OC 

Summary: *SLOWWWW BURRRRN* You were teleported across the globe in an instant, away from your crew. Your body was badly broken and beaten, thrust into the harsh landscape of a Northern island. You are discovered by the Heart Pirates and brought back to health. Startled upon waking up in a foreign place with an unfamiliar crew, you are shocked with the news that you’ll be spending two years there. Trafalgar Law, the captain of the Heart Pirates has made a promise to train you, but will it become something more than a mentor relationship?

WC: 2300

Taglist: @cottoncandyloverrrr

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

Burning Hearts Chapter 8: Doctor’s Visit

— — 

“Damn girl… you look like shit. Your ankle is mad swollen.” Ikkaku’s eyes rake over your body, covered in superficial lacerations and multicolor bruises in varying levels of healing. 

“Gee, thanks for reminding me.” You roll your eyes and step into the steaming hot bath. “It’s not like I have this shooting pain all over my body to remind me that I look like hot garbage.” You carefully lower yourself into the water. Every single muscle in your body cried out in agony. “Ow, ow, ow, ow…” You finally settle into the tub and sigh. 

Ikkaku continues panting her toenails a bright shade of coral from her perch on the bathroom counter. 

“I just got my period, too. I feel like I got hit by a fucking train.” You close your eyes and slide deeper under the hot, soapy water. “Can you grab some tampons out of that drawer? I want to bring some back to my room.” 

Ikkaku sighs in sympathy. She opens up the top drawer and pulls out a box. 

“You’re bleeding AND you’re beat up like that? You better stay in tomorrow and rest.” Ikkaku says. 

“HAH! Yeah right. And who is gonna tell your psycho captain that I’m taking the day off? Because I’m certainly not doing it. He’d probably cut my arms off and put them on backwards or something.” 

“Come on, like he’d harm a hair on your head.” Ikkaku responds and chuckles. 

“Umm??? Who do you think kicked my ass this bad??? He doesn’t exactly go easy on me.” You turn your head to face Ikkaku. 

She scoffs. 

“That honestly shocks me, he’s so different with you.” Ikkaku blows on her wet nails.

“What do you mean?” You inquire. 

“I can’t really explain it… he’s just been like… weird since you got here. I mean, he’s always been weird… but with you he’s extra weird.”

“What are you implying?” You raise an eyebrow. 

“Nothing!” Ikkaku throws her hands up. "All I’m saying is that there’s been some sort of shift in the guy since you came into the picture. I’m not complaining, it’s been pretty nice having someone to ‘girl talk' with, you know?” 

“Mhmm…” You knew she was hiding something, but you were too tired to pry further. “I hope you get to meet my friends some day, I think you’d like them.” 

Ikkaku smiles. 

“I’m sure I would. Now get your ass out of that tub and tell Law you aren’t training tomorrow before you fall asleep and drown in there.” 

“I think I’d rather drown.” You joke as you sink down further into the tub. 

“Come on, I’ll help you up.”

Ikkaku comes over to the side one the tub and you sit up to allow her to help you up. “Ah!” Your ankle nearly gives out as you try to step out of the tub. 

“Yeah, as much as you don’t want to believe it, I think a doctor has got to look at that…” 

— — 

*knock knock* 

Law looks at the clock. 

11:45 PM

Who was coming to his office this late in the evening?

“Yes? Come in…”

A tired looking, wet-haired Daisy shuffles into his office. Was she limping?

“Hi…” 

“Hi back… what’s wrong with your leg? You’re favoring your right. You weren’t doing that at training today.” He couldn’t help but ask… he was a doctor after all. 

“I think I twisted it… didn’t hurt until I got back. Ikkaku made me come and have you look at it. It’s probably nothing. Since I’m here, I have some cuts that might need stitches, so you should probably- woah-“ 

Daisy stumbled, her gaze losing focus. She puts her arms out in front of her. 

“I think I might-“ Her eyes rolled back. 

“Room!” 

With a quick ‘Shambles’, Law swapped Daisy out with a sock that had been discarded on his bed in the adjoining room. He had caught her right before she hit the ground. Law rushes through the archway to assess Daisy’s situation. She was laying on his bed, barely conscious. 

“Hey… Wake up, you’re okay, you just passed out.” Law sits at her side on the bed. 

“I-I did?”

“Yes. Have you been feeling dizzy lately? Light-headed?”

“Not really. I was in a super hot bath because-“ she stops, hesitant to tell him something. “Well, because I needed a bath.”  

“Have you been drinking enough water?” 

Daisy rubs her eyes. 

“I don’t know? I thought so.” 

“Any headaches? Body aches? Fever?” Law continues his laundry list of medical questions. 

“You threw me into a tree like, six times this morning, my whole body always aches.” 

Law furrows his brow with concern. Had he pushed her too far today? She never said anything about it… A pang of guilt reverberated through his chest. 

