#I can understand how being able to buy this stuff with satisfaction points would annoy some people

[victorluvsalice]

Fortunately, it was around this time that I discovered that, hey, all those satisfaction points he’s earned from fulfilling various aspiration goals? Yeah, those can just buy a Potion of Curse Cleansing. Time to get rid of this damn Overcharge curse so he can repair things magically again without fear! I mean, that main lobby toilet at the lab breaks a fair bit, I’ve noticed. . .

Anyway, with his duel won, Emmett headed off to work, to trade magical mischief for sciencial mischief. Specifically, in addition to the usual prompts to force his coworkers to clean and change clothes (does that have to be a work goal EVERY TIME?), the lab asked Emmett to upgrade his SimRay with a new mind control option -- Eat! Though, in the course of testing it, it worked a bit more like “Drink,” frankly -- Emmett’s coworkers kept getting glasses of water and sodas out of the fridge. As you might imagine, getting to the toilet became kind of a priority for them! Poor Mortimer and Perry and the rest -- I do feel kinda sorry for them. At least Emmett got a bit of karma for tormenting them so -- namely, his attempts to work out after his OWN lunch didn’t go so well. What you get for trying an incline without proper preparation, Emmett!

[lickingyellowpaint]

Alright, because at least one anon was curious, here are some thoughts based on, admittedly, a very brief foray into the world of sales. I'll speak only to what made my gut instinct do a confused puppy head-tilt, and obviously this is opinion, from someone on tumblr, and therefore not the end-all, be-all of advice on this...

Red Flags of Possible Scam Employers and/or Services

1) The first red flag was that the company threw me into the internal chats - chock full of pep and others' successes - before I was actually physically at work and able to understand their utility. Perhaps it’s easier from a tech perspective to fling new employees into every digital system at once. And sure, there was useful information and good insight into how the company uses those chats - lots of newbies asking questions and getting relevant good answers whilst on the floor, which IS nice - and if you're like me and unfamiliar with the tech or apps being used, it's great practice.

For the most part, though, two of the main chats were just hyping up their salespeople as they met their goals. I suspect they want you to see how much money everyone's making, how they're meeting their goals, and make you want to succeed similarly. There was already a little too much constant enthusiasm bouncing around the place for my goth ass, but hey, can't say the culture was negative! Still somewhat a nefarious psychological move, though, imho. The intent is likely to boast, dazzle, entice, overwhelm and make you envious enough to be competitive, as much as it is to inspire and inform. Just a guess.

2) The second red flag was similar in nature. In a lot of the e-meeting training sessions, there was a LOT of time spent on praising the success of those present in video meetings, a LOT of time spent on explaining the tier system of salespeople, the incentives, the commission system, cool trips you can earn... and I get that, to a degree, okay, you have a job, you wanna know how much money you can really make. Fine!

But if as much or more time is spent on those types of things than the actual training on what you need to learn to do the job... hm. Hm! I suspect more headgaming. (And no, this wasn't an MLM targeting suburban moms to employ and get all their friends onboard. This is a big company with good stock and trusted affiliates.) Anyway, this is about when my gut started to do that quiet hrrrr-uff dogs do when they wanna bark but aren't sure about it yet.

3) Language and words are key. Obviously, most people are sharp enough to know that phrases like "no out-of-pocket upfront cost" is a codeword for We Can't Legally Say It's Free But Want You To Feel Like It Is, and means there'll be payment involved at some point. It's one thing to know that, and quite another to parrot the phrase at an elderly potential customer, or one whose grasp of English isn't quite perfect. Could you, in good conscience, do that for a commission and feel good about it? Turns out I couldn't.

And that's not necessarily indicative of a scam company altogether - sales is sales, and sales language has probably been a little deceptive by nature for as long as it's been around. But could you do that for a paycheck, while being new to the job, thus not being entirely sure what it's gonna cost that little old lady or that immigrant family down the line? Could you? You may not really know for sure until you hear yourself say it, and your gut starts barking in earnest, because you don't know what their next step - that you just convinced them to take - will be.

4) I didn't know, so I tried to find out. While my followers here know I was pretty diligent with my required training stuff, you can see from points 1 and 2 that those materials weren't really meaty and informative enough for me. I tried to seek further clarification not just on my tasks, but the next steps - could someone explain them to me better, in a way that assured me I wasn't pitching a scam? Could someone send me videos or content relevant to the next step in the process, just so I understand it better for my own edification and peace of mind?

Well... maybe they tried to. I was sent a link to a video of one of the next-step-in-the-process sales guys at work... only to be denied access to that video, and though I requested access, nothing in the system ever granted it to me. A glitch? Perhaps. But when I mentioned wanting access, wanting a few more questions answered until I felt right with things, most of what I heard was:

"Oh, you don't have to worry about that."

