#sophie's opinion corner

[your-local-soph-loll]

i kin him

nuff said

[your-local-soph-loll]

Oh my god, yes!!!!! I like, 100% agree with you there, bud.

Like, please, for the love of god, stop telling kids to stop "overreacting" because they aren't. They haven't experienced much, so running out of their favorite snack or losing a toy actually feels like the worst thing that's ever happened to them.

And referring to kids as "things" is just messed the fuck up, man. They're human beings too, even if they're inexperienced at it.

So let this be a lesson to you for the next time you see a kid crying over what seems to be a minor inconvenience.

Sophie out.

fun fact if you refer to children as "things" and use "it" when referring to children and are happy to see children cry and get hurt im stealing something from your house

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 LOST IN THE DARK (THEN I FOUND YOU)

FEATURING: dazai osamu

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dazai.”

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

“What about that bastard?” Chuuya asks irritably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chuuya shrugs. “I’m pretty sure.”

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

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

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

Chuuya snorts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chuuya looks just as harrowed.

“This is going to suck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can do that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” Chuuya asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“... Yeah, sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not eating it fast enough.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair!”

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

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

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

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

“No, Dazai, you can’t keep my spoon.”

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

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

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

“Sure,” you agree blandly.

“It’s true.”

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

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

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

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

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

Or, of his eyes that is.

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

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

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

You love the stars. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai feels better the next time he wakes up. 

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

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

“Friends look out for each other.”

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

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

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

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

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

Dazai might not have any friends, actually. 

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

He should leave.

He should leave now. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Having friends. 

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

“Why would I do that?”

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

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

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

“Excuse me?” you demand, baffled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re not picking this one.”

“What? My movie was great.”

“Hah! If you say so.”

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

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

“...”

“... Stop looking at me like that.”

“...”

“Dazai!”

[look-at-the-soul]

Cia!!! Thank you so much for always providing inspiration via your gifs!! I hope you like this 🤭 it’s been on my mind for a while hile…

He should’ve paid attention

Tommy Shelby x reader (and Alfie Solomons)

Opening the door of his office, Tommy sighed loudly, it had been a long meeting and he had been worried his wife would storm in any minute, demanding him to stop whatever business he was planning to do.

Speaking of which, his wife was nowhere to be seen.

And that was the perfect reason to worry, because she was the one who knew these fucking people, he recognized a face or two, but to be honest he would never understand what was the purpose to throw a party like this for their daughter’s christening. In his opinion it should be something small but he had nothing to do with the planning of such event, so he really didn’t have a thing to say.

A maid almost spilled the drinks on a guest.

As he moved across the people, he gave Johnny Dogs a disapproving eye side look, catching him and a maid coming out from the coat closet, Arthur was rolling up his sleeves already, he just hoped his brother wouldn’t start a fight in that moment. Polly and Ada were chatting in a corner, sipping his expensive champagne.

And if Y/N wasn’t with them, then he didn’t know where else to look for her.

The group of people before him suddenly moved backwards, like making a human wall, revealing Y/N standing over there facing him, but looking directly at another man he first didn’t recognize because he had his back at him.

Time stopped when his wife placed her hand on the man’s arm and laughed freely, then he saw his baby girl squirming in that man’s arms and he felt his blood boiling, in a few long strides he reached his wife, finally seeing that man’s face… finding Alfie holding his daughter.

It took him a couple of seconds to process what was happening.

“Alfie what are you doing here?”

“Oh, hello mate, I was just telling your lovely wife she has a great taste, she added a home-like touch to this place, didn’t she?” Alfie looked up at the eye-catching chandelier above them, the place exuded luxury.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” This was a family gathering and Alfie certainly attracted a lot of attention.

“Well, darling… you know how I just couldn’t stay away from eating those biscuits while I was pregnant, so I asked Frances to track down the bakery that made them, and it turned out to be Alfie’s.” She wrapped her hand around his arm and gave him that look he knew so damn well, the one that said she was about to get things done her way. “So I thought how Mr. Solomons has been so helpful to your business and I decided to ask him and his wife Edna to be our Sophie’s Godfather and Godmother.”

Tommy stopped listening in that moment, he felt like he was underwater, words were said in slow motion and he wasn’t able to keep up.

He looked at his wife, waiting for the moment she would say she was only joking. But that didn’t happen.

The collar of his tuxedo seemed tighter suddenly.

From all of the people…

“Look at that face, I told you he wouldn’t agree.” Alfie shook his head while hitting him slightly on the shoulder with his cane.

“Well he told me to take care of everything.” Y/N defended her choice. “I asked him who did he want and he said…”

“Whoever you choose is right, but you forgot to mention your options love.” Tommy tried to remain calm, having Alfie as part of his closest circle wasn’t his cup of tea.

“He never listens to me.” Y/N explained to Alfie, brushing Tommy off.

“I know, I keep saying him the same thing.” Alfie agreed.

“Why are you two talking like I’m not here?” He took his sleepy daughter from Alfie’s arms. “You probably should have mention this earlier, don’t you think?”

Y/N shuddered. “You barely pay any attention to anything I say anyways.”

Tommy tilted his head, feeling the veins in his temple pulsing.

“Why don’t you calm down mate?” Alfie proposed. “Have some air.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“What’s the big deal? You’re friends, Alfie is a great baker, he’s funny….” Y/N had a long list of tributes but she decided to keep it short judging by the look Tommy gave her.

Alfie took the child from his arms and gave the bundle to her mother, to then pat Tommy on the shoulder, keeping his voice down.

“Look mate, if anything happens to you, I’ll look after your child, hmm? Uncle Alfie to the rescue.”

Tommy groaned. The only worse thing that could happen to him apart from doing business with Alfie Solomons was having him as the Godfather of his daughter.

But it was too fucking late to try to do something now.

