#mostly because otherwise I'll cry
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This is always going to be known to me as that time Kunikida got promoted, you will seldom hear me refer to it by any other name
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Tldr; small rant about the deli getting my order wrong+anxiety associated with similar situations.
How do I explain to someone that I feel like screaming and crying just because the guy at the deli cut my order incorrectly? And, that I'm willing to give it away/throw it out because my brain won't let me eat it if it looks wrong?
I was really looking forward to a nice oven roasted turkey sandwich, and now I just want to throw it all away.
#im just crying because i did everything right. i made sure to speak clearly and annunciate. and he cut it the exact opposite way i asked.#he's probably new and that makes it even worse because i cant be mad.#they usually ask or double-check if they aren't sure how people actually want it. he didnt so i assumed he knew what he was doing.#I HATE thick deli items. especially turkey. but i also HATE food waste. so this sucks twice as much!#i guess im mostly mad at myself. that i didnt go back and tell him to do it again. but i was already paying by the time i realized#plus. going back to hating food waste. sending food back was a huge “no-no” growing up#so my anxiety spikes whenever something is wrong with my food. because i feel i'll be forced to finish it regardless#ex:#(my mom found a thumbtack in her food once and just set it aside and continued eating.#she only mentioned something because the waitress noticed when she cleared our plates)#this anxiety is also why i eat my meals really fast. if i ordered something i ended up hating i would still be forced to eat it.#so i adapted by eating every meal very quickly. if i eat quickly i can trick my brain and stomach into “enjoying” a meal i would be#otherwise unable to eat#It's not healthy. and it definitely doesn't always work 😅 but it's the best solution i've come up with so far
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♡Hashiras react to you kissing them on their forehead♡
Masterlist
Kyojuro Rengoku
He's surprised and confused. He will look at you and say "Thanks [Name] !" Without knowing what you meant by that.
He doesn't mind it tho, quite the opposite. He would take it as a praise and even subtly ask for it whenever he finish training.
"[Name]! Have you seen what I did? It was impressive wasn't it?"
Kiss his forehead again and he'll tackle you into a hug.
Gyomei Himejima
First of all, I don't think you'll be able to kiss his forehead when he's standing. You can try when he's sitting tho.
He would turn his head to where you are (I know he's blind but blind people can stil know where you are thanks to other senses) and would start crying.
"You are yoo kind for this world, bless your soul."
Otherwise he likes getting forehead kisses as goodnight kiss since it's the only time you can reach him.
Sanemi Shinazugawa
My boy Sanemi would probably jumps two feet away from you as soon as your lips make contact with his skin.
"I'm not a toddler anymore. Tsk."
You can try to explain him you meant no harm but that won't calm him down. Because the only reason he acts mad is because he doesn't want you to see him flustered.
He doesn't really like receiving forehead kisses. It makes him feel like a child and mostly...It reminds him of his mother.
Obanai Iguro
He's so shy, he'll turn around and let Kaburamaru face you. You headpat Kaburamaru and Obanai would probably turn around the moment you want to headpat his pet so he could receive the headpat.
He wants to kiss yours back but is too ashamed of his face to properly do it. So instead would force hug you because he doesn't want you to think he doesn't liked it.
"Sorry I can't kiss you back."
Reassure him with more kisses.
Giyu Tomioka
He stood there cluelessly looking at you. Do you wanted something from him ? Are you trying to transfer a message ? Should he be worried ?
He overthink everything and will end up dozing off looking at you. Once you explain he'll nod like he just learned something new.
"Alright [Name]. I'll make sure to remember next time."
Next time he would blush and lean in the kiss. Kinda like a cat.
Mitsuri Kanroji
She would blush and shake her hands agressively in the air confused. You'd stood there watching her with a smile.
"[Name]-chan! W-what was that for ?"
She would shyly looks down, if you hug her and pats her head and she would melt into your arms and become as pink as her hair.
Uzui Tengen
Honestly, he would straight up take you in his arms and then walks away. He's used to kisses since he got THREE wives.
But he's going to tease you about it no matter what you say.
"Very flashy of you I may admit, but you should've think twice before doing so!"
Yeah....You get what I mean
Muichiro Tokito
He would stay still and fixes you waiting for something else.
"what is it ?"
He doesn't get it. That was out of pocket but he liked it. It was making him feel warm inside.
He'd probably do it back to you not knowing what it means.
Shinobu Kocho
She would be surprised AND do it back to you.
She didn't like the feeling of being treated like a child but at the same time she liked the feeling of security that she got from it.
"You're so adorable sweetie."
You get a headpat from her.
Talk to me!
#Mayiluv wrote this °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:・#demon slayer x reader#shinobu x reader#giyu x reader#gyomei x reader#sanemi x reader#obanai x reader#Misturi x reader#muichiro x reader#rengoku x reader#uzui x reader
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For an obey me request can I have some pillow princess belphie? Ik he wouldn’t do any work when having sex lol. Dom top male reader pls!
"Shh, baby, you don't have to... Or I'm joking, mmm?"
#a.n. : The internship at the university is over, so... :)
!!Warnings : top!dom!male!reader, sub!bottom!Belphie, A HUGE amount of teasing (the whole sex is based on their idea), praise kink, complaints from Belphie, but they are playful, raw penetration, open ending, mostly focused on foreplay (because I love foreplay too much, yeah), Belphie in demonic form and... Weird use of his tail (nothing nasty or scary though, it's funny), handjob, fingering, the reader is the MC, it is implied that the reader is larger than Belphie.
"Belphie... Don't be so grumpy. It'll be fine anyway. You don't have to try, I'll do all the work... Please?" You ask for probably the hundredth time and Belphegor just sighs, but otherwise doesn't move, lying too comfortably right now.
You've been trying to convince him to have sex for the last fifteen minutes, but he told you that he was more lazy than usual today. And he just didn't want to even move, but your words kept creeping further and further under the cortex of his brain, wanting to agree, despite his laziness. After all, how could he refuse his favorite and only human?
"Well, if you say you'll do all the work, MC, then fine..." He mumbles, lazily rolling over onto his back, getting comfortable, fidgeting for about half a minute, and then just freezing.
"Thank you, thank you! You really don't have to do anything!... Or maybe I'm kidding," You let out a chuckle, which is quickly silenced when Belphegor's tail wraps around your head, covering your mouth, but then drops back down.
"You do all the work," He mumbles, letting his legs fall to the sides and looking at you silently, waiting.
And of course, you don't keep him waiting. Your hands move down to his black sweatpants, slipping your hand under the waistband and pushing them down far too slowly for Belphegor's liking.
"You said you'd be quick... I'm sleepy," He complains, lightly slapping your knee with the tip of his tail, but otherwise doesn't complain, remaining slightly embarrassed by how the tent in his underwear has become much more visible.
"Who's keeping you awake? You can fall asleep just fine. You've fallen asleep just fine the last few times."
The demon just sighs, closing his eyes, letting out a ragged breath as you squeeze his cock through his underwear. His slender hips twitch, wanting more contact, wanting relief. And he whines as your fingers hook into the elastic again, this time on his underwear, pulling it down.
Your hand wraps around his cock, taking up the part from the base to the part below the head. A whimper escapes the brunette's lips as your thumb runs along his slit, lubricating the precum from there onto some part of his cock, making your movements a little easier.
His cock stands tall and proud, twitching at your direct gaze directed at it. The head is already dripping with precum, which is a little premature considering you've done literally nothing. But hey, who's complaining?
"Well? Are you going to make me cum or something?" He asks slightly annoyed, trying to spank your knee with his tail again, but you hold it in your free hand, watching as his cock hardens even more.
"Maybe I tricked you and you'll have to push into my hand. What do you say then?" You answer with obvious mockery, not paying attention to how his tail continues to spank your wrist more than once, and Belphegor's eyes literally began to glow.
"MC..." He drawls in an unreadable tone, although from his face it is clear that it is more of a plea.
His eyebrows are arched in such a manner as if he is about to cry; crystal tears will flow from his eyes, pouring down his cheeks red from excitement and embarrassment, falling down onto his still untouched neck. His pupils are dilated, his irises glow a pleasant purple hue, crystal drops glitter on his long eyelashes. His lips, which are slightly bitten and plump from this, twitch and shine with moisture; they are slightly open from the heavy breathing of their owner from the sensations that he is going through.
And oh God, he looks simply inimitable and so beautiful that you can’t continue teasing him (he is a small manipulator, he-he). Your palm slightly squeezes on his shaft and you begin to move your hand in a slightly faster, rhythmic tempo, which makes his back arch incredibly.
You can’t help but bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathe in his scent, feel his clearly accelerated pulse under your lips. A groan escapes his lips as he feels you bite that spot, and then your lips suck on it, leaving a mark that will turn into a bright purple hickey later.
"M-MC... I can't cum like this, please..." He practically chirps, grabbing your shoulder, pulling his head back to give you better access to his neck.
"Shh, you're doing great, dear. You can cum for me like this, right? Come on, try... I'll make it a hundred times better for you later," You whisper, moving your lips higher, kissing the patch of skin behind his ear, making him shudder.
Your hoarse whisper, your hand on his hot cock, your scent so close, your gaze only on him... And as soon as he feels his precum start to flow down, over his balls, and even lower, he cums. Not even trying to hide a single sound, too focused on one single task. He is feeling good. And it's your fault.
"Well done, I'm so proud of you... You came so fast and so much, it's amazing for you," You coos soothingly, kissing his cheeks and brushing the hair stuck to his sweaty forehead, revealing his face in full.
"Fingering?" You ask, looking down at your hand, pulling it away from his cock, wiping his cum onto the sheets that would be ruined even more later.
He nods silently, probably unable to even attempt to say anything coherent right now, so you simply spread his legs further, reaching for the packet of lube in your pants pocket.
"Are you sure you're ready? I can wait a bit," You ask again, earning the inevitable kick to the knee from his tail, and he just shakes his head.
"I'm a demon, I'm not even overstimulated... yet," Belphegor mumbles, barely managing to form anything normal, and only spreading his legs wider.
You rip the packet apart with your teeth, pouring the contents onto your fingers and then sliding both fingers in at once, which he accepts with absolutely no problem.
"I didn't bring a condom, by the way..." He just waves your words away, already holding his eyes closed, while fat tears form in the corners of his eyes, which you kiss to keep them from rolling down.
He wraps his legs around your waist lazily, causing you to even hold one of his thighs... This brat, ugh. Your fingers slide in and out of his velvet walls, which wrap around your fingers, not wanting to let you go. Obviously desperate whines escape his lips as you purposely hit his prostate every time.
"Just fuck me already... Or I'll ban you from sex for a month."
You just blink like an owl at this threat. Obviously not real, though. But you still comply, pulling your own pants down with your clean hand and sighing in relief when your cock is finally out.
Your dirty hand coats your cock in the remnants of lube and you grab his hips, inhaling and lining up your tip with his entrance. You both moan at the same time as you slowly begin to push in until you bottom out inside him.
"I wasn't kidding about banning it."
You hold still, giving him time to adjust, and yourself too, to be honest. You feel like you're about to cum just from the look on his face, you exhale and he opens his eyes.
He tightens around you, making you hiss and start thrusting into him, causing him to fall back against the pillows in relief, grabbing the sheets underneath them. And you just realize that no matter how much he insists on 'faster', you're not leaving here until at least half of his stamina is gone... Oh well, here we fo again.
#seme male reader#top male reader#dom male reader#a!writes.#sub character#obey me x reader#obey me smut#sub obey me#obey me x male reader#obey me#sub belphegor#belphegor x male reader#belphegor smut#belphegor x reader
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ᡣ𐭩 FRANCESCA
FEATURING: beast dazai osamu
SUMMARY: fate will always find a way. {wordcount: 22.1k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}
AUTHOR'S NOTES: wow guys i can't believe it's over. i won't lie this chapter was an absolute monster to write, i cried and rewrote several times, but i think it came out the way i was hoping. i'll leave some more notes at the bottom so as to not spoil, but i hope you enjoy, it's been such a crazy ride, ily all lots. as always, reblogs appreciated
GENERAL WARNINGS: mcd. dissociation. explicit mentions of past self-harm & suicide attempts. dazai describes his scars as "gross" and "ugly". implications of child abuse. suicide. i believe that's all, if there's any i'm missing, pls let me know, this is a heavy chapter obviously.
SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A
“... You said you have a brother?”
You look up from where your head is resting on Dazai’s chest, peering at him with furrowed brows. He raises his eyebrows, hoping the curiosity on his face comes across as innocent. In his defense, it mostly is—Dazai only wants to know because he’s wondering if he’s correct in assuming the mentions of your brother were in the present tense because he’s still alive.
If that’s the case, then that’s another first in this universe, he thinks. As far as Dazai is aware, in every other universe, your brother has been long dead by the time Dazai meets you and if that’s changed, it had to have been because of something Dazai unwittingly did, otherwise what else would’ve led to such a drastic change from the norm.
He doesn’t recall if you ever mentioned anything of significance about your brother in any of the other universes. The most he remembers is that in some, he passed away when you were sixteen and that he was involved with some shady business. You claimed that it was something to do with underground rings but if Dazai’s right in assuming that he is still alive, then Dazai thinks that the underground ring business was a cover for Port Mafia business, because the only thing that so drastically changed in the years your brother would have died was Dazai coming into contact with the Book and upending the Port Mafia’s operations.
“I do,” you say, shifting to prop your chin up on his shoulder, you lean in to brush your lips against his jaw and Dazai’s eyes flutter shut, lifting his hand to caress the small of your back. “We don’t speak anymore.”
God, Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this. He lifts his free hand to cup your cheek, watching as you lean into his touch. He lifts his shoulders up off the bed to tilt his head down, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. He can feel you smile against his and he swears his heart is in his throat, hand sliding to hold the back of your head as he lets his fall back against the pillows. You settle back against his chest and Dazai cards his fingers through your hair as his mind spins.
It’s been two weeks since the event, and while the upcoming conflict with the House of the Dead and their allies has been eerily quiet, Dazai thinks it might be for the best because things with you have not been quiet. The past two weeks have been tense and strained, once the fog of the night the two of you spent together finally disappeared, the realization of your situation hit you hard.
It’s been cycle after cycle of you shutting yourself off from him—curling up in the corner of his bedroom and staring out the window before sending yourself into a steep spiral of fear and paranoia. You haven’t dared to leave the headquarters in two weeks, even when Chuuya and Atsushi and half the Black Lizards offer to escort you, too scared to even step out of his apartment and go down to the lower floors. Sometimes you lash out at him, angry and accusatory; other times, you just cry, terrified sobs that rip Dazai’s heart right out of his chest, and he can only hold you until it passes. And it does pass, it always passes, and he gets a day or two with you like this, peaceful and pleasant. He can pretend that the two of you are just a normal couple in love with each other and not have to face reality.
He hasn’t been much better off. Every day that passes, the corners of the pages of the Book edge further into his vision. He knows it’s coming—his face-off against Dostoevsky, the first trial he has to face to ensure you can live in this universe—and he knows he can’t let himself falter even once or make a single mistake. He’s good at putting up a front around the executives—although he’s sure that Chuuya and Kouyou are realizing just how anxious Dazai really is—but he has to keep his hands beneath the table to hide the way his fingers tremble. He thought he would have more time to prepare for this, he doesn’t know why the timeline sped up so much in this life.
He tries to distract himself from the growing fear by keeping his attention focused on you because you need him right now. Desperately. He’s never seen you like this before. And it’s his fault, he knows it. In most of the other universes, you never knew his enemies were hunting you down; and in the ones that you did know, you’d been eased into a life with him already, you’d known what you were getting into. He threw you into this life without any regard for how it might affect you, like tossing someone who doesn’t know how to swim into stormy waters.
Guilt claws at his throat again, as it always does when his mind drifts to what he’s dragged you into, so he forces his mind back to the conversation at hand. Another welcome distraction from the anxiety, a way to keep his fear at bay—trying to figure out who your brother is, a mystery that he hasn’t solved in any other universe. It’s easier to actively avoid the creeping fear than to face it upfront, especially when he’s not sure he’ll be able to overcome it.
“Why is that?” he finally asks, and then after a moment adds, “... I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” you say, but he can hear the strain in your voice and Dazai understands that it’s entirely not fine, and if your brother does happen to be part of the Port Mafia, Dazai is going to put him through the most excruciating and uncomfortable missions before forcing him back into your life because how dare he make you feel this way. “It’s been like this for like six years now. He cut off contact with me, I don’t know why, he never explained. He still sends me money but I don’t care for any of that, I just want to see him.”
Interesting. Six years ago. When he usually would have died in all of the other universes. Dazai’s mind spins as he tries to narrow it down. So many things happened that year. The Dragon’s Head Conflict, the incident with Verlaine-
The incident with Verlaine.
No.
Dazai shifts a bit and you instantly shoot him a disgruntled look, the apologetic smile he gives you in return is only half-hearted. He ghosts his lips across the top of your head before wrapping an arm tighter around you, fingers rubbing absent circles against your bare skin.
Of all of the events that occurred after Dazai came in contact with the Book, the incident with Verlaine had been the one that changed the most. Dazai had gone out of his way to ensure that the Flags survived the incident so Chuuya would still have people after Dazai finished the final stage of his plan, just like how he made sure to put things in place for Atsushi and Kyouka, Gin, pushing Akutagawa to the Armed Detective Agency. Everything would fall into place after the final stage, everyone could have their mostly happy ending.
Everyone but him.
His mind drifts a bit at the thought of his original plan, the phases that he’d enacted to ensure the preservation of this world—long, happy lives for you and Odasaku. Dragging you into his life shattered that and he still hasn’t figured out how exactly he needs to adjust everything to account for this.
You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow
Your words ring through his head. His eyes slide shut and the reminder of Phase Five flashes before his eyes. He can feel a headache coming on already, his throat swelling with frustration. No. Now’s not the time to focus on this.
The incident with Verlaine. The Flags. Is it possible…?
It doesn’t necessarily have to be one of the Flags. He’s sure that dozens upon dozens of subordinates managed to live in this universe with the Flags still around, Doc especially, butterfly effect and all, but Dazai can’t help but hesitate, a gut feeling drawing him to them. You didn’t recognize Albatross or Piano Man, obviously it can’t be Lippmann. That only leaves Doc and Iceman. Doc doesn’t have a family, Dazai remembers the man mentioning it offhandedly after he was wrangled down into the infirmary for a checkup a few years ago, but Iceman…
“Nah, Iceman ain’t gonna be around this weekend, his kid sister’s graduating uni. He’s going to the ceremony. Hit me with whatever you needed him for, I’ll get it done.”
Albatross’s words from a year and a half ago echo through Dazai’s head. He fully sits up this time, eyes widening, ignoring the way he jostles you around. You scowl at him and shift into a sitting position yourself but Dazai is already fumbling for his phone. You claim you haven’t seen your brother since you were sixteen, and Dazai supposes that doesn’t entirely fit in with the fact that if his theory is right, Iceman went to your graduation, but he also supposes that the man didn’t necessarily have to make himself known to you to attend your graduation.
What other pieces is he missing?
Dazai should have recognized Iceman in the picture on your wall, shouldn’t he have?
Not necessarily, he thinks—you and your brother had been young in the picture, no older than ten and fourteen, and Dazai doesn’t even deal personally with Iceman anyway. The man reports to Piano Man, and Piano Man reports to Dazai as the middle-man. He hardly sees Iceman more than once or twice a year, if even that.
And…
Oh.
Dazai exhales, realizing that Iceman being your brother might explain more things than just some oddities in this universe. His mind races as he tries to mentally flip through the pages of the Book, remembering some of the stranger universes out there. Some are so distinct from this one that there are hardly any similarities to this one—universes where the world is still being torn apart by the Great War, universes where you and he had been born hundreds of years prior during an era of warring feudal lords, universes where the world is entirely flooded and universes where the world has become a wasteland.
But there are other universes so similar to this one, with just a few distinct differences, that Dazai struggles to understand what makes them turn out so outrageously different. Everything is functionally the same until the two of you are thirteen or fourteen, where it’s as if the timeline abruptly branches off into countless routes for no apparent reason. Sometimes, he ends up with Odasaku rather than Mori, but in that same universe, you somehow end up with the Port Mafia. In other universes, he ends up with the government as a member of the Hunting Dogs, you end up with the Port Mafia too in that one. Sometimes you have an ability that manifests, sometimes—like in this universe—you don’t.
He never understood what causes the timelines to go down these routes when everything else is fundamentally the same. He assumed that he was somehow the root of it: it was a decision that he unwittingly made that caused the abrupt branching off of the timeline, but he was never entirely convinced of it because he couldn’t make sense of how him ending up somewhere other than the Mafia led to you joining the Mafia, or triggering the manifestation of your ability.
