#prompt: spare me

[serickswrites]

Spare

Part 2

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, self sacrifice, forced to watch, drowning, mcd

"Please," Caretaker sobbed as Whumper stalked towards them, "please spare me, Whumper. Spare me." They couldn't stand this. Any of this. Whumper would torture them, kill them even, if given the chance. They couldn't let that happen to them.

"Why would I do that, Caretaker? Your terror is absolutely delightful. Especially compared to how stoic Whumpee is. I would much rather hurt someone who is openly afraid. It's much more," Whumper paused dramatically as they stopped short of Caretaker, "enjoyable."

Caretaker pulled on the cuffs keeping them restraint. "Please, please, spare me!"

"Take me instead," Whumpee offered quietly. They hadn't said much said Caretaker had screamed at them to shut up. Caretaker had wailed and wailed for hours, cursing Whumper and blaming Whumpee for being trapped.

"We're in this mess because of you!" Caretaker shouted when Whumpee had tried to comfort them. "I wish I had never listened to you!"

"I'm sorry, Caretaker. It's going to be ok. We're going to be ok."

"Whumper is going to torture us and kill us! How is that ok? I wish I had never listened to you. I hate you! I wish I never met you!"

Whumpee went silent after that. Caretaker hadn't cared. They were too absorbed in their own panic to care. Whumper was going to torture them both. They had to find a way out.

"Take me instead," Whumpee repeated. They didn't look at Caretaker. They didn't sound afraid. They stared at Whumper, their determination clear.

"You're volunteering for this?" Whumper cocked a brow. "You could die, Whumpee. Are you sure? You don't want to let Caretaker go in your place? They said some awful things earlier."

Whumpee nodded. "Take me. Hurt me. Leave Caretaker alone."

Whumper's grin grew. "Very well then, this will be fun, I can tell. You're going to prove to be quite the challenge, Whumpee." Whumper hurried over and unhooked Whumpee from the chains, still keeping their wrists cuffed. "We'll see how long you last. The brave ones either go pretty fast, or they last for a long time. Which flavor are you?"

Whumpee thrust their chin out. "You'll get to find out, but you can't hurt Caretaker."

Whumper nodded. "Yes, yes. Hurt you. Only you. Leave Caretaker alone. No problem."

Whumpee walked willingly with Whumper over to the large tub in the center of the room. It was rusty in spots and filled with cold, cold water. "Kneel," Whumper commanded.

Whumpee slowly got to their knees. They still didn't look at Caretaker. They stared straight ahead. Caretaker was too afraid to say anything. Too afraid to draw attention to themself. Surely Whumper would hold Whumpee under a few times and then leave them in a sopping sobbing mess.

"Let's see how long you can hold your breath for," Whumper said as they kicked Whumpee's legs wide and knelt between them. They held Whumpee briefly to their chest before shoving Whumpee's head below the surface.

Whumpee, to their credit, held very still for a while. They didn't move. Didn't thrash. Didn't try to buck Whumper off. They merely let their head be held under the water.

"Well this is dull," Whumper said as they held Whumpee's head beneath the water. "Let's make this more interesting." They punched Whumpee in the ribs hard.

Caretaker could see bubbles rush from Whumpee's lips. "That's cheating, Whumper! They weren't fighting!"

"Exactly," Whumper said as they put all their weight on the hand keeping Whumpee's head beneath the water. Whumpee bucked and thrashed wildly beneath Whumper's hand. "This is much more fun."

"They're drowning. You're killing them!" Caretaker shouted. Their heart hammered in their chest, fearing for Whumpee's life.

"They won't drown yet," Whumper said as they lifted Whumpee's head from the water. Whumpee gasped and choked, water spewing from their lips. "See? Not dead."

Before Whumpee could get a good breath or Caretaker could say anything, Whumper shoved Whumpee's head below the surface again. "Please! Don't kill them!" Caretaker begged. They had wanted to be spared. They had wanted to be safe. But they didn't want it to come at the cost of Whumpee being drowned to death.

"Killing them too quick will ruin my fun. I want this to last as long as possible."

Whumper repeated the process countless times. Caretaker's throat was raw from shouting at Whumper. But it hadn't mattered. Whumper had kept their word and only went after Whumpee. Caretaker remained untouched.

"Let's see if you can last just a bit longer, Whumpee. If you do, you're the longest lasting toy I've ever had. Isn't that wonderful?"