“That would’t explain the passing out on its own… are you menstruating?” Law asks. 

“Ew, Law! That’s personal!” Daisy’s cheeks turn pink. 

“I’m a doctor, it’s a fair question to ask after a fainting spell.”

“Okay well my primary care physician is a reindeer, so I don’t need you prying into my cycle.” Daisy snaps at him. 

“So that’s a yes to the previous question…” Law catches Daisy rolling her eyes. “I’ll give you some iron pills and an anti-inflammatory. That should help. Now let me see your ankle.” 

Law rises from the bed and moves to the foot of the bed so he was standing at her feet. He pulls up her sweatpants to her left knee. The ankle was swollen with a large purple bruise. 

“Gods, when did this happen?” Law sighs as he accesses the damage. He gently picks up her foot and she winces. Daisy must have noticed the guilty, pensive look in his eyes. 

“Hey, I don’t think you did it… I probably tripped over a root or my own feet or something in the garden, you know how I am.” Daisy gave him a weak smile. Her smile did little to alleviate him of his feeling of repentance. As clumsy as you were, it probably was him that caused the injury. 

“Right.” Law finishes examining her ankle and gingerly sets it back down on the bed. “I’ll go get you that medication and some ice for this. I don’t think it’s sprained, just badly twisted. You are going to need to rest for a few days until you can train properly again.”

“I-I’m sorry…” Daisy hangs her head. 

“Why?” Law asks stoically. 

“Because I won’t be able to train for a bit… we’re wasting time… aren’t you mad?”

“Pushing you past your limits now won’t help in the long run. It won’t be more than a few days, I’m sure of it. I see the cut you were talking about, I’m going to stitch it up. I’ll be right back.” 

Law heads back into his office and collects some supplies from his cabinets and drawers, places it all on a metal surgical tray and returns to the foot of his bed. He picks up the large ice pack and the medical tape from the tray and begins fastening the cold pack to the swollen ankle. After carefully tending to her foot, Law places an extra pillow underneath the injury to elevate it. 

“I’m going to have to get closer to do the stitches, can you move your other leg?” Law points at Daisy’s right knee and she pulls it in towards her body, leaving him room to sit on the bed and work. 

“I’m going to slightly numb the area and begin. You okay?” Law checks in with a glance to her face as he readies the needle and thread. 

Daisy nods. 

“I, uh, I would look away if you’re still feeling faint.” Law says as he notices her eyes on the wound he was about to begin sewing together. 

“It’s kind of hard not to look… can you distract me or something?” 

Law’s breath catches in his throat. 

“What?”

“I don’t know! Talk to me or something, so I can take my mind off it?”

“I mean, I’ll be kind of busy. But you can talk if you’d like…” 

There was a short pause. 

“So. What’s your favorite color?” Daisy asks. 

“Wha- huh?” Law cocks his head and meets her eyes. “My favorite color?” 

What the hell was she talking about? He hasn’t been asked this question since he was young and his baby sister would make him macaroni art… No, wait, Cora asked him once… he wanted to know what color sprinkles to put on his 14th birthday cake… 

“Yeah, mine’s yellow. What’s yours?” Daisy interrupts his wandering train of thought.

Law returns his gaze to the task at hand and begins stitching the wound at its corner. 

“Um. I don’t have one.” 

“Oh come on. No one’s that buttoned up.” Daisy rolls her eyes. “You’re that committed to the dark and mysterious bit that you won’t even tell me your favorite color?” 

There was a pregnant pause.

“I don’t talk about myself because it would only cause people to be sympathetic towards me, and that’s the last thing I want. Everything before I founded the Heart Pirates is nothing short of tragic, and it’s a past I’m still trying to avenge… and, blue, I guess…” Law is grateful he has to focus on stitching the wound, there’s no way he’d be able to make eye contact with her now anyway. He sees her smile softly out of the corner of his right eye. 

“Blue is nice.”

Daisy hisses as Law pierces the skin with his needle in a particularly thick spot, the numbing medication only doing so much. 

“SO,” She winces as she tries to distract herself. “You were really touchy about the record player… Who did you say it belonged to again?” 

Law stops. Silence falls again. 

“An old mentor of mine.” Law continues working. Daisy looks at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to elaborate… but her expression was soft, not wanting to rush him. 

“Corazon… he saved my life… It’s a long story. I was very ill as a child. I’m from Flevance-“ 

“How? Everyone from Flevance died from Amber Lead Disease? I heard about it when I was real young… my dad used to tell me about it so we wouldn’t go play in the mines.” Daisy interrupts him. 

“That’s why it’s a long story… I thought you wanted me to talk to you?” Law can’t help but smirk a bit. 

“Right, sorry, go on.” Daisy giggles a bit. *How cute.* No… not cute.