It makes a lot more sense if you already have a connection to the Mafia that he was unaware of.
That would leave your brother as the variable affecting where you end up, and whether or not your ability manifests. Not Dazai.
“What’re you doing?” you complain, flopping back onto the bed and tugging at his shirt as he puts together the mystery that’s been plaguing him for almost seven years.
“Gimme a second,” Dazai murmurs, only half-listening as he shoots a text toward Piano Man, telling him to summon Iceman back to headquarters from where he’s been dealing with a slippery target abroad for months, not bothering to wait for a response as he tosses his phone back onto his dresser and returns his attention to you, significantly more pleased than he was moments before.
The best way to test his theory is to drag Iceman back to base and see the man’s reaction to you being here. Is it smart? Maybe not, but Dazai doesn’t really care.
“What’s got you so happy all of a sudden?” you ask, eyes narrowing a bit in suspicion.
Dazai’s lips tilt upward as he leans down, half-rolling on top of you as he ghosts his lips against your forehead, nose, and then your lips before resting his head on your chest. “I’m spending my day with a beautiful woman.” He tilts his face up to kiss your jaw, relishing in the giggle you let out. “Of course, I’m happy.”
“Yeah?” you ask, nuzzling your face into his hair as you wrap your arms around him. Dazai thinks that if he died now, he would die in a state of bliss—tucked away in your arms with no threat of the outside world to weigh over him. You trace over the thin cotton shirt he’s wearing, drawing absent patterns over with the tip of your finger, up his chest to his shoulder, trailing down his arm.
“Mhm,” he agrees, eyes fluttering shut momentarily as he basks in your touch. He glances back down again when he feels your finger brush over the bandages covering his forearms, hesitating for a moment.
He peers up at you through his lashes, watching the curious expression cross your face as you look down at them, not noticing that he’s caught you staring—he knows what you’re thinking, how could he not? He’d known this was going to come sooner or later, that one day you’d wonder what was beneath the rest of the bandages. You’d never looked at him differently for it in any other life, but Dazai can’t help the lump that rises to his throat as he prepares for you to ask.
You don’t.
Instead, your gaze lifts back to his and you lean down to press your lips to his forehead. He hums lightly and tilts his head up, waiting to see if you’ll say something, but you only lift your hand to brush your fingers through his hair.
“Aren’t you going to ask?” he murmurs, eyes sliding shut again as you trace your fingers over his face, drawing along the slope of his nose down to his lips.
“I don’t plan to, no,” you say lightly, smiling as Dazai nips at your finger when you press it against his lips lightly.
“Why not?” he asks, gaze lidded as he looks up at you again. He almost frowns, wondering if you don’t want to see what’s beneath the bandages, but that would be ludicrous and makes him feel a bit insecure, so he waits for your answer instead.
“Because I figure you’ll show me on your own when you’re ready,” you tell him and the lump returns to his throat, bigger this time as he catches sight of the soft expression on your face.
He’ll never get used to it, he thinks again, breathless.
“What if I’m never ready?” Dazai questions quietly, watching your face carefully for a response.
You’re entirely unbothered by the prospect.
“I hope one day you will be, but if you’re not, that’s okay,” you say as your arms tighten around him, leaning down to bury your face in his hair again—he can feel you smile against the top of his head.
His lips part to respond but no words leave them. Instead, he lets out a sigh and takes one of your hands into his, smoothing his thumb over your palm. “What did I do to deserve you?” he says more to himself than anything else as he lifts your hand to his lips so he can kiss your knuckles.
His eyes flutter shut for a second as he considers what to do, but before he can make a decision, he feels you shifting a bit behind him. He glances back at you, brows furrowing in confusion when he catches the sudden conflict plaguing your expression. He twists around to face you, lifting his hand to cup your cheek, frowning at the downcast look in your eyes as you lean into his touch.
“What’s wrong?” he asks you, wondering if he said something wrong but he has a feeling that it’s something running deeper than that. He keeps his voice soft as he searches your eyes for an answer. You don’t respond at first, and Dazai feels significantly more concerned, shifting to his knees to kneel on the bed next to you, tilting your face to make you look at him. “Talk to me.”
“... I have orientation in a few days,” you finally say and Dazai instantly knows what has you suddenly on edge, swallowing thickly. “For school. On Friday. I can’t not go.”
He runs his thumb along your cheekbone, hoping that the small smile on his face does not convey the nerves that eat at him—he doesn’t need to stress you out any more than you already are. A part of him wants to curse himself for being so selfish; none of this was supposed to happen. You were supposed to live out your life happily without this weight hanging over you; you were supposed to go to school and graduate, not be so scared to leave the bedroom that you hardly even want to go anymore.
God, the guilt is suffocating; it takes all of Dazai’s self control to keep himself grounded here with you and not lose himself in regret.
“Sounds exciting,” Dazai hums, careful to keep his voice light. “You’ll meet all of your new classmates, you better not forget about me.”
He finds a small victory in the way your eyes turn up slightly at his comment, but it’s only brief, returning back to that downcast expression that makes Dazai feel sick to his stomach. He brushes his lips between your brows before pulling back to look at you again, the tips of his fingers running through your hair.
“I’m scared,” you admit softly, “what if-”
“Don’t be,” Dazai cuts you off, doesn’t even let you finish the what if that’s been haunting his thoughts since he came in contact with the Book all of those years ago. If you voice it out loud, he’s scared that it’ll shatter the dam that’s been holding back all of the fear threatening to consume him. “You have nothing to be scared of. Nothing will happen to you.”
“You can’t promise that,” you say, trying to look away, but he forces you to look at him again. His heart feels like it’s in his throat when he sees the way your eyes have welled with tears, one spilling over to trickle down your cheek—he leans down to kiss it away, trailing his lips up to the corner of your eye before hovering over you.
“I can,” he corrects gently. He tells himself the same thing he told you the night he decided to see you again—he has the knowledge, power, and resources, and Dazai is never as motivated when he has you as an incentive. Already, his mind is racing, making plans to get his own men into the building, trying to figure out what would be the best course of action to maybe have Chuuya pose as another enrolled student so he can keep someone close to you. “I can.”
You don’t look convinced, your bottom lip wobbles as you look up at him doubtfully and Dazai is instantly leaning down to press his against yours. Softly. Gently. It’s an innocent kiss, a plea for you to trust him to protect you because he will protect you.
“Do you trust me?” he asks and then falters instantly, reminded of the argument the two of you had two weeks ago. He amends the question and instead asks, “Do you trust me to keep you safe?”
You stare at him for a moment and for a terrible second, Dazai thinks you might be about to say no, but after what feels like an eternity, you nod, and Dazai lets out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. He has to go talk to Kouyou, and the Black Lizards, and Chuuya. He doesn’t give a fuck if he turns this into the Mafia’s biggest operation since the Dragon’s Head Conflict, if that’s what it takes to keep you safe.
Dostoevsky won’t win—not this time.
When he comes back to the penthouse after spending nearly the whole day trying to work out plans for your orientation on Friday, he can already tell that you’re teetering off of the edge. Dazai lingers in the door frame for a moment, the corners of his lips turning down and all thoughts of the upcoming operation fizzling away as he lets out a soft puff of air, studying you.
You’re sitting on the edge of the bed staring out the window blankly, hands sitting loosely in your lap. You’re still wearing the pajamas he’d left you in this morning, but there are stains on the front of it—he wonders if you tried to cook something but gave up halfway, it would explain the sudden influx of dirty dishes in the sink.
You look beautiful—you always do, even when you’re littered with stains and half out of it—but you look so fragile that it makes Dazai sick to his stomach. He’s never seen you look so fragile before than he has the past two weeks. You’ve always been willful, the most fearless and headstrong person that Dazai has ever known. Seeing you like this because of him, nonetheless, breaks something in Dazai that he didn’t even know was still capable of being broken.
“I’m back,” he says quietly, so as to not startle you, but you don’t react to his words anyway.
In fact, you don’t acknowledge his presence or even blink as he brushes his hand against your shoulder before coming to kneel in front of you, eyes searching your face. His throat tightens as he reaches up to cup your cheek and it’s only then that your gaze tracks down to him, but he can tell from the distant look in your eyes that you’re probably not even really seeing him.
“What’d you try to make earlier?” he hums, resting his free hand on your knee, drawing absent circles over your skin.
You stare at him for a moment and when your lips part to respond, he can barely hold back the sigh of relief—if you’re still responsive, maybe he can catch it before you steep down into your spiral, he just has to figure out how. He needs to distract you, obviously, drag you back from the ledge as you’ve done for him���not him—so many times before.
“… Cupcakes,” you finally tell him softly. “They burned.”
His lips curl upward into a smile, hand sliding up your thigh to grab your hand, lifting it to press a kiss upon your palm. “We can try to make them together later, hm?” he offers. “I’ve never made them before.”
“... Okay,” you respond quietly after a few seconds of silence, and Dazai considers it a win—or, well, he does until you start speaking again: “I don’t think I should go on Friday, Osamu. Maybe I should just unenroll… at least until things calm down, then I can figure it out. I’ll just start later. It’s fine. A lot of people do it.”
Dazai’s eyes slide shut. He holds your hand to his face and rests his forehead against your knuckles—this time he can’t hold back the sigh that slips from his lips. This is his fault, he did this to you. In a world where you’re supposed to be free of the dark, fulfilling all of the dreams you couldn’t because of him in other lives, you’re too scared to even start school, wanting to drop out rather than step outside his penthouse.
God, what has he done?
He drops your hand back to your lap and looks back up to you, hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your head, fingers intertwining with your hair as he looks up at you. Your expression hardly shifts, watching him absently as you wait for a response, but he doesn’t know how to convince you yet so instead he gives you a soft smile that he’s sure doesn’t meet his eyes, but he doesn’t think you notice in your distant state.
“Come take a bath with me,” he says, half a request, half a plea as he squeezes your thigh gently. “Then we’ll talk, yeah?”
You avert your gaze from his again, but you nod, so Dazai considers it another win. He stands up quickly, helping you to your feet before guiding you into the bathroom. You’d do this for him sometimes in the other universes; when he goes through really bad slumps and can barely bring himself to eat or move, you’ll coax him out of bed and into the bathtub, bringing him a tray of breakfast and letting him rest against your chest as he soaks in the hot water and picks at his food. Sometimes it brings him out of the slumps, sometimes it doesn’t, but it never fails to make him feel less alone so he figures it’s about time he’s able to return the favor to you.
He hums a familiar jaunty tune as he leans over to get the water running in the tub—hot, you always like the water just a bit less scalding than he usually has it—before turning to you. He crosses the bathroom in three long steps, standing in front of where you’re still leaning against the counter. He cups your cheeks and purposely smushes them so he can lean down and place an obnoxious kiss right upon your squished lips. You don’t look amused by his dramatics, but your eyes are tracking him now—another win. He’s on a roll now, maybe he’ll be able to pull you out of this before it spirals.
“Let me help you get undressed?” he proposes, smiling as he lifts a finger to his cheek and waits for your response.
“Okay,” you agree—a quicker response than the last ‘okay,’ a good sign.
Dazai doesn’t waste time as he presses his lips to your forehead, fingers curling around the hem of your soft cotton shirt. He carefully pulls it up above your head, placing it on the counter behind you. You’re not wearing a bra beneath it, so Dazai only lets his hands settle on your hips before he props his chin up on the top of your head.
He lets out a soft breath, eyes tracing the smooth skin of your back in the mirror before he lets them flutter shut. Just as he’s about to kneel down and slip off your shorts and panties so he can get you in the tub, he feels your arms wrap around his waist, and oh. Dazai’s throat tightens as you lean your head against his chest and press your bare body against his clothed one; one of his arms curl around you, large palm splayed against your lower back, while the other cradles the back of your head.
Dazai would do anything for you. Build empires or burn them. He’d gift you the sun and the moon and the stars. He can feel your body trembling against his and he knows that he’d rot in the depths of hell if it meant keeping you safe. There’s no length he wouldn’t go to, no depths he wouldn’t stoop to. His arms tighten around you and he presses his lips back to the top of your head, letting out a shaky breath.
Fyodor Dostoevsky will die. Agatha Christie will die. Both of their organizations will burn. Anyone who’s a threat to you—whether it’s ten bodies or ten thousand, he doesn’t care.
“C’mon,” he says softly, “let’s get you in there.”
He feels you nod against his chest and with much reluctance, his arms drop from where they’re wrapped around you as he kneels in front of you. He kisses your navel as his fingers curl around the hem of your shorts; he pulls them down until they’re loose on the floor around your ankles. When he scoops you into his arms, your eyes widen and he tosses you a playful wink before easing you down into the tub.
Once you’re mostly submerged in the water, you draw your knees to your chest and prop your chin on top of them, staring ahead. Whatever light had managed to return to your eyes fizzles out almost instantly and Dazai bites back a sigh, intent on getting into the tub with you and distracting you from the thoughts plaguing your mind. He slips off his jacket and drops it onto the floor, pulling off his tie haphazardly. He reaches up to unbutton his shirt and-
Oh.
Oh.
Dazai has made a fatal mistake.
His vision tunnels in on the bandages peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt, envisioning the mess of ridged scars that stain the skin beneath them. Slowly, his gaze draws back to you. To the tub. To the water. If he wants to get in with you then-
You don’t seem to notice his sudden predicament, too focused on whatever spot on the wall you’ve been staring at since he set you down, but Dazai thinks that his world might be on the verge of collapse because he loves you, he does, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to take off the bandages. Not yet. Maybe the fear is irrational, maybe it’s not—you’ve already done things in this universe that you’ve never done in any other, and he’s terrified that when you see the deep, ugly scars that litter his skin, you’ll look at him differently.
Shit.
His eyes slide shut, trying to figure out what to do.
He could leave the bandages on—he could, but they’ll become soggy and loose and they’ll probably slip off anyway, not to mention it’ll irritate his skin. And he’ll feel gross after. And he’s sure you’ll take notice of the fact that he won’t even take the bandages off to take a bath with you. He’s evaded it pretty casually up until now and the conversation yesterday morning, but this would be so glaring that there would be no denying that he’s actively trying to not let you see beneath the bandages. Yes, that is what he’s doing, but he doesn’t need you to be aware of that, though distantly, he notes that you probably are already at this point.
Or he could just… take them off. He’s going to eventually, he knows that; he’s not going to hide his body from you forever, but he thought he’d put it off for as long as possible. But maybe this is for the best—it happening now. Him putting it off for as long as possible is exactly what he tried to do with telling you about his position in the Mafia and that obviously blew up in his face—not only did it not happen on his own terms but it happened in the worst way possible. At least now, he can control the situation.
It is with great reluctance and severe anxiety that he finally starts unbuttoning his shirt. He fumbles a few times, fingers feeling extra clunky, but he pushes through because his comfort doesn’t matter right now, helping you does. He reminds himself of that over and over again. He can hardly even count the number of times that you’ve put aside your own comfort for him in all of the other universes, even in this one; he shouldn’t even hesitate to do the same for you. His shirt hits the floor and Dazai’s heart leaps to his throat, the first plate of his armor shed. His pants are next, and Dazai feels sick with nerves as his fingers brush the pin holding the bandages of his left arm in place.
Just do it.
His fingers work to unfasten the pin—he tells himself that he’s being ridiculous. That this is you. He wears his bandages like armor, a shield to hide himself from the rest of the world, but you’ve always been exempt from the ‘rest of the world.’ You’re you, the woman he’s loved since he laid hands on the Book when he was fifteen, the only person in the world who has accepted him for all of the good and bad and-
“How could I accept any of this?”
Your words from two weeks ago ring through his head and Dazai freezes from where he’s about to unwrap the bandages. Doubt sweeps through him—fear, cold and debilitating because he really doesn’t think he can handle your rejection. Not now, not ever, especially about this.
You won’t reject him, he insists again and forces himself to continue, but instead of looking down at the scars that line his arm, deep and discolored, lumpy to the touch—gross, he thinks again, ugly—he looks at you. You’re still staring ahead, oblivious to his rising anxiety and Dazai uses it as motivation to keep unwinding the bandages, letting them fall to the ground carelessly.
First, his arms, then the bandages around his calves and thighs, his abdomen and chest, and finally his neck—he grimaces as his fingers graze the rough scar that circles his neck, one of the more prominent ones that mar his body, a reminder of his near-successful attempt at fifteen after he first got his hands on the Book and couldn’t cope with all of the knowledge of the different universes. With the knowledge of Odasaku. With the knowledge of you. He was fifteen. Lonely. In the worst mental state of his life, desperately searching for a reason to live and only finding more and more reasons why he should die. He’d found out he was just as isolated from the world in every other life as he was in this one, just as empty—and that the only people who could fill the gaping hole in his chest died because of him in every other universe.
He was fifteen. It had been too much.
It’s still too much.
His gaze tracks down to the floor again, a heavy feeling settling over him. He’s second-guessing himself again, he’s feeling guilty again. He’s tired.
He’s so tired.
When he moves forward to join you in the tub, he’s hardly present; his body is moving on autopilot and it’s only when his toes dip into the hot water—a few degrees short of his liking, but the perfect temperature for you—that he’s finally drawn back to reality. He’s already in motion, so he can’t stop himself from joining you in the tub, but he is very hyper-aware now of the scars on his body, making an active effort to not let them brush your skin so as to not draw attention to them.
Luckily, his tub is large enough that you can sit comfortably between his legs without being too squeezed between them, so the deep scars that are littered across his inner thighs are not necessarily pressed against your outer thighs. But… the scars on his chest and abdomen are not as easy to evade, nor are the ones that line his wrists. His fingers brush your shoulder from where he was about to pull you back to lay against him and wrap his arms around you, eyes fluttering shut.
There’s no way you won’t notice them when you lay back.
The largest scar that mars his body runs from his shoulder to his opposite hip—he doesn’t remember how he obtained it. It was from before he found himself in Mori’s hands, and everything before his time with the Port Mafia is vague and blurry, if not entirely blank. Either way, it’s deep and ridged, discolored. Gross. And there’s no way for you to lay against him without feeling it rough against your skin.
He barely withholds the sigh that nearly escapes his lips, but he forces himself to close his fingers around your shoulder to pull you into him. He reminds himself that your comfort comes before his insecurity, you’ve put your own wellbeing to the side for him so many times before—it should not be so hard for him to do it once for you.
For better or for worse, you don’t react when your back lays flush against his chest. For better because you didn’t have an adverse reaction to feeling the worst of his scars against your bare skin. For worse because he thinks it might only be because you’re still half spiraling into a dissociative state. He presses his lips against your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your body, and instantly he flinches because he realizes that he’s just rubbed the scars on his forearms right against you and that has seemed to catch your attention. For better or for worse.
He’s frozen when he feels you shift against him, head turning down toward where his arm is tucked against you. He’s angled it so that you can’t see them, hidden in the water and against your skin, but you’re undeterred and Dazai can hardly bring himself to breathe when he feels your fingers curl around his wrist, gently easing his arm off of you to cradle it between your hands like it’s something fragile, turning over so you can look at scars that litter his skin.
He can’t see your face. A part of him is glad, still plagued with the terrible fear that you’re going to see the scars and be disgusted, but the larger part of him wants to know, wants to see you, wants to-
His breath hitches when you bring one finger to his skin. Soft, gentle, you trace your finger across the ridged lines. Dazai’s lips part to speak, he has the distinct urge to say something, to explain even though you haven’t spoken a word, but he doesn’t know how to explain the emptiness that has plagued him ever since he was a child, that only became even more exacerbated once he made contact with the Book. He doesn’t know how to explain that he was so desperate to feel something that he resorted to this to distract himself from the void. He doesn’t know how to explain that the only reason he never actually killed himself was because he knew he had to survive to ensure you and Odasaku’s survival in this universe.
But he doesn’t have to speak, because all of the air in his lungs whooshes right out of them when he feels you lift his arm up out of the water to your face—you brush your lips against the pulse point on his wrist before settling back against him, wrapping his arm back around you and covering his hands with your own.
Dazai’s cheeks suddenly feel wet—it was a simple action, short and sweet, you didn’t even say anything, and he doesn’t know why it affects him the way it does. He should have expected this, right? You’ve never looked at his scars and found them off-putting, you’ve always accepted him for how he is but-
“How could I accept any of this?”
“No amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily.”