Whumpee's eyes were unfocused. Their chest heaved and it was unclear if they could even hear Whumper. Caretaker had to figure a way out. Whumpee couldn't last much longer.

Whumper shoved Whumpee completely into the tub, submerging Whumpee in the icy water. "This is much more fun this way."

"Whumper!" Caretaker shouted as Whumper stepped into the tub, pressing one boot on Whumpee to keep them below the water. Whumpee's legs flailed wildly as they tried to kick out. "Whumper! Let them go! Don't kill them, Whumper!"

Whumpee's foot connected with Whumper's knee and Whumper stumbled. With a growl, Whumper kicked Whumpee in the face. They knelt in the water, pinning Whumpee completely. Caretaker hollered and yelled for Whumper to stop, but Whumper couldn't hear over the splashing water. Whumper punched Whumpee over and over. Their anger was unrelenting. Rage contorted their features into a grotesque mask of anger.

Slowly, Whumpee's frantic kicking stopped. Slowly, Whumpee's thrashing in the water stopped. Slowly, the water grew still once more.

"Let them up, they can't breathe!" Caretaker urged Whumper.

But Whumper didn't acknowledge them. They ignored Caretaker and instead glared down at Whumpee beneath the water. "Whumper! Whumper!" Caretaker tried again. But Whumper ignored them.

Finally, after what felt an age, Whumper stood up. Caretaker didn't let out the breath they were holding. They wouldn't, not until they could see Whumpee breathing again. "Well, so much for longest lasting toy," Whumper finally said.

"What?" Caretaker's blood froze. No. No. This couldn't be true.

"I don't think anyone could have survived that, Caretaker. Whumpee's good, but five minutes below the water good? I don't think so."

"NO!"

Whumper reached beneath the water and grabbed Whumpee by the throat and lifted. Whumpee's head lolled in Whumper's hands. Their hair was plastered to their face, obscuring their features from view. Their limbs hung limply as Whumper lifted them higher. "Not my longest lasting, but certainly one of my most fun."

"Whumpee, Whumpee, say something!"

Whumper rolled their eyes. "Caretaker I told you, no one could have survived that long. Whumpee can't answer you. They're dead. See?"

Whumper tossed Whumpee like a ragdoll towards Caretaker. Whumpee landed in a heap where they remained unmoving. This couldn't be happening. Couldn't be true. Whumper stalked over and kicked Whumpee onto their back. Their body offered no resistance as they rolled.

"Whumpee, please," Caretaker whispered, refusing to believe Whumper. Whumper had lied before. Because if Whumper was telling the truth, then Whumpee had died in their place. After they said all of those awful things. Caretaker wouldn't be able to live with themself if this were true.

"Look, Caretaker, look," Whumper said with a dark chuckle as they brushed Whumpee's sopping hair off their face.

Something broke inside Caretaker as they stared into Whumpee's half lidded eyes. Something broke as they stared at Whumpee's slack jaw, their lips parted for the gulp of air they would never get. Something broke as they stared at Whumpee's lifeless body.

Caretaker sobbed, unable to articulate anything into words. This was their fault. This was all their fault. Whumpee was dead because they had been a coward. And they had said terrible things to Whumpee. And now Whumpee was dead. Had died thinking Caretaker hated them. Had died for Caretaker.

"Still," Whumper said as they stared down into Whumpee's lifeless eyes, "one of the most fun toys I've ever had. It's a shame they had to break."

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal @pedro-pedro-pedro-pedro-pe

@artisticdemon

[poobirdy]

happy bingge for gibsonrae1's donation to svsssaction! instead of amassing a harem, bingge becomes a cat dad bc happy cats make happy people! (even though the event is no longer accepting donations, perhaps consider donating to fundraisers vetted by gaza funds / gaza esims as supplies are very low!)

[biblically-accurate-dca]

@vanweek2024 day 6 - spare

vanny goes bowling !

[grailknightmonty]

but you make me feel at home, in the neon glow

little ethubs doodle inspired by a clip of them watchin fireworks (under the cut) C: theyre always so close to each other im so ;0;

credit to @/Ethvbs for clip and pose inspo also from @/kc_ul8r (both on twt)

[necrotic-nephilim]

as an apology for being gone for a month, have a uquiz i spent a week making! pls feel free to reblog with which character you got, i worked way too hard on this silly little thing. there are eight different characters you can get that are varying levels of unknown, with comic recommendations for each character <3

[myymi]

i wanna write smthn with knuckles and tails so badly but for the life of me i cant think of anything to actually write

[ghoulodont]

Full Sour

Mushy May 2024 — late night snacks. Dewdrop tries something new.