Next time his wife asked his opinion, he would pay attention…

****

Blurbs

Master list

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @gypsy-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @thenattitude @winchestergirl22 @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144 @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @mrkdvidal1989 @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane

@raincoffeeandfandoms I tagged you Flor for Alfie 🤭

[tip-top-cloud-surfer]

To Be a Man (Part 2) - Hangman

Pairing: Hangman / Wife!OC (Sophie)

Word Count: 3.0k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Non-Traditional Family Dynamics; Marriage of Convenience/Necessity; Implied Sexual Content; Jealous!Jake; Cocky!Rooster; Third Person POV, Named OC kids and Wife, No Physical Descriptions of Any OCs

Summary: Hangman and Sophie move to Miramar. The Daggers meddle.

Prologue Part 1 Part 3

Master List

“Alright, ready?” Jake asked Leila and Tyler, who were both practically bouncing where they stood.

“Ready!”

Jake placed the key into the lock on the front door of the new Seresin family residence in Miramar before swinging the door open. Leila and Tyler let out a squeal each before racing inside, eager to see the house that would be their new home. Sophie smiled and thanked Jake for holding the door for her before heading inside herself.

She had seen the house very briefly over FaceTime, since she had been busy holding down the fort back in Lemoore while Jake got everything prepared for their move to Miramar. And, after all, it was mostly his money going towards paying for it, so she didn’t offer her opinion on too many things. She told him to just find a house with three bedrooms and not too much work and that was it.

But when she spotted the little breakfast nook like she had talked about; and the big window in front of the kitchen sink like she wanted; and the backyard with the swings that Leila asked for; and the basketball hoop that Tyler wanted at the end of the driveway, she didn’t doubt that Jake put an excessive amount of time into finding the perfect house for them.

Jake watched Leila and Tyler explore, opening the back door for them so that they could run down and explore the yard. Turning back to Sophie, he paused when he caught her blissful smile as she spun around the living room, taking it all in.

“I didn’t do too bad, did I?” Jake asked, leaning on the wall.

“It’s perfect,” Sophie assured Jake, walking over to him.

Watching Leila and Tyler out in the backyard with a soft smile, she turned back to Jake with an expression that he had seen about a thousand times for her. She gave him that look when he offered to marry her, when he actually did, and for just about everything insignificantly small and beyond. She always spoke like he didn’t need to get her anything, when he was willing to give her the world if that was what she wanted.

“Thank you. I feel like I’ll never repay you for all of this.”

“You don’t have to repay me,” Jake reminded her, causing Sophie to nod slowly.

“I know, but—”

“—The truck is here!” Leila shouted, causing Jake and Sophie to turn to her.

Jake stepped outside to see the moving truck pulling around the corner. Jake’s truck and Sophie’s car were both already jam packed, but they still needed a moving truck for the bigger items and a lot of their other crap. Jake walked out to greet the movers while Sophie moved to entertain Leila and Tyler in the backyard, out of their way.

But when Sophie spotted a set of three cars rolling down the road and park in front of their new home, she couldn’t help but look around the house curiously. She quickly recognized the Bronco and Coyote’s truck and walked over to greet them. She wasn’t expecting anyone to come and help them move in, but any help was welcome.

“Javy!” Tyler shouted, darting around Sophie to greet him.

Leila was right behind Tyler, though she moved to quickly greet Phoenix, who she was starting to look up to with greater reverence. Jake was thrilled about that. Really thrilled. But Phoenix seemed content to act as a guide to Leila. Sophie wondered if in ten years, that would involve helping Leila sneak out under Jake’s nose, though she didn’t think too hard about that yet.

“You guys didn’t have to come and help us move,” Sophie stated as the entire Dagger Squad stepped out of their cars. “We didn’t help any of you move.”

“We all moved into apartments,” Coyote pointed out, standing up with Tyler on his back. “And we all knew that Hangman would never ask for help.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Sophie mused as the aviator in question made his way over to them.

“I don’t remember sending out invites,” Hangman drawled, moving to stand next to Sophie, earning an elbow to the side.

“They’re here to help,” Sophie insisted, causing Jake to turn to her.

“We don’t need help.”

“Sure, we don’t,” Sophie replied with a bright smile before turning back to the Dagger Squad. “Come on, let me show you guys everything.”

“But,” Jake started to protest.

“Looks like you were overruled,” Phoenix mused, causing Hangman to sigh.

“Yeah, Jake, you were overruled,” Leila laughed, adding about four extra r’s to the last word.

“Alright, that’s it.”

Sophie looked back over her shoulder to see Leila squealing as Jake picked her up and spun her around. She giggled and lightly punched at Jake’s back, asking to be put down, but Jake pretended to not hear her and went about his business as if she wasn’t there. Smiling softly to herself, Sophie turned back to the truck to give out directions for where to put everything.

With the two movers and the Dagger Squad, the move was progressing very quickly. Sophie stood in the kitchen, gently unwrapping and putting away all of the kitchen supplies. Just as she was struggling to open another box, a hand reached out to help her.

Except it wasn’t her husband’s.

“Need some help with that?” Rooster asked, wearing a flirtatious smile.

“If you don’t mind,” Sophie replied, passing the box over to him. “Thank you.”

“Anything for a woman as beautiful as you,” Rooster returned, slicing open the box.

Sophie instantly raised an eyebrow, confused at Rooster’s phrasing. Unbeknownst to Sophie or Hangman, the rest of the Daggers had a silent mission of their own. They all saw just how Hangman pined after his wife. They saw the looks that they shared. They saw the subtle way that Sophie could calm him down with a hand on his arm or get him to shut up with a quick look.

And all that they needed was for Hangman to admit it. Because they couldn’t sit through a fifty-slide presentation as Hangman asked for their opinion on a perfect house and then just went with his gut in the first place. They could not do that again.

Hangman walked into the living room with a couch in between him and Coyote. Setting it against the side wall, Jake straightened up to see Sophie in the kitchen, still unpacking the utensils and everything. But she wasn’t alone this time. Rooster as there, smirking like an idiot, as he helped Sophie put away the glassware into one of the cupboards.

“You need help?” Jake immediately asked, walking over to where Sophie and Rooster were standing.

Coyote shared a look with Phoenix, who stood a few paces away. Phoenix shook her head, thinking that the whole jealousy card was overdone and a bad idea. But, hey, she wasn’t going to pay Rooster’s dental bill if he really pissed Hangman off.