Again, your words shatter his thoughts and Dazai has to force himself not to physically react. As if you can sense his distress, you shift in his arms a bit to tilt your head back to ghost your lips against his jawline before settling back against his chest, eyes fluttering shut. His arms tighten around you, heart steadying in pace to match yours. He rests forehead against the top of your head, shivering when he feels you nuzzle your face into his skin, nose brushing the wretched scar that mars his neck.
“Osamu,” you finally say, voice soft. He hums in response, waiting for you to continue. “What I said the night of the event…”
Dazai’s throat spasms. He swallows thickly and tries to play off your words with another soft hum and a brush of his lips against your temple. He’s careful to keep his voice light as he speaks. “You had every right to be upset, I-”
“I… have had a lot of time to think the past two weeks.” You don’t even let him finish his sentence and Dazai is suddenly frozen, no air gets to his lungs as he waits for you to speak. “What I said that night… it doesn’t reflect how I actually feel. I said them in the heat of the moment.”
“… Yeah?” Dazai’s voice is too raspy, too quiet, the vulnerability in the single word is so palpable that it almost makes him want to curl in on himself. Without his bandages, without his masks, he feels as if he’s been stripped bare to his core, his rotted heart laying in your gentle hands, thumping erratically as he awaits your judgment.
“The past few months I’ve spent with you have been the happiest I’ve been since my brother left,” you admit, lacing your fingers with his. “No matter what happens, I wouldn’t give this up for anything. If I could go back in time and redo all of this, I’d still choose to meet you that night at the club, and every time after that.”
He’s grateful that you’re not looking up at him now. He stares ahead at the wall blankly, tears streaming steadily down his cheeks. His chest is warm, breath a bit shaky, and he thinks he might be holding you too tightly but you don’t complain.
“Nothing will happen,” Dazai promises you, voice cracking. “Nothing.”
“I know,” you say quietly, and he can feel the small smile on your lips as you kiss his neck gently, right over his scar. “I trust you.”
“I’m so nervous,” you laugh as you smooth out the dress shirt you’re wearing. Dazai watches as you keep glancing at yourself through the window of the elevator leading down to the first floor. He smiles to himself as he leans against the wall, observing you. “Are you sure I look okay? I don’t even know what the dress code is for this thing, they didn’t say in the email. What if people are just wearing jeans? I’ll look dumb all dressed up.”
“You look beautiful,” Dazai murmurs, lifting his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You worry too much.”
“I’m not the best at making friends,” you say, voice quick and riddled with anxiety. Dazai raises an eyebrow, lips quirking up because he thinks that might be the silliest thing he’s ever heard you say. “I hope I can at least find a few people to talk to. I hate going to events where I don’t know anyone. I wish you could come with me. What if they all hate me?”
Dazai has an answer to that question, but he doesn’t think you’ll like it, so instead he hums softly, fingers brushing your cheek and smiling lightly to himself as you lean into his touch. “I wish I could come with you too. If only to make sure you don’t forget about me when you find yourself surrounded by all your new friends.”
Dazai wishes that he could tell you that you’re worrying over nothing. That in every other universe, you were quite literally the center of your class. Brilliant, beautiful, kind, Dazai sometimes struggled to get you away from people because you always had someone wanting to grab coffee with you. Struggled even more to understand why you wanted him when you could have any man of your choice. But he can’t say that, and he’s definitely not going to be pleased if he suddenly loses all of his time with you to a bunch of undeserving nobodies, so he resigns himself to just making you feel better.
“Dazai Osamu,” you giggle as you turn your attention toward him. “Nothing in this world would ever make me forget you.”
Dazai’s cheeks heat up, lashes fluttering as he averts his gaze from you. You grin at him and hook your arms around his waist, tilting your head up to look at him. He leans down to press his lips against yours, letting out a pleased sigh against your lips when he feels you kiss him back, smiling against him.
You’ve been better the past few days, a bit more excited over starting school, spent all of yesterday trying on new clothes for him to pick out something to wear for today. Dazai, on the other hand, has been a nervous wreck, although he’s been doing his best to ensure you don’t realize that.
Everything has been put in place—Chuuya should be waiting at the train station already, Albatross will be driving you there, the Black Lizards are going to escort you into Tokyo, and Mishima offered to have his men do sweeps of the streets to scope out for any enemies before your arrival. As long as everything goes according to plan, it’ll be fine. The riskiest part will be the train station with how busy it is, it’ll be easy for you to get separated from your escorts, but so long as Chuuya gets to you, no one will be able to touch you.
“Everything will be fine,” he unintentionally says out loud as he separates his lips from yours to kiss your forehead.
You look up at him, eyes searching his face for something, and he prays you can’t see his growing anxiety. Finally, you say without any doubt, “I know.”
Dazai lets out a soft breath as his eyes slide shut, reaching out to intertwine your fingers with his as the elevator comes to a stop at the first floor. He leads you out of the elevator and across the vast lobby, various lower-ranked members still linger around the room, but much less than there usually is considering he’s sent almost all of them out to ensure everything goes according to plan. For a moment, Dazai’s head throbs painfully—there are so many variables. He starts to question his decision of making this such a large operation but he knows that this is the only way.
He knows Dostoevsky. He knows that he’ll leap onto this opportunity. Keeping this a small, secret operation would do more harm than help when Dazai is sure that Dostoevsky is about to use the full force of the Three Deaths, the Pale Flame and the House of the Dead to make his move. He’d be shooting himself in the foot if he didn’t use all of his available resources to keep you safe.
“Can I ask a silly question?” you suddenly ask, playing with his fingers as the two of you walk across the lobby.
“Ask away,” he says.
“Do you think there are other universes out there?”
Dazai almost laughs, but he refrains. “I do,” he agrees, and then smiles a bit to himself, repeating words spoken to another him by a different you, a joke only he’s privy to. “String theory, multiverse. I think the world’s a lot bigger than just ours.”
“Yeah?” you ask, looking up at him, a soft expression on your face. “Do you think we’re together in all of them?”
This time Dazai does laugh, squeezing your hand gently when you jolt in surprise, giving him a dirty look. “I’m sure of it,” he says, trying to push away the smile that keeps threatening to rise to his lips.
Your smile softens at the edges, gaze averting from him, but before he can ask what’s wrong, you ask: “Do you think there’s maybe one where things aren’t so hard?”
Dazai suddenly has no inclination to laugh, smile falling and throat swelling. He doesn’t know how to respond to that, but luckily, he doesn’t have to.
Kouyou and Piano Man are waiting at the entrance of the building, both having remained behind to guard him while most of the Mafia’s other forces are elsewhere. Kouyou doesn’t look pleased, Dazai can see it in the way her brows are furrowed and her lips are tight, but Piano Man still has the same easygoing expression on his face that he always has, gaze focused on you.
“Lippmann told me to pass along his regards,” Piano Man sighs. “He’s been lamenting all morning not being able to be here himself to send you off. The struggles of celebrity life, I suppose.”
You laugh. Dazai can tell from the way your lashes flutter that you’re flustered by the comment. “It’s not a big deal, really. It’s only orientation. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“It’s exciting though,” Piano Man sighs whimsically. “We never have normal things to be excited about around here. It’s only ever bloodbath after bloodbath. It’s a nice change of pace.”
Dazai’s smile tightens and thins, eye twitching at Piano Man’s blase reminder of their occupation, noticing how you cringe a bit. Piano Man catches wind of Dazai’s irritation and his casual smile widens a bit.
“Sorry,” Piano Man hums, sounding not at all sorry and entirely amused. “But honestly, if you think this is bad, wait until your graduation. Iceman didn’t let any of us attend his kid sister’s graduation, we’ve all been dying to see what one’s like. I’m sure Lippmann and Albatross are already plotting out some type of party.”
“I haven’t even started yet,” you complain, but you look a bit giddy and Dazai can’t help but let his gaze linger on your soft smile, one rising to his own lips as he observes you. “It’s so far out. It’s a three year program.”
“I think they plan on making it the grandest event of the year, so it’s never too early to start planning,” Piano Man says easily, tossing you a wink before focusing his gaze on Dazai. “Speaking of Iceman, he’s on the way back now. Should be back in Yokohama in the next hour or so. Are you going to deign us with the reasoning as to why he’s been called back so abruptly?”
“Nope,” Dazai says dismissively, letting go of your hand to press his hand to the small of your back, leading you out of the building and toward the sleek, black car waiting for you.
Albatross instantly is rolling down the window, grinning wildly. “There ya are, doll. C’mon, let’s get out of here. We gotta make it to the train in ten.”
You suddenly look a bit nervous, turning back to look at Dazai as Tachihara steps out of the car and holds the door open for you to slide in the middle seat between him and Hirotsu. Dazai tilts his head, questioning as he lifts his hands to cup your cheeks gently. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” you say with a sigh. “I just wish you could come.”
Dazai leans in to kiss your forehead one last time, hands settling on your hips, ignoring all of the gazes of his subordinates watching the two of you. “I know, I do too.”
Dazai thinks that the next six hours are going to be the worst of his life, only able to sit back in the meeting room with Kouyou and Piano Man and watch the CCTV, unable to do anything if something happens to go wrong.
“Stay with Hirotsu and Tachihara,” he finally tells you, voice taking a more serious tone. “They’ll stick with you the whole time. Chuuya is at the station already, went early to scope things out, he’s going to meet you there.”
“Mkay,” you agree, giving him one last long look before making your way into the car.
Tachihara nods deeply at Dazai before entering the car and shutting it behind him. Dazai feels a weight on his chest as soon as you’re out of sight, and he stands there waiting for the car to pull off.
It doesn’t.
After a few moments, the window rolls down, and Dazai watches fondly as you lean over Tachihara to prop yourself outside of it.
“I’ll see you later,” you say, leaning out the window of the car with a soft smile. For the first time in weeks, you look alive. Your eyes are shining, your lips curved upward, and Dazai falls in love with you all over again. The smile on your lips takes a more teasing edge as you push yourself out the window a bit more to grab his tie and drag him closer so you can brush your lips against his and whisper, “I love you.”
Dazai’s eyes shoot open, lips parting to speak but no words leave them, your words leave him caught off guard and dizzy, hardly even registering in his head. You let out a giggle and before he can even think of formulating a response, you let yourself fall back into the car, urging Albatross to start driving already.
“To think I’d ever see the day that the infamous Demon Prodigy is ever rendered lovesick,” Kouyou hums, fanning herself as she watches Dazai curiously. “You’re actually happy now, aren’t you?”
“Refreshing, isn’t it?” Piano Man sighs. “Now, we don’t have to worry about being shot in the head if he has a sudden mood swing.”
Dazai looks to the side to give Piano Man a look so withering that it has him instantly giggling to himself.
“Or maybe we do,” he sings, retracting his words. “Come, let’s go back inside. It’s gross out today.”
Piano Man instantly starts making his way back into the building. Dazai sighs as he casts one last long look to where the car is disappearing around the bend in the direction of the train station, gaze lingering before he turns his attention back to Kouyou, who’s still watching him with a contemplative look. Dazai is suddenly reminded of her late lover, who the old boss had killed after Kouyou tried to escape with him, and Dazai wonders if she’s feeling bitter.
As if she can hear his train of thought, she shakes her head and says, “I’m glad you’ve found someone, boy.” Then hesitates before adding, “For all of our sakes, I hope it lasts.”
Dazai doesn’t respond to that. Instead, he frowns and turns to make his way inside, but he doesn’t get more than a few steps before he’s freezing midstep, the sound of a familiar engine roaring down the street in the direction of the main tower reaching his ears. At once, everything tunnels around him, vision blurring and body stiffening. He can’t even bring himself to turn around. Distantly, he hears Kouyou asking him what’s wrong, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
He swears that his bones creak and ache as he physically forces himself to look over his shoulder, unfocused vision falling upon a familiar head of fiery red hair skidding to a stop in front of the building. Chuuya doesn’t even bother to turn his motorcycle off or prop it up, it thuds hard against the ground, metal screeching against the pavement as he rushes toward them.
“Chuuya,” Kouyou asks, as confused and caught off guard as Dazai feels. “What are you-”
“Get him inside,” Chuuya shouts. “Get him inside now.”
“Why are you here?” Dazai speaks the words so quietly that he doesn’t think anybody hears him. He feels Kouyou grab his wrist, Chuuya reaches them and pushes Dazai from behind, but their touches only feel like faint tingles. His chest suddenly feels cold, numbness spreading from his core to his limbs. “Why are you here?”
“Tolstoy just blew up our main port, Dazai,” Chuuya hisses, and just before Dazai’s shoved into the safety of the building, a bullet whizzes past his head, lodging into the sign behind him. Only a graze, but it stings, and Dazai can feel the blood seeping through the bandages of his left eye, sticky and uncomfortable. “This is happening now. I thought I could make it before they left. All cell lines are fucking down. That rat bastard Dostoevsky did something.”
No, Dazai thinks, head twisting to the side to look back toward the road you disappeared down with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu, but before he can even force any words from his lips, he’s pushed into the building, listening as Chuuya gives sharp orders to immediately lock it down.
Dazai shakes his spinning head, body on autopilot as he’s ushered to the elevator and up to the most protected floor of the building. He tells himself to think, that now is not the time for him to start slipping up, for him to freeze. You’re out there—in danger—he has to think, he can’t afford to make a single mistake.
“You have to go. Chuuya, you’re supposed to be at the station,” Dazai says, finally focusing his attention on the one person who is not supposed to be here. The one person he trusted to protect you.
“You’ve sent three quarters of our forces out on a protection detail for her. She’ll be fine,” Chuuya spits, eyes wild as he turns to face Dazai. “You’re here in this building alone with a handful of men, Ane-san and Piano Man. You’re the one in danger right now. I told you—your head is mine to take one day. I’m not fuckin’ letting you go off and get yourself killed because you’re hyper-focused on your girl.”
“Get to the train station,” Dazai repeats, voice low and cold and entirely too steady compared to the way his mind is falling apart.
It’s happening.
It’s happening.
He knew this was going to happen. He knew it. He knew this was coming. He knew Dostoevsky would take this opportunity to make his move, that’s why he had everything planned so carefully. That’s why he sent everyone out. That’s why Chuuya was supposed to be with you, because Dazai isn’t Dostoevsky’s target. He never is. You are.
Chuuya ignores him, stepping into the executive meeting room. Dazai’s blood pressure spikes. Fear begins spreading through him, cold and debilitating. The mindkiller. He needs to focus, he can’t let himself freeze up. Not now.
“Chuuya,” Dazai says. “That’s a direct order. Go back to the train station now.”
At that, Chuuya finally turns a furious look into him. “Me not being there isn’t going to make a difference. Me not being here might. You’re all but fucking defenseless and Tolstoy and Nabokov are coming now. We don’t have time to argue about this. Hirotsu and Tachihara, Atsushi and Kyouka, all of the fuckin’ Black Lizards—they’re all with her or at the train station, she’ll be fine.”
If Dazai was any less riddled with fear and rage, he might laugh or maybe even cry, or both—he feels close to hysterics, really—because of course now, of all times, is when Chuuya decides to grow a fucking brain for himself.
“And if you’re wrong?” Dazai doesn’t even want to speak those words, but Chuuya leaves him no choice. “If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master? What then, Chuuya?”
Chuuya all but snarls at him, taking a step forward, but before he can say anything else, Kouyou clears her throat.
“Boys,” she calls quietly, eyes trained on one of the screens streaming the city’s CCTV feeds
Dazai follows her gaze.
On the top left corner of the wall of screens, one of the live footage is flooded with static—gray, shifting into a deep purple before a familiar symbol flashes onto it. The coldness in his chest spreads so quickly that Dazai almost shivers, dread anchoring his feet to the ground.
Dazai doesn’t have to look at the screen to know what’s coming next.
Oda Sakunosuke is a patient man.
He is. He really is. It’s just that Ranpo Edogawa enjoys testing the boundaries of said patience. He bites back another sigh, watching as the man—man, he questions—complains loudly about an ‘entitled mother’ who had the nerve to ask for his candy to calm her upset child down. Oda has half a mind to step away out of embarrassment, acutely aware of all of the eyes on them, but he knows that if he steps away even for a second, Ranpo is going to find himself lost and then Oda is going to have to track him down again.
Oda sighs, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he tilts his head up to look at the ceiling, listening to the announcements over the loudspeaker, signaling the arrival of the next train. Two minutes until it pulls into the station, an hour to get to Tokyo—gives him plenty of time to go back over the files for the mission. Should be a quick in-and-out case, probably won’t even have to stay the night in the city; a string of ability-user murders in Tokyo that have the TMPD in shambles trying to figure out, so they reached out to the Agency to come take care of it.
Oda doubts it’ll take more than half a minute for Ranpo to put the pieces together once given the known evidence by the TMPD, but the issue will be actually getting the ability user in custody. From what Ranpo theorizes, he has some type of invisibility ability that makes him slippery.
With Oda there, it’ll be an easy grab—with his ability, speed and reflexes, few people can outmaneuver him—but it’s just a matter of when he decides to show himself.
Oda frowns when he notices that Ranpo suddenly stopped rambling, gaze cutting to make sure that he didn’t wander off again, but he’s hardly able to turn his head halfway to the side before his ability is activated. Everything blurs out around him, watching as a girl a few years younger than him—panicked and not looking where she’s going—crashes right into Oda while he’s already off-balanced reaching for Ranpo, sending the both of them hurdling over the edge of the platform and into the tracks just as the bullet train comes barreling into the station.
Oda’s jaw tightens as he’s flung back into reality, surroundings reappearing. His head snaps over to where the girl had appeared from and he catches sight of you just as you’re about to throw yourself out of the crowd, eyes wild and anxious. He watches you trip, hands darting out to steady you before you crash into him; you look up at him, eyes wide and a bit starstruck, lips parting to speak but no words leave them.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice a low monotone as he helps you stand back up straight on your own feet. His head tilts to the side curiously as he watches the way you stand a bit closer to him, eyes peering around as if you’re reaching for someone. “Hm?”
“Oh!” you suddenly say, looking up at him with a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry. Sorry. That was so rude of me. I… got separated from my friends. It’s really busy today, isn’t it? It’s not usually so busy.”
Oda hums, looking around curiously. It is a bit busier than it usually is—Friday trains are usually busy, but midday like this, people are usually at work. The late night trains are the ones typically packed and impossible to get on, people leaving from work and traveling for the weekend. Today’s not a holiday either, as far as he’s aware.
“It is, isn’t it?” Oda says, scanning the crowd once more before letting his gaze settle back on you. “You look rattled, is everything okay?”
Your smile wavers at the edges, and Oda frowns, eyes trailing over to Ranpo, who’s already frowning, green eyes squinted and trained on you.
“I’m just… not used to traveling alone! I’m nervous,” you answer, a blatant lie, but you don’t seem like a threat. In fact, you seem more scared than anything else. “I want to find my friends.”
“Is someone bothering you?” Oda asks carefully.
You hesitate, smile straining. Your eyes flicker around again, seeking someone out and Oda can see the despair in them when you don’t find whoever you’re looking for.
“I’m okay,” you say finally, nodding. “I’m trying to get to Tokyo. I have orientation today for grad school. I don’t like traveling alone.”
Oda tilts his head to the side, he takes a step closer to Ranpo than you as an experiment, watching as you immediately match his step, sticking close to him as you continue seeking out your ‘friends.’ You don’t seem like a threat, and his ability has yet to be triggered, but it wouldn’t be the first time underground organizations use civilians as decoys to set up traps for the Agency. He spares another look at Ranpo, knowing the man must’ve figured out whatever is going on, only to find him staring at you with a tight jaw and an uneasy expression.
“What school are you attending?” Oda asks in an attempt to calm your nerves and hopefully get some answers out of you.
You look at him, a bit more clarity in your eyes and smile more steady as you say. “Waseda,” you say, brighter now, more relaxed. “Their school of political science.”
“You tryna go into politics?” Oda asks curiously.
You nod. “One day, hopefully,” you say with an easy smile before giving him your name. “What’s your name?”
“Oda Sakunosuke,” he greets. “Nice to meet you.”
“You’re heading to Tokyo too?” you ask curiously, and Oda doesn’t sense any ill intent behind the question so he answers.
“Yes,” he says. “Going there for work.”
“Oh? What do you do for work?”
Oda pauses for a moment, choosing his words carefully on the off-chance this is some sort of setup, before saying: “I’m trying to write a novel.”
You light up. “Really?” you ask, delighted. “That’s so impressive, what about?”
“… Humans. The human experience,” Oda answers, glancing back at Ranpo again with furrowed brows, but the man hardly budges, gaze pinned on you.