Relationship: Raindrop Characters: Dewdrop, Rain Words: 1045

Mushy May prompts by @forlorn-crows

Read below or on AO3

Somehow, it’s the unexpected stillness of the bus, the absence of the usual rattle of highway travel, that pulls Rain from his half-sleep in his bunk. He turns on his phone screen and peeks at it, one eye closed against the brightness — it’s past three in the morning. He has almost convinced himself to just roll over and wait for sleep to claim him fully when he hears the telltale rustling of someone else getting out of their bunk.

When he slides his privacy curtain partway open, just a few inches to one side, he makes inadvertent eye contact with Dewdrop — the source of the noise, now stood in the aisle between the rows of bunks. Dew doesn’t say anything, just tips his head to the side as if he’s asking a question. Then he turns and walks out of view, in the direction of the front lounge.

Suddenly, sleep is far away. Rain crawls out of his bunk.

Dew is waiting just outside the bus. The nighttime air is cool and scented with gasoline and exhaust. A truly formidable rest area building looms at the end of the parking lot — the kind with restaurants and shops, a glowing retail oasis. The light from it, and from the tall, spindly light poles, like metal palm trees, accentuates the structure of Dew’s face — brow, nose, cheekbones.

“Were you going to go inside?” Rain asks him.

Dew shrugs, hands in his pockets. “I don’t know, just stretching my legs, I guess.”

Rain nods. Then, after a pause, “We could go walk around in there?”

Dew shrugs again.

If Dew won’t make a decision, Rain will. He starts walking towards the building and Dew follows without missing a beat.

Inside is a dining area surrounded by fast food restaurants, all shuttered for the night, and one convenience store. Rain has found himself growing a soft spot for this kind of place — not the food court, but this particular type of store found along the highway peddling souvenir nonsense, magnets in the shape of states, shirts with local landmarks. The location changes, but the items stay the same — swap out one state for another. It’s comforting in a way, a reminder that you’re always somewhere.

Dew wanders off at some point between the novelty shot glasses and the miniature teddy bears. Once Rain has had his fill of overpriced knickknacks, he takes a detour through the candy aisle to pick up a bag of sour gummy worms — the ones Dew always says are “not even sour” — before meeting back up with him.

On the other side of the store, Dew is standing in front of an open refrigerator case, lit by its fluorescent glow. As Rain gets closer, he watches as he picks up an enormous pickle, entombed in its own brine in a clear plastic pouch, and flips it around to read the back of the package.

He looks up as Rain approaches him. “Aren’t you curious about these?”

Rain wrinkles his nose involuntarily. “No?”

“But you like pickles.”

He does like pickles, generally, yes. “Yeah, but not pickles in a… plastic bag.”

Dew frowns at him.

“I mean, I probably wouldn’t eat anything from this case.” Rain scans the shelves. His gaze lands on an unappealing plastic cup of anemic melon chunks.

“Whatever. I want to try it,” Dew says. “You getting anything else?”

Rain looks down at the bag of gummy worms in his hand. He shakes his head.

Dew leads the way to the checkout counter. Soon, their meager haul is paid for and they’re heading back to the bus.

Once they’re in the front lounge, Dew stops in his tracks and begins to tear the plastic at the top of the pickle pouch.

“You’re actually going to eat that? Or is it some kind of joke?” Rain watches as Dew finishes tearing the pouch open and pulls the pickle halfway out of its packaging. The way he holds it wrapped in its own torn skin is reminiscent of some sort of corrupted banana.

“I’m going to eat it right now.” Dew sits down on the couch, leaning back lazily. He pats the seat next to him.

Rain sits. He might as well see what’s going to happen.

Dew brings the pickle up to his face. He sniffs it. He takes a bite and chews thoughtfully.

“Could be crunchier,” is his verdict.

Rain’s face pulls into a concerned frown.

“Want some?” Dew offers. He extends the pickle out towards Rain. The inside of it is vibrantly yellow-green, the same color as the brine in the bag, the toxic pickle embalming fluid it’s been sitting in.