“I think that we’re good,” Rooster replied, shooting Hangman a smirk that drew some kind of primitive growl out of Hangman’s chest.

“We’re fine,” Sophie stated, brushing some of her hair back. Smiling at Jake, she gestured towards the door. “Go grab the mattresses before Fanboy convinces Tyler to ride down the stairs on one.”

“You sure?” Jake insisted, glancing over at Rooster with a sharp glare. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m sure,” Sophie replied, having her own particular system in the kitchen.

Jake, a bit defeated, shot Rooster a look of death before walking off to start the process of moving the mattresses upstairs. Coyote and Phoenix shared another look before Phoenix rolled her eyes. Squatting down to Leila’s height, she offered Leila a small smile.

“Want to go work on that sign for your room?”

“Yeah!” Leila agreed excitedly, leading Phoenix out of the house.

Jake, Payback, Coyote, and Fanboy worked together to drag all of the heavier furniture upstairs with some help from the movers. Sweating, Jake wiped his forehead with his forearm after he and Coyote finally got the dresser upstairs and into the master bedroom. But he paused and spun around when he heard Sophie’s laughter echo up the stairs.

“Hey, did you want all of the boxes marked—” Bob started to ask before Jake moved right past him, heading downstairs quickly. “Okay then.”

Jake turned the corner and spotted Sophie kneeling on the countertop as she put away some plates and bowls and other stuff that they didn’t use too often up high in the cabinets. And Rooster the fucking bane of Jake’s current existence, stood right behind her, handing her items. And when Sophie sat up to put the items away, Rooster had a complete, uninterrupted view of her ass.

“Oh, hey, Hangman,” Rooster greeted him, waving condescendingly as Jake nearly combusted.

“You want to do some actual lifting, Rooster?” Jake snapped back, gesturing to the other dresser.

“Oh, but the view’s so nice here. Out your lovely window, I mean,” Rooster replied, causing Payback to choke on air.

“Rest in peace, Rooster,” Fanboy joked, making the sign of the cross.

“I should probably run out and grab lunch for anyone anyways,” Sophie stated, slowly getting down from the countertop. Rooster offered her a hand, which she took, before hopping down completely. “I was thinking pizza and some beer.”

“You need any help with it?” Rooster offered, causing Sophie to turn.

“Oh, I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

“Any time.”

Sophie grabbed her purse off the table and moved to grab her keys. Passing by Jake, she gently grabbed his hand, immediately breaking his death stare into Rooster’s skull.

“You want anything special?” she asked, smiling up at him.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Alright. Just text me if you need anything. Oh, and make sure that Tyler has his snack,” Sophie stated, checking her watch.

“Already did,” Jake reported, causing Sophie’s smile to brighten.

Pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek, she walked off, promising to be back with lunch. Jake watched her go before turning back to Rooster with the same death stare. Rooster waved to Jake and Fanboy swore that he saw steam pouring out of Jake’s ears.

But then Leila ran into the room with her sign, eager to show Jake her little project.

“Jake! Jake! Look at what I made!”

“What’d you make, Princess?” Jake asked, kneeling down to her height.

“It’s for my room,” Leila announced proudly.

Jake looked down at her sign and laughed a classic dad laugh when he saw the writing. On a thin piece of wood, Phoenix had painted a simple ‘No Boys Allowed’ in big black letters. But underneath, written by Leila in magic marker, was a little addendum of ‘But Not Jake.’

“It’s amazing, Leila,” Jake praised, studying the sign. “You think you can make one for your aunt too?”

“But what about Tyler?”

“You can add him to your aunt’s sign. But emphasize the other part, okay?”

“Okay.”

Standing up slowly, Jake turned to shoot Rooster one last glare before calling for the other Daggers to put their asses into gear. Sophie eventually returned with a stack of pizzas and some beer for the adults and some lemonade for the kids. They set up shop outside on the deck, which was mostly shaded from the sun, and took a well-deserved break.

“I made a sign for your room!” Leila shouted, causing Sophie to turn to her.

“Did you?”

“Yeah! Phoenix helped with mine! And Jake asked me to make one for you!”

“Did he now?” Sophie mused, taking the sign from Leila’s hand.

She smiled and let out a laugh when she spotted what Leila had written. Just as she was about to comment about it, however, Rooster slid into the seat beside her.

“What do you have there?” Rooster asked, resting his arms behind Sophie.

“Just a sign that Leila made for Jake and my room,” Sophie replied, showing it to Rooster.

“Is that negotiable at all?” Rooster questioned, causing Leila to frown dramatically.

Before Sophie could even attempt to respond, Tyler’s laugh made her turn quickly. Jake was out in the backyard, doing pushups with Tyler on his back, giggling and holding on tight. Jake didn’t even look like it was a struggle, though Sophie had to assume he was sore from all the moving.

“See, you weigh nothing,” Jake joked, causing Tyler to pout.

“I do weigh something!”

“I can’t seem to feel it,” Jake returned, causing Leila to run down there.

Climbing up onto Jake’s back too, Leila laughed along with her brother as Jake continued to do pushups with them on his back. And despite their efforts and their giggles, Jake kept going. Rooster glanced over at Sophie to see her sitting a bit perched on her seat, lips slightly parted with her tongue licking her bottom lip before taking it in between her teeth. Hell, someone could have waved a hand in front of her face and she wouldn’t have blinked.

“Well, I think that confirms it,” Phoenix stated dryly, sharing a look with Coyote.

“Alright, I think that’s enough,” Jake called, putting his knees down.

“Ha! We won!” Leila shouted victoriously, pointing up at Jake.

“Nuh uh!”

“Yeah huh!”

“Nuh uh!” Jake replied dramatically, causing Sophie to smile to herself.

Leila and Tyler continued to squabble with Jake, but he returned it just the same. Stepping up onto the deck again, Jake deposited Tyler onto Coyote and Leila quickly ran to Sophie’s side. And sat right in between Sophie and Rooster.

“Jesus, it’s hot out,” Jake complained, moving to sit beside his wife.

“You’re the one who had to go and do extra pushups,” Sophie pointed out, earning a smirk in return from her husband.