"Don't overcomplicate things for yourself."

"That's a little above your role. Keep things simple, say you don't know, and it'll add value to the expertise of the next-step sales guy!"

"We tend to save that for more advanced training, since not all of our new people have your emotional intelligence, and might not have as good a brain-to-mouth filter, and say more to the customer than they need to."

Well... I wasn't asking in order to answer a customer's questions, I was asking to answer mine. I won't speak to what I don't know to be true, and I won't sell what I'm not sure is legit, no matter how much I'm paid to do so. And that gut-dog? Now it's a pack of dogs, and at least one of them is starting to howl.

5) It's howling kind of loudly, actually, and my (delightful, friendly, funny) managers aren't helping me quiet it down. So if they can't answer my questions to my satisfaction, I have to seek answers elsewhere.

Arguably, obviously, I should have done this from the start, but - that's when I sought out customer reviews.

And I don't mean clicking Google Reviews and just reading those.

I mean spending most of an afternoon on a deep dive into the following search terms:

"[Company Name] reviews" "[CN] scam" "[CN] Better Business Bureau reviews" "[CN] reddit" "[CN] class action/lawsuit" "[CN] Yelp/any other well-known review site you can think of”/Twitter tag/FB search

You get the idea.

Now, of course some bad actors (rival companies, annoyed ex-employees) can write bad reviews to make the company look bad. Equally, anyone who felt like it could write good reviews to make the company look good. (I wasn't about to search every good reviewer's name in our email database to see if any matched up. But a couple did include words or phrases that might be included in customer-facing marketing and mission statements and thus parroted naturally, but were definitely included in internal training vids. Just a very slight few, but they popped out at me.) Another thing to keep in mind when wanting to take all reviews into account equally is that when people are happy with a product, they don't always remember to leave reviews, so most reviews are written by the vaguely-to-deeply dissatisfied to begin with, and may not be an accurate representation of what's really going on.

Let's be fair here. As a thought experiment, look up the reviews for a company/service/product you truly love, and see if the bad ones reflect a concern you can understand, or one you'd brush off, or one that just doesn't reflect your experience at all. What works for one person/locale/reason for another, might not for someone else, and that’s understandable.

Also ponder:

Out of, let's say, 200 reviews, how many would need to be positive to get you to buy something, especially if it was something you wanted? Would a lot of negative ones make you second-guess the product or service?

How would you gauge the seriousness of the problems presented in the negative ones?

Would a company responding to the bad reviews with apologies and customer service numbers, on that same forum where all could read their empathy and solutions, be enough to convince you that the company had handled the issue by the time you're reading them?

Ponder, ponder, ponder...

aaaand, moving on.

Let's say that out of 200 reviews from a plethora of sources, 40-50 are five-star happy with the company.

Another, eh, 30 or so are two- or three-star, because something went wrong, wrong enough to leave an iffy or downright bad taste in the reviewers' mouths.

The last 110-120? One-star reviews. With at least 10-20 of those saying they'd have left zero stars if the review forum allowed it.

Some of those one-stars may be several years old. Some may have since had their issue truly resolved, and never bothered to update their review or add to it. Some have issues that boil down to, "Okay, the customer clearly didn't understand the terms", or, "That's a crazy problem but I can't relate to caring about it because [insert personal preference/reason] here."

But if a whole load of those one-star reviews tend to speak up about the same types of problems, serious ones, ones you'd find bothersome or downright tragic, ones that would cost you money in some way or another, ones that make you further doubt the integrity of the company altogether, and many of them are as recent as the last few months...

Do I need to finish that sentence?

Hold up, BRB, I have to let the gut-dogs out, they're going absolutely batshit crazy. Must be a full moon!

Or just a disorganized, neglectful, or possibly purposely deceitful company.

The old saying says there’s a sucker born every minute.

Would your conscience be cool with being paid to be one, or to prey on them?

Advice:

My advice is pretty basic: before joining, signing, buying important things, do your diligent research and trust. your. gut.

I hope the above list of experiences helps guide you in doing both.

[cerberus253]

Drago's beloved girlfriend would be able to introduce him to the holidays? If she likes them, but not Drago. And what gift do you think you could give him?

Drago probably already knows a bunch of the main holidays celebrated in the USA, as well as why they were created and still celebrated. With that being said, I don’t think Drago would celebrate any of them, well, aside from Halloween because ‘tis the season to be spooky scary. If anything, he’d be okay with Halloween. despise Christmas and the 4th of July. and not care about the rest.