“Oh yeah?” you ask, the smile on your lips becomes a bit teasing. Oda finds his own lips twitching up in amusement. “What’s your take on the human experience then, Oda Sakunosuke? Will your story have a happy ending?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he tells you honestly, and then tilts his head to the side and asks curiously, “How would you end it?”
You click your tongue as if to chide him. “Shame on you, Oda Sakunosuke, trying to poach ideas from broke grad students,” you say, voice taking a dramatic lilt, but there’s a light to your eyes that hadn’t been there before, so Oda thinks his plan at least partially worked.
“Almost grad students,” Oda corrects, matching your tone as he lets his eyes drift around again, trying to pinpoint what exactly had you so frightened before running into him. “Take pity on an old man plagued with writer’s block, won’t you?”
“I suppose I can grace you with my boundless wisdom,” you quip, and Oda snorts to himself, eyes drifting back down to you as you grin up at him. After a few moments, your smile falls a bit. “I think a happy ending is nice to imagine… We like to indulge in such fantasies because real life is never so easy. I think if you’re going for an accurate telling of the human experience, a bittersweet ending would be more realistic.”
“Bittersweet?” Oda questions.
“Bittersweet,” you agree. “I think many people die content, or even happy… I don’t think many people die without regrets. So, I think a story on an accurate telling of the human experience should have a bittersweet ending to reflect that.”
“Hm,” Oda hums, considering you in a new light now, the way your eyes are a bit sadder, the smile on your lips soft on the edges. He finds himself far more into this conversation than he expected to be, so absorbed that he hardly even realized that the train has finally pulled into the station. “What about you, then? Do you think you’ll die with regrets?”
“Who’s to say?” You shrug with another bright smile. “I think if I were to die right now, I’d die with one regret. But I’d be happy.”
“Only one?”
“Only one,” you confirm. “I… wish I’d met someone sooner. That’s all. What about you, Oda Sakunosuke? If you died right now, would you die with regrets?”
“Countless,” Oda says quietly. “... But I think I would also be happy.”
“See.” You wink. “Bittersweet.”
Oda’s lips flicker up into a ghost of a smile, lips parting to speak, but suddenly someone is calling your name frantically, loudly from across the train platform. You light up, head twisting in that direction and Oda follows your gaze to where a young man with short orange hair is waving his hand, perched up on a garbage can, looking around for you.
“That’s one of my friends,” you say, looking relieved. “I’m going to head over to him. It was nice meeting you, Oda Sakunosuke.”
“Nice meeting you too,” he replies.
You toss him another wide smile before turning to leave, but before you can even take the first step, Ranpo finally moves, fingers curling around your wrist to stop you in place. Oda looks down at him, alarmed, and you look back, surprised.
“You should… be careful,” Ranpo tells you, more serious than Oda has ever seen him before, and Oda feels a sinking feeling in his gut as Ranpo lets go of your wrist.
You look a bit disturbed, but you nod. “I-I will. Thank you.”
“What was that?” Oda asks, voice low and concerned as he looks down at Ranpo, whose brows are still furrowed. He still looks uncertain, and Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ranpo Edogawa uncertain before.
Dread weighs heavily on Oda’s chest, his gaze turns back to where you’ve started to quickly make your way across the platform along the yellow line in the direction of your friend, who has finally caught sight of you and is rushing toward you, looking too panicked for someone who’d just found someone they lost.
“Something is wrong,” Oda murmurs more to himself than Ranpo, and at once, he activates his ability.
The world slows and grays out around him, but his gaze remains focused on you. He watches.
One second passes, you take another step forward, your friend is still too far away.
Another second passes, another step forward.
A third second, and something is shimmering right next to you, a gold circle to your left, swirling with patterns—an ability.
A fourth second passes, and you turn, eyes wide and fear painted on your face as a gloved hand darts from the circle and wraps around your wrist; your friend reaches down to his waistband, revealing the gun strapped to his side.
A fifth second passes, and you’re gone.
His ability fades away, leaving him back reeling in reality, ready to act on what he’d seen. He rushes forward, heart racing in his chest, and he can hear Ranpo giving chase after him.
One second passes—you’re still too far away, you’ve made it across half of the platform already, Oda knows he won’t get to you in time, but he tries anyway.
Another second passes—Ranpo is yelling for him, Oda ignores him.
A third second passes—the swirling gold circle appears to your left, and Oda knows that it’s too late.
Oda Sakunosuke is fast, but this time, he is not fast enough.
Chuuya knows that this is his fault.
The sickening scene taking place on the screens set up in the executive meeting room has his stomach turning inside out. He has to manually force himself to breathe, slow and steady, because if he doesn’t, he won’t get any air to his lungs. Next to him, Kouyou stands stiffly, gaze trained on the damning video and on his other side, Piano Man looks resigned, head turned to the side, attention focused on the blacked out windows looking over the city.
Chuuya can’t see Dazai’s expression from where he’s standing, and he’s glad for it.
You’re sitting at a table with Dostoevsky. It’s a small, square table in an equally small, unassuming room. Tiled walls, a thick steel door, no windows—it’s an abandoned office room down in the lower floors of the metro, emptied out besides the table, two seats, and you and Dostoevsky.
A small room. Unassuming. Enclosed and suffocatingly confined. Cold and damp. There is no sun, no warmth, and no life.
Not a place where anyone should die, much less someone as bright as you.
“Ah, there we go!” Dostoevsky smiles as if this is all some big game to him and Chuuya’s temper spikes, blood simmering in his veins and eye twitching as he glares at the Russian. “The cameras should now be connected.”
Chuuya did not hold you in high regard for a long time. He thought you were a pretty face, but more than that, you were a distraction. You showed up one day and suddenly Dazai couldn’t focus on anything but you. He evaded important meetings, and the ones that he attended were spent either zoning out or tapping away at his phone talking to you. It left Chuuya as the one to pick up the slack, so yeah, he certainly did not hold you in high regard, and he’s not entirely sure when it began to change.
Or, maybe that’s a lie.
He thinks back to the day he ran into you coming out of the elevator, when you dragged him around half of the city looking for a very particular brand of white chocolate for whatever sugary concoction you wanted to make Dazai; and the way you pouted and begged and pleaded with him to try some when you make it for Dazai to the point that he wanted to agree, if Dazai wouldn’t have tried to blow his head off for intruding on his time with you.
He thinks that’s when his view on you started to shift, because it’s not often that Chuuya is treated like an actual human being, a twenty-two year old with a love for fine wine and music, instead of the mafia executive he is, a weapon of war that can bring down nations. As irritated as he was having to take time out of his day to babysit Dazai’s new plaything, he found you made for good conversation and that it was nice talking about things other than missions, politics and violence.
You like talking about music with him and you ramble a lot about conspiracy theories and history—he thinks he’s learned more about the classical era of Europe and the Sengoku period the past few weeks joining you on outings than he’s learned in his entire life. Chuuya thinks you might be the first real friend he’s made since the Flags. You have more life in you than anyone Chuuya has ever met before, and Chuuya thinks it’s fucking sick that you’ll be drained of it by the likes of a soulless bastard like Dostoevsky.
Chuuya also thinks, again, that this is entirely his fault.
“I had a nice talk with your lover, Dazai,” Dostoevsky says with a facetious smile. “She’s quite enchanting. It’s a shame that she ended up with the likes of you.”
Chuuya thought he’d be able to make it in time. He really thought he did. He thought he’d be fast enough to get back before you took off with Albatross, Tachihara and Hirotsu; he thought he’d be able to drag you with him and Dazai, lock the two of you up in the most well-protected room in the headquarters to wait out the assault of Dostoevsky’s tripartite alliance; he can still hear the gunfire now as they bombard the lower floors of the building. Chuuya should be down there helping his subordinates but he can’t bring himself to move, staring at what his decision had caused with a heavy heart and more guilt than his mind can come to terms with. It was never his intention to leave you out there to die.
He wouldn’t do that to you.
He wouldn’t do that to Dazai. No matter how much he can’t stand the asshole, he wouldn’t fucking do that.
“I have offered a deal to her, Dazai,” Dostoevsky muses, head tilted to the side as he looks up at the camera in the corner of the room, thin fingers wrapped neatly around your wrist. “A fair exchange. But I leave it in her hands, not yours. Either way, I will get what I want.”
How the hell does that work?
Chuuya lets out a shaky breath, gaze flickering over to Kouyou, who stares at the screen with a tight expression, brows drawn together and lips cut downward. He can hardly bring himself to look at Dazai, but he forces himself to shift to the side, looking down to where Dazai is sitting in front of the wall of screens, eyes trained on where you’re sitting with Dostoevsky.
Dazai’s expression is eerily blank, more so than Chuuya has ever seen it before. It makes his throat swell, the air to his lungs catching in his windpipe. He’s seen Dazai distraught before—the night on the roof years ago when he was drunk and screaming at Chuuya to just let him jump. He’s seen Dazai upset before—a few months after his sixteenth birthday, before the Dragon’s Head Conflict commenced, when he returned to headquarters with an expression so haunted that Chuuya didn’t dare utter a single snarky word to him.
He’s never seen him like this before. Visible eye entirely void of life as if whatever part of him that had been reanimated by your arrival in his life has been killed off. As if he knows exactly what’s about to happen, as if he knows there’s no stopping it. But Chuuya can see the way the corner of Dazai is pinched, the way his face, while blank, is hard, and Chuuya knows Dazai well enough to know exactly what that means: that if there’s any chance of preventing this, Dazai is going to do whatever it takes.
“Fair exchange is a funny way of saying I’ll die either way,” you say softly. Your voice is bitter; you’re not looking at Dostoevsky or the camera, instead your gaze is set on the wall next to you, an unreadable expression on your face.
Dostoevsky turns his attention back to you, eyes curious. “I am no liar, I gave you my word that you’ll leave this room alive, myshka,” Dostoevsky hums, lips curved up into an entertained smile. Chuuya’s eye twitches at the pet name. “Go on and tell Dazai what I ask for in exchange… I am quite curious to see how far he’s willing to go for you.”
How far?
Even Chuuya knows the answer to that, and from the expression on Dostoevsky’s face, he must know the answer too.
Ah, Chuuya realizes, his own question now answered. How does that work? Dostoevsky tells you the deal, and you have to make the decision of whether or not to tell Dazai. If you tell Dazai, there’s no lengths he wouldn’t go to fulfill Dostoevsky’s demands if it means saving you. And Chuuya suddenly understands why Kouyou looks so grave, because there’s only one thing Dostoevsky wants: Yokohama and the Port Mafia out of his way. Dazai out of the way.
Dazai would hand it all to him on a silver platter if it meant saving your life. Yokohama. The Port Mafia. He’d let Dostoevsky put a bullet through his head if it meant you’d get to live.
“Dazai,” Kouyou begins, and her voice wavers. Chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever heard Kouyou’s voice waver in the seven years he’s known her. “You cannot-”
Kouyou doesn’t finish her sentence. Doesn’t need to. They all know what she’s going to say, and Chuuya doubts that Dazai is listening anyway. He looks at Kouyou from the corner of his eye and she meets his gaze, a heavy expression on her face.
“You gave me your word that I’d leave this room alive. What happens when I step outside?” you ask with a sigh, looking back over to meet Dostoevsky’s eyes. “You’ll get what you want from Dazai and kill me anyway.”
You look tired and Chuuya’s stomach weighs down with guilt again. God, what the fuck has he done? You were on your way to your fucking grad school orientation and Chuuya signed your goddamn death warrant. You had so much ahead of you. You never belonged in this shitty world, and an instinctual part of Chuuya wants to curse Dazai for it, for dragging you into this and putting you into this situation.
But even as the thought crosses his mind, he tosses it away, because how the fuck is he supposed to condemn Dazai for clinging to the only damn thing that makes him happy as if Chuuya doesn’t do the same? His gaze turns back down to Dazai, frowning when he sees that he’s no longer staring at the screen intently. He’s leaned back in his chair, still looking at the screen but his eyes are glazed over, as if he’s not fully present.
As if he’s given up.
“So meticulous,” Dostoevsky murmurs, he reaches to brush his knuckles against your cheek. The noise that Chuuya lets out is close to a snarl when he sees the way your lips tighten in disgust as you turn your face away from him only for him to pinch your chin between his fingers to force you to look at him. He glances down at Dazai, only to find that he’s hardly even reacted to what’s happening. “You are very intelligent… I would have loved to have a woman like you at my side.”
“People like you are fated to be alone, Fyodor Dostoevsky,” you reply, lips curved down as you stare at him. “What a terrible fate. I’d always prefer a short and fulfilling life than a long and solitary one.”
Your gaze draws back up to the camera as if you’re desperately trying to convey something to Dazai: I don’t regret this. If I had the choice, I’d do it all the same.
Chuuya doesn’t even think Dazai can understand it in the state he’s in.
Chuuya’s stomach twists and turns, he has to take a step away, breathing in a shuddered breath as he pulls his hat off to run his fingers through his hair. He presses his hand to his face, trying to calm himself down, but his ears are ringing and the black coffee he’d downed before heading over to the train station is threatening to come right up his throat.
And if you’re wrong?
Dostoevsky’s hand drops from your face, but his other remains wrapped around your wrist. He smiles as if telling a joke that only he understands. “Maybe in another universe you and I can work together.”
Dazai jolts at the words and Chuuya looks at him again, watching the way he draws in a sharp, shuddered breath. Chuuya’s lips part. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to speak or force himself to breathe, but his eyes land on Dazai just as the man finally breaks.
If she dies because the dog thought himself smarter than the master?
It’s brief. His expression crumbles and he quietly wheezes for air, hand flying to his chest as if trying to claw his own heart out, as if his brain has only finally registered what was happening. Kouyou and Piano Man are too focused on you and Dostoevsky to notice, but Chuuya thinks if he stares any longer at the screen, he might fall apart. His expression smooths out again immediately after it shatters, his eye takes that distant look again, as if he’s totally separated himself from reality.
“Is that your decision then, myshka?” Dostoevsky asks, voice deceptively soft. Chuuya has to drag his eyes back to the screen, teeth grinding together when Dostoevsky’s hand leaves your wrist to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your bottom lip.
To your credit, you don’t look scared and for a second, Chuuya doesn’t know what the fuck you’re doing. Dazai would do anything for you, give up anything, you have to know that. All you have to do is say what Dostoevsky wants and Dazai will do it no matter the cost. The irrational part of him, the one riddled with guilt and regret, almost wants you to just say what Dostoevsky wants, tell them and maybe they can figure something out, buy enough time to get you out of there.
(Another part of him, deep down, knows that it’s hopeless. With Dostoevsky’s hand in contact with you, your fate is sealed. No one will get there fast enough to get you away from him before he can trigger his ability.)
Chuuya realizes, a bit dully, maybe you do know that and maybe that’s exactly why you’re not saying anything. Whatever Dostoevsky wants of Dazai is not something that you can allow him to give up.
Chuuya also realizes, chest sinking, that Dazai probably knows you well enough to know this too. To know that you’d give up your life for his. He looks over at Dazai, the vacant look in his eye and the hopeless air about him. He knew this would happen the moment Chuuya showed back up on base, desperately trying to get him to go back to you.
A crash against the heavy metal door leading to the room that you and Dostoevsky are sitting in shocks Chuuya out of his thoughts, gaze snapping up as Dostoevsky lets out an exaggerated sigh.
“It appears our time is up,” Dostoevsky hums. “What a pity. I would have liked to talk with you more.”
What then, Chuuya?
Chuuya’s vision spins as Atsushi and Kyouka burst into the room you’re being held in. Atsushi, half-transformed, throws himself at you, trying to get you away from Dostoevsky. Kyouka, with her cell to her ear, commands Demon Snow to sever Dostoevsky’s hand from where he’s touching you, trying to sever the physical connection between the two of you before he can activate his ability.
Behind Dostoevsky, a gold swirl appears, a hand reaching out to grab his arm.
For a moment, Chuuya’s chest swells with hope, breath catching as watches raptly.
And they do it.
Dostoevsky’s expression twists as Demon Snow cuts through his elbow, severing his lower arm from the rest of his body, Atsushi’s arms wrap around you as he tackles you away from the Russian onto the ground. Dostoevsky is dragged backward into the gold swirl—Gogol, the teleportation ability—and Kyouka and Atsushi focus their attention on you.
He watches with bated breath, waiting as Atsushi fumbles to shift you into a more comfortable position. He leans forward, eyes a bit wild and nails digging into the palms of his hands.
Kyouka kneels next to Atsushi, blue eyes wide, and Atsushi’s expression crumbles as he finally turns you over in his lap. Chuuya’s breath slows, he takes a step back as he shakes his head.
What then, Chuuya?
Blood stains the corner of your lips, eyes empty, body limp in Atsushi’s arms. No one is faster than the triggering of an ability. Chuuya knew this. How many people have tried to kill him only to be thwarted in a split second by Tainted Sorrow? Still, he had allowed the hope to claw its way up into his chest, clinging to the thinnest thread that maybe, just maybe, his decision won’t have cost you your life, and in an instant, that hope is stripped and Chuuya is forced to face the consequences of his actions.
Next to Chuuya, Piano Man lets out a shaky breath, turning away from the screen and pacing over to the window. Kouyou makes a soft noise in the back of her throat, eyes sliding shut.
Chuuya’s eyes drag from the screen back down to Dazai. Dazai stares ahead blankly, eye so black and void of light that if Chuuya didn’t know any better, he’d think he was staring into the eye of a corpse.
Dostoevsky might’ve been your executioner, but Chuuya had been the judge to impose the death sentence.
Onto you, and onto Dazai.
You thought that you would be scared of dying.
Your mind is distant and dazed as you fall backward to the ground, familiar hands wrap around one of your arms and your waist as you’re dragged away from Dostoevsky. You taste iron in your mouth, red tints the corner of your vision, you don’t feel any pain but from the way your limbs become numb and heavy, you know what’s happening.
Maybe you’re just in shock, mind unable to comprehend what’s happening, but you don’t think that’s it. You’d known what was going to happen the moment you were pulled through that ability into this room, the moment Fyodor Dostoevsky told you the only way you’d make it out of here alive is if Dazai offered his own life in exchange.
Dazai would’ve done it. You know he would have. He would’ve accepted the deal and laid his life down for yours in an instant, but you couldn’t let him do that. He’d face pushback from his executives, they might even lock him up to prevent him from following through, and then he’d have to live with the fact that he had the chance to save you but failed.
You couldn’t force that choice on him.
Your vision blurs and tunnels, eyes fluttering shut, but your body jolts as someone flips you around, hazy gaze focusing in on someone kneeling next to you, whoever is holding you in his lap. Two vaguely familiar wide swirls of violet, gold, and blue hover above you and your surroundings start to bleed out, the white tiles of the walls around you and the two people who’d barged into the room disappear, the violets and golds and blues spread across your vision, melding into a sunrise painted across the early morning sky.
The hand on your body falls limply to the ground next to you, the tips of your fingers brushing through soft white sand. Your head tilts to the side, something warm trickling down your cheek from the corner of your eye.
You let out a weak breath, your vision clouds red and for a second, you swear there’s a figure laying next to you—lips curved up into a small, sad smile, dark eyes soft as he reaches out to brush a strand of hair out of your face. Dazai wears tan instead of the black you’re used to, both eyes uncovered as admires you. You can feel the ghost of his touch against your skin, warm and familiar.
Osamu…
You can hear the commotion around you, more people bursting into the room. You can feel your body weakening, but all you can think of is him.
Maybe in the next life.
Dazai doesn’t know where he is. Doesn’t know when he is. Doesn’t know what he’s doing. Doesn’t know who he’s with. Doesn’t know who he is.
Every step he takes, every second that passes, his surroundings become more and more indecipherable. He can hear the vague sounds of Chuuya, Kouyou and Piano Man talking around him but he can’t make out what they’re saying or what’s going on. He finds himself walking but he feels like he’s trudging through slush, as if time has slowed around him and he’s trying to impossibly push through it.
“Pull yourself together,” Piano Man murmurs as Dazai mindlessly moves forward, unsure of where he’s even being led to.
Every time his eyes slide shut, he’s faced with the image of you in that room with Dostoevsky, the sight of his fingers on your skin. He turns to look at Piano Man and for a moment, he’s lost, wondering how a dead man is standing before him. His lips part to speak but no words leave them, the black walls fade into the vaguely familiar tan and brown walls of the Agency, the coat he wears lightens and Piano Man’s face morphs into Yosano Akiko’s as she tries to snap him out of the stunned stupor he’s left in after finding your body in your apartment. He’d figured out Christie’s plot, but he’d been too late, and his mind had been entirely unable to come to terms with it. Because Dazai never fails, everyone relies on him to know what to do but-
But when it comes to you he just can’t win. No matter how hard he tries, he’s never enough. He’s never quick enough. Never smart enough. Never enough.