“Just had to prove a point. That’s all.”

Pulling off his now sweat soaked shirt, Jake sat down beside Sophie, who couldn’t help put trail her eyes down his chest. Cracking open a beer, Jake rested his arm firmly behind Sophie, leaving no room for Rooster’s own, and took a long sip.

“You call that chest hair, Rooster?” Jake joked, gesturing at the small patch on Rooster’s chest.

“Jake,” Sophie admonished, though there was barely any force behind it.

“I believe that’s checkmate,” Coyote told the other Daggers, who were snickering among themselves.

~~~~~

After they ate lunch, the Daggers put together most of the other major pieces of furniture and at least got it semi-set up before the Daggers left for the day. Leila and Tyler were tuckered out very quickly and were in bed by eight, sound asleep. Tyler was even snoring. And that left Jake and Sophie alone for a few quiet moments.

“I think this is the last thing today,” Sophie decided as she tucked the sheets under their mattress. “We’ll get the rest of the important stuff situated tomorrow. Maybe Leila and Tyler’s rooms. And then I’ll just unpack when I have a moment.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we need to call in the calvary again,” Jake stated, carrying over the comforter.

Sophie looked up at Jake through her eyelashes as she slowly reached over to help Jake unfold the blanket. She paused in thought for a moment as she tucked the edge of the blanket into the space between the mattress and the frame before turning to Jake.

“Are you feeling okay, Jake?”

“A little tired. But otherwise, fine. Why?” he asked, folding the comforter at the top of the bed.

“You were showing off at lunch.”

“I was just trying to prove a point to Tyler, that’s all,” he replied, avoiding the real question there.

“So, it had nothing to do with Rooster then?” Sophie smiled to herself when she felt Jake’s gaze on her as she turned to pull out the pillow from the box. “You know, you only pull out that pushups routine when you’re feeling insecure.” Sophie fluffed a pillow before turning to Jake. “And Rooster wasn’t even slightly subtle.”

“I’ll beat his ass the next time I see him.”

“I’m assuming that it was some kind of dare,” Sophie returned, brushing off the entire interaction. “I’m not worried about it.” She tossed the pillows to Jake, who set them on the bed in order. Folding up the cardboard box, Sophie shot Jake a small smile as she slipped out the door of the bedroom. “And you shouldn’t be either.”

Jake looked up from the pillows, watching Sophie walk off for a silent moment before letting out a breath to center himself. Maybe he did lose his shit a little bit out there. But, in all honesty, he could have been far worse given the game that dumbass Rooster was playing. Running a hand down his face, Jake let out another breath and turned for the bathroom.

Sophie returned to the bedroom after tossing the cardboard box into the pile and turning off all of the lights. She paused when she heard the shower running and Jake’s suitcase open on the floor. Reaching behind her, Sophie closed the door to their bedroom and walked over to the bathroom door.

Jake let the hot water roll down his back and soak his hair. Running a hand through his hair, Jake spun around when the shower door opened, letting in a rush of cold air. Sophie stepped inside the shower as she locked eyes with Jake. Shutting the shower door behind her, Sophie took a step closer to Jake, letting the warm water spray hit her.

There was a beat longer of silent, burning staring between them, before Jake leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Sophie’s lips. She quickly returned it, reaching up to cup his cheeks. Jake pulled her flush against him, brushing his hands down her spine. Pulling away for a moment, Jake rested his forehead against her own and stared into her eyes once more.

“The kids are asleep, right?” Jake asked softly.

“Completely knocked out,” Sophie assured him.

“Good,” Jake replied, brushing his thumb over her cheek. Reaching down, he grabbed the back of her thigh and hoisted her right leg around his waist, causing Sophie to grab his shoulder for stability. “Wouldn’t want them to walk in on this.”

Prologue Part 1 Part 3

Tags (Just People Who Asked for More/Part 2):

@ahopelessromanticwritersworld @whoeverineedtobe @dingochef @mayhemmanaged @xkylo--renx

[your-local-soph-loll]

I mean, yeah. That's kinda why I headcanon Sweet as like, 14 years old. \_/(−∪−)\_/

still absolutely confused how people see the scc as adults. Just look at sweet and listen to the way they talk!!!!!! That's not an adult that is a child that still gets piggyback rides and still plays Webkinz!!! The most 13yo character I have ever seen

LITERALLY!!!!!STILL GETS PIGGYBACK RIDES!!! SAYS PLEASE AND THANK YOU (ART BY NELNAL ON TWITTER. I DO NOT HAVE A LINK IVE HAD THESE IN MY PHOTOS FOR A WHILE)

[tchaikovskym]

Howl's moving castle movie did a lot of things differently, but I think I should point out that Howl had full on cool as hell wizard spells/battles in the book, that, in my humble opinion, beat the whole bird war thing

I mean:

Howl’s arms moved, heavily, as if he was lifting a large weight, until they were raised high above his head. He shouted out a strange word, which was half hidden in a crack of sudden thunder. And the scarecrow went soaring away.

---

Sophie and Michael looked too, and found a huge cloud boiling and twisting just above the chimney tops. It was black and rotating on itself violently. White flashes that were not quite like light stabbed through the murk of it. But almost as soon as Michael and Sophie arrived, the clot of magic took on the shape of a misty bundle of fighting snakes. Then it tore in two with a noise like an enormous cat fight. One part sped yowling across the roofs and out to sea, and the second went screaming after it.

---

A ball of pale fire rolled lazily up in the distance. It must have been enormous. The bang that went with it only reached the watchers when the fireball had become a spreading tower of smoke. The line of people all winced at the blunt thunder of it. They watched the smoke spread until it became part of the mist on the marshes. They went on watching after that. But there was simply peace and silence. The wind rattled the marsh weeds, and birds began to dare to cry again.

---

Howl only needed to take one look. He stood up in a hurry. He held out one hand and spoke a sentence of those words that lost themselves in claps of thunder. Plaster fell from the ceiling. Everything trembled. But the stick vanished and Howl stepped back with a small, hard, black thing in his hand. [...] He held the black thing between both palms and pushed his hands together. The Witch’s old heart crumbled into black sand, and soot, and nothing.

---

The room turned dim. Huge, cloudy, human-looking shapes bellied up in all four corners and advanced on Sophie and Michael, howling as they came. The howls began as moaning horror, and went up to despairing brays, and then up again to screams of pain and terror. Sophie pressed her hands to her ears, but the screams pressed through her hands, louder and louder still, more horrible every second. (this is from when howl got mad abt sophie messing with his shampoos and indirectly making him ginger btw)

[noturlondonboy]