Like I just said, Drago would like Halloween because of it’s scary aesthetic and its “praising“ amongst monsters and darkness. He’d hate Christmas because of all the mushy, heartfelt, family stuff. Kindness and compassion for no reason other than just because? Pathetic! Weak! For the 4th of July, and really any holiday like it, Drago doesn’t like it because it celebrates independence of humans. I guess you could also put Valentine’s Day under the “hated holidays“ list, but I think Drago would find that one more annoying than anger inducing.

Now, if Drago had a human s/o, they’d probably get him involved with some of them. Those like Valentines Day, Christmas, Thanksgiving, etc are really about being with family and expressing their affection/thankfulness to one another. Yeah, it all has human origins, but it’s also about in general love. Dude’s a grinch because he never felt loved, and therefore probably resents emotional holidays. However, since he is now with someone who absolutely ADORES him, he may start seeing it in a better light, even if it’s for slight selfish reasons on the surface (”Yes! Rain your gifts upon me!”). In addition, I don’t think Drago would be too warm towards strangers and relatives during these holidays even if he understands their meanings now, but he would warm with the s/o for obvious (attachment) reasons. Oh to imagine cuddling Drago under a warm blanket, drinking hot cocoa, watching a silly movie together, and then plopping a little Santa hat on his grumpy face. Imagine his surprise when you give him so many kisses for being so cute with that hat on~ *ahem* Anyways, insert every holiday movie classic with a person hating the holidays at first, but then finally shown the love they never knew, and then they finally understand the true meaning of compassion and family, and boom, ya got Drago’s “appreciating the holidays“ arc.

The next set of holidays would be those that fall under Easter, Saint Patrick’s Day, 4th of July, Halloween, etc. I’m not sure how most people view these holidays, but I look at them as “Fun Activities“ holidays. So, of course Drago would be from neutral to against for most of them for their origins or the “silly, pointless stuff“ one does, but again, once the s/o celebrates these holidays with/in front of him, he’d be a little more open with them. For example, Easter. Easter’s origins is about the resurrection of Christ, and for some reason you go on an egg hunt for goodies and prizes. Yeah, sounds dumb, BUT it could be some innocent fun if done right. The whole activity is to search for metaphorical/literal treats, whether it be chocolate, little toys, stuff you could actual use (stamps, bookmarks, jewelry, etc), etc. It’s all a treasure hunt, and really just about every creature that targets gaining happiness and satisfaction harbors curiosity. Drago would think it’s stupid, but just wait and see what his reaction(s) would be if you hid some stuff around the house, putting some riddled notes with a small piece of chocolate in every single one, and ultimately it leads to his Grande Surprise! He’ll want to resist it at first, but curiosity and greed will get the best of him, and if ya do it right, ya might get him like a cat looking for the scurrying mouse. Er, that last part might be romanticizing things, but still, so cuuute~

And just a quick note with the others, 4th of July is really about getting together, having a cook out and/or a camp out, and watching amazing fireworks to please that primordial brain part of ‘Ooo, shiny!’. Saint Patrick’s Day is purely about hanging out with friends, and Halloween is pretty obvious: Sweets and Scares all the way babyyyy.

Downside to all of this, Drago might catch on to it all being “required to socialize on these specific days,” when in reality nothing is stopping anyone with doing these same activities any other day of the year, well, aside from society telling you “no,“ and maybe needing a permit to do fireworks on any other day of the year, but my point still stands. You can hang out with people any day you want, give gifts whenever you want, and throw parties and gatherings whenever you want.

Holidays are specialized days to do these “extravagant“ activities all around the world and people will understand and be a part of it, but still, it feels all a little forced, ya know? It feels so much better to do something for someone on a whim than doing it because it’s a holiday, which makes it all feel required. Drago would definitely argue this at some point (and I totally agree with it with Christmas and kind of Halloween), but just actually have him Do the Things with you and be a part of something instead of being cut off all the time, he’ll warm up a little bit to it; just a little though. Maybe.

Reiterating, I personally believe people don’t like most holidays either because a lot of people who celebrate it are fucking annoying, or it’s because the former people never had a proper one, let alone had company and any good emotional attachments with anyone. So, what it comes down to is social animals need, well, to socializing, and the lack thereof drives one crazy, insane, and can and will cause mental problems. In a sense, holidays are important so social animals can get together for a yearly dose of needed chemicals to produce within them so they don’t break and become self destructive.

...