“...ey, hey, boss, are you even listening?”
Dazai blinks, gaze focusing back on Piano Man and he notices that he’s in the elevator, heading down. Chuuya and Kouyou are watching him carefully but Chuuya doesn’t meet his eyes. Dazai realizes Piano Man must have said something—asked something—but he doesn’t know what.
“We’re heading down to the first floor,” Piano Man finally says again. “The onslaught from Tolstoy and Nabakov ended-” Of course it has, Dostoevsky got what he wanted. “Albatross and-Albatross and the others are on the way back… We must be there to meet them.”
Dazai doesn’t respond. Doesn’t think he’d be able to if he wanted to. His brain is slow, still hasn’t comprehended what happened, still doesn’t entirely know where he is. The pages of the Book keep piling around him, endless and suffocating. He jumps from one reality to the rest, each time seeing the same scene in different fonts. He sees Piano Man and Kouyou exchange a look with one another but Dazai’s gaze is already pointed ahead again, staring through the reflective surface of the elevator doors.
Dazai doesn’t even recognize himself.
They still talk around him but all of the words sound muffled and faraway, like he’s underwater and they’re speaking above the surface. As Dazai stares into the doors, he swears he can almost picture you standing next to him, tucked beneath his arm and leaning into his side as the two of you wait for the elevator to reach the first floor. You smile up at him, he watches it through the reflection, heart in his throat as you lean up on your tiptoes to brush your lips against his jaw and he swears he can feel the ghost of your lips, the warmth.
But then the elevator doors slide open and the illusion of you is shattered.
Dazai’s breath shakes as he forces himself forward but he’s careful to keep his expression flat, ignoring the lines of subordinates already awaiting his arrival. They kneel as he walks past but Dazai hardly takes notice of them, eyes trained ahead.
And then-
And then Dazai sees it.
Hirotsu is holding you, your body is limp and lifeless. Dazai stops dead in his tracks. You look small in his arms and Dazai feels bile rise to the back of his throat, threatening to burst from his lips. Even from a distance, he can see the blood staining the corners of your lips and eyes, can see the way one of your arms dangle loosely from your body, can see how you’ve been entirely drained of life by Dostoevsky.
He wants to move forward, wants to pull you in his arms and shield you from all of the prying eyes around you, hates the way everyone is staring at you, wants to scream and curse the gods above who play with human lives like they’re some sort of game, who are laughing at Dazai for thinking he could get away with defying fate.
Most of all, he’s tired, and he wants to be with you.
The crowds of subordinates who’ve gathered on the lower floor of the building whisper amongst themselves. Some of them, who havent seen you around the base with him, are trying to figure out who you are. Others, who know exactly who you are to Dazai, let out low murmurs as they watch Dazai carefully, waiting for some type of reaction from him. A few, likely those who’ve spoken to you personally, lower their heads in respect.
Dazai tries to make himself take another step forward, pull you away from Hirotsu into his arms, hold you close, stop them from taking you away, but his feet are rooted to the ground.
One voice rises above the whispering crowds.
“What the fuck?”
Dazai’s gaze slides slowly to the side, watching as a vaguely familiar figure pushes to the front of the crowd, walking in the direction of you and Hirotsu. He blinks slowly, not recognizing who it is until Chuuya and Piano Man start moving toward him, both with furrowed brows and concerned words.
Ah, he realizes. Iceman.
Dazai had called him back to headquarters from abroad—but why? The cogs in his mind move slowly as he tries to remember why he brought Iceman back, why the man is having such an adverse reaction to the sight of-
To the sight of you.
Dazai’s eye shifts back to you, all of the air pushes out from his lungs when he notices the way your head has fallen to the side. Your eyes are shut but your face is tilted toward him and you look so-
You look so dead.
Everything around Dazai begins to tunnel and crumble. The buildings around him blurting into indistinct blobs and all of the crowds of his subordinates melding into the background. Iceman’s arrival, Chuuya and Piano Man trying to settle him down, it all becomes white noise as Dazai stares at you blankly.
How did this happen?
He’d-
He’d done everything right, hadn’t he? He’d done everything to make sure you would be protected. He’d clawed his way to the position of boss, annihilated all of the Mafia’s enemies to ensure that Yokohama would be safe for you. He’d sacrificed everything, how did it still turn out like this?
The white noise, the buzz of people around him, it all slowly shifts to laughter. The sight of Hirotsu holding your body turns into Dazai—a different Dazai—hunched over your limp form screaming his throat raw in your apartment. It turns into him sprinting through knee deep water with Yosano Akiko at his heels to get to your lifeless form floating face down in the water of the same beach you met him at. It turns into Chuuya catapulting himself through the air, desperately trying to get to you as you fall because Dazai can do nothing but watch—he fails. It turns into Mori stepping out of the hospital room he was treating you in, Dazai can’t hear what he’s saying but he knows—then Mori turns into Fukuzawa, Fukuzawa into Ango, all the same grave expressions, all the same fate.
It was never the Port Mafia’s enemies that were at fault for your death. Wasn’t Mimic or an affiliation with the Mafia, like it was for Odasaku. Wasn’t Dostoevsky. Wasn’t Christie.
It was Dazai.
Dazai is the reason you die in every universe.
The only way for him to save you from your fate is to stay away from you, and he couldn’t even do that. The only chance for him to give you a normal life—a long life—squandered because of his own selfishness.
The laughter gets louder, more manic—they laughed at him when you stumbled into him at the bar, when he tried to stay away, when he gave in to meeting you again. They laugh louder now that things have played out exactly as they knew it would. Dazai danced along perfectly to their marionette strings, as they knew he would from the beginning.
Fate.
Fatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefatefate.
The word that’s haunted him since he was fifteen years old tears apart his mind, claws open his rotted heart from the dark crevice it’s slipped into the past thirty minutes. His vision goes spotty and his head feels light. He knew better. He knew this would happen. He knew-
“That’s my sister.” Again, Iceman’s voice rises above the laughter, a broken gasp that jolts Dazai from his spiraling thoughts. “That’s my sister—what the fuck?”
Ah. Dazai suddenly remembers why he called Iceman back to headquarters. Remembers laying in bed with you a few mornings ago—you were in his arms, warm and happy and alive, and Dazai was excited, figured out the mystery that’s been plaguing him for years. He put together who your brother was, wanted to give you the chance to see him again. Wanted to do something good for you.
And now-
Iceman whirls around, eye wild and expression feral as he focuses on Dazai. Dazai doesn’t know what Chuuya and Piano Man told him, but whatever it was has the man unhinged as he pushes Piano Man hard out of the way to throw himself at Dazai.
“What did you do?” Iceman roars. “What did you do?”
He reaches for the gun at his side, pulls it out and clicks off the safety in a split second—quick and efficient, as expected of the Port Mafia’s best assassin. Around Dazai, other members of the mafia raise their guns in defense of the boss, Dazai only distantly has the mind to raise his hand to order them to lower their weapons.
Chuuya stops Iceman before he can steady the gun at Dazai’s head and pull the trigger. He wrangles the larger man to the ground, using his ability to keep him down, yelling at him to calm the fuck down and explain himself. Iceman clearly has no intention of doing that from the way he futilely tries to throw off Chuuya and go for his gun again.
Dazai watches absently until Kouyou ushers him back into the building, not even giving Dazai the chance to hold you one last time. His chest caves in as soon as you’re out of sight, breath weak and ragged. Kouyou pinches his arm hard.
“Pull yourself together, boy,” she warns. “You cannot let them see you weak.”
Dazai wishes that Iceman had pulled the trigger.
Iceman has never been a good brother.
He was four years old when you came into his life, and when his mother tried to introduce him to his newborn sister, he’d turned his nose up and pouted, upset at no longer being the only child.
He was nine years old when his mother died, sacrificing herself to save a child in Motomachi Shopping Center when a drunk driver barreled down the sidewalk. When you tried to cling to him and cry, he pushed you away to mourn by himself, angry and grieving.
He was eleven years old when his father started to see his mother in you, taking out the bitterness he felt for her decision on you with cruel words and crueler hands when he would come home drunk after a long night of gambling away all of his money. A good brother would have stepped in to protect his little sister, but Iceman chose to turn a cheek and plug his ears when you would curl in bed at night and cry.
He was thirteen years old when he came home to you physically hurt for the first time, blood trickling down from a split lip as you curled in the corner of your shared room. Iceman had already started involving himself with the underworld by the point, so it only took a few sniffles and your fingers curling around his wrist for him to stay up all night, waiting for his father to fall asleep so he could press a pillow to his face, smothering him to death and leaving the two of you homeless without a dollar to your name.
He was fifteen years old when he officially joined the Port Mafia, desperate to get a roof over your head. Sixteen when he killed his second man. You never asked questions when he came home covered in blood and wounds, even though you definitely should have. He lied and told you he’d joined an underground fighting ring to try to make some money for you. You took care of him in a way that he never did for you, patching up his wounds with an easy smile and tender hands.
He was eighteen when he met the rest of the Flags after making a name for himself as one of the Mafia’s best assassins. He stopped coming around as much, spending his time at bars with the Flags, afraid that one day you’d figure out what he’s been doing for money, afraid that you would start to see him as a monster instead of the brother you still loved for whatever god forsaken reason.
He was twenty when he cut you off. After his near death experience at the hands of Verlaine, Iceman realized his life was much too dangerous to keep you in it. To provide for you and give you the life you deserve, he had to abandon his name and leave you behind, otherwise you would forever be at risk of people trying to kill you to get to him.
The best thing Iceman ever did for you as an older brother was cutting you off to let you live a long, fulfilling life away from the dark. Away from him.
And for what?
Iceman sighs as he fumbles in his pocket for another cigarette, already on his second pack of the day. He tilts his head back against the tree he’s leaning against, the muddy ground staining his pants. He lights the cigarette and takes a long drag, tilting his head down as a heavy feeling sweeps over him.
And for what?
It’s been two and a half weeks since he came back to Yokohama.
Two and a half weeks since your death.
Your death, the words still make him sick to his stomach, make him feel as if the world is collapsing around you. Iceman had always been sure of the two of you, he’d be the one to go first. The thought of outliving you—his little sister, the one person in the world he’d sacrifice everything to protect—was never even an option in his mind.
He’s spent just about every waking hour with you, trying to make up for the times he didn’t while you were still alive. You’d always hated the dark; he used to bitch and complain when the two of you shared a bedroom because you couldn’t sleep without a night light, and now he feels sick to his stomach thinking of you stuck out here in the dirt alone and in the dark.
The Flags have tried to drag him away, Lippmann pleading with him to come inside and sleep and Piano Man trying to coax him back with promises of drinks and fine food, but Iceman refused to budge. Chuuya sometimes joins him, brings a nice bottle of wine, cracks it open and after three glasses, starts choking over air, apologizing and begging for forgiveness—sometimes to Iceman, sometimes in front of your headstone.
Iceman enjoys their company—he does—but he thinks he prefers to be alone with you.
Which, unfortunately, seems to be a rare occurrence.
He sighs as he hears leaves crunching on the path leading up to your grave, gaze drawing to the side. At first, he figures it must be Chuuya dragging himself back to your grave, ready for another round of drinks and regret, but he pauses when he recognizes the long black cloak and red scarf donning the figure making his way over to your grave.
His fingers twitch down to the gun holstered down to his side, resentment and anger simmering dangerously beneath the surface.
Dazai Osamu kneels in front of your grave for the first time since your death. He did not attend your funeral. Didn’t come to see you laid into the ground. Didn’t pay respects. He’s spent two and a half weeks holed up on the top floor of the centermost building of headquarters with only Chuuya and Kouyou as company.
Iceman thinks he has some fucking nerve, being the reason that you’re six feet under and not even bothering to come see you.
His first reaction is to make himself known, rise to his feet and pull out his gun—an offense worthy of execution in the eyes of the rest of the Mafia, pulling a gun on its boss, but Iceman’s self-preservation was thrown out the window the moment he came back to headquarters to see you dead in Hirotsu’s arms and Dazai Osamu standing there like an emotionless statute as if he didn’t cause this.
But he hesitates when he sees the expression on Dazai’s face, lips trembling and visible eye glassy. Iceman doesn’t think he’s ever seen the boss in such a sorry state before—his bandages are yellowed and grimy as if he hasn’t changed them in weeks, his coat is wrinkled, scarf dirty, lips chapped and cracked. Dazai Osamu is a man that most people see as untouchable and unflappable, and even Iceman, riddled with grief and fury, can’t help but pause at the sight of him breaking.
“I thought I could stop it,” Dazai breathes out. Iceman startles a bit, irrationally thinking that the man is talking to him, but settles down when he realizes that he’s talking to you, eyes slid shut as he kneels before your headstone. “I tried so hard. I tried so hard to stop it.”
Iceman’s eyes lower at the sheer pain in Dazai’s voice, the hoarseness of grief that has his throat red and raw, has him stripped him bare to the bone. From where Iceman is sitting out of sight, he can see the way Dazai’s fingers are trembling in his lap, shoulders shaking.
“All of this was for you,” Dazai’s voice wavers as he speaks, cracking over his words. “All of it was for you-I don’t-what am I supposed to do now? Shit. What do I do? It’s all gone to waste, I knew it. I knew I shouldn’t have-”
The noise that escapes Dazai’s throat is more belonging of a wounded animal than of a human. He curls over at his waist, blunt nails digging into the marble of your headstone, forehead resting against the cool stone.
Iceman squeezes his eyes shut, throat swollen, letting out a full body shiver at the sound. He forces himself to his feet, fingers enclosing around the grip of his gun, and makes his way over to where Dazai is kneeling. The man stiffens when he hears Iceman approach, straightening and tilting his head to the side to look at Iceman from the corner of his eye. His mouth dries a bit when he sees the tear streaking down Dazai’s pale skin.
“Are you here to kill me?” Dazai asks, voice raspy and throat sore. There’s a mocking edge to it that makes Iceman’s jaw click, as if Dazai is purposely trying to antagonize him. “Go on then, I left Chuuya behind. There’s no one to stop you this time.”
“You think you deserve to go see her already?” Iceman asks coldly.
He stares down at Dazai, watching as the facade cracks at Iceman’s words. The corner of Dazai’s lips twitch downward and his eye goes a bit hazy as it tracks back down to your headstone. He takes in another shuddered breath and Dazai’s shoulders finally slump over, lashes fluttering.
“I knew this would happen,” Dazai finally croaks out, voice weak and wavering. Iceman’s lips tightens at his words, flicking the safety off on his gun and pulling it from his holster. “I knew this would happen and I still sought her out.”
“Even a blind person could’ve seen how this would turn out,” Iceman spits out, pressing the muzzle of his gun to the back of Dazai’s head. He doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t react at all. A part of Iceman wonders if this is what he wants—to be put out of his misery. “This is on you.”
“I know,” Dazai says hoarsely. “... I know.”
Iceman knows that you loved Dazai Osamu for whatever fucked up reason. The same fucked up reason you probably still loved Iceman even after all of the bullshit that he did, and didn’t do, during your childhood. He forced Chuuya to get him the tape after he’d calmed down, watched the way you sat there with Dostoevsky, accepting your fate. Heard that you were given a choice, and the choice you made. He hadn’t been able to understand it at first—you’ve always been so full of life, excited for the future even at your lowest, he couldn’t fathom what could’ve possibly made you so accepting of death.
So he dug further, got Piano Man and Lippmann and Albatross roped up in his schemes. Heard the way you would act with Dazai, how happy you were and how happy he was. Forced Piano Man to get him tapes from around the base; he saw the way you looked at him and the way he looked at you.
You loved Dazai Osamu, and Dazai Osamu—a man that everyone had been convinced was incapable of emotion, a demon without a heart or conscious—loved you.
He takes in the dark bag beneath Dazai’s tired eye, the glassiness and lack of life within them, the sickly pallor of his skin, and the dirtiness of his clothes. His nails bleed from where he dragged them against the marble of your headstone and he can see a murky redness staining his yellowed bandages, peeking out from where his coat rode up his arm.
Iceman has not been the only one grieving you.
“Aren’t you going to kill me?” Dazai finally rasps out. Less of a question, more of a beg, a far cry from the cold and brutal mafia boss that Iceman has come to know, and Iceman knows that Dazai Osamu died in the same moment you did, only a walking corpse remains in his place.
Iceman scoffs, holstering his gun. “Nah,” he says. “Whatever you’re doin’ to yourself. That’s worse than death.”
“…oss. Boss.”
Dazai’s gaze drags from the photo on his desk to where Chuuya has entered his office, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Chuuya to say whatever he came here to say. Chuuya hesitates and Dazai’s jaw tightens in annoyance. He’s been like this since you-
For three and a half weeks. He’s been like this for three and a half weeks. Constantly hovering, afraid to leave Dazai alone for too long. If Chuuya isn’t hovering, Kouyou is. Dazai can hardly get a moment alone and it’s becoming increasingly hard to continue the preparation for phase five, the final part of his plan. Everything is set in place, if all goes according to plan, tomorrow morning will be the long awaited moment.
In a little over twelve hours, he’ll be able to be with you again at last.
Four hours until Atsushi is to go to the Armed Detective Agency with the files that will antagonize Akutagawa into attacking the Mafia headquarters. Dazai expects that by three in the morning, the Agency would have managed to fully infiltrate the building, and Atsushi and Akutagawa will be clashing on the roof of the headquarters.
By dawn, it’ll be time.
But one major obstacle remains.
Dazai’s gaze draws back to Chuuya, who’s still standing in the door of his office, becoming increasingly more irritated by Dazai’s lack of a response. As long as Chuuya is around, Dazai is going to have trouble following through with the final step. The executive will do whatever it takes to prevent Dazai’s death, so Dazai needs to get him out of the way.
“Chuuya,” Dazai hums, “Wh-”
“We’ve captured Gogol.”
Dazai halts, fingers pausing from where they’d been thrumming against the desk as he thought. His gaze sharpens as he tilts his head to the side, “Is that so?”
Gogol. Gogol. The one who captured you, handed you to Dostoevsky on a silver platter. Dazai might’ve been the cause of your-
Dazai might’ve been the one at fault for all of this, but that doesn’t mean he can let your executioners get off scot-free. He rises to his feet, the pads of his fingers pressing into the dark wood of his desk. For a moment, he doesn’t move, his ears ring and his eyes slide shut. Dazai didn’t think he’d get the chance to handle either of them—he’d resigned himself to accepting that he would have to forfeit personal vengeance to ensure that at least Odasaku will be able to live out his life in this world.
But now…
From the corner of his eye, Dazai swears he can see you barge into his office from his apartment, a wild smile on your face as you wave around the TV remote, claiming you found a good movie for the two of you to watch. It’s only for a split second, but Dazai’s heart leaps from his throat, breath catching. He hasn’t dared step foot in the apartment since… everything happened—it’s too big now, too empty. Your coffee mug still sits on his kitchen table, clothes strewn across his room from where you’d been having a fit trying to find the perfect outfit for orientation.
“Dazai.”
Chuuya speaks and the mirage of you is gone. Dazai lets out a heavy breath before shaking his head and making his way toward Chuuya. Neither of them speak again as they make their way into the elevator—they’ve hardly had a full conversation with one another since… since Chuuya chose to disobey orders—heading down to the belly of the headquarters where Gogol will be held. Dazai’s mind spins, lashes fluttering as he thinks.
He knew that Dostoevsky would be well out of reach, that he would have to leave your justice for when the Russian makes his real move in the hands of Odasaku, Akutagawa and the Agency, in the hands of Chuuya, Iceman and Atsushi. There’s no way that Dazai would be able to get his hands on the man in a timely manner, and Dazai can’t risk being in this world any longer than he’s already been. The longer he remains, the more Odasaku is at risk of meeting the same fate you did, and then all Dazai has done and sacrificed over the past seven years would be for nought. The only chance he had to protect the two of you squandered because of his own selfishness and incapability.
But Gogol. He hadn’t dared hope—Dazai lost any semblance of hope the moment he saw Chuuya show up at the Port Mafia headquarters—but he couldn’t help but want.
Kouyou and Piano Man are already waiting in the torture chambers when Dazai and Chuuya finally arrive. Gogol has silver shackles around his wrists, military-grade ability nullifying cuffs that the Mafia had stolen from a government shipment a few months back, and when he sees Dazai, he laughs wildly as if he’s just been told a hilarious joke.
“It’s really you,” Gogol cackles. “Dostoy thought for sure you’d have offed yourself by now.”