No More Excuses//Katelena

Chapter 9: When It Rears Its Ugly Head

Pairing: Kate Bishop x Yelena Belova

Chapter Summary: The girls go see a movie and then head to a bar to just relax and enjoy each other’s company, but trouble arises when a toxic face from Kate’s past shows up.

A/N: I hope you hate this man as much as I do.

Chapter Warnings: alcohol, men being assholes, harassment, PTSD, trauma

Kate lets Yelena pick the movie when they shuffle into the first theater they can find, which happens to be small and vintage and ultimately adorable. She goes over the options for a small moment before excitedly beckoning to the reruns of Howl's Moving Castle, and Kate lights up with a grin at her decision. They get ridiculously cheap candy from the snack counter and scurry down the hallway.

Apparently Howl's Moving Castle had been on a list of Yelena's of things to watch because of her intermittent internet browsing, and Kate made a mental note to properly introduce her to Studio Ghibli later on.

The movie is an instant hit with Yelena, of course, who is so enthralled with the gorgeous art style and music that she doesn't even remember to touch the Reese's Pieces Kate convinced her to try. Here and there she mutters her thoughts, commenting on how sad it was that Sophie thought so little of herself, how much she adored Calcipher, how she thought that the rings were the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

Kate probably didn't pay as much attention to the movie as she should have, but to be fair, she had seen it a million times and knew most of the lines anyway. She really only had eyes for Yelena; the way her nose scrunched when she smiled, the honey curls loose around her neck, the way the deep, sticky red of her lipstick moved with her mouth when she laughed and when she cried.

By the end of the movie, Yelena looks as if she's gone through the five stages of grief. Her cheeks are flushed and the tears, both genuine and from laughing, have smudged the corner of her eye makeup, which in Kate's opinion, only enhances it. The assassin is chatting Kate's ear off, who has to admit that her energy is the most addictive drug she's ever come in contact with.

"Kate Bishop!" Yelena yells for the millionth time as soon as they're outside the theater, hands grabbing her friend's arms and almost shaking her. "That was beautiful!" She bursts into a stream of excited rapid-fire Russian, her accent so thick that Kate thinks she could wrap herself in it and snuggle down for a night of listening to Yelena talk.

Yelena suddenly squeals and throws her arms around Kate's waist, lifting the archer off of her feet and spinning her around. "Kate Bishop, thank you thank you thank you!" She presses her lips to both of Kate's cheeks in swift kisses, her laughter and smile so contagious that Kate can't help but laugh along, even though her face is burning and her stomach is doing unsanctioned flips.

"Why are you thanking me?" Kate asks, her grin so wide her cheeks start to ache. She is still in Yelena's arms, the assassins grip strong and sure and oh-so warm. "You're the one who paid for the movie, Yelena."

"Yes, but I would not have ever gone to see it without you!" Yelena lets go of Kate to place her hands over her heart with a wistful sigh, her eyes closing. "Oh, Kate Bishop, I loved it so much."

Kate's heart is thudding against her chest, but she pushes it down and takes the blonde's hand. "I'm glad," she says softly.

Yelena's lips curl up at the corners, and the snow is still falling lightly out on the cold New York streets, a few flakes sticking to her dark lashes. "Me too."

There's another moment, then. Right there, just the two of them. Yelena knows, and is less afraid than she was even three hours ago, but it is heavy in her chest and she doesn't know if she can take the weight yet.

"Time for drinks, Kate Bishop?" she says coyly, raising an eyebrow. The air is crisp and wonderful in her lungs when she takes a deep breath, and it eases the squeeze on her heart.

Kate's grin is blinding, and she nods. "Absolutely."

--------

They end up walking until they find a cozy looking bar, and Kate holds the door open for Yelena before following in behind her. They are immediately enveloped in music that is somehow both quiet and loud but I still rather pleasant, the aroma of coffee and alcohol mixing together, and the glow from several assorted colors of fairy lights strung up in just about every inch of the place.

Kate whistles lowly, taking it in on a slow circle. "How have I never been to this place before now?" she mutters, finding herself falling in love with the establishment immediately. It's all one big, open space, with the bar against the back wall, each side wall full of different booths, tables, and variously decorated seating areas, and the rest of the floor appears to be where the dancing happens.

There seems to be only about two dozen people dancing, and only a couple of them are hammered enough to be throwing limbs around and grinding on each other. The rest are either slow dancing with their respective partner or friend, or letting themselves loosen up.

Yelena's grin is feral as she takes it all in, and when her eyes light upon Kate after a moment, the glow in them intensifies. The archer swallows, knowing her face is hot but not being able to do much about it.

"Hi there, ladies!" A deep voice calls out from somewhere to their right, and a tall, friendly looking man wearing entirely black with a safety vest appears from the crowd, walking towards them. "So sorry I didn't catch you at the door, but I'm the bouncer. Can I see some ID?"

Kate smiles apologetically and nods, digging through her wallet before handing her ID over. The guy looks it over for a moment and gives it back, then turns to Yelena. "And you, ma'am?"

Yelena doesn't move, and her voice is dry. "I called ahead. Fanny Longbottom."

Kate doesn't know how she keeps herself from choking on her own spit and laughing so hard she shits herself, but the bouncer looks over a list on his phone and confirms a few numbers with Yelena before letting them know they're good to go.

Yelena looks at Kate and notices the way she's barely holding herself together, and the assassin rolls her eyes. "Don't," she says in warning, her face grave but tone light. Kate wisely keeps her mouth shut.

They make their way to a booth where they have a clear view of the bar, dance floor, and both exits; Yelena tells Kate to sit while she grabs them drinks.

The archer settles into the booth and admires the leather upholstery, which is in much better shape than you would expect from a New York bar.  The hanging light above the table is a warm orange, and Kate leans further into the cushion, looking forward to the rest of night.

That is, of course, until a figure appeared in front of the table, much too tall and masculine to be her Yelena.

"Hey there, Baby Girl."

Kate feels her stomach blanch, and she does her best to keep the anger from showing through her face as she slowly turns to face the man who spoke. He was tall and lean and had short cropped hair, and Kate could barely stop herself from kicking him between the legs.

"Connor." She grit her teeth tightly and sat up tall, not bothering to make her face look pleasant. "I hope you remember I still have a restraining order against you."