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not, it’s good.” Dew takes another bite, a bigger one this time, then holds the pickle out again.

Some little piece of Rain wonders if it really would taste good. Looking at Dew’s face, his very sincere expression, brows raised slightly, makes his brain short circuit.

Rain sniffs the pickle. It smells like vinegar and a hint of plastic, or something chemical. He briefly wonders what formaldehyde smells like. He takes a small bite.

Before he can process what’s going on, he suddenly is holding an unchewed bite of pickle in his cupped hand. He shivers involuntarily, his whole body unexpectedly wracked by every known flavor packed into a piece of limp cucumber.

“Why is it spicy?” is the first thing he thinks to say. It comes out a forceful, hissed whisper.

“Because— What did you think ‘hot pickle’ was going to mean?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t know pickles could be spicy!” Rain blinks hard and sniffles wetly.

Dew turns the pickle package around to look at the front of it, then flips it back around again and shows it to Rain. He points to a small decal that reads “Hot & Spicy Flavor”.

“I— Okay, well, I didn’t read that part,” Rain squeaks.

Dew shushes him, eyes flicking toward the bunk area. Then he leans back against the sofa and takes another bite from his pickle.

“Are you seriously going to eat all of that?”

“Yeah, look, zero calories.” He shows the back of the package this time, where the nutrition facts are.

“That’s not what I was worried about.”

Dew shrugs and takes another bite.

[pyrepostings]

Dangle your tiny whumpee with tongs over a deep fryer. Watch it squirm!

Lightly dip it in, look how quickly it turns red all over!

Flick in water to show how hot the oil is!

If it's immortal or immune to heat, just hold it under! Its screams are silent over the sizzle of the oil searing its flesh!

[lurafita]

Malec Soulmate (angsty)

How about soulmates and (kind of) reincarnations. If we think that soulmates are two people whose souls are meant for each other, and if we further think that after a life is over, the souls get cleansed of the old life and then are (re)born into a new life.

But souls that are connected to each other will find their other piece in that new life eventually. Hence, soulmates. Right?

So now imagine one of those souls being in the body of an immortal. Like Magnus. Who doesn't grow old and doesn't die and is therefore not reborn into a new life. But his partner is mortal. And the one time they weren’t, they were killed by a shadowhunter.

And Magnus has connected with his soulmate many a time in his centuries of life. And has had to go through the pain of losing them to death just as many times. And he can’t anymore. It's too much. He can’t go through that again. Enter Alec. His soulmate. Who is mortal. And a shadowhunter.

I keep imagining that it would come out in a private conversation? Like Alec, fed up of being rejected yet again (they are soulmates! Magnus should know that there is no running from this and anything that Magnus believes stands in their way, Alec will do whatever is in his power to change. They are meant to be!), corners Magnus somewhere and things get to a head.

With Alec thinking that it's because of him being a shadowhunter and Magnus being known to have little love for them (which Alec gets, knowing that Magnus fought in the uprising and has been victim to the shadowhunter brand of superiority for many years), and he wants to prove to Magnus that he is different, that they are different and they belong togehter and Magnus just has to give him a chance. And then it just kind of spills out of Magnus.

How he has done this already. Met him already. Many times. "The first time I found you, you were a prince, but still a child, and I didn't want to do anything to… to manipulate or groom you. So I decided to come back when you were older, so that the power imbalance between us wouldn't be so severe. Only to learn that you had died from an illness just two years after I left. The second time, you were a woman working as a seamstress. We spent two wonderful decades together before the townspeople burned you at a stake while I was away, believing me the devil and you a witch for loving me. The third time, you were a young man, just recently turned into a vampire. And I thought this time, this time it will last. But a prejudiced shadowhunter found you a little too close to their headquaters and thought this grounds to end you. I found you a fourth, and a fifth, and even a sixth time. But our time together was always cut too short. I have lived through losing you far too often. And I can't keep doing it. And now you are once again a mortal, and a shadowhunter to boot. How long would I have you this time? A few years? A decade with any luck? Mere months? I'm sorry, Alexander. I can't."

[writing-on-the-wahl]

Partner in Crime

For @thepenultimateword's Song-Story Writing Challenge Extravaganza

Song prompt submitted by @starry-night-author - I hope this does what you'd imagined justice!

(song info at the end, read the snippet first :)

Empty shadows and dim streetlights. 