A-Anyways, that got a little deep. So, uh, what gifts would I give Drago... Well, he does come off as the type of person to not want anything unless they had some physical use to him, but there probably is some stuff he’d like just to have. So, I’d personally focus on getting him things he would use, like some cool-ass jackets and, if possible, some spellbooks so he can learn new magic stuffs. Ugh, I’m not good at giving gifts... The stuff that would make me feel like I gave him something worthwhile would be hand-made art pieces. I would LOVE to just... make things for him. A portrait of him, a sculpture of a fearsome Chinese dragon, a hand-made necklace, wood carved Chinese Zodiac animals, Bob Ross paintings of what his fantasy palace would look like, a hand knit blanket and/or sweater and gloves, etc. I never feel like “just buying something“ is ever good enough and I need to actually make something because that is the closest thing to the heart a gift can be. Going out and buying things, well, I guess imperial and Chinese looking things because of his heritage, aesthetic, and the suggested power Imperial China gives off.

But yeah, the best gifts would probably be things that he can actually use and its design or whatever is something that pleases him. So, uh, Chinese Dragon biker jacket, dawg. Maybe some finger less, fire resistant gloves or something.

[onlyinmyimagination]

Love is Blind

Jason Todd X Reader

This did not turn out how I wanted at all ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Maybe I’ll attempt a rewrite in the future but right now I am so tired of this story. I sincerely hope you guys like it more than I do. I’m so done.

Very loosely based on this prompt: “As a dating company professional, I never thought that I’d be able to match you with anyone because honestly, you’re such a terrible human being. But, in our search we found someone who fits your profile, and since you paid us to help you find a match, here is their information. God Help us.“

Also inspired by those social media au posts that float around the fandom. those are bomb af.

Genre: Romance, fluff I guess idk

Sorta social media au/celebrity au??? idk (someone tell me what kind of AU you think this is)

Warnings: Some foul language.

.

It started when Jason needed to quickly get a date to a launch party of some clothing brand by Wayne Enterprises (he never really cares for whatever new business venture Bruce Wayne busies himself with). He was supposed to glam it up with a partner at his side but he had put it off until the very last minute. His solution was to call up a reputable dating company because he simply didn’t have the time to screen the potential candidates on Tinder. And just like that, you were the dating professional assigned to him and he became your client.  

He hadn’t been the politest over the phone. He had been curt, a little aggressive, and much too particular about his preferences. Right away you knew he was trouble. But you resolved to do your best and stay professional. You had to compile his profile quickly and it was then that you found out that your newest client is a local celebrity. Hearing the name Jason Todd over the phone didn’t ring any bells at the time, but upon further research on your client you knew he’d be a challenge.

He had said he needed a date in less than a week and to his relief, you were able to meet him the next day with a potential match. Upon seeing your client in person you realized why his demands were so high. Not only is he the son of a billionaire, he’s also ridiculously good-looking and oddly intimidating. It must’ve been hard to find a suitable partner all by himself.

He had introduced himself, even though you knew very well who he was. He didn’t have as much attitude as he did over the phone, and he didn’t act as haughty as you expected him to be. With a practiced script and a customer service smile plastered on your lips, you invited him to sit at a nearby café while you reviewed the file of his potential partner with him.

He took the information with satisfaction and thanked you for your time. Unfortunately he didn’t last long with the match you found him, and you got another call from him a few weeks later. He needed another partner for an upcoming gala. And thus, the cycle continued to repeat itself, with your patience wearing thin and professionalism quickly dissipating with a few months. Before you met Jason Todd Wayne you’ve had a near perfect reputation, with an almost one hundred percent success rate with your clients. But he was ruining your reputation and it upset you tremendously.

“Jason, did you seriously ditch her last night?”

“It’s not what you think!”

“What do you...” you pause to take a deep breath and calm yourself.  You continue, “You literally ditched her at a party you brought her to.”

“Yeah, but for a good reason!”

“And what reason would that be?”

“Uhhh...I can’t say. But it really was a good reason!”

You give a skeptical look. “Did you even call her afterwards? Did you even think to apologize for leaving her alone?”

“...No. I got a little sidetracked, but I’ll do it right now!”

“She doesn’t want to see you again. I doubt she’ll want to talk to you.”

“Well that’s her loss.”

“Is it really, though,” you mutter to yourself.

“She seemed more than happy with me last night.” Then he adds, “Before I left her anyway.”

“What a coincidence—she said the same thing to me. I painstakingly searched through hundreds of files for her, and this is what you do? After you messed up all those other dates, it’s been near impossible digging up more matches for you.”

“I know, I know. I’m an asshole. But I also know you’ll find me another date in time for Bruce Wayne’s next big gala.”

“Can you at least try to be nice,” you say while shaking your head and rummaging through your files. “Nicer, I mean. I’m trying to find a potential lifelong partner for you here.”

“No guarantees, cupid.”

You eye him as you press your lips into a thin line. “I found a realtor who lives less than an hour away. Her profile is similar to your past matches and she seemed like she’d be able to put up with you. Realtors tend to have a lot of patience. Very admirable.”