Connor laughs and dares to sit in the booth seat across from her, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. In hindsight, Connor looks completely harmless. He's wearing a simple blue henley shirt and converse, his hair is well kept, and his smile is dorky. But his eyes hold a gleam that Kate had managed to forget, and seeing it light upon her again has her blood boiling.

"I figured since your MILF of a mommy is in prison, I might try to say hi again." He leans forward, his elbows bracing on the table as he gives a wink. "Without any money to pay the police, how are you supposed to keep a restraining order in the first place?"

Her tone is cold and sharp, and she knows he can see the fire in her eyes. The jab at Eleanor simmers in the back of her mind, and Kate pictures getting to throw him into a wall. "I'm still rich as hell, Connor, and I have more money than you'll ever make in a lifetime. Leave before I call my security in and get you arrested." Kate didn't have official security, but she knew Yelena could chop this man into pieces without breaking a sweat.

For a moment, he looks enraged at the comment on his financial situation, but Connor only laughs, and his lips twist into a cruel smirk. "Girly, we both know you don't have security." He's staring into her, gaze challenging and rotted, like he's trying to tear down her defenses and scare her into submission.

"Leave," she hisses, body shaking with the anger she wants to hit him with. It had been so long since she felt this way. So upset that she could burn the world down with it. So afraid she might kill someone in her frenzy.

"No." His answer is simple, and Kate feels her heart fall with a thud. She recalls the feel of his hands on her wrists, his words mocking and laughing when she tries to get away. He was detained before he could seriously hurt her, but she remembers.

Yelena appears, a full shot glass in both hands, her face stone cold and murderous. "Who the fuck are you?"

Translations: none

Kate Bishop counter: 4

This chapter's meme:

Comments/reblogs/notes make my day :)

[the-great-gullon-incident]

Elves vs humans and dealing with guilt and other conflicts.

This post is mostly based on Tiergans line of dialogue in Exile:

“Good Girl” he said, releasing her. “If any thoughts like that start to rear up, you must shove them away - immediately, do you understand?”

He specifically says to shove them away. Which I think is a philosophy many elves seem to have of ignoring the problem, running away from it, avoiding it. Because confronting pain normally leads to more pain before it gets better, and elves like to believe they live in a perfect world without pain. And since they don’t deal with this grief opting to shove it away instead, to the dark corners of their mind, into a bottle, the guilt slowly grows over time. Eventually breaking them.

This also reflect how Elves deal with conflicts. Elves continue to ignore growing problems and conflicts, so bent on keeping up the illusions they’ve built for themselves about how their world is perfect and peaceful. So when problems arise they pretend they don’t exist, erasing them from their memories. And those problems and conflict can only be shoved away for so long before they grow to big, and if the elves continue to ignore these conflict they will break.

Meanwhile how humans, or more specifically Sophie, deal with their guilt. They confront it. They’ve built up tools across the millennia to deal with their guilt and emotions in a way that doesn’t break them. Are these tools and methods perfect? No. But they true to deal with them.

Taking a more specific look at Sophie she’s someone who constantly confronts her guilt and talks herself through it. She lets herself go through the pain instead of hiding it all away and let’s it out before it breaks her. When she’s talking about her guilt over what happened with Alden she tries to talk about her feelings. Something she was taught constantly in the human world to do, and as something positive. She’s used to talking about her feelings and having someone reassure her or just help her get through whatever’s happening in her life. Even if that person is herself. Elves just don’t seem to be in a strong practice of doing this. They do it for smaller conflict obviously, but bigger problems come to close to shattering their illusions that they refuse to talk about it or mention it.

This again comes into how Sophie deals with her problems. She comforts them, head on. While closer in the middle she seemed to be taking a slightly more elven way of dealing with things. Waiting until the neverseen actively made themselves a threat before she did something(this doing something is more than many elves would’ve done mind you), but as the series went on, especially after Nightfall when she was reunited with her human roots, she’s begun taking in more and more human ways of dealing with problems. Confronting them, starting to deal with them on the offensive rather then the defensive. This clashes violently with the elves ideologies and puts her on the ends with most of her friends who even if they have adopted some of Sophie’s more human ideologies still fall into many classical eleven opinions and worldviews. With the exception of those that have been in the outskirts of elven society. Who have seen how elven world views have failed people before and are far more willing to question classical elven schools if though because if it.(And while this also includes Linh she seems more against Rayni then Sophie lighting the fire and just vaguely sides with the rest of her friends because they’re the only support system she feels she has at the time while her previous one she no longer feels is actually helping her)

[vwritesaus]

The drawing room in 102 Cornwall Gardens is perhaps Alastair’s favourite room in the house. Aside from the bedroom, where he spends his mornings counting freckles on Thomas’s cheeks and nose, and listening to his lulling heartbeat in the evenings, it is the one room that lends itself to a life of peaceful leisure: of card games that go well into the night, of tea and sandwiches with family and friends who come to visit, of deep and meaningful discussions laid out upon cushioned sofa corners and warm arms, and of chai lingering on the tongue and on soft lips.       It’s a room decorated in hues of crimson and burgundy and a touch of olive green, with a large Persian rug and a handsome bookshelf in one corner. There are armchairs and sofas in viridian green, tables and chairs of polished walnut wood, and Thomas’s overflowing writing bureau. Alastair has fond memories of watching him hunched over a moleskin journal, chewing on a thumbnail and frantically scribbling with a thoughtful frown gracing his forehead, and will no doubt have many more in the years to come. On the other side, a cabinet reserved for spare weapons sits by the door, housing Alastair’s spears and daggers—for the favoured ones with their beautiful handles have their own special storage space in the bedroom—and Thomas’s swords, as well as some extra seraph blades.       Needless to say, in the grand scheme of things, the drawing room is the perfect space. Alastair wonders what the point of all the other rooms is when he is of the opinion that he can happily spend all of his time in here. Which is precisely what he’s doing right now.       