“Anyway…” Law continues sewing up the gash on Daisy’s leg.  “You know who Donquixote Doflamingo is, right, yes?”

Daisy nods. 

“So when I was 13…” 

Law spends the entirety of 30 minutes explaining his tragic childhood while carefully patching up Daisy’s open cuts. 

“Gods, Law… And I thought my life sucked… I’m sorry that happened to you, I really am.” Daisy reaches down and touches Law’s clothed bicep. Law flinches. 

“Sorry…” Daisy says after feeling him recoil from her touch. 

“No.. it’s ok. I just… don’t tell a lot of people that.”

“My family was killed too. I can’t say I relate to all of the other shit, but we have at least one horrific ordeal in common. That’s how I ended up with Grey Jaw…” 

“You don’t have to tell me about it. I know that it’s-“

“It’s fine. You asked awhile ago and I didn’t answer. I guess I wasn’t ready…” Daisy sighs. “He burnt my island to the ground, taking me and the other young girls to ‘work’ for him after we watched him murder our families. I was 16. I was there for 4 years… it was all a blur really… tried to force it out of my head…” Daisy sniffles. 

Law pretends not to notice and continues his work. Daisy swallows hard.

“When I was 20, we were freed by the Marines who launched a surprise raid on the ship. I ended up on some dinky little island and bartended for another 4 years before Luffy showed up and asked me to join his crew. Aaaand now I’m here in this mess…” Another sigh left her lips. 

“But you hate the Marines now?” Law asks. 

“There are good marines. Just like there are good pirates.” Daisy looks up at Law to meet his eyes. “You can understand that, right?”

He nods, knowing all too well. 

“All done.” 

“Thanks, doc. Can you ‘shambles’ me back to my room or something? I’ve already overstayed my welcome, I think.” 

“Just sleep here. I was going to finish research and crash on the couch anyway.” Law rises from the bed. 

“You’re sure?” She asks. 

“Yeah, and here’s a hot water bottle… for the, you know…” Law hands her the heating pad. She shyly smiles as she grabs it from his hands. “Get some rest. Yell if you need something, I’ll just be next door.”

Law is halfway through the archway when he hears her. 

“Law?”

“Yes?”

“Goodnight.” She smiles warmly at him. 

Law feels something tingly and foreign shoot through his veins. Looking at her, he couldn’t help but smile back. Genuinely. 

“Goodnight Daisy.” 

xx 

**Authors Note** PART 9 WILL BE UP TOMORROW FOR VALENTINE'S HEHEHE IF THAT GIVES YOU A HINT! Also PLEASE comment and let me know if you want to be in the taglist for this series! Sorry for the slowest burn on the planet, I simply am being so self indulgent...

[olderthannetfic]

I have a question. I’m new to the discourse around fanfiction & censorship, so I was curious about what the general consensus regarding fic about underaged characters in live action media was. Underage is my biggest squick, but I feel pretty neutral about how people write/draw smut of cartoon characters, as they barely register as human for me. Characters played by actual child actors though… I guess I’m just wondering what’s going through the heads of people who write that stuff? Or minor rpf for that matter. What is appealing about it? I’m willing suspend my disbelief & accept that they don’t actually want to abuse kids, but like, what is fulfilling about that fantasy? I’m not in favor of censorship or arresting anyone over a fictional story, but I just can’t wrap my head around it.

--

That's quite a failure of imagination there, anon.

Other people are not you, and they don't necessarily have this squick. That's the main answer.

From people who don't try to problematize this, there isn't really any discourse. Fiction is fiction.

Cartoon characters register as people to plenty of viewers. (And moron antis think cartoon characters count just as much as live action ones when it comes to screaming about problematicness.) Actors playing teenagers are often in their 20s. Coming of age novels dealing with sexuality have been normal all over the world since forever.

--

But let's start with some low hanging fruit:

If you're 17 years + 364 days, you're below the age of consent lots of places. Do you, anon, honestly think it's weird to be into someone one day before their 18th birthday but not the day after? What if you live somewhere where the age of consent is 16? Is it still weird to be into 17-year-olds from places where the age of consent is 18?

Most people remember being teenagers. They may feel nostalgic. They may want to imagine the nice teenage experiences they never got to have.

Lots of fic writers are currently teenagers. Not as many as ageist online spaces think, but still quite a lot. Is it weirder for a 15-year-old to have a crush on a 15-year-old than a 40-year-old?

"They looked 18, Your Honor" is a weak-ass excuse for fucking underage people in real life, but that's not the same as finding characters on your tv hot. Not only are the actors usually above 18 because filming underage actors is a fucking nightmare logistically due to work constraints, but a lot of younger actors are often made up in ways that make them look like they could be way older. People also vary widely in how they look at various ages.

If you can accept that lust exists and is valid, you can accept that lots of people will see some teen and think they're hot. There isn't some specific categorical difference in how all teenagers look and how all 20-somethings look.