Dazai hums, but otherwise doesn’t react to the words. He supposes that they’re not too off the mark, Gogol is only unlucky in that he managed to get himself captured the day before it’s meant to take place.
“Are you going to kill me?” Gogol coos. “Avenge your pretty little thing? Not many people manage to catch Dostoy’s attention, y’know? I was so curious about her.”
Dazai tilts his head to the side and smiles thinly, a cold one that makes Gogol look impossibly more entertained.
“I hear that you enjoy freedom,” Dazai says more to himself than to Gogol, but finds a bit of sadistic pleasure in the way Gogol hesitates. “What makes you think I’d ever give you the mercy of death? The ultimate freedom?”
Gogol does not respond, so Dazai continues, “So long as you live—and you will live—you’ll never take another breath of fresh air or feel the wind against your skin ever again. My men will ensure you live to a ripe old age. They will feed you when you try to starve yourself, force water down your throat when you refuse to drink, they’ll heal you when you try to kill yourself to free yourself of this prison. For the rest of your life, until you rot of old age, you’ll be caged in the basement of this building. A bird clipped of its wings, trapped forever behind gilded bars… I think that’s quite the fitting fate for you.”
Dazai relishes in the way that Gogol freezes at his words, but even that is not enough to heal the gaping wound in his chest caused by your absence. The pleasure is hollow, like the hole you left in him. Dazai is so tired, he just wants to get back to his office so he can finish finalizing the last step for the final phase.
He just wants to be with you.
Dazai turns to leave, motioning for Chuuya to join him, but as soon as he turns his back, Gogol is speaking again, letting out another manic laugh: “Aren’t you curious as to what the deal was? I can tell you.”
Dazai stills, Gogol laughs louder.
“It was a life for a life. Your life for hers. I thought Dostoy was crazy for it, I mean, who would think a random girl’s life would be equal to that of the boss of the Port Mafia,” Gogol snickers. “But looking at you now?”
Dazai’s jaw tightens, he looks over his shoulder as Gogol doubles over laughing and then says quietly, “Her life was worth ten of mine.”
He doesn’t hesitate this time as he walks back toward the elevator, ignoring the way Gogol howls with laughter even as Piano Man has his men drag Gogol back into the most secure cell in the Mafia headquarters. Chuuya follows behind Dazai dutifully, and it’s only when they reenter the elevator does he finally speak.
“You sure you don’t just want him killed?” Chuuya asks, voice a bit stunted and awkward.
Dazai doesn’t respond. “I have a mission for you.”
“Hah?” Chuuya demands. “Now? What’re you talking about?”
“A meeting with Goldoni of the Family in Rome, he’s insistent that it’s done in person. It’s essential that it takes place as soon as possible. I’ve booked a flight for you, it leaves in two hours.”
“Two hours?” Chuuya hisses. “What are you planning, Dazai?”
Dazai doesn’t respond again. Instead, he turns his head to the side, looking at Chuuya dead on. “That’s a direct order, Chuuya.”
Chuuya draws back as if he’s been slapped, but he doesn’t speak up after that, and Dazai knows that he’s won. By the time Chuuya lands in Rome, everything will be over—the last step of the plan will be complete. His eyes flutter shut as he leans back against the wall of the elevator; he feels a type of contentedness that he hasn’t felt since he watched you drive off with Albatross, Hirotsu, and Tachihara.
Soon, he sighs to himself softly, eyes reopening to focus on his reflection. He swears he can see you again, feel the ghost of your touch against his skin as your fingers lace with his. All he has left to do is talk to Odasaku, and then he can be with you again.
We can watch one last sunrise together.
“I had someone once, y’know?” Dazai Osamu says, expression distorted and eyes distant, drawing to invisible figures sitting at the stools with them. Oda stares curiously, watching as he opens and closes his mouth, as if trying to figure out what to say. “It was hard. Without you and her, everything was so much harder. I tried so hard to do things right, to protect this world; I did what I could, but I couldn’t stay away from her.”
Dazai’s words disappear with his ragged breathing, dozens of emotions crossing over his face as he stares at his lap. Oda doesn’t speak, trying to put together whatever piece he’s missing—figure out who this her is that Dazai is referring to so that he can understand what’s going on. He keeps his gun steady, pointed at the boss of the Port Mafia in case this whole thing turns out to be a trap even if he’s slowly starting to doubt it.
“I didn’t get to say goodbye to her,” Dazai says airly, talking more to himself than to Oda. “She said she’d see me later. Told me she loved me. I didn’t say it back. Do you think she knew, Odasaku?”
The man in question chooses his words carefully when Dazai looks at him, black eye wide and imploring, much like a child seeking out advice from a trusted adult. After a few moments, Oda finally says, “Women are a lot more intuitive than men. If she said it, I’m sure she knew you felt the same.”
Dazai lets out a quiet laugh, a soft smile on his lips and a fond, but faraway expression on his face. “You always know what to say, Odasaku,” he murmurs softly, saying that odd nickname again. Oda frowns, but Dazai only continues. “She was good. A lot better than me… Deserved better than me. She was so smart, Odasaku, I think you would’ve liked her. She got into one of the best grad schools in the country, y’know? Was on her way to orientation when-”
Dazai stops talking suddenly, takes in a sharp and stunted breath, eye going a bit wild as if he can’t even force out the words. Oda is suddenly frowning, recognition sparking in his head as he remembers you, the sharp girl from the train station that he’d failed to save; the one who's been haunting his mind since the moment that golden swirl appeared and dragged you away. Ranpo had deduced it was mafia business rather quickly, but Oda couldn’t convince himself of it because he couldn’t figure out how someone like you was affiliated with the mafia.
This… It would make sense, wouldn’t it? Still, Oda couldn’t imagine you with someone like the man sitting before him, or maybe he could, he reconsiders, watching the adoring expression that paints the mafia boss’s face as he talks about you, the smile on his lips and the enamored look in his eye, the pride. Oda doesn’t think he’s ever seen a man look so entirely lovesick before.
Dazai looks at him curiously, must have caught the spark of recognition on his face. “Do you know her?”
Oda pauses, trying to figure out what to say. He doesn’t know if he should admit to seeing you in the moments before you were killed; Dazai Osamu is clearly not stable, fickle and capricious with his emotions, Oda worries that the mafia boss might abruptly turn on him, become hostile when he realizes Oda could have saved her but failed.
“You did,” Dazai breathes out, excited suddenly, eye lit up like a child who has been told Christmas is coming early. “You knew her, you did, didn’t you? How did you meet? Wasn’t she incredible? Tell me.”
Oda inhales slowly, testing the words on his tongue before he says: “... I met her at the train station… that day.” Dazai’s smile wobbles at the edges, a glassy look in his eye like he’s looking right through Oda. Oda continues speaking quickly, “She was brilliant. She gave me a good idea on how to end the book I’ve been writing.”
Dazai’s smile softens, the childish appearance disappears as he looks down at his drink. “Will you use it?”
Oda responds honestly, “I think I will.”
Dazai looks as if he’s been given a precious gift and for a moment, Oda hesitates, gaze lingering on the expression that is somehow both sorrowful and content at the same time.
“It’s almost dawn, isn’t it?” Dazai says, a bit distantly. Oda watches carefully as an unfocused look clouds Dazai’s black eye, his head turning to look out the window of the bar. “She loved sunrises… I promised her we would watch one more together.”
The sun breaks the horizon in the distance, Dazai smiles wistfully as the colors spread across the morning sky. Endless pink clouds dance in the dawn, orange paints the skies; he stands at the edge of the roof where you sat with him that first morning, leaning your head on his shoulder as you watch all of the shapes the clouds make.
“Doesn’t that one look like a cat?”
Dazai hums in agreement as his gaze traces the sky; he’s never been able to see all of the figures you point out in the clouds, but he likes listening to you talk. Sometimes, you’d spin stories as you rest on his chest, and he’d doze off to the sound of your voice. He wants to look down to where you’d normally be sitting, but he’s afraid that if he looks, he’ll find you disappointed—sad eyes staring at him as if you know what he’s about to do.
Worse, he’s scared that if he looks, you won’t be there.
Distantly, he can hear Atsushi and Akutagawa still arguing with one another, shouting questions at Dazai, but it all sounds distant and muffled—he couldn’t make out the words if he tried. He’s hyper focused on the sound of your voice in the billowing wind; he can almost imagine that each brush of the gusts against his skin is your touch.
He waits, even as he hears Atsushi creeping toward him, trying to get to him before he lets himself fall over the edge. He promised you one last sunrise, and it would be remiss of him to not stay long enough for you to watch your favorite part.
“She loved sunrises,” Dazai repeats again, this time for Atsushi and Akutagawa to hear. Atsushi halts at the words and he can hear a wavering ‘boss’ escape Atsushi’s lips. He closes his eyes and he can picture you in front of him, a soft expression on your face, lips curved up, and a dreamy smile tugs at his lips. “I’ve waited for this moment so long. I’m pleased, I really am… I just wish things had turned out differently. I wanted her to live, and I wanted to read his novel when he finished it, but I guess what I want doesn’t matter anymore… It’s enough to know that they were able to meet here.”
“Please wait,” Atsushi cries out, and Dazai can hear him moving again, stumbling as he tries to get closer. “Dazai-san, wait!”
“Atsushi-kun, Akutagawa-kun,” Dazai says. He opens his eyes again, watching as the sun finally crosses the horizon in its entirety, basking the world in an ethereal morning glow. His breath catches, and Dazai sees you again standing before him, haloed by the light. He reaches out hesitantly, but draws his hand back before his fingers can graze you, not wanting to taint you with his touch. “I’ll leave the rest to you.”
Dazai takes a step forward closer to you. He ignores Atsushi’s screams and Akutagawa’s shout. His eyes slide shut as he falls, the wind whistling in his ears and ripping the air from his lungs, but Dazai feels at peace for the first time in weeks. A smile curls to his lips, he swears that he feels your arms wrap around his waist, the familiar weight of your head resting on his chest.
Dazai hopes, maybe a bit irrationally, that there might be a universe out there that he missed, one where the two of you are able to live out your lives. Maybe if he’s lucky, Odasaku will be around too. He’ll have finished the novel with your help, just like in this universe; and Dazai will pout and whine whenever you push him out of the room to brainstorm with the older man, but he’ll always smile as soon as he’s out of sight, content, happy. He’ll get to read the novel once it’s published—you refuse to let him get any peeks until it’s done and you yell at him and Odasaku when Dazai tries to guilt him into showing him it—and he’ll get to be with you.
He’ll get to be with you.
Find me again. Next time, I’ll make it right.
I promise.
GUYSSSSSS WATERLOO IS OVER I'M ACTUALLY GOING TO CRY. this series has been my baby for so long i don't even know what i'm going to do with myself now that it's over. :(
some notes to share with u guys:
fyodor's ability. SIGH. the past few chapters fucked up my plans, so we're going to imagine that that his ability is still the kill on touch for the sake of my sanity. or maybe he used someone else's ability to kill her. who knows. i had this scene set in mind from waterloo day one so i didn't want to change it.
THE ODASAKU-READER CONVERSATION WAS ACTUALLY SO ANTICIPATED, i had the idea from side a when dazai chose to bring her to his grave, and then i was like ... wait, what if in side b... and i think it's a neat tie in to the beast movie too, because if i rmr correctly, he sought out fyodor later on and i think witnessing reader's capture & not being able to prevent her would give him even more of a reason to go after the man.
uu!chuuya hurts my heart truly. he really did care sm about reader the more he got to know her, and he blamed himself so much for her death. and then dazai uses the fact that he disobeyed orders and got her killed against him to make him leave so that dazai can kill himself. poor man will never not blame himself for everything
ICEMAN AS READER'S BROTHER. look, i know a lot of you wanted odasaku but it just didn't fit. she would've recognized his name in side a
badlands!reader -> i fear she is dead and gone, as you all probably have come to terms with by now at the end of the uu. but i want to add in HOW she dies because it's touched on in this chapter & i posted an ask about it a few weeks ago.
in badlands universe, fyodor isn't actually the one to kill reader, it's agatha christie when the order of the clocktower finally makes their move on yokohama for the book. for this, i also have to get into christie and what i think her ability might be - obviously we know it's based on "and then there were none" which is the mystery novel that involves 10 people w various accusations against them being killed/dying according to a nursery rhyme. i dont know exactly how i want the ability to be executed, but i know for the purposes of the fic that involves 10 ppl dying in various ways according to how they died in the book. christie targets various ppl that have been close to the agency/pm and reader is one of them. so over the course of 10 hours, the 10 people start dying. it takes to the 5th hour for them to realize that this is an ability user and not coincidences because by that point 2 ppl affiliated with the pm and 2 ppl that have close ties with the ada die and the two organizations approach each other about it, and obviously ranpo figures out during that meeting that it's an ability targeting ppl affiliated with both organizations. and that's when dazai starts getting a really bad feeling, tries to call her but she doesn't pick up, and then ends up ditching the meeting to go find her but </333 he doesn't get to her in time. her death is the death on the 5th hour and it parallels emily brent from the book: injected with cyanide after drinking poisoned coffee. dazai finds her in their apartment </3 he is too late to save her.
also a fun side note about badlands: reader and dazai were, in fact, engaged.
anyways, i love you all, thanks for sticking along the ride with me
(。♡ ‿ ♡。)
#dazai x reader#dazai x you#bsd x reader#bsd x you#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu x you#bungo stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x you
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seekers I've done so far (I don't think I'll even make it to the ref sheets)
you know what, IM GONNA RAMBLE ABOUT HEADCANONS AGAIN. (out of these six, prolly. Also, these headcanons are NO WHERE near perfect)
Thundercracker is the more calm and collected out of these guys, which also makes him seem as the most boring (Skywarp teases him the most). Ever since the Decepticons came to Earth, he's been amazed by the scenery of a planet and how organic it is. This also brought him to be fond of its creatures, especially dogs. He has the ability to create massive and deafening sonic booms, and can manipulate electricity. They become more powerful if the weather is stormy.
Sunstorm is a very joyful guy. At least he tries to genuinely be. He likes poems, and singing! (Voice HC Your Anxiety Buddy 💀). Him and Novastorm have similar abilities. He's basically a walking nuclear bomb because of his radioactive nature, but of course he can control it. And like Rodimus and TF:ONE Optimus, he can use his blasters as flamethrowers. Otherwise, he just can light his whole frame on fire. Fun fact: In the coldest of days, the other seekers just huddle next to him to warm up in their free time. They don't do it to Nova since they know she doesn't like it.
Novastorm is more tired and angry than calm, but she does find a bright side to everything (no pun intended). She's confident, but can also get annoyed easily. Like Sunstorm, she can radiate a star's energy, but she mostly uses a burning, blinding light to mess with her opponent's optics, then she goes for the kill.
Skywarp is the prankster, procrastinator, and most cocky one. He's that one guy that calls others weak for being scared of a horror movie, then after it you find him huddling in the corner crying. He really likes his visor. He uses his teleportation all the time, he doesn't even walk. For some reason, it just annoys Starscream. The only flaw he has with his teleportation, he can only bring a maximum of fifteen bots at one time.
Acidstorm is a strange but useful mech, at least that's what Starscream thinks. The Rainmakers feel concerned and worried for him since he's been using up his energon for his abilities just to fight the Autobots, but he always says he's fine. Starscream finds his abilities the most effective since acid can y'know, ruin EVERYTHING, so sometimes he pushes him to use more of it, but he doesn't know it costs him Acid's own life source. The Rainmakers have arguments with Starscream to stop him from getting Acid to overuse his powers.
(I don't know too much about Ionstorm, so tell me if there's things I missed or need to fix because this is me basically making crap up!!) Ionstorm sometimes just goes with the flow, but speaks up when he needs to. He's more smiley and open when he's with his Rainmaker trine, but with others he just nods and listens to whoever's talking. His ability is similar to Thundercracker's, but he uses it more to power the Nemesis and other really generators or machines they have wherever they are. But when it comes to combat use, it's deadly. With just one shock, he can knock out fifteen to twenty bots.
#transformers#transformers seekers#transformers prime#tfp seekers#thundercracker#sunstorm#nova storm#skywarp#acid storm#ion storm#maccadams#randojj
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/dsmp /rp
cuddling with dream and the many possibilities, scenarios, and obstacles you may encounter. don't let him read this. a guide by technoblade.
i'm about to blow your minds with how complex this is. i'm a master at my art (sleeping), alright? i'm an experienced craftsman (at sleeping), i perform at my best in all locations (with naps, mostly) (yes, even in the obsidian box), and i'm very good at cuddling. i'm practically built for it. i would never, ever think about writing a guide about how to cuddle with philza minecraft (or anyone else, really), but this squirmy little guy is different.
-the best approach is the Sudden Drop. walk over to him, no matter what he's doin, and just drop onto him and stay there. spare no body weight. he'll probably think it's a bit funny, and that's why it's the best one. he's more likely to humor something if it's a good bit, and having a giant piglin treat you like a sofa cushion is a GREAT bit. he'll laugh.
-(the second best approach is when he's upset or panicking or crying, and you can see him grabbing onto himself. normally that means... idk, that he wants held? Or he wants to hold something? i'll sit down, slowly, and wrap 'im up. he'll latch onto me. hard. fingers twisting my fur-- the whole nine yards)
-otherwise, he's shy with his hands. a few times now, i've grabbed his hands and put them somewhere on me because he was just, like, hovering them awkwardly. like, cmon, man. i'm laying my whole body on you, what part of your hands do you think is gonna bother me.
-but, come to think of it, sometimes he's afraid of my hands, too. if i move them in the middle of the night. if i lay them somewhere sensitive, like his sides or the small of his back.
-another scenario: he might approach me, too. i thought it'd never happen. you know that feeling with the stray dog is finally close enough to sniff your hand and you stay super still so you don't scare it? That's how i felt. he normally just walks over and leans on my shoulder, and i still can't tell if that's all he wants or if he's asking me for a better cuddle. more experimentation is needed here.
-location is key! in all scenarios, near the wall is best. i think of myself as a secondary wall and kinda close him in- if sam were lookin', he'd only see me.
-(he's so little. he's SO little. was he always this thin? i'm gonna crush the kid.)
-expect the unexpected. sometimes he'll hit you. sometimes he'll start to cry, and sometimes that means you need to let him go, and sometimes that means you need to hold tighter. it's complicated. but everyone needs it, especially dudes bein tortured in a box, so it's worth the effort.
-(sometimes i need it, too. i'll admit it, i'm scared.)
#rivalsduo#rivalsblr#dreblr#drabbles#cdream#ctechnoblade#c!dream#c!technoblade#not my best work but i wanted to talk abt cuddles#also 'a guide by technoblade' is a great mini-series
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Okay, that ask with MC dying in RO's arms. I can't help but reverse-angst any angsty ask I see, so now I HAVE to.
What if despite the MC seemingly dying, the team managed to call an ambulance and for it to arrive fast enough to like manage to restart their heart and ultimately save them? What I'm mostly interested in in this scenario is how would the ROs act during the period of uncertainty of "will they wake up or not", and when MC finally DOES wake up and is fine (cause well, they could have woken up but with all sort of issues due to the lack of oxygen and what not).
I live for hurt-comfort!
(A little bit of hope can go a long way. Let's do this :D)
S: The wait is excruciating. It's a difficult ask for S to set aside their usual cynicism in favour of a more optimistic approach. In the army, it was customary to carry a letter for loved ones should the worst come to pass. S had to deliver more than a few of those letters. They still carry one themselves out of habit. Preparing for the worst like some paranoid doomsayer has become their second skin.
But just this once, they don't want to believe in the worst. They don't want to prepare to break bad news to loved ones, nor imagine the empty space you could leave behind. Perhaps your inability to give up has rubbed off on them. It's a quality of yours they are counting on right now.
Then, the doctor exits the room and smiles, and S knows that their uncommon hope has not been blind after all. You don't wake immediately, but S guards your bedside the entire time. It feels like a lifetime, but when your eyes finally wake, it takes all their strength not to immediately pull you into an air-restricting embrace.
Instead, they grasp your hand in theirs, clutching it tightly against their chest with misty eyes. When you finally speak their name, the tears finally spill freely.
"Thank goodness," they whisper, grasping your hands as if in prayer. I don't know what I would have done if..." They breathe. Deeply. "I fear a very long lecture is teasing the tip of my tongue, but I will do everyone a favour and keep myself gracious instead. Something to look forward to, my darling."
They smile.
Rain: It’s impossible to sit still. Plagued thoughts of pained screams and bloodied hands keep them pacing the length of the waiting room. The others are here too, but for once, Rain doesn’t have enough space inside their head for everyone else.