A locked door and a pair of headlights. 

Henchman slid down further in the passenger seat of the dark sedan parked strategically across the street from her quarry as the pale lights pulled around the corner and the silence of the empty street was shattered. 

--already late, got to hurry. He might have already left and if I blow this job--

Crooked tires and a slamming door. 

--do I have all the supplies? Yes, you checked twice you numskull, the code, the code, don’t drop anything--

The figure fumbled over their bags until a single finger snaked out towards the shining metal buttons that stood out against the weathered side of the of the old brick mansion that took up half the block. 

--there we go, 64729, yes now the handle, no!--

A thick folder smacked against the ground, and the  crouched awkwardly with their laden arms to reclaim it, turning enough that the streetlight gleamed off the smooth cheeks of the fresh-faced hero. 

When the door finally slammed shut behind them, Henchman dropped her focus, and the chaotic thoughts faded into the quiet buzzing of a trapped fly. 

Four weeks of nightly surveillance, and she finally had the last code they needed. 

Her pen scratched across the inside of her wrist. 64729. 

As the minutes turned to hours, she let her eyes close and her mind wander. He wouldn’t want to wait, not with the XX approaching, Everything else was already in place. Tomorrow, the wait would be over. 

The sky was two shades lighter when the door finally opened again. 

The figure reimerged, hands empty, and darted to their car, head ducked and eyes scanning the shadows. 

The red tail lights were still visible when Henchman blinked, and he was beside her, the driver's door already clicking shut. 

His thoughts hummed, flying by like a bullet train, smooth and blurred like they always were. “You got it?” It was more a statement than a question, and Henchman pressed her lips together to keep from beaming at the unspoken praise. 

“I got it,” she confirmed, twisting her arm to show him the numbers on her wrist. 

This thoughts zoomed, as fast as he was, until the train slowed into a single track of a toy train running circles under a tree as he caught her hand and slowly kissed the inside of her wrist. 

Genius, brilliant talent, indispensable. 

Henchman was glad for the shadows that kept the heat in her cheeks hidden. 

When his mind raced, it was like a override channel, white noise she could focus on to tune out the chaos of the crowds around her. 

But she loved even more the rich texture of his mind when he slowed down and his thoughts turned to appreciation. His praises never failed to make her melt. 

“You’re incredible, H.” 

She barely stopped herself from responding with “No you are.” It would have been too corny, and unnecessary. Villain was a genius, and he knew it. 

His thoughts picked up again, flying by but at a pace she could follow. A silver keypad, a brick hallway, a gleaming brass safe. His forehead brushed her as his thoughts slowed to a stop as the safe swung open and revealed their treasure. 

She looked into his dark scheming eyes, so close to hers. 

“Tomorrow?” 

Villain smiled the wicked smile she loved so much, and, in her mind, he leaned forward an inch until their lips finally met. 

He sat back into his seat, already running through the plan again. 

“Tomorrow.” 

-------

Hurry, hurry we’re going to be late!

Two cappuccinos, one americano, one diet americano, three blacks, two chai-- no three? Was it two? Mia, Thomas, Mindy? Did she have one?? Who am I missing-- 

Four blocks down and take a left--

I should have picked the black shoes, I can already feel the blisters forming. 

Can I just quit and sell books online? I don’t want to people today… 

Get out of the way you moron it looks like rain twelve dozen is not enough cute dog there she is I want oh sorry they’re calling again now please sweaters work open mine stopmyturnclosebootslatepeopleparkwalkinggo--

“Henchman.”

Large hands dropped on her shoulders, and the flood of voices disappeared as the purring hum of thoughts wrapped around her. 

Villain slid one hand down her shaking arms to grasp her hand. 

“Henchman.” 

At the second time, she looked up at him. 

“You can do this. Twenty minutes and we will be back at base.” 

Base. Headquarters. Safety. Home. 

The sanctuary Villain had made for her where no other minds could drown out her own. 

Henchman turned back to the street crowded with light and people. So different from its quiet shadows of the night. 

“Henchman.” 

She pulled her eyes back to Villain. “Six minutes of focus, and then it will be over.” His hand on her shoulder tightened. “Six minutes, just like we practiced.” 

She forced a swallow and a nod. 

His mind ran through the plan once more, and she did her best to follow as the voices pressed against her. 

When Villain was satisfied she wasn’t going to fall apart, he released her and stepped back. 