Doing something about it in real life and doing something about it in fiction are different.

--

Now, as for "child actors", that term is used for a wide variety of ages, but let's assume you mean Stranger Things wank, like most people moaning about underage actor RPF do, so we're talking about tweens who genuinely do look pretty young to grown-ass adults.

The first thing I have to ask you is why the fuck you would imagine that writers identify with some adult fucking these kids? It's far, far more likely that they identify with the characters themselves or the actors.

Why would they identify with them? It could be anything from working through their own trauma at a similar age to just liking the vibe of a character because of how the show is written.

Lots of people's brains barf out dark scenarios 24/7 without them ever having experienced any major trauma and without it meaning anything much. Some people channel that into fiction.

If you are a boring person who has both a vanilla brain and no imagination, this might seem surprising to you, but it shouldn't.

--

Moreover, your ask implies that underage fic is highly sexual or maybe coercive or something, but you haven't actually stated that. Are we talking about rapefic of 5-year-olds or about someone writing the Stranger Things characters holding hands?

Are you just not sexual at all, anon? Personally, I went from zero to MEGA HORNY at thirteen and a half. It was like a switch flipped. Sure, I wasn't getting any action because I was a zit-covered and socially incompetent 13-year-old, but I was definitely interested.

It's not strange that an artist or author of whatever sort would explore puberty in their art. It's not strange that they'd remember their own sexual awakening or that this awakening would be long before age 18.

It's also not strange if people write super dark shit about small children because it being extreme and taboo and horrible is often the point of art.

--

You're "willing to suspend disbelief"? How magnanimous! How generous!

Seriously, anon?!

The way you've phrased this question makes it sound like you have a brain the size of a walnut.

Would you ask such a stupid question in such an offensively loaded manner about all the coming of age novels that are considered Great Literature™? Would you ask why YA exists?

And if you wouldn't, why is it that amateur writing by women and sexual minorities makes you nervous when mainstream-approved things don't?

[robins-egg-bindery]

ever in your favor by @iron--spider

Peter startles awake when someone shakes him. 

“Sorry, honey,” May says. Peter blinks a couple times and she comes into focus, her hair pulled back from her face. She’s trying not to look a certain way, but he can see it in her eyes anyway. She clears her throat, keeps talking. “But it’s…” She glances away, wets her lips. “You gotta get ready.”

He remembers what day it is, and his heart beats like a drum at someone’s execution. But he tries to put on a mask, make it all seem normal. It’s everything but, despite the fact that he’s been dealing with reaping day since he was born, between himself, Ben and May. That fear that one of them could be taken away. Sent to surefire slaughter. But now Ben is gone, taken despite never having his name drawn from a bowl, and May’s finally safe. Now Peter’s name is in there alone. The last Parker sitting on the chopping block. He doesn’t know how to be. He doesn’t know what normal is, when the Hunger Games are looming on the horizon.

fic by @iron--spider

art by @angel-gidget

624 pages / 153,984 words

Title Font: PP Hatton, Rustic Printed

Body Fonts: Californian FB, Moonglade, Bebas Neue, War Is Over, Architects Daughter

More on the process below the cut!

I have...SO much to say about this project! This fic was one that I've wanted to do ever since I started fanbinding, and it was one I saved until my technical skills caught up with my vision for the book. @iron--spider is my favorite author and a wonderful friend, and I wanted to be able to do this masterwork justice!

Given that it's a Hunger Games AU, I wanted to touch on the Hunger Games aesthetic while still being unique. I started with the cover; I knew I wanted red and yellow, something bold and evocative of the Iron Man, Spiderman vibe. It also doubles as an implication of the blood spilt during the games, especially in volume II - when Peter actually enters the games. I chose the spider for the cover, and painted it on the cover paper with inky black paint; I cut a stencil, and while the images did have some drippy areas, I don't mind it so much. It's meant to look like graffiti, Peter's symbol that the people of the Districts scrawl everywhere they can get away with it.

In turn, I also experimented with a paint pen on this one of the titling, done on the spine piece, which is black Better Than Goat leather! Again, I went in with a stencil, and opted for blockier letters, like something you might see spray painted onto a wall.

The endpapers are custom; I messed around with a weird cityscape I found and came out with the image you see above. The setting for the games is a futuristic city, much like MCU NYC would be, complete with an Avengers Stane tower.

And then of course, there's the typeset itself! The Hunger Games books don't have particularly striking typesets, but I did go for the dystopian vibe with the Rustic Printed font on the chapter numbers, and Moonglade for the chapter titles, giving it a very industrial feel.