“That’s pretty cold of you to say.”

“At this point, the one I feel sorry for is her.”

“Brrr...chilly.”

“From all the complaints I’ve been getting, you’re not exactly the easiest to be around.”

“You’re holding up just fine.”

“It’s part of my job.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that we’ve hung out longer than I’ve dated any of the partners you’ve set me up with. Technically you could say,” he says slowly, suggestively, “I’ve been on more dates with you than any of those matches of yours.”

“Like any of that is my fault. You get dumped after one date almost every time and I’ve got to set up a new match for you in time for your next big party.”

“Why don’t you just be my date from now on?”

“Not gonna happen. I don’t get involved with my clients.”

“A little uptight, aren’t you?”

“If you’re just going to pester me about how I do my job, then this meeting is over. I’ll see you in a week after this next one dumps you.”

“That’s ice cold.”

“We’ll see what happens in a week.” You plaster a professional smile on your face as you bid him goodbye but once you turn around you bite your lip anxiously. You didn’t want to admit his nonchalant invitation to be his date made your chest squeeze. Just the slightest interest toward you has you feeling a little too giddy even when you keep reminding yourself how much of a jerk he is. The more he flirts with you, the harder it is to stay professional. You feel awful and guilty about it, but you don’t get many chances to feel this way.  

Being a professional matchmaker left you on the sidelines as you constantly watch couples meet and fall in love. Finding love for yourself just seemed to be out of reach for you when you’re busy finding love for other people. And pursuing romance with Jason Todd is entirely out of the question. It became impossible the moment he became your client. So, you vow to keep him at a distance.

Just as you had predicted, a week passes and Jason Todd Wayne contacts you again for another meeting to discuss another partner.

You glance at the time and see that he’s twenty minutes late. You roll your eyes at this. It’s nothing new. His lack of punctuality is part of the reason his dates got so fed up with him. Bored, you scan your surroundings and see an ice cream shop next to the café. Seeing no harm in getting yourself a treat, you buy a scoop of your favorite flavor. You choose the cone over the cup to savor your treat. The purchase takes only a few minutes and you’re soon back at your meeting spot, with still no sign of Jason, of course. It’s a few more minutes later when you hear your name being called.

Pausing mid-bite, you turn to see Jason and don’t bother with a greeting. “See? What’d I tell you? It’s been a week.”

He chooses to ignore your jab and says, “Is that ice cream? You bought ice cream without me?” You’re caught off guard for a moment and you open your mouth to answer but he continues childishly, “Let me have some.” His hand is suddenly around your hand that’s holding the ice cream cone, and he’s guiding it to his mouth.

You’re fumbling over your words as he takes a bite and you finally say, “Go get your own!” You snatch your hand out of his grasp and gesture to the ice cream shop. He licks the ice cream from his lips as he looks over to the shop. That’s when you see the side of his face where a greenish-yellow bruise adorns the outer corner of his eye, just below his eyebrow.  

“What the hell? That was not there last week” you say, lifting a hand as if to touch his face. Then you realize what you’re doing and drop your hand again. “That looks bad. Did you ice it?”

“I did. But you should’ve seen it last night, it was so much worse,” he says good-humoredly but then clamps his mouth shut as if he had just revealed a secret.

“I don’t even want to know,” you remark with a shake of your head. You had heard about Jason’s mysterious bruises and wounds, but you never saw them on the visible parts of his body. Your clients on the other hand had often complained about him showing up with mysterious injuries, suspecting him of getting into brawls, fooling around with other lovers, and God knows what. You understand now why they chose to break up with him. Showing up with serious injuries and refusing to offer an explanation as to how he got them (or making some outlandish lie) would make anyone in his company uncomfortable. It’s disconcerting. But the longer you stare at his bruised face, the more you pity him. “Let’s just get you some ice cream.”

“For my face?” His fingers lightly brush over his bruise.

“I was thinking for your mouth or your stomach.”

He laughs and makes his way into the ice cream store. “What flavor should I get?” he asks as you follow him inside.

“Just get your favorite flavor,” you suggest curtly.

“But that’s boring. Predictable.”

You roll your eyes. “Then try a new flavor.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

You act annoyed to keep up a withdrawn attitude toward him. But if you didn’t know better, he seems like he’s biding his time on purpose and you can’t help but wonder why. “Please just choose something, Jason.”

He’s not fazed by your snippy attitude and asks, “You don’t want to share with me?” He stuffs his hands into his pockets as he examines the choices beneath the glass.

“You can share with your next date partner,” you suggest as you continue consuming your treat. He narrows his eyes at you and you hide your smile behind your ice cream.

“You’re no fun,” he mumbles.