“We’ll just walk down the street like a happy couple and slip inside.” 

The nod came easier this time. It was an image she often pictured. 

The hand that was still wrapped around hers shifted until their fingers were intertwined, and her heart stuttered as he pulled her out of the alley and into the stream of pedestrians. 

The warmth of it occupied her mind until Villain pulled her to an abrupt halt and before she’d registered they’d stopped, the door was open and they were slipping into the narrow brick hallway. 

Henchman lost track of the turns as Villain pulled her through the labyrinth of hallways. 

Using the humming of his thoughts as a buffer as she used her powers to avoid guards and patrons as he dragged her through the repurposed mansion. 

Three minutes and fourth two seconds since they left the safety of the alley, they came to a stop in front of a wide mahogany door. 

Villain picked the lock in the blink of an eye. His hand on the handle, he turned back to her. 

Henchman shook her head. 

No minds were present behind that door. 

The safe was covered by the painting behind the desk. A cheap imitation of a Monet that was worth less than the gaudy frame that held it. 

Henchman dropped into the leather desk chair with a sigh of relief as Villain went to work at the safe.

The whirring of the safe handle was the only sound as Henchman shuffled through the desk drawers, pocketing a golden hilted letter opener and a ruby crusted pennant ring. 

Leaning back in the chair, she enjoyed the pillowing cushion of silence that eased the pounding headache that was building behind her eyes. 

Through the window she heard a dog barking and the distant echo of a siren. 

Henchman sat up with a jolt as the final tumbler dropped into place and the door to the safe creaked open. 

“Wait!” 

A cloud of mist exploded from the safe; her warning too little, too late. 

Henchman doubled over as the tear gas burned her eyes. The door they’d closed behind them slammed open, and the flood of mind-voices returned like a tidal wave. 

A room that blocked out the thoughts of others. Oh how foolish she’d been. Villain had created for her just such a space. 

The voices crested with the throbbing in her head that had returned tenfold.  

The loudest of the voices was filled with derision. 

“Did you really think we were such fools?” 

A hand on her shoulder. 

She ignored the judgment in the hero’s question and looked up at her partner in crime. His eyes were creased with regret. 

Villain. 

It was as if he was the one reading her mind this time. 

His thoughts were a jumbled mess. A ten lane freeway rather than a bullet train. 

Analyzing all the possibilities. 

But Henchman already knew the answer. 

He’d come back for her. 

She lifted her hand to his on her shoulder. 

“Run.”

The song for this prompt was Partner in Crime by Madilyn Mai

Taglist:

@im-a-wonderling @shieldmaiden-of-gondor @watercolorfreckles @distance-does-not-matter @onestopheroxvillain @lolafaiy @chaoticgoodandi @1becky1 @tobeornottobeateacher @himynameisorla @superherosweet @brekker-by-brekkerr @crazytwentythrees @great-day-today @sunflower1000@selectivegeekwithstandards @chibicelloking @trantolette @sapphiques @jinpanman @genesissane @wish1bone1 @amongtheonedaisy @distractedlydistracted @kitsunesakii @glitterythief @jinx1365 @cherrychewingbrat @in-patient-princess @thepenultimateword @sorrow-and-bliss @technikerin23 @deflated-bouncingball @talesofurbania1 @rivalriotrenegade @valiantlytransparentwhispers

[tulipe-rose]

My contribution to the Dazai week 2024→ Day 1

"A good night's sleep isn't so bad sometimes..."

TW: Dazai typical suicide mentions, and sleep deprivation

This will include hcs, a little theory, and a little bit of platonic KuniZai. I deviated a little from the main point for the majority of the fic, but I tried ig TvT

Prologue

Dazai, and sleep.

Their relationship has been strained for as long as he could remember, and while it might not be saying much due to his usually awful memory, it was one of the things he had absolute certainty over when it came to himself.

He had always been a light sleeper, his body refusing to sleep anywhere with a fraction of light, feeling too vulnerable, and exposed, which prompted him to take an abandoned shipping container stationed at the Yokohama docks as a sleeping quarters. His Boss, Mōri Ōgai, tried to offer him a befitting apartment on numerous occasions, but Dazai always turned him down bluntly. Dazai preferred loathed the solitary atmosphere of the container, and found himself leaning towards not owning many material possessions; his suicidal tendancies came hand in hand with a minimalistic nature, since he believed his life would end up falling short in the end. This mindset carried over with him to later years, his current apartment, and over all lifestyle as proof.