It was also a pleasure to include the art that @angel-gidget did for the fic as well! Her book covers are so gorgeous and I love her manip style so much <3 I also included the short drabble @iron--spider did on her Tumblr, a post-story snack-sized fic, as well as a meta question she answered via her asks that I thought was particularly interesting. The District guide at the back, including what Districts each character belongs to and whether or not they are deceased was interesting to put together, and I hope I didn't make any mistakes!

Last, but certainly not least, this book was the first one I was able to do really nice headbands on. Shoutout to @morningstarbindery who helped me learn how! They look phenomenal and I never would have figured it out on my own <3

I'm excited for everyone to see these books! One day I'll have all your works on my shelf ;)

[brograndpa]

Thinking about ascended Astarion and professor Gale. Thoughts are messy but here's my synopsis of how they get to where they are.

thinking about astarion who has been pulled along into a strange friendship by gale who takes astarion's random stealing of his books to mean that he's reading them. astarion isn't, he's just doing it to piss gale off, but the opposite effect of it has him annoyed instead. nevertheless, he decides to just go ahead and read it, then passes on his own "recommendation" in the form of a spicy novel he picks up while traveling. thus is the start of their book club.

it happens early on enough that astarion decides someone as powerful as gale proves a good ally for his fight against cazador, and he can also tell just how easily manipulated gale can be in the right circumstances. so he interrupts one of their book club sessions with a kiss, and gale freaks out saying he's not so sure this is a good idea given his Orb and all that.

naturally they both go to bed disappointed, but the next day gale is super apologetic saying he's been unable to stop thinking about it, and how he desperately wanted it but also fears putting them both in danger. astarion relents because yeah. that makes sense. and thinks nothing of it other than well we've got something going on here. not sure what it is but he seems to trust me enough without needing sex, so that's weird.

then elminster comes and suddenly astarion is fucking fuming at the revelation that apparently, if the gods ever do answer your prayers, it's just to tell you to die. astarion makes it a point to, with the orb stabilized, have raunchy nasty woods sex with gale all to make himself feel like he has some control over the situation. it's in this sex though that gale finally learns all of astarion's little tricks and comes to realize that he's really only having sex with a dead man who's been trained to use his body this way.

not that gale rejects him for this, but it does make his concern for astarion grow. he realizes first that their relationship isn't properly mutual, but he's weirdly okay with it because he can see that astarion genuinely does care about making gale remember the joys of living, and how ironic it is that it has to come from an undead. it's through this revelation that gale decides he wants to share an escapist illusion with astarion of a world that might have been, and though gale isn't expecting anything in return for it, astarion's undead heart twists somehow. he writes it off as a strange taste of empathy.

it's only when astarion finally ascends that he realizes the depths of his feelings. how utterly insane he is for gale, his heart racing ten million miles an hour as he looks at the man who doesn't know when to stop giving away pieces of himself, and how starved astarion is for every last inch. it's because of these feelings born from his newly living heart that the moment astarion learns of the crown of karsus, he's terrified of gale taking it. he would have been in favor if he were just a spawn who hadn't had his chance at revenge, but now that he's done that and more, he realizes how horrifying a world without gale at his side could truly be.

when gale tries to explain this to him in the boatride, astarion grabs gale's hand and pulls it to his chest, all his rage and fire gone as he expresses genuine vulnerability for vulnerability's sake, begging gale to understand how much astarion loves him without wanting to say the word because it doesn't mean anything on his tongue anymore. gale asks him to say it anyway, because he'll be able to tell. astarion says it, sounding like he's never said it before in his life. gale kisses him, and promises he won't reforge the crown, because astarion is right. it would be terrible to throw away his heart for power when he could give it to astarion instead.

and then gale just falls even deeper as a result because wao...he really has someone he loves that loves him right back, just the way that he is right now..................a bit ironic that he'll end up losing his heart either way, but it's alright. he'll know it's always beating for astarion

idk i just love the idea of astarion realizing the depth of his love only once the hollow space in his chest has been filled by a heart that won't stop pounding everytime he looks at his beloved!! and the true fear that comes at the idea that he might be alone if gale were to cast him aside for godhood...he couldnt take that. his manipulative ass is gonna do everything to keep that wizard as his property

[halloweenbitch2764]

HI :)

An you please write a Bo Sinclair x reader where the reader is a really jealous and protective person ?

I feel like Bo's reaction would be hilarious!

Thank you for reading my ask,

-PhantomCat 💜

Thanks for the ask hon! I can definitely give you that request.

Bo with Jealous Reader

With how few and far between people could be, you didn't have to be protective or jealous often

In ways that made you being jealous and protective MUCH more noticeable when it did happen

Bo had a hunch you might be jealous from the way you acted when the last group had came

So of course he needed to test that theory

It didn't take long for another group to come by (surprisingly)

You and him were in the gas station/mechanic shop while he fixed a car he had been working on for a while

You liked just being around him so you didn't mind hanging out while he worked

Besides he always played pretty good music

At least when the station worked

Suddenly a car pulls into the station, next to a gas pump

There's three people in the car, two girls and a guy

It's clear the one girl and guy were a couple

He opened the door for her and helped her out and they held hands from there

The third girl was dressed rather...skimpy

It made sense given that it was summer

You had on a tank top and shorts since the AC in the station never really worked right

They walked into the station and the man approached you

"Hey my car started making a weird rattling noise and this was the closest town. Do y'all by chance have someone who can help me?"