It takes an agonizingly long time with a lot of back and forth between you before he could successfully pick a flavor. Then, in an unexpected turn of events, you both end up walking around while finishing your cold treats. You discuss the next profile with him as you both stroll leisurely through a shopping center. During this time, you find Jason isn’t all that bad. The complaints about him have been mostly regarding his carelessness after all, rather than his attitude. But you hate that you find him so charming. As if his good looks didn’t make you curse him enough already.  

The next time you see Jason is after a few weeks and you’ve agreed to meet at a local bookstore. You’re not surprised to find that once again, Jason is late and nowhere to be seen. While skimming the shelves, a book catches your eye and you flip through it curiously.  

“That book isn’t very interesting.”  

You turn to the familiar voice and shut the book. “Then what do you recommend?” you ask lightly, remembering that reading is listed as one of his hobbies.

“Well, you can’t go wrong with the classics.”

“Classics? As in?” you prod with a raised brow.

“Well there’s Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters,” he says. “What kind of stories do you like? Or do you like poetry? Plays?”

You hadn’t expected him to ask so much about your interests. But you remind yourself to stay professional, so you steer the conversation to the purpose of the meeting. “We can discuss books next time. I have another client’s profile for you.”

“Still as uptight as ever. Thought you eased up a little since we last met.”

“It was...a unique occasion. I won’t let it happen again,” you say while turning away in case your face gives anything away.

“So I have to get knocked around a little for you to be nice to me?”

“I am nice to you,” you say indignantly. “I’m just trying to do my job and find suitable partners for you.”

“Alright, cupid. Then who do you have for me today?” he asks with annoyance, holding out his hand for the file. He acts almost... sulky.

You hand him a folder and he flips through it quickly. You explain, “They live almost two hours away but—”  

“Too far,” he states as he closes the folder and gives it back to you. His dismissive attitude stuns you and you look back at him with a bewildered expression. Jason had never declined the potential partners you’ve presented to him before. Then he says, “Can’t you just be my date from now on, cupid?”

You blink and take a moment to gather yourself. “I told you, I don’t get involved with my clients.”

"What do I have to do to get a date with you? Am I supposed to fire you? Even for me, that’s kind of a douche-y thing to do.”

Your breath still at this. The thought of being fired distresses you, but at the same time, Jason’s intention behind his words has your heart racing.

“Are you serious?” you ask.

“Yeah. You gotta admit we have fun together, right? And don’t say it’s because it’s your job.” He is interrupted when his phone suddenly goes off and he takes out the device as if he had just gotten an important notification. You cross your arms while waiting for his attention to return to the conversation. As he scrolls through his phone, you wonder fleetingly if he’s simply just tired of all his failed partners you’ve matched him with. “Listen, I gotta run,” he says while stuffing his phone back in his pocket. “But how about we meet again tomorrow? Are you free?” Realizing he’s ready to speed off, you stop him with a pointed finger.

“Hold it right there! You can’t just ditch our meeting today!”

“But—but it’s an emergency!” he insists.

“Then come back after!” you reply. “If you really need to talk to me then meet me in front of the library at eight tonight. That’s where I’m meeting my last client today and I should be done by then. Will you be able to come?”

“Uh, I guess I could do that.” He looks unsure as he glances at the time.

“Try, Jason. I have meetings with other clients tomorrow so unless you can wait a few more days, that’s the best I can do.”

“Okay, okay. Tonight in front of the library, got it.”

You don’t manage to get another word in as he takes his leave. This must be the infamous disappearance act where he just ups and leaves, ditching his partners. Despite being annoyed with his flaky attitude, you’re more bothered by the conversation that just transpired. Did he really want to fire you?  

Regardless of whether he fires you or you resign as his matchmaker, you aren’t even sure it would work out with Jason if you agree to a date him. You didn’t exactly approve of his attitude after all, and who’s to say the relationship would last? You wouldn’t even be able to go back to being matchmaker and client if you ended up breaking it off, and then you would have no reason to contact him again. The thought leaves you feeling strangely forlorn, so you push the thoughts away and continue your day.

Later that night you bid your last client goodbye and you loiter around the supposed meeting spot. As expected, Jason is nowhere to be seen, and you lazily sit on the cement planters in front of the library to wait for him. After thirty minutes, you toy with the idea of calling him. But you conclude that he’s just being his usual self.  

While waiting, you pass the time on your phone. You visit Jason’s Instagram profile, telling yourself the action is strictly professional and for the sake of research. You notice a post from yesterday. It’s a picture of a playbill for A Midsummer Night’s Dream. He must’ve gone to see the play locally. You scroll down a bit to read the accompanying caption he wrote:  

“Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

“Cupid, huh,” you mutter under your breath. The post has half a million likes and hundreds of comments, most of which are heart emojis. Did Gotham even have that many people in it? You don’t dwell on it too long and proceed to add the activity to his dating profile.