Dazai's sleep schedule was mostly controlled by his mood, and assigned missions back in the day, usually dropping himself face first into his pillow after a mission that dragged out for too long, and he was absolutely beat; his naps never exceeded four hours because of either discomfort, or notice of another mission.

During the two year gap between his defection, and employment at the agency, Dazai's paranoia demon haunted him for days on end which prevented him from resting well, further worsening his mentality, and physical health; he ended up collapsing on the spot one day, so he started forcing himself into a sleeping state for just about long enough to keep himself alive.

Finally out of hiding he is, which leads us to now, where Dazai is a new hire at the armed detective agency, a very annoying loveable one to a dear co-worker amongst others at that, bringing his terrible relationship with this body necessity along with him as it presists.

____________________________________

It's been a few weeks since Dazai was hired at the armed detective agency, and since the azure apostle case was resolved. It is another tedious day on the job, or as tedious as it could get in their line of work, and as per usual Dazai is lounging about, doing anything but his job. He is humming tunes to his favorite song, he is reading his suicide hand book, and serving as an ever torturous pain to his co-worker, Kunikida Doppo, and his schedule.

Kunikida, and Dazai have fallen into a routinely set of arguments over the past few weeks that mostly entailed Kunikida punching sense into Dazai that didn't seem to ever reach into him, and the latter throwing back teasing remarks at the bespectacled man, laughing away at his partner's reaction.

Today the agency doesn't have any investigations sent it's way this far, so Dazai, and Kunikida were instead assigned to run a few errands that were pushed aside in favour of more urgent matters this week. The president entrusted them to get them done by the end of today, and Kunikida decided that he isn't going to disappoint, taking it upon himself to whip Dazai into not being a flaming disapointment for once by extension.

Dazai on the other hand was feeling exceptionally drowsy, not really caring much for the task, sleep was too hard these past few days; it was terrible to the point where he couldn't even force it– the blinds weren't enough to block out that detestable bright sign set up by their neighbors across the street. His eyes are droopier than usual, and his eye bags are slightly heavier, which went unnoticed by his colleague, for now. Dazai being himself managed to put up his usual playful, and teasing demeanor despite himself, already plotting ways to take down that wretched banner. Until then, he'll keep himself composed enough around his co-workers until office hours are over, won't be that hard.

After a verbal match between the two, Kunikida managed to get Dazai to finally leave the office.

“Kunikidaaa-kuuun!! I want to stop by the Cafeeee I heard they hired a beautiful waitress there! I need to ask her to a double suicide before someone beats me to it! I have a feeling she's the one~~”

“Have some decency, and stop harassing people!”

“But Kunikidaaa-kuun! It's not harassment!”

“Your definition of harassment is definitely distorted then!”

Dazai continued to give out a series of exaggerated complaints as they walked down the street, loudly crying about how unfair his partner is to him before pausing for a moment to let out a long yawn, much to Kunikida's already peaking irritation.

“Stop causing such noise pollution to your surroundings!! Your complaining is slowing us down, we're already a whole minute off schedule. We need to focus on our next destination–”

“The Cafe?”

“The post office." He gritted out “The president needed us to compose a letter to one of our clients, but she refuses to use technological means, so we'll have it sent the traditional way.”

They got through this errand fairly quickly, even with Dazai's background chatter being headache inducing. Kunikida's veins were a small shot away from popping.

Speaking of, Kunikida noticed something strange about his coworker, how overly chatty he was throughout the day, how back at the office, he'd been spacing out a little longer than usual before they left for their errand run. Kunikida wouldn't have paid it much mind if it weren't for those little moments when Dazai shut up, he was slightly swaying in his steps. Kunikida started observing him closely, noticing a slight change in his complexion, with it written all over his face I didn't sleep for over a week with his eyes being puffier than usual, and other obvious signs of lack of sleep.

Dazai shot him a teasing comment, something about his captivating face, which came out a little lower, and groggier than what he wished for; he exhausted too much energy into keeping himself awake, and it's backfiring on him now. He'd been pressing down the screams of fatigue that were killing him, begging him to just sit down somewhere, and maybe drop dead then, and there. With every step Dazai took, his brain threatened to shut down at any second. He pushed himself to keep it together since they were almost done, and didn't realize that he was falling moments later until it happened.