You smiled and nodded

You'd eased into the role of helping lure the people in

It's not like you really did any of the dirty work

Bo had heard the chime of the bell above the door and walked over, wiping his hands off with a rag

You noticed immediately

The third girl "accidentally" pulled her top down further and stood in a way that accentuated her curves

Your blood immediately started to boil

You didn't know but Bo could feel your attitude change immediately

He nearly caught himself smirking as he started talking to the man about his car while the mans girlfriend stood beside him

"Can I help you with anything?" You asked the girl through gritted teeth

She smirked

"Yeah can you hook me up with him?" She pointed at Bo

Your fists clenched and unclenched behind the counter

"Actually that's my boyfriend, thank you very much."

She didn't seem deterred

"He's smokin hot, honey. How'd you manage to snag him?"

She seemed almost disgusted

You knew you couldn't pummel her as much as you wanted to.

"Well it'll be a while til your car is fixed. Want to come with me to the museum and I'll tell you friends to come after?"

She let her eyes sweep over Bo before reluctantly agreeing

You walked over to Bo and the couple, informing them where you two would be going, and they nodded

Bo's lips twitched into a smirk for a second

You looked bloodthirsty

It was rare to see you THAT upset

You took the girl to the museum, forcing some small talk (which you made sure stayed away from talking about Bo)

Once you entered you let her start looking around before heading off to Vincent's basement

You silently opened and closed the door behind you before heading down the stairs

Vincent was sculpting his newest creation

"Hey Vinny can you do me a huge favor?"

He cocked his head to the side a bit to signal he was listening and to continue

"There's a bitch upstairs I need you to kill. I don't want her in the museum so make sure you kill her in the slowest and most painful way you can. Okay?"

He raised his eyebrow behind his mask but nodded, not questioning you

You thanked him before heading back up

Vincent had rarely seen you that angry before and was just glad he wasn't on the receiving end

The girl, who you learned was named Liz, was still looking around

"Hey I forgot something at the station. Feel free to keep looking, I'll be back soon."

She nodded and you headed back to the garage

Nobody was there and you figured Bo had done his usual routine of telling them he forgot a fanbelt at the house

After a while Bo came back, letting you know they had been taken care of

He thought the jealousy was simultaneously hot as fuck and hilarious

He met you halfway and planted a kiss on you which you returned

"You know you're extremely hot when you get so jealous, you know it?"

He squeezed your ass and kissed your neck playfully when you laughed

[livsoulsecrets]

I might just be in love - AylinLuna fic (23.5)

Summary:

What happens after EP4 ends and Luna follows Aylin after they leave the Astronomy Club?

-

Aylin mostly ignored Luna as she walked to the school’s cafeteria, appearing to tune out as Luna talked about their club’s success. Luna didn’t mind it too much, as she had grown used to Aylin’s quietness over the last few days.

Luna actually appreciated how Aylin didn’t feel the urge to fill any silence with empty words. She spoke when she had something to say, not when you wanted her to. It was the type of resolve Luna couldn’t help but admire.

“And I can’t wait to shove this into Ton’s face tomorrow!” She bragged, speeding up her pace to catch up with Aylin. “He really thought I couldn’t compete with his-”

“Why are you here, human senior?” Aylin interrupted. She stopped walking so abruptly Luna barely avoided colliding into her.

“Because we are going to get water,” Luna replied, narrowing her eyes.

“I was going to get water,” Aylin corrected her, staring ahead instead of facing Luna. “You just started following me around. Why?”

“I wasn’t following you!” She protested, crossing her arms. Aylin turned to her and tilted her head in a silent protest. “Fine, I was following you, but not in a weird way. I just wanted to keep you company.”

“And who says I want any company?”

That stunned Luna into silence. As Aylin’s blank expression stared back at her, she tried to come up with an answer.

In the end, she settled for asking, “Well, what do you want to do, then?”

Aylin furrowed her brow in confusion, and Luna truly didn’t understand what was so surprising about her question.

“I don’t think anyone ever asked me that before,” Aylin mumbled, her hands twisting the ends of her hat.

Speechless, Luna observed the movements of her fingers against the fabric, unsure of what to say to that.

For some reason, she kept stumbling into Aylin’s moments of vulnerability. The rooftop where she finally got Aylin to hear her out, her breakdown in the school court when she accepted Luna as a friend, or even now, when she confessed something so heartbreaking with such nonchalance.