He’s curled in the corner of one of those viridian green sofas, holding a book in between his fingers. His legs are in Thomas’s lap, and a beautiful tartan blanket—a housewarming present from Sophie Lightwood—covers them both. It’s a rather miserable night to be outdoors, the weather cold and windy and on the precipice of some kind of snowstorm, if one has to hazard a guess. But it provides the ideal ambience, complemented with a roaring fire in the grate and the heady scent of cardamom-spiced tea wafting from Royal Doulton china.       Unlike his beloved, Thomas has not joined in with a book of his own. Rather, he is dozing, his neck resting on the back of the sofa and his eyes shut, thick eyelashes casting soft shadows on his cheekbones. His waistcoat lies open, fully unbuttoned, as well as the first couple of buttons on his shirt. How he’s not cold like this, Alastair has yet to understand. Though Thomas has been this way for the past twenty minutes regardless of feeling cold or not, and Alastair would think he’s properly fallen asleep if not for the way his fingers gently stroke Alastair’s legs over the blanket.       Alastair grabs the moment to take in the way the fire’s golden glow splashes over Thomas, highlighting the smattering of freckles on his face and the backs of his hands, the soft dip of his upper lip, and the thick eyebrows that grace his forehead. He’s studied them in great detail this past year, learning how they appear in natural sunlight as it quivers into existence through the bedroom curtains, or under moonlight on a stroll home or on patrol. He’s come to know the lovely and stupid things that come out of Thomas’s mouth, how his brain works and the words he writes, the melodies he hums and the Spanish he mutters when he thinks Alastair’s not listening. He’s an expert on how the rough calluses on Thomas’s hands feel against his skin, in his hair, against his palms and equally callused hands, and on the care behind every touch, every rendition of I love you, and every kiss.       He’s tattooed Thomas Lightwood onto his soul, and even now he thinks just how lucky he is.

continue reading on ao3

~

just a quick little thomastair fic i wrote for @drunkonimagination that she insisted i post kajshdasd

i know i'm late to the christmas/end of year holiday celebrations, but here, have a cosy post-canon thomastair oneshot ft. seasonal vibes :>

more fics to come soon, and that's a promise. this year i'm determined to write as much as humanly possible 😤

~

tag list: @alastairstom @thomastaircompassrose @faithfromanewperspective @ferrari-go-vroom-vroom let me know if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list!!

[your-local-soph-loll]

Why do I have the strong feeling that Sweet would emit this kind of crackling static noise while they're sleeping, kind of like an old radio would?

Like, it'd be kind of like this:

[austenhowe]

I'll ask for nothing else if I get this in show canon

alright, walk with me. if they're bringing cressida back in s4 for sophie's intro and with francesca still married to john and with eloise trying to figure herself out, I want a drawing room scene where cressida and michaela interact (read: lowkey flirt).

crackship, I know, but the potential for jealous!francesca (aware of her feelings) and jealous!eloise (confused and unaware of her feelings) with sophie and benedict falling in love and side-eyeing the gay drama subtly unfolding is just too delicious and can deliver a "kill three birds with one stone" scenario (the first of its kind but gay math so it checks out).

assuming that cressida's role will that be of a close friend accompanying sophie in navigating the london season after having been essentially exiled to wales, I imagine she'll only be comfortable interacting with sophie and that she'll be reluctant to engage in small talk with any of the bridgertons present.

now, I don't recall if they ever showed intimate dinner parties in the bridgerton universe (that wasn't for the sake of a betrothal) since they only show balls, but for the sake of this scene a small dinner party is held by a mutual acquaintance after the masquerade ball.

so, in this setup, we'll have benedict, sophie, francesca, john, michaela, eloise, and cressida along with about 5 other dinner party guests (not important for the bit but you can round it out with whoever else you want to bear witness to this scene) in the drawing room before dinner.

my headcanon is that cressida is not too fond of reading because she's dyslexic (undiagnosed due to the time period; can explain away the whole "she can't write whistledown 'cause she's stupid and doesn't read books" thing they tried to set up as hilarious in the show; she's smart, cunning, and observant ffs!) but that she enjoys listening to people read to her.

I imagine michaela stirling is the smoothest and most considerate angel in england and with everyone else paired off in conversation she approaches cressida. she's impartial and only knows about the whistledown drama from what eloise shared with her while they were in scotland, that is to say that she has no qualms conversing with this reserved and softened version of cressida cowper.

she strikes up a conversation with cressida, inquires about her time in wales, her hobbies, her opinions about society, etc. and she's kind to her. cressida, greatly moved and appreciative of this kindness, engages michaela as well, asking about her and scotland and her opinions on various other subjects.

they eventually get to the topic of books and cressida tells her that she's not much of a reader. she adds that she reads uncommonly slow and she loses her train of thought too fast since she has difficulty focusing on the words on the page but that she enjoyed hearing stories. so michaela offers to read to her.

this interaction doesn't go unnoticed by the other occupants of the drawing room. in fact, it's an intriguing sight.

they break for dinner and are separated by the seating arrangements but they pay attention to each other's polite conversations with their respective seat mates.

francesca and eloise are keenly aware of the two unexpected but loyal conversationalists and in turn make for inattentive conversation partners all throughout the meal. sophie and benedict are engaged in their own conversation but they are not insensible of michaela and cressida's budding friendship.

after dinner, they return to the drawing room. francesca is enjoined to perform on the pianoforte, with john dutifully turning her pages. sophie is invited to dance with their host. eloise is cajoled into dancing by benedict to distract her from her concentrated staring at cressida who takes a seat in the opposite corner of the room.

michaela having returned from stopping by the library to fetch a book of poetry sits beside cressida and offers to read to her. cressida is struck by her thoughtfulness and accepts, a curiously soft look upon her face. they pass the time reading and listening to poetry and discussing the verses.

to sum up: michaela is glad to have made a friend, cressida is equally as glad to have made a friend and also develop a crush (she already knows she's into women), francesca further confirms her suspicions about her own feelings, eloise still doesn't know she's into women but clocks the vibes of michaela and cressida (leading to her own questioning and subsequent realization) and sophie and benedict are having the time of their lives falling in love.