It’s another thirty minutes later when a noise behind you draws your attention and makes you flinch. It sounded like a thud, like something had fallen.  

“Why are you still here?” a voice asks, and you turn to face the infamous vigilante in the red helmet. “It’s late. You should be home.”

Red Hood is addressing you and it stuns you. But you’re distracted by the way he slowly staggers forward while leaning on the side of the building for support. This guy is not in the best shape.

“I’m supposed to be meeting someone,” you say unsurely as you stand. Not many people have had the opportunity to converse with Gotham’s vigilantes. Not as common an occurrence as one would think. “Am I not supposed to be here? Um, should I go?” You can’t help but dwell on his wording, the way he had phrased his words. A sudden thought creeps into the back of your mind that you didn’t want to surface, that you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Heh. I’ve always thought that seriousness of yours is pretty cute.” Then he loses balance and falls forward.  

“Are you okay?!” you exclaim. Instinctively, you move forward to catch him and the next thing you know, you’re holding up half his body weight. As you help lower him to a more comfortable position on the floor you slowly register his words, and when you do, your breath stills. You had tried to push it down, keeping it at the back of your mind, but the implication is impossible to ignore. The timing is too perfect to simply be a coincidence. You nervously scan Red Hood’s appearance as you sit next to him. “Jason?” you try, not sure what answer you are hoping to hear.

He hums in response then he vaguely says, “You know me pretty well, cupid. Looks like you don’t need your eyes to see me at all.”

His words throw you off but then you’re reminded of Jason’s most recent post on his social media. If you hadn’t seen it, you probably wouldn’t have understood what he just said to you. “Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind,” you say softly and slowly, trying to recall the quote. “And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.”

“Didn’t know you were a fan of Shakespeare. Or have you been stalking me?”

“I have to keep up to date with my clients’ interests, okay?” you say to defend yourself. “I needed to update your profile.”

“Oh. Right, right.” A short chuckle escapes him but he groans right after and he clutches his side in pain. He leans his head back against the wall behind him.

“Are you okay?” you ask in panic, completely forgetting he came to you barely standing. Your hands hover just over his wounded body, wanting to help but unsure how to. You don’t care that you’re losing your cool in front of him. Professionalism be damned. It’s impossible to control the turmoil of emotions flowing through you, especially the guilt. All this time, you had criticized his awful habits and nonchalant behavior. Now everything about him is suddenly clicking into place.  

“You should be going to the hospital or something with these injuries,” you say while eyeing the blood seeping from his side. You notice cuts all over his body and even the helmet is cracked. “Why did you come here when you’re this hurt?”

“Well I said I’d come, so here I am.” His tone is light-hearted despite the heaves of his chest as he struggles to intake air.

“You’re already super late anyway, idiot,” you snap back, though you can feel tears pricking your eyes. “You shouldn’t have bothered. I was about to leave.”

“Kinda relieved you didn’t.”

“What was so important that it couldn’t wait until our next meeting?” you demand. You figure the sooner you get the reason out of him, the sooner you can get him some help.

“Come on, don’t be mad. It makes it harder to say if you’re mad at me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek and say in a controlled tone, “I’m not mad.”

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” he says before taking a deep breath. “I just didn’t want you to find me another date. I needed to tell you...God, this is going to sound so sappy but to hell with it. I don’t want any more matches, or profiles, or whatever. I’m in love with you. I don’t want to see anyone else. Look, I know you’re wary of me but give me a chance. Even Cupid was able to fall in love, right?”

For a moment you’re speechless but you organize your thoughts and say, “I consider Cupid’s love story more tragic than romantic. He really shouldn’t be a source of inspiration... or object of affection.”

“You’re totally missing the point of my speech.”

“You’re the one who likened me to Cupid,” you reply, trying to keep your emotions under control.

“Oh, so we’re just going to ignore my heartfelt confession, then.” He moves to sit up straighter and groans while doing so. You reach out to help support him but he grabs your hand instead. “I’m serious about you, really. Give me a chance. I promise I’ll be more honest. I’ll try harder to be on time. I’ll keep our dates. I’ll be better, I promise.”

“Okay, okay!” you hastily answer out of nervousness. “But how am I supposed to date you if you’re dying right in front of me?!”

“This is nothing. I just need to make a call, and everything will be fine. Easy-peasy.” He groans again as he leans back. He continues to grip your hand, clutching it to his chest. “But more importantly, now that we’re officially dating, can I publicly announce it?”

“You should be making this call of yours the priority right now,” you say while desperately trying to ignore the heat creeping across your face.