“They should have,” Luna managed to say.

Aylin was honest in the way only someone who was free could be. Luna had admired that about her since the day they met, but she only now realized freedom had made her lonely too.

“I want to not talk to any other human being for the rest of the day,” Aylin replied. “I want to finish getting the club in order and stay in my room all night so I can finally rest.”

Luna nodded immediately, guilt overtaking her. She had imposed herself on Aylin because she had missed the girl after a day spent apart, focusing on tending to the other students, so much so that she hadn’t even bothered to think about what Aylin needed.

“Okay, we can do that. I’ll help clean up the club so you can be home soon. I’ll shut up and stop bothering you, I swear!”

Luna zipped her mouth, stepping back already to give Luna some room.

She was about to apologize when Aylin cut her off anxiously. “You don’t have to leave.”

Luna narrowed her eyes at her and echoed Aylin’s own words, “I thought you didn’t want to talk to any humans anymore.”

“I don’t.” Aylin nervously bounced on the balls of her feet, avoiding Luna’s eyes. “But I don’t mind you talking. You don’t expect me to answer, so it doesn’t bother me.”

Luna watched Aylin in awe. Her heart did something weird inside her chest, swirling around as if it were clearing space for this new feeling of joy she had never experienced before.

She grinned. “Alright, then. I guess I won’t shut up, after all.”

Aylin sighed, “You never do, human senior.”

She turned on her heels and continued walking, but not before Luna caught sight of the weirdest expression on her face.

Aylin was smiling.

Not the broad, shinny grin Luna flashed everyone when she announced the Astronomy Club’s return, or the charming smirk she threw around when she needed a favor.

No, Aylin’s smile was shy and discreet, almost imperceptible. A lot like her.

She knew people called her Alien because she was singular and easily spotted, but just as easily ignored.

Not to Luna, though. If Luna was the moon, then Aylin was a shooting star. Something you needed to watch closely, or you’d miss it. A passing chance at a wish that could turn things around.

Luna watched, and she wished.

Keep smiling at me like that, she hoped, and at no one else.

“Are you coming?” Aylin’s voice called out, surpassing the whirlwind of realizations inside Luna’s heart.

“Yes, I am!” She hurried to reply. What she didn’t say was that there weren’t a lot of places Aylin could go to that Luna wouldn’t follow — it was far too son for that.

Aylin waited for her to catch up before buying them both water, and she remained quiet as Luna chatted for the both of them all the way back to the Astronomy Club.

[raileurta]

Uppies

Miguel is a tall guy, he always has been and always will be. As someone who is 7'9 it comes with a lot of problems: all his clothes must be custom made, constantly knocking his head against objects, and dealing with tall jokes.He can't even count the number of "how's the weather up there?" jokes he has experienced. It's not as fun as most people might think; but sometimes rarely it has....... its advantages.

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Miguel heard the room to his office room open, but he didn't bother from looking up from his screens. He knew it was Miles coming in to talk about a solo mission he just completed. While most spider people just send the files to him electrically he makes his the spiderlings tell him about their missions in person. Miles swung up to his platform not bothering to want for it to go down. Now side by side the height difference becomes extremely evident. Miles barely reached his chest height. He gave him a quick greeting before talking about his mission. Miguel hummed in acknowledgement to Miles' words. It was a little out of behavior for him to do this, usually Miles likes to talk before getting down to business. The only time he doesn't do that is when he has something on his mind or trying to butter him up for a favor. After Miles was finished giving him his report Miguel asked what was going on.

"Morales is there anything you want to tell me?"

He seemed to be a little surprised at Miguel's question before an embarrassed look appeared on his face. He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head.

"I- I don't know it's a little um..... can I"

Miles slowly raised his arms all the way out and did a grabbing motion? Miguel had seen a similar gesture with Mayday when she wanted to be held. But Miles always just asks for hugs or gave them to Miguel to show affection.

"Boss I think he wants you to give him uppies."

Miguel didn't jump at the sudden appearance of Lyla having long gotten used to her randomly appearing, Miles on the other hand flinched a little in surprise. Since he had only known her for three months.

"What are "uppies" Lyla?"

"Uppies: When a person wants to be picked up and lifted into the air by another person, specificlly under the arms. It's an old century world that I learned from your boy toy."

"Who now?" 🤨

"LYLA! DO NOT REFER TO PETER AS THAT!!!!"

"IT'S PETER?! Gross, I don't want to hear about your weird kinks."

"IT- MY RELATIONSHIP WITH PARKER IS STRICTLY PROFESSIONAL!"

Lyla seeing that her work was done blipped away to continue the reports she was working on.

"You don't have to deny it tío everyone knows your the Parkers' third." 🙄

Miguel didn't have any response to that and just let out an incoherent rambling of noise. His face was as bright as a tomato that was exceptionally ripe. Miguel crossed his arms over each other and tried to redirect- get back on topic.