like give me a full-on ensemble season of the fruity bridgertons while further setting up the romantic threads for the next ones. the comedic (possibly angsty) potential of simultaneous gay awakenings stemming just from michaela's presence and influence is too good lol.

I need michaela stirling to be fully involved front and center in the next season just to spite the haters. just give me all the gays please and thanks!

[eastgaysian]

i do generally agree with people saying the stuff with sophie + jess in the last couple episodes has felt awkward and kind of shoved in last minute. like oh right they elected a fascist as president, we should acknowledge that racism exists in the world but ultimately it's still in service of kendall's character. that being said, at least in my opinion, throughout the show there are instances of unconscious(?) racial bias on the part of the showrunners, but there are also instances that demonstrate some degree of awareness and concern wrt the intersection between racism and capitalism. like i wouldn't say these 3-minute asides to go hey right kendall's daughter is indian and kendall's assistant is Black are, like, 'good,' but i also can't say it would have been 'better' to have continued with the show's established pattern of never openly acknowledging race, esp given the stronger political focus of s4

basically i guess i'm saying that i don't think there's much sense in critiquing these scenes individually, instead of the general way the show has been constructed from the start at the expense of characters of color/critique of racial capitalism. like the succession writers kind of painted themselves into a corner wrt race and i think have realized this as the show draws to a close, but you don't get in that corner unless you made some choices at the start

[butchsophiewalten]

New Things in TWF1:

Most of us probably know by now that Company Introductory Tape was reuploaded last night, but a bit more has been done to it than just replacing the offending footage that got it removed in the first place. Short walkthrough of everything new and notable under the cut:

The first thing we see is black & white footage of a rabbit in a forest grazing on some grass, with text in the top left corner reading ">STOP" and then ">REC", which I think might imply this was a pre-existing tape that was/is being recorded over with BSI's Company Introductory Tape.

The video is otherwise identical until just after the six minute mark, where the previous footage of Brian driving on a grass-and-car-tracks makeshift road to Saint Juana's is replaced with with different footage of him driving on what could pass as either a dirt road or a really shitty asphalt one. It's the same again until we cut to the inside of K-9, where we get shakeycam footage of Brian looking at pictures on the wall in ornate yellow-gold frames. These are immediately evocative of some similar pictures we've seen hung up in Bon's Burgers in previous episodes and in teasers for TWF4, but none of them are the same as any we've seen so far. (These photographs likely were hung up in Bon's at some point, though, hence their relocation to the K-9 facility.)

The first we see is this photo of Felix, with what my brain wants to assume is an mostly-uncovered animatronic mech next to him. (The arm is easy enough to make out, but the vague blurry mass of colors near where the head should be makes me want to call this Sha, with just her head on?)

Next, Brian pans his flashlight over to this photo of Edd & Molly. Not too much to note about this, except i see what might be a picture on the wall behind them? Wherever this photo was taken, I want to assume it's either the inside of the Walten residence or the inside of Bon's Burgers.

The camera cuts to static for a few seconds before we're finally shown this photo. In my opinion, from right to left, it seems to contain Jack, Charles, Rosemary, Susan, Felix, and someone I have to assume is either Chris or the mysterious N. Pooltrick. There's a figure in front of them, either an adult sitting down or a very short person, who I want to say is Linda. Other possibilities could be a young Sophie with her hair up in pigtails (this seems the least likely to me, we've never seen her dressed like this at this age.) or the Lily mentioned by Boozoo in TWF3.

The footage as Brian runs away from Bon is also changed, where he appears to be running blindly into the forest, rather than running down any sort of path. We continue as usual until the last image of the episode before the credits roll. This picture of Jack Walten: the clearest one we've ever seen of him.

It holds on him for an entire 20 seconds as Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy plays in while the background behind the image slowly blooms to white with an intensifying static sound. There's what appears to be a bit of red coloration in the center of his face, though it could only be discoloration from the VHS filter. Then there's only static with text reading ">REWIND"

The last small change we see is Martin censoring the credits of his own name to read only as "Martin", which I think pretty definitely confirms that his previous pseudonym is defunct and no longer accurate.

[dathen]

They had each been stabbed, it seems, and the Hungarian police were of opinion that they had quarrelled and had inflicted mortal injuries upon each other. Holmes, however, is, I fancy, of a different way of thinking, and holds to this day that, if one could find the Grecian girl, one might learn how the wrongs of herself and her brother came to be avenged.

GET EM SOPHY!!!!

The ending of this case as written is sad and abrupt, but it’s the first one where the Granada adaption made me actually angry. The added sequence of them pursuing the kidnappers and finding them on the train is a delight, and there are so many good moments on the train itself, and then….they inexplicably change Sophy from “stabbed her brothers’ murderers to death and escaped” to “I still love him even if he killed my brother,” just so Holmes can call her cold-hearted and cruel?? What the FUCK is with this slander that is fully opposite of the story as written?!

The rest of the episode is so good, and it would have been SO sexy if they cornered the villains only to discover Sophy had stabbed them already.

[soulsxng]

"...Take these to Helai for me."

"How much do you want me to get for them?"

"It's not to sell them. I want him to see if it's possible to make something similar, but more...controllable. Until I can be sure that she doesn't intend to run off, I need a leash, so to speak."

Gold flecked eyes watch from afar as Allisae revels in the return of her powers, and he can feel a smile tug at the corner of his lips. For all the trouble it was to get this far, he had to say that it was paying off nicely. The look that Sophie was giving him, however, saw his expression temporarily sour, instead.

"Don't start; if I wanted your opinion on the matter, I'd have said as much. Besides, if she behaves, then I won't have to use it at all. Now go, before I send Ophan or Yori, instead."