The pattern sound of their pacing steps keeps them grounded. It’s something else to focus on... because otherwise, the alternative is remembering every sordid detail of what happened to you, and that is too bloody unbearable.
How could they let this happen to you? Are they truly resigned to a life of regret forevermore? Regret was already a heavy enough weight for them to carry as is.
Then, the doctor spills the good news, and Rain rushes into your room, shaking. They didn't think they had tears left to cry, yet they fall freely once more. Red-faced with puffy eyes, they collapse onto their knees beside your bed, tucking their face into the crook of your arm... Honestly, they would be embarrassed if they weren't so happy.
"Perhaps we should consider retirement," they offer once their tears have ceased and they can force a smirk back on their face. "We could settle down by the ocean far away from Albach Bay and grow old together under a canopy of stars. Or we could get on a boat and become pirates. Mind you, the mermaids might pose a threat... Hm, I'll workshop it."
They are only half joking.
Taj: It's easier to be angry. So, as Taj watches the doctors and nurses rushing around as they busy themselves with their work, Taj seethes. They still taste the metal tang of blood in their mouth from the assailant whose throat they ripped out. It taunts them.
'You were too slow', it goads. 'You have always been too slow.'
Taj growls, subconsciously scratching at their own skin as they dig their nails into their arms. Their aggravation must permeate throughout the waiting room because the staff are giving them a wide berth. Sometimes, they'll spot a nurse giving them a pitying look and Taj will dig their claws in deeper.
It's all they can do to prevent clawing at their throats.
They don't understand. Taj has fought tooth and nail to find 'home'. S and Rain came along and provided shelter, but they found a home in you.
Taj would flay the skin of every potential threat before losing that.
All that anger, all that pent-up rage, begins to finally trickle away when the doctors give the good news. It still exists—it's still there—but it softens, as does the self-flagellation.
At your bedside, they wait. When your eyes flicker open, and you whisper their name, they finally breathe. "I always knew you were annoying, Koel, but I never pegged you as cruel."
Pouting, they grasp your hand in theirs and hold it delicately up against their lips. "Thank you," they gasp, barely breathing. "For not leaving me."
N: N is losing what little patience they actually have. It feels like days since they absconded away with you, and there has been no news since. What in Hael do they do here? There may or may not have already been a few incidents of cornering medical staff in a somewhat threatening manner to demand they prioritise you above all others.
It's not like there is anyone of greater importance in this hospital. N knows that to be true, even without knowing who the other patients are.
It's too tempting... to want to reach out to the dark recesses of your mind and pull you back, but then fear takes over. What if they reach out and you aren't there? What if they scream into the void, and all they hear is their echo? It would ruin them.
So, they wait and wait, and finally learn what it means to be patient.
When the doctors, still maintaining a cautious distance, finally break the news N has been so desperately hoping for, N breaks. They rush into the room, practically tripping over their feet in their haste. For a moment, they forget all about their image as a Prince of Hael and choose, instead, to embrace one simple truth; they care.
"Do try not to die in the future, my dear. I would be awfully put out if you did."
Umbra: If it weren't for the others, Umbra would be burning through the very heart of themselves to skulk, watch, and stand vigil in your room as the doctors worked. But it was S who rightfully pointed out that if you were to wake and Umbra had become less of themselves in the meantime, it would only bring you more heartache.
So, instead, they continue to practice trust. They are choosing to trust in your strength, in your stubbornness, in your desire to live. Even as their instinct to fight scratches at the back of their skull, they choose to believe instead. It's hard and getting harder.
Umbra knows if it weren't for the others, they would have already stormed your hospital room with savagery.
When the doctors finally release Umbra from their torment and share the good news of your stability, it's all they can do before Umbra is at your side. God grant mercy to the person who attempts to remove them from that point on.
Overwhelmed with emotion and with their fear no longer gripping their throat, they daringly climb onto the bed next to you. With hushed apologies, they gently rest their head atop yours, listening to you breathe.
"I never noticed before," they whisper, breath shuddering. "You breathe so deeply."
(I'm sorry sorry this took so long! I wanted to do it justice since it feels like a short sequel, lol. It's been a busy few days since we rescued a cat from a family member who had to move house. I may or may not be using them as inspiration for Taj, haha.)
#ask answer#nazu raumon#taj#simon selby#umbra knight#naera raumon#rain#simone selby#interactive fiction
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hi. hi. here to request. a little seungmin fluff where we are kind of lonely and sad and he reminds us that he’s always there : )
HI HONEY TY FOR BEING MY FIRST EVER REQUEST <3333 ily and seungie so I got u bby ◡̈ mwah ur the best ( ˘ ³˘)♡
warning: swearing is inevitable with me sorry ¯\_(˶′◡‵˶)_/¯, fluff, like gross amounts of it, seungmin says "this is so gay but..." because he cringes at showing affection but refuses to let you forget how he feels about you fr, he's a tsundere ok? ok. he licks your face(?) , one (1) kiss, he joking threatens to fight you, and mentions of self doubt and anxiety, angst if you blink but I think it's mostly fluffy... anyways! lmk if I missed anything!!!
WC: a little under 500 :D
AN: this is the first drabble I've ever done in bullet point format so just pls lmk how it goes??? Im super nervous I hope it's at least an easy read :(
so the first time he realizes that you're feeling lonely he slaps himself internally because how DARE he make you feel that way, but he's not home rn and can't show you physically so he comes up with a Plan™️
you're literally the light of his life
so he just >:(
but not at u
he just wants to make you feel happy and loved and safe
so he starts brainstorming
but he's naturally a menace
so when you're texting with him while he's working and you're being kinda short
because yk
u just feel :(
he just sighs and texts back
"look, please don't feel sad. I know this is pretty fucking gay but I love you."
which makes u giggle
because that's YOUR seungie that YOU know and love so much
<3
BUT whenever he's able to be physically with you and he can just feel your self doubt and anxiety creeping in and trying to swallow you, he once again uses his braincell.
so he just grabs ur hand
and leads u out of ur bed and to the living room
sits u down
and starts running around ur shared apartment grabbing every blanket and pillow that exists within the space
and I mean
E V E R Y. S I N G L E. O N E.
puppy zoomies moment hehe
and don't even think about trying to question him
he'll just say "shut up and wait while I set up a big ass fort for us to cuddle in, ok?? I love you but I wanna make u SEE THAT."
which u smile at
because him telling u to shut up
but then explaining why
and then also watching him move furniture and start building the fort, you tear up with happy tears
because???
:(
he's the sweetest and u love him so much
but when he hears u sniffle
he turns on Extra Puppy Mode™️
pops out from under some blankets and tackles you into the couch and holds your face
wiping ur tears
maybe even licked one because he's a freak and wanted to get a reaction
which u just squealed at bc wtf sir
but then he realizes
oh ur crying because ur so touched by this whole thing that he's doing
!!!
"... you dummy. stop crying... we gotta get snacks and stuff for our super awesome fort yk??? and you won't be able to see if you're cryi—"
you cut him off by giving him a little kiss on his pouty lips
as a silent thank you :(
which he realizes that oops maybe he got too serious and overwhelming
but you reassured him that you're just so glad to have him as your partner and best friend in one :(
"please just remember that I do love you, and I'm always here even if that brain of yours tells you otherwise, ok? or I'll have to fight you... affectionately."
and then he proceeds to smother you in kisses and cuddles :(
#raine drops✍️#marvelous mooties ♡#anny <3#rachalixie in the building🤍#my sun <3#my cloud <3#primoppang#skz shenanigans#seungmin x reader#seungmin fluff#stray kids x reader#skz x reader#seungmin x you#seungmin x y/n#stray kids fluff#stray kids x you#skz x you#skz x y/n#stray kids x y/n#bullet point fic#stray kids fanfic#stray kids fanfiction#skz fanfic#skz fanfiction
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I thought it would be fun to write a little bit about myself, so come over and get to know me! (As far as I know myself because I didn't come with a manual so I'm still figuring myself out..) If you have any more questions, feel absolutely free to ask them!
Expect a karkload of ramblings below the cut, this turned out so much longer than I intended I am so sorry, no one is probably going to read this but I'm just leaving this here anyway because I don't really have people to share my ramblings with
PERSONAL
My name's Julie (she/her)
Lupe is actually my OCs name, but I adopted it as a nickname here on Tumblr when I first started posting and I kinda stuck with it
Quickly approaching my 30s help
I'm from the Netherlands 🇳🇱 so my first language is Dutch
That obviously means English isn't my first language, so please excuse any errors in my writing
I am Dutch, therefore I love cheese 🧀 (like Gouda, NOT cheddar)
I am an archaeologist! I've been a history nerd all my life
I work in a museum (obviously one with a history collection)
My #1 all-time favourite animals are wolves
In RL, I am super introverted and people scare the kark out of me
I never got any diagnosises, but I'm pretty sure I'm neurodivergent
I prefer the internet over meeting people IRL, because I feel way more comfortable to be myself and ramble about the things I love online than IRL
I tend to switch between my several hyperfixations from time to time, but I really hope to stick around the Star Wars fandom for a long time <3
HOBBIES
Star Wars obviously ahahahaha what are you doing here otherwise?
Drawing, writing, photography, gaming, history, nature, collecting, listening to music
Drawing: has always been one of my favourite pastime activities. I used to draw wolves almost non-stop, until life happened I guess? I only recently picked up drawing again. Drawing humans is a struggle, but it's so much fun practicing with clones <3
Drawing: I'm currently drawing with my ergonomically irresponsible mouse in Photoshop CS6 (I've been using the same software for over 10 years now and I am too afraid to switch to something newer)
Writing: I used to write stories about wolves (shocker) but same as with drawing, life happened. Until I recently picked up writing again! I started writing fanfiction for the first time when I started posting on Tumblr around June 2024
Writing: publishing a book has been on my bucketlist for a long time but I'm not sure that's ever going to happen, so let's keep it with fanfiction for now (which I am REALLY enjoying)
Gaming: I prefer gaming on my PlayStation 3 and 4, but I occasionally play PC and Nintendo Switch games. I mostly play single-player games. Assassin's Creed got me into gaming and is still my favourite series. I also really enjoy The Witcher III, Red Dead Redemption I + II, LA Noire and Far Cry Primal. And others, obviously
Gaming: I play Pokémon GO! If you're a player as well, shoot me your friend code and I'll add you (:
Music: I'm a metalhead; metal is my favourite genre! But I also like (hard) rock and (folk) punk. My favourite metal subgenres are power metal and folk metal. But I can listen to movie/game soundtracks for weeks as well!
Music: Rammstein got me into the heavier stuff and is still an all-time favourite. I was a die-hard Volbeat fan for years, but I haven't felt drawn to their latest releases. My current favourite band is definitely Powerwolf (more wolves lol)! Other favourites are (among many others) Sabaton, Amon Amarth, Slipknot, Nightwish, Within Temptation, Dropkick Murphys, Flogging Molly, The Real McKenzies, Heilung, Wardruna, Eluveitie, and some amazing older stuff like Alice Cooper, Pink Floyd and E.L.O.
STAR WARS
This is where the fun begins
I've been a Star Wars fan for as long as I can remember
My brother and me used to watch the OT and Ep I on VHS when we were kids and were lucky enough to see Ep II and III in cinemas
I missed watching EP I in cinemas this May (due to its 25th anniversary) because I was moving homes during that time and I am still crying about that, see you in 5 years I guess
What I like about the Prequels: everything? Obviously the clones ahahaha. But kinda everything. The setting, the plot, the characters, the tragedy. I know there's a lot of hate on the writing, but I grew up with them and I think they're awesome. Definitely not perfect, but (and please don't hate me) I would choose the Prequels over the OT anytime. Also the meme material coming from this?? Legendary.
What I like about the OT: the story and the characters! It felt less complicated back then, more about good and evil (there's a lot of grey area now, which is obviously more realistic; but as a kid growing up with the movies, good vs evil was less complicated)
What I like about the Sequels: BB-8, porgs, and the Somehow Palpatine Returns-meme, that's it. Maybe Poe Dameron, but that's probably because it's Oscar Isaac.
I also VERY MUCH like Rogue One; what a wonderful and sad story. I won't shut up about how much I love how this story blends into Ep IV/the OT; I think this was so well done, I- aaaaaaah I love it
What I like about the animated shows: CLONES. Clonesclonesclones. And Ahsoka. And a lot more, but at this time, the clone brainrot is real. I actually really like how some things are further explained in the animated shows (I think they're a real addition to the movies/story). And the angst and the tragedy, ugh my heart. Also the animation style of course! And clones, did I mention the clones?
Favourite characters (non-clones): Ahsoka Tano, Darth Vader, Obi-Wan Kenobi (prequel era), Plo Koon, Aayla Secura, probably Darth Maul too, Jyn Erso
Favourite clones: Hunter (he started it), Fives (I cannot put into words how much I love and feel for this man I just need to wrap my arms around him and tell him it's alright and that he and the clones deserve so much better and that I'm there to listen to him and it's going to be okay I'm going to make all his problems go away and also some adult stuff I'm not going to write here), Echo (my beloved), Wolffe (awooooooo), Cody (good man that Cody), Rex (obviously), Fox (you matter but please stop drinking caf and get some sleep), Vaughn (my love, my heart, my soul; I would die for you) (> I get obsessed over a different clone pretty often but it's safe to say I love all clones)
Favourite droids: R2-D2, Chopper, BB-8, Gonky, K-2SO, (also BD-1 is super cute), the droids helping out Ahsoka during Shattered/Victory and Death (R7-A7, CH-33P, RG-G1), mouse droids, (I haven't played Outlaws yet but I have normal feelings about ND-5)
Favourite animals: loth wolf (duh), tooka, massiff, varactyl, acklay
I used to collect Star Wars LEGO and Hasbro and I would love to put those on a shelf/into a cabinet one day
I would love to go to some sort of fan con one day but I'm afraid I won't survive all the stimuli/amount of people there
I did visit the Star Wars Exhibition in Brussels somewhere in the late 2000s/early 2010s; it was kriffing majestic
I used to play Star Wars Battlefront II (2005) with my brother all the time. We played it so much the disc got damaged by the PlayStation 2 itself and obviously we bought it again to keep playing
I played Jedi: Fallen Order (2019) and it was awesome! I really need to replay it so I can play Jedi: Survivor (2023) afterwards (haven't played it yet, I need to get myself a PlayStation 5 first, RIP)
Since we're talking about PlayStation 5, I'm dying to play Outlaws (2024) help (I need to know what is happening between Kay and ND-5??)
I really want to play Republic Commando (2005) (I even have a PS4 copy laying around) but haven't found the time yet
LASTLY
So one of my other hyperfixations is Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron (2002), the 2D-animated movie by DreamWorks. (I know, I'm super weird; I'm a metalhead switching between Star Wars and an animated movie about horses (and some other hyperfixations but let's not go there).) I even created a fansite, if anyone's interested (which has still lots of WIP-pages I'm sorry I'm into Star Wars at the moment)
Alright that was a lot of super random information no one asked about. If you've come this far, holy kark my utmost respect to you, please leave a comment so I can send over some cookies because you kriffing deserved them?? I might consider writing a ficlet for you.
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I deal with impermanence by practicing radical acceptance and other DBT skills. I do have a really hard time with change and with things changing unexpectedly and outside of my control. And I used to get really mad and upset about it and try to get control back by manipulating other people or just generally being a bitch about it.
But now, I use my really great DBT skills, mostly radical acceptance but a few other distress tolerance skills like TIPP. For me, radical acceptance let's me have my anger and other emotions without trying to control what I cannot. I'm still mad about it and I still get really dysregulated, but I just tell myself that it's happened, there's nothing I can do about it, and I need to figure out how I will react to it.
As an example, I was flying from Texas to Chicago in December to spend the holiday with my best friend and their family. I purposefully bought a ticket (it was United) so that I could have my personal item and my checked bag. I paid extra for that. But once they started boarding, the gate agent said they were overbooked and they needed some people to volunteer to check their bags otherwise at a certain point, it wouldn't be voluntary. I was pretty pissed about this and dysregulated anyway (traveling is so stressful for me) and I was just really hoping I could get through before they needed to start checking bags because I already had a hell of a time packing, I didn't have my hard shell suitcase, and none of my bags had locks on them. But literally the person in front of me in line was the last person to be able to take both their bags and the gate agent asked me if I could check a bag that didn't have anything important in it (like electronics or medical equipment). I barely fit my things into my bags as is and I did have important stuff in both bags, so I told her as much. And she basically told me that either I figure it out, or I'm not getting on the plane. I was pissed and about to cry. I was so full of rage. And I was embarrassed. But I took a breath, stepped to the side, and tried to figure it out. I knew arguing would not get me what I wanted and I needed to get on that plane. So I got everything sorted, had them check my bag, and got on the plane. The kicker was that once I did get on the plane and everyone was boarded, THERE WAS TONS OF ROOM LEFT IN THE OVERHEAD BINS SO I DIDNT NEED TO CHECK MY BAG ANYWAY. (Yes I'm still really mad about this). But I practiced my breathing, told myself I had no control over the situation, controlled what I could (my own behavior) and said to myself that I'll figure it out when I get to Chicago. It was fine. I didn't lose my bag or any of my stuff. I didn't have a meltdown but my rage lasted til about half way through the flight. And the next day I went to go get bag locks at target. So radical acceptance, TIPP, and controlling what I can control is usually how I deal with it.
Speaking of DBT! Thank you so much for sharing this story with us, Anon. Traveling is ROUGH and a huge part of that is because our disability is manufactured by shitty corporations like United -- the disruption would be bad enough on its own! but then they go and reduce seat sizes, cut storage bin access, overbook flights, and just straight up lie to customers, creating all kinds of stress for those of us who just want to know what to fucking expect. Glad you were able to find a way to cope with all that bullshit! Sometimes being pissed for an hour or two but doing what you needed to do is a huge W.
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SO YOU'RE TIRED OF BATMAN: AN INTRODUCTORY GUIDE TO DC SUPERHEROES
one of the most common things i hear when trying to get people to read comics is that they're just not that into batman. which boggles my mind! not because i'm a huge batman fan -- which i am, but i can understand why people might not be interested in his comics -- but because it's insane to me that batman (or superman, or wonder woman, or any other dc superhero they've made a movie about) is people's default perception of dc superheroes.
there's a whole world out there! and if you're intimidated by the big superheroes, or uninterested in their stories, or even if you like them but you're looking for something different, this is the guide for you. without further ado, i present:
DC MINUS THE BIG THREE: A FIELD GUIDE FOR THE DISENCHANTED AND DISINTERESTED
DOOM PATROL (1987)
to nobody's surprise, doom patrol is first on my list of recommendations. it's a comic book about a group of disabled people who have been labeled freaks, weirdos, or otherwise undesirable by society, coming together to save a world that doesn't care about them because there has to be beauty in it somewhere.
good for: well, i'll let the introduction quote do the talking. “remember when all the other kids on the block had superman and batman as positive role modes? well, if you could only identify with a human brain in a metal body or a guy wrapped up in bandages, and if you grew up weird, welcome home. you’re among friends now.”
read doom patrol here. trigger warnings for: ableism, child sexual abuse, medical abuse, transphobia.
2. HELLBLAZER (1988) BUT ONLY THE FIRST 41 ISSUES OK?
hellblazer is a 300 issue long comic book, mostly comprised of dogshit stories by dogshit writers. i am recommending it because i genuinely think the first 41 issues are art. please do not do as i did and read all of hellblazer. you won't survive the experience. ok? ok.
hellblazer is a comic about aging punk magician/occultist john constantine trying desperately to sort out his life in late 80s london while constantly being beset by poor life choices, poverty, and also lots and lots and lots and lots of demons.
good for: punks, anarchists, fans of the occult, enemies of aleister crowley, anyone who has a personal vendetta against margaret thatcher.
read hellblazer here, BUT STOP READING AFTER THE FIRST 41 ISSUES OK? trigger warnings for: literally almost everything you can imagine, but specifically discussions of child sexual abuse are prominent in the original sins run. also, it was written by a white man in the 80s, so it suffers from "white man in the 80s" syndrome.
3. WILDCATS (1999)
"FERRIS", some of you comic book knowers cry, "WILDCATS IS WILDSTORM NOT DC". to that i say Shut the fuck up DC acquired the rights to the wildstorm universe it's close e-fucking-nough.
wildcats 1999 is about cole cash (a conman and ex-special ops man), hadrian 7 (an alien robot posing as a human named jack marlowe), and noir (a bisexual ex-arms dealer from france who talks in the third person) picking up the pieces of the OLD wildcats team after they all found out they were soldiers in a war that ended before most of them were born and nobody bothered to tell them, and trying to 1) run a company and 2) save the world.
good for: people who hate the military, tacky sci-fi fans, anyone who wishes guys would suck more, anyone interested in the horrors of war.
read wildcats 1999 here.