"So you want "uppies" kid? Why? Can't you climb skyscrapers?"

"Well I can get to high places, but I can't be as tall as you!"

Miles emphasized Miguel's "tallness" by getting on his tippy toes and raising his hand as high as it can go. It was an extremely endearing sight to see. The kid looked at him with some of the most puppy dog eyes he has ever seen, he practically saw the anime glitter in them that Peni does. While Miguel had built quite a resistance to those types of eyes (especially working with Spider-Mans) in spite of that he felt his heart squeeze.

Oh shock this child is going to be the end of him.

"Okay."

"Okay? Really?!"

"Lyla has been pestering me to take a break anyways. This seems like a good excuse as any."

There was a big grin on Miles' face now. He was jumping up and down quickly like an overly energetic bunny. Quickly putting up his hands doing the grabbing motion again he was ready for the uppies now. With a fond sigh Miguel picked up Miles under his armpits. He hosted him into the air to the height of his eye level letting Miles experience the "tallness" he desired. Miles looked around taking in his new perspective of the things surrounding him. He let out a little ooh sound at what Miguel normally sees. Switching Miles around so he's facing away from him he dropped down from his platform. He walked around his office showing Miles various things that he might find interesting. They talked about the things Miguel was showing Miles. How certain machines worked, if he liked putting things up high to mess with people, etc. It was very nice. Miguel hasn't had such a nice break in a while. A beeping sounded on his watch, it was for an incoming call from Peter b.

(IDK how to describe it but Miguel is holding Miles like this now ⬇️)

After making Miles comfortable in his arm he answered the call from Peter using his chin.

(Oops just realized I accidentally posted this so it's going to be written while it's up)

Peter appeared as a hologram on his watch wearing his classic pink jacket Spiderman suit combination without the mask.

"Miguel me and MJ we're wond- oh! Who do we have here?"

Peter was looking at Miles where he was laying against his chest. His cheek adorably smushed against him.

"Hi Peter! 👋"

"Hi Miles! 🤗"

They waved at each other excitedly. God he's going to be teased so much for this.

"Welllll I was going to ask Miguel to come on a date with me and MJ but it seems I have interrupted a mamá Migs hangout session."

"I'm- we're not-."

"Have fun and take pictures for me Lyla."

Before Miguel could get another word out Peter disconnected from the call. He huffed in annoyance, he absent mindlessly began to rock Miles back and forth. Since it was on his mind now he thought about how it had been a bit since Miguel had a little session with Miles. Looking down at the boy he was holding his face conveyed the same thoughts he was having.

"Lyla are there anything important I need to attend too?"

Lyla appeared next to his right side by his head, she had been sorting files about various matters.

"No boss we're all good. Also tell Peter I said I will."

Her hologram blipped away to continue what she was doing. He reminded himself to make sure Lyla did NOT take any photos.

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Portalling into his living room in the Spiderman head quarter's top floor he gently placed Miles on the couch. His little boy didn't want to let go of him at first but he told him how he needed both of his hands to get him ready. Reluctantly he did let go and Miguel tried to as quickly as possible get the supplies ready. Going to the bedroom he went inside his closet to get a large box. It had all of his littles that they needed. Coming back to Miles on his couch he placed the box he had next to him on the floor. He looked at Miles face a foggy look in his eyes. He was also lightly sucking on his thumb.

"Okay arañita can you tell me how old you're feeling?"

Miles took out the finger he had in his mouth and looked towards him.

"This many mamá."

He raised two fingers in front of him.

"Hmm my baby fangs is feeling really young huh?"

Miles giggled a little at his words. Miguel couldn't help but also laugh along with him. His baby boy always manages to pull a smile or chuckle out of him. Zipping down the zipper on Miles' suit he tried to shimmy him out of it for more comfortable clothes. With a little bit of struggle Miguel got him out of it. He dressed Miles bright yellow cotton shorts with cartoon sunflowers on them, a white shirt with one pocket "holding" a sun with shades, and one of his plain blue hoodies. Miles always says he likes wearing them while he's little because it is warm and it makes him feel small. Now done dressing the boy he took out a binkie themed after Miles' suit and put it in his mouth. He started to suckle on it as soon as it was in his mouth. Taking the spiderling back into his arms he settled on the couch cushions. Looking down Miles he saw him contently snuggled in his arms sucking away at his binkie. Seeing as the kid was going to take a nap he decided to take a quick one too. He laid on his back and took out a blanket from the box laying it on the top of both of them. He kissed the top of his baby's forehead for a goodnight kiss. Double checking to make sure Miles was comfortable Miguel closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep. Being 7'9 did have its advantages sometimes, like being able to hold his precious son securely in his grip as they sleep.

Lyla totally took photos of them sleeping on the couch together. >;3