Kunikida reacted quickly, dropping the documents in his hands to catch Dazai's collapsing figure; his concerns were well placed after all. He pulled him onto his back adjusting the documents under his armpit, walking in a steady pace towards the agency, formulating an explanation in his head, along with plans to postpone the remaining work to tomorrow.

The sun has officially set on arriving at the agency dorms, with Kunikida passing by Dazai's apartment, and realizing he didn't have the key, in favour of not waking him up, the man of ideals headed towards his own home, planning to tend to his colleague, possibily letting him stay the night if he slept in, nothing but concern behind his actions.

Dazai woke up hours later, two hours before midnight, in a dark room, finding himself laying in an unfamiliar futon, an unfamiliar pillow below his head, and an unfamiliar blanket on top of him. He sat up feeling quite stiff, and dizzy, yet miles better from his condition prior to his collapse. His coat was neatly folded at his side, which prompted a small smile on his face. He went to the door, and found it unlocked as expected. He stepped out, and headed towards the living room to find his idealist colleague sitting at the sofa with a small book in his hands.

Kunikida acknowledged Dazai's presence, and looked up at him with a seriously concerned look on his face.

“If you hadn't been feeling well, you could've said something, you idiot. I got sensei to look at you, and she said you'll be fine after some good sleep.”

Dazai smiled sheepishly, and it felt near genuine.

“Would my dear colleague mind hosting me for the night then?”

“Is there something wrong with your apartment? You don't seem to have slept for a good while.”

Dazai was silent for a moment, contemplating his next words, ultimately deciding that the truth wouldn't hurt. He'd be honest this one time because the man in front of him, with his manner of speech right now reminded him far too much of an old friend, but he wouldn't admit it.

“The sign across the street was pretty irritating, I couldn't sleep well because the light kept getting in my eyes.”

“Then I'll see what we can do, you can stay until then I suppose. Don't do anything stupid.”

“Yessir! No promises though.” With a soldier-like salute, and a robotic march to the room.

Kunikida sighed as he watched the man retreat to the bedroom, then picking up his notebook to add discuss the sign situation with the store across the street to his schedule for tomorrow, praying that Dazai would be cooperative since it concerned him.

Dazai meanwhile rested his head onto the comfortable pillow, the darkness surrounding him, the strangely reassuring presence of his colleague, and the comforting quiet lulled him to sleep like a lullaby sung to a baby. The next morning rolled around like nothing, and for the first time in years, Dazai felt refreshed.

“A good night's sleep isn't so bad sometimes...”

---------------------

Sjjdjwdjwb it's finally doneeeee I would've written a mini epilogue/bonus part if it weren't for how freaking late I am. I've never written Kunikida, and I'm bad at writing Dazai, but this mackerel deserves his bday presents. I'm excited to write the romance prompt 🤭.

[ra-archives]

And thats why Wild isn't allowed to walk around Skyloft on his own anymore.

Lu-tober day 23-24-25 (Cause my internet hates me lmao)

No prompt, just video :)

This was supposed to come out yesterday but then my interned died thE SECOND I was done. Literally, in the middle of rendering and my music stops working, I get confused, look around, see my internets down. Wasn't even up back in the morning D:

[hidey-writes]

six sentence sunday

encouraged by @strangegeology mwaaaah!! thrilled that you are starting this off <33333

When it's done, Shen Wei kneels there for a moment, unmoving. It’s over. Maybe this will not be the end, but almost certainly it will be. Kunlun’s eyes start to flutter open and Shen Wei yanks himself into motion, eyes averted behind his mask. He clambers out of the bed and bows his departure in silence, his voice too thick in his throat to speak. The sound of the door sliding shut ricochets through him like a physical thing.

phewww im finally! done outlining the second draft of this fic oh my god its been five days but it feels like two WEEKS! i have no idea where to end this fic, despite now knowing more about what will happen in the middle. i feel so unable to draft i am having to trick myself into it so so much, but at least that is working somewhat!

tagging uhhhh @mister-eames @forerussake @bananacanwrites @frogiwi @crehador if you want?? literally no pressure, only if you'd like!

[aworsening]

Day 1: Promise

[trunklewunjle]

Nightmare March Day 1 because I love him

Nightmare belongs to Jokublog

Prompt list belongs to the-anxious-axolotl

[vampiremourning]

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