4. SLEEPER
"ferris i want to leave wildstorm" too fucking bad. we're talking about sleeper right now.
sleeper is about holden carver, an undercover agent in the world's largest underground crime organization/network, who gets stuck undercover when his handler (the only guy who knows he's undercover and not just a traitor) gets shot and put in a coma. it is about grappling with your own morality, losing faith in your ideals, and (like most wildstorm properties), how war is a pointless exercise in horror.
good for: fans of spy thrillers, evil women enjoyers, evil men enjoyers, anyone who has ever thought they could make someone worse, people who want bad things to happen to people in power.
read sleeper season 1 here, and then sleeper season 2 here. trigger warnings for pedophilia (the pedophile gets beat to death in issue 2), homophobia, and child abuse.
5. THE AUTHORITY (1999)
stop crying we're almost done with wildstorm. the authority is a comic book about 6 super-people (who are very loose parodies of the justice league) forming a self-described "anarchist cell" to operate against the wishes and outside the influence of earth's governments to defend the planet against extraterrestrial threats and handle human rights violations.
good for: political science fans, good sci-fi enjoyers, people who think batman and superman should have kissed instead of making a million movies, people in polyamorous six-ples.
read the authority here. trigger warning for "this writer probably shouldn't have written this asian nation like this", homophobia, sexual abuse.
6. SUICIDE SQUAD (1987)
hey, remember how i was talking about wildcats? imagine the same sort of themes of wildcats (the horrors of war, the effects of being in the military, american imperialism, what it means to be a hero or even a good person), and then apply them to the worst group of people you've ever had the displeasure of being in the same room as, and they all fucking hate each other. suicide squad is about a bunch of incarcerated villains being "recruited" (forced) into working hero-missions for the government, because nobody will miss them if they die.
good for: villain apologists, people who (in the immortal words of hack/slash) think "there just aren't enough big mean women in comics", and this guy:
[ID: a comment on read comics online by “the king of anime” reading, “I want to give this a try would it be worth it”. end ID.]
read suicide squad here. trigger warning for, again "white man in the 80s syndrome", along with... probably pretty much everything else imaginable (it's been a while since i read this!)
7. STARMAN (1994)
starman is a story told with the drama of a theater production about jack knight, a late-20s to early-30s punk antiques dealer who gets the mantle of starman (a well-known superhero from the golden age) thrust upon him suddenly. it is a story about legacy, family duties, identity, and most importantly about being kind of a loser who gets shot at all the fucking time.
good for: sci-fi fans who are too proud to admit they also like fantasy, rock opera listeners, family disappointments, single fathers.
read starman here. trigger warning for sexual assault.
8. ARKHAM CITY: THE ORDER OF THE WORLD (2021)
"ferris you said no batman" i did. i did not say no batman villains.
arkham city: the order of the world focuses on some of batman's lesser-known foes, and the fallout of arkham asylum collapsing. i can't really explain it more than that, but it is good and legitimately unnerving at times.
good for: horror fans, enemies of the psychiatric system, villain enjoyers, people who live in new york city.
read arkham city: the order of the world here.
9. THE SHADE (1997) and THE SHADE (2012)
hey, remember starman? want a series about the old immortal victorian man with an "ambiguous sexuality" from it? okay. the shade (1997) follows his origins: specifically, his long-standing beef with one specific family. the shade (2012) is a sort of cross-country whodunnit as the shade tries to track down who is trying (and failing) to murder him.
good for: bisexual enjoyers, dramatic theater kids, vampire fans, goths, people who would have fucked lord byron given the opportunity.
read the shade (1997) here, and the shade (2012) here.
10. METAL MEN (2007)
lastly (but not least), a comic featuring will magnus from doom patrol. metal men (2007) is... a complicated story. it's about robots? it's about being mentally ill. it's about a guy who is so divorced forever. it's about being a little loser guy. it's about time travel, and terrible relationships with your brother. it's hard to describe. but it's fun.
good for: bad sci-fi enjoyers, people who can understand the timeline of looper, robot fans, anyone who has ever been consumed by a desire to create.
read metal men (2007) here.
BONUS:
not included in this list because batman is there, i encourage everyone to have a look at the original justice league international series. it is a superhero comedy. it is silly and stupid and i love it.
OKAY, THAT'S ALL! THANKS FOR READING!
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FAQ Page
She/her | 38 | I like cats and rain. My comic: https://catswaycomic.com/ My Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/greekceltic My Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/greekceltic Other links: https://linktr.ee/greekceltic Sorry in advance if you send me a message and I don't get back to you, I tend not to stress over messages/asks. I do try to read them though, and I'm always open to being asked questions about characters or my headworld/stories. I am already aware that my art is being copied. They're blocked. Please stop telling me about it. Rest of my FAQ is under the cut >
Can I repost your work? I don't mind as long as I'm credited. I'm less okay with my work being used as a pageviews grab, but it's probably not worth my time to care. If it's something I've selected to take down and don't have posted anymore, don't. If it's something you commissioned, go for it. You don't need to credit me every time you share it. Once in a while is cool.
Are you okay with fanart? What about OC interactions? Can I post it? Sure, just don't profit off of it and please credit me. If you want to draw my OCs interacting with yours that's also fine (and fun!)- though I prefer situations where their actions make sense. Alf wouldn't make your character cry, for example. He's grumpy but not cruel. Posting it is fine. Is it okay if I take inspiration from your art and concepts? I've been in a situation in recent years where another artist has taken far, far too much. It's a subject I'm pretty burnt out on. I recently saw another artist's take on this and it looked sensible to me. I'm just going to quote theirs. I have tried to find my own words, but right now I find myself more comfortable using someone else's. "Well, if you’re having to ask me for permission, either your design is too similar or you’re being overly nervous about a normal artistic process. You’re absolutely free to use my work as a source of inspiration but I’d strongly encourage you to think about the details from my design you like most, and remix them with other concepts into your own unique take."
Taking inspiration is something everyone does, but please don't become a shadow I get bi-weekly alerts about. Ideally your pool of inspiration will be many artists and concepts re-imagined into something unique to you- and that you're being honest with yourself about the result.
Your art is being copied! / Will you tell me who the copy cat is? I get a lot of messages about this and am tired. I'm sure if my art ends up somewhere it shouldn't be or there's something really worth my attention I'll find out through friends. Otherwise, I'm just sayin' get a second or third opinion before coming to my inbox. I probably already know about it.
I sent you a message and you didn't respond. Sorry about that. I tend not to stress about messages because it can be a drain. You're more likely to get a response if you let me know from the get go what you want, but nothing is guaranteed. Sometimes I didn't see it, sometimes I got busy or forgot, sometimes I plan to do it later, sometimes I just opted out. It's not personal. Where do you Rp? Are you looking for more partners? Discord mostly. Roleplay consumes a lot of time so these days I mostly only play with my buddy Thema. I probably wouldn't have time to play, but I like to hang around people that do and I don't mind being asked. Just please don't be sad if I never get around to responding! I'm most compatible with people who are comfortable with radio silence.
Can I use your characters in roleplay/as roleplay refs? Considering I actively roleplay my OCs and there's a potential for confusion, I'd rather you didn't. Though I think there's a difference between linking to my art and saying 'this is my character', and linking to it to say 'this has the mood I'm going for, but here's what's different about my character--'. The latter is fine.
Can I make Fan OCs for your setting? Thinking about this makes me tired. Maybe I'll get to a point where I'm more comfortable later, but for now I'd rather you didn't make something directly from my worlds. But lets be real, you don't need my permission to draw cat monsters and I take a huge amount of inspiration from ancient history. Many of my concepts are inspired by things that you can read about and be inspired too. If you see something and are curious if there's a historical source, just ask. Hopefully I'll remember.
Do I have permission to draw NSFW art of your characters? No, for a plethora of reasons, some easy to explain and some not, but I probably can't stop you. Just don't profit off of it or show it to me.
Do you have a website for your OCs? I have RP pages for them scattered all over the place and many of them are outdated, but as I type this I recently put some up on Toyhouse. https://toyhou.se/GreekCeltic
Do you have a website for your comic? Sure do. It's an expensive fuck. https://catswaycomic.com/ When does your comic update? Sporadically. I work on it when I have time. My income is solely freelance commissions and Patreon- mostly commissions.
There's other places you could post your comic! Yeah, I know. I may do that someday, but for now I like having my own house, even if it's an expensive fuck. (Not really, the renewal just hits around tax time, Lol).
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Love that you're doing these!
I hope I'm not taking this into an angsty direction, but I'd really love some
↻ FLIP FLOP on Where We Left Off
Only if you're inspired, of course! Otherwise just ignore.
Erm... it's gone in a angsty direction. Sorry! That fic is so angsty I can't believe I ever thought otherwise! BUT... I'll put it under a cut for you to read when you have the emotional capacity, and if you have any requests for a fluffier scene, I will absolutely do that 💜 (hopefully the fact that Wille is very, very in love will help, AND we know how it all ends now soooooo.... sorry... but I hope you enjoy it anyway).
Thanks for the ask! I've had a lot of fun with this today. I'm still answering these and these.
This is Wille's POV of the scene at the start of chapter 8 where he picks Simon up. It got... long.
As the car pulled up to the curb where Simon’s location was pinging, Wille scrambled out of the door before it had even drawn to a stop, his PO getting out and throwing him an unimpressed look as Wille rushed over to Simon’s side.
“Simon?”
Shit, he looked terrible. Simon still had his phone clutched to his ear, his eyes sliding out of focus. Shitshitshit.
“Simon.” He said it more forcefully this time, and Simon blinked a few times and looked up at him, lowering his phone.
“Hmm?” he said, his eyes still slightly unfocused.
Panic rose in Wille’s chest. What was wrong? Why had he called Wille when he clearly needed some sort of medical attention? Why was he out here all on his own in the middle of the night?
“Simon. Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance?”
That seemed to snap Simon out of it a little, because he looked annoyed when he said, “What? No. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m fine.”
Fine was not a word Wille would have used to describe how Simon looked at this moment, but he did seem to be a lot more with it than he had a few seconds ago.
Undeterred, Wille instinctively reached out and gripped Simon’s face, turning it left and right to see if he could see any damage. “What happened? Did someone hurt you?”
A complicated array of emotions flickered across Simon’s face as Wille dropped it, already missing the feel of Simon’s skin underneath his own.
“No,” Simon said, shaking his head. “I just fell. I’m fine.”
Wille wondered if he should ask any of the million and one other questions that that hadn’t answered. But Simon was already saying, more forcefully, “I promise.”
Wille waited for a moment, trying to assess how much he should press, but eventually he just said, “Okay. Can you stand?”
Simon nodded. “I think so.”
Trying not to think too hard about it, Wille offered his hands. It made his heart soar in his chest how easily Simon took them; and then he internally berated himself for feeling any sort of joy from this moment.
With regret, Wille let go of Simon’s hands once he was fully upright, but Simon swayed forward alarmingly, causing Wille to reach out to him again.
“Whoa,” Wille said. Then a thought hit him, he hadn’t considered that maybe— “Are you—? Have you been drinking?”
Simon looked so offended by that notion that Wille breathed a slight sigh of relief. He wasn’t really emotionally equipped to deal with a drunk Simon.
“No! No. I mean— sorry. No. I’m just tired.”
Wille looked more closely now and could see that Simon’s eyes, whilst still a little bleary, were mostly just droopy. Dark circles smeared below them, contrasted by the telltale red rings from crying.
“Come on,” Wille said, pointing to the car. “We’ll take you home.”
He was surprised to see Simon shrink in on himself at those words. “I don’t want to go home.”
“Okay.” Confused for a moment, Wille frowned. Then an idea came to him, one he was sure was crossing several lines. But since Simon was, in fact, sober, maybe Wille could trust him to make the decision for himself. “Do you— Would you like to come back to mine?”
Wille really hoped that Simon couldn’t tell how hard Wille’s heart was beating. The idea of having Simon in his home was so exhilarating that he wasn’t sure he was schooling his expression very well at all. Luckily, Simon looked down at his feet as he nodded his head, and Wille could see a blush high on his cheeks. At least he wasn’t the only one having a physical reaction to this whole thing.
Nodding, Wille went to tell the PO to call ahead for them and then turned back to Simon. “Here.” With a shuddering breath, he placed his hand on Simon’s back, trying to ignore his heartbeat clawing up his throat as he tried to rein himself in. He just wanted to bundle Simon into his arms and hold him until everything else went away, but they hadn’t spoken in so long, and everything had been left on such bad terms.
Guiding Simon into his seat first, Wille quickly rounded the car and lowered himself down, careful not to jostle Simon who still looked decidedly fragile. What on earth had happened to him?
It seemed Simon was content with the quiet as the set off, but Wille needed Simon to know that he was there, in whatever capacity Simon needed. That he’d do practically anything for this man that was currently shaking slightly in the seat beside him. This beautiful, wonderful man that he had loved so fiercely, and lost so spectacularly.
“Do you want to talk about it?” was what he said, instead.
Simon shook his head. “No. I— not yet.”
Did that mean later? Or never? Or not with Wille?
It didn’t matter. This was about what Simon needed. So Wille nodded and gave Simon some space as he drew in some wobbly breaths.
Wille watched his profile. The slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the curl of the hairs at the base of his head that Wille had always loved to run his fingers through. He was the most beautiful person Wille had ever known, and he didn’t think he’d ever not be in love with him.
What if this was it? His last opportunity to have any sort of involvement in Simon’s life? Simon had made it very clear that they couldn’t be together. So maybe this was Wille’s last chance.
Slowly, carefully, Wille edged his hand forward and onto Simon’s seat. One breath. Two— Then, miraculously, Simon’s fingers were curling around his own, holding on tight.
Heart skipping a beat, Wille tried to blink away the prickling in the back of his eyes. This was all he’d ever wanted, and it was all so broken. But if he could just hold Simon’s hand, reassure him that he was there, then maybe everything could be okay. Wille squeezed his hand, hearing Simon’s breath catch, and then turned away, hoping with every fibre of his being that this wasn’t the end of their story.
#purplehoodiesandclementines#young royals#yr fanfic#fic writer ask#writer ask#where we left off#gulliblelemon
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Some sketches of my babies and y/n <3
And maybe I'll add a couple of thoughts about this variation.
cooking together
While cooking together, Karaku and Urogi usually do anything, but not cook. Urogi of course tries to help if he is asked about it, but it turns out badly. At least he tries. Karaku just eats and watches the others do something. Aizetsu and Sekido help y/n cook, but it usually ends up with Sekido getting dirty. Aizetsu is fine as long as he is not allowed to cut the onion, because the baby will then cry even more than usual (0((
Zohakuten does not participate in the cooking because he is still too young, but when he grows up he will be happy to help cook <3
Aizetsu
When Aizetsu has a nightmare or is just sad, he comes to you and cuddles with y/n while she cradles him like a baby. In the end they always fall asleep together 🥹
Don't ask me why but I think Aizetsu would watch Maya the Bee or Pororo. Just don't ask.
He probably wouldn't like games that are too violent, so he'd probably play some kind of peaceful and cute games
I don't know about his hobbies, but I think it would be drawing or jigsaw puzzles🤔
Kill me if he doesn't have a lot of soft toys in his room or he's not a fan of Hello Kitty
His mug would look like this:
Urogi
Urogi is definitely the type of child who jumps on his mother from a running start and hugs her tightly, especially when he misses her
He definitely has a little parrot, you can't convince me otherwise. The parrot has a cute name like "Kiwi"<3
I think we can all agree that he is a big fan of birds, so he would watch any bird documentary or bird cartoon
Bro rarely cleans his room unless he is reminded to clean💀
The most active among his brothers, so his hobbies would be related to sports, I guess
He must have had lice at least once in his life😦
His mug would look like this:
Sekido
Sekido doesn't have much affection for y/n at first, but over time he gets used to her and often holds her hand
I think he's the type of kid who watches horror movies at night thinking he's old enough but then bro can't sleep alone so he comes up to y/n saying things like "Ngh, just Karaku keeps me awake with his snoring 😒" and it doesn't matter that they sleep in different rooms
He's not a big fan of hugs, but he doesn't mind hugging occasionally
He is the oldest among the brothers and he loves to lead them. When y/n can't calm them down, Sekido takes on the role of parent.
He mostly gets mad at Karaku and Urogi. "STOP GIVING TROUBLE TO MOM, IDIOTS!"
I think he would be the only one who drinks coffee with y/n in the morning. His mug would look like this. He doesn't really care which mug to drink from as long as no one touches his mug.
Karaku
Fully enjoys kisses on the forehead and cheeks before bed, and he'll be really upset if y/n ever forget to kiss him.
He has such a soothing voice, so if he reads bedtime stories for his younger brothers, then they immediately fall asleep
Karaku watches horror movies with Sekido, but after just a few minutes of the movie, he looks like "😰"
Bro thinks babies are found in cabbage
I think his hobby would also be related to sports, but besides that, he could collect a herbarium
Maybe the type of kid who steals the parent's clothes
His mug would look like this, don't ask me why:
Zohakuten
He doesn't speak much, but for some reason he swears when his older brothers annoy him💀 how does he know these words..
He likes the company of Sekido, Aizetsu or y/n
He always says "mommy y/n" so adorably <3
I think he would be a fan of dragons and dinosaurs. I think he even has a soft toy dragon that he can't sleep without
As I said earlier, he and Sekido sometimes have violent outbursts where he screams and cries at the same time. After such situations, the poor baby asks for hugs on his own.
For some reason he gets jealous when his brothers try to stop him from hugging y/n. (Bro really looks like "😠")
So I hope you enjoyed this. Sorry if there are typos or anything like that.
#kimetsu no yaiba#demon slayer#hantengu clones#aizetsu#urogi#hantengu clones x reader#karaku#sekido#zohakuten
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Long post ahead, read if you want.
tw: mental health, mention of depression
So I've been very inactive these days, and it's because I am Dealing With My Issues irl, which is sucky and shitty and I'd really rather be living on Tumblr and writing prompts all day but sometimes... Life just doesn't allow that luxury. Especially when you're feeling stuck and your mental health is getting in the way of you functioning properly without feeling stuck in the same vicious cycles of your own brain's doing.
In all honesty, I haven't been feeling the best for the past few months, and I feel like my mental state has been on a decline, and I feel like it's gotten worse now that I'm in a relationship.
This is not to blame my partner or anything but to say that getting into a relationship involves your issues, that have always been there, surfacing properly. And when I mean surfacing properly, I mean you become so much more acutely aware of shit you've been able to suppress for a long time and never bothered addressing. You become aware of yourself as a person, you start to realise all of your flaws in such a vicious and cutting manner, and that shit hurts like a bitch.
You finally get to see a reflection of you, plus the issues you've been carrying on your shoulders for way too long.
I've been crying so much these days, I've been overthinking a lot, and feeling like complete and utter shit. I've been getting into more frequent fights with my mum, I feel like a failure in basically all aspects of my life, and like I'm not good enough, and like my insecurities are eating my alive, which isn't helping my mental state at all. My mood has just been on the low most days. I need constant distractions, otherwise I will have to sit with my own thoughts, and that scares the living shit out of me.
Because what do you mean I have to sit there and process my feelings? Eugh, brother, eugh! Fuck no!
But on a more serious note, all of this shit has finally got me up on my feet, so I'd do something about them and get the help I've needed for quite a long while now. My partner encouraged me to finally make this step, even though I have thought of seeking help for quite a while now but just never did so. It's mostly for reasons and the fact that I was scared 'cause I didn't know what it would be like to actually reach out and spill my guts out to some stranger.
I saw a counsellor at my university for the first time this week and it went better than expected. For one, I didn't cry during the appointment! He's a very nice dude, and it felt nice talking to someone who could put my thoughts in order and give me actual solutions. Venting to friends is nice, but it gets to a point where even that doesn't help, or you feel like you're bitching too much.
I did get told I could be heading into a depressive episode (fucking fun, I know) and my depression/stress score was pretty high, although my anxiety score isn't too high (which is surprise considering my overthinking), so we're trying to work through that.
Next appointment is in around two weeks' time, and until then, I live in my head once more and have to deal with my emotions without going into breakdowns every two business days.
I don't know when I'll be properly active on here. I've kind of just abandoned everything (this blog, my Discord server, my social medias) in the midst of it all, but I'll try to come back and post more often.
But yeah. That's where I'm at.
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