He sighs dramatically. “Can’t you let me savor this moment a little while longer?”

“Well excuse me for worrying! If you weren’t bleeding out, I would let you savor this moment however long you wanted.”

“I can’t help it if I want to celebrate. I’ve finally caught Cupid, after all.”

You study his expressionless helmet. "What would you have done if I still said no?” you ask curiously.

“Remember how I said I didn’t want to be an ass and fire you? Well I would probably try to get you to quit instead. Then ask you out.”

An incredulous expression crosses your face and you ask, “Get me to quit? How?”

“Oh, probably a little bullying here and there. Just me being more of a jerk than I already am,” he says while using one hand to slide his helmet off. You’re glad to see his familiar face after staring at his mask for so long.

“Wow, that is just as bad,” you remark, your voice laced with humor. “That’s an equally terrible thing to do.”  

“Doesn’t matter now, cupid. I don’t have to do any of that stuff anymore.” He grips your hand again and tugs you closer, making you lean over him slightly as a result.

“Yeah, because you made me a promise,” you quip, attempting to maintain your composure despite how close you are to him.

"Indeed, I did,” he says in agreement, his voice dropping lower and making your legs weak. He tilts his head and his lips ghost just over yours. “So now I can be cupid’s match.”

Your lips stretch into a smile. “Then, as of now, I officially resign as your matchmaker.”

.

.

.

[partlycharlie-archive]

february 20, 1937

part 1 of lines don’t have ends

summary: So. Now they’re here, in a tiny one-bedroom apartment a couple blocks east of the Brooklyn Bridge, in a neighborhood with the most queers east of Greenwich. Sharing a room, and a bathroom, and a kitchen, and a living-dining-office type room. It’s everything Bucky had been dreaming of, and he can’t even get the goddamn chance to enjoy it. word count: 1568 warnings: n/a a/n: welcome to the first part of LDHE! posting this for @fandomtrumpshate 2019 - hope y’all enjoy!

read on ao3

---

It’s been a couple of months since Momma - Miss Sarah Rogers, as most other people knew her - died.

It seems wrong, almost, that after everything Momma’s been through, it was the tuberculosis that eventually got her.

(Bucky had tried everything he could think of - lit rosemary in Momma’s room, knelt and prayed next to her bed (only the one time - holding Steve’s rosary felt too wrong), helped Steve with filling baths and getting water and buying jars of honey for tea whenever he could get his hands on it. He even spoke with Rabbi Joseph almost every day, that week, and Ma hadn’t even tried to stop him. He probably shouldn’t have, in retrospect - Rabbi Joseph almost definitely knows something’s wrong with how attached Bucky is to Steve and Momma - but it’s too late to change anything now.)

He knows it’s bad, but Bucky can’t help being grateful Momma was the one who passed, not Steve. Those few weeks before when Stevie had been sick - not with tuberculosis, with scarlet fever, which wasn’t as bad but still so, so worrying - had been the worst of Bucky’s life. Steve couldn’t get out of bed on his own, and Momma had to cover too many shifts to help, so Bucky ended up staying home most days to take care of him. He’d always known Steve was sickly - he’d been catching colds left and right ever since they met - but it was one thing to know that, and another to see him on death’s door and be terrified he might step over.

He knows it was worse for Stevie, though. Not catching the fever - Steve’s been dealing with sickness all his life, by this point he’s pretty much used to it - but having to watch his mother go through almost exactly what he had most of his life and fail to survive? It tore Steve apart. He was wracked with guilt, and what made it even worse was that Bucky could understand why.

And Bucky hated to even think about it, and he’d never dare say it to Steve, but.

But nothing, really.

It’s over now - Momma’s resting, wherever she went, and all they can do is grieve and tell themselves she went to someplace better than the shithole they’re all in.

Grieving is hard, Bucky gets that - Ma went through a miscarriage and a stillbirth before they got Annie, and losing Emma and Aidan still gets to him when he lets himself think about it. Steve, though. It almost seems like Steve’s just… drifting, really.

Bucky hasn’t said anything to him about it; to be honest, he’s mostly just grateful Steve agreed to live with him at all. He's not gonna lie - there’d been a couple of weeks there right after Momma’s funeral where Steve had flat out refused to move in, and it had driven Bucky crazy . He didn’t really sleep, during those days, too busy tossing and turning to the thought of Steve, alone in that tiny apartment that feels far too big without Momma’s spirit filling it up.

It had taken Winifred Barnes herself - with a personality louder than her voice - to finally shake some sense into Steve’s odd sensibilities. She filled up that apartment to bursting without even flinching and took joy in reminding Steve about the family he’d been ignoring in his grief-fueled isolation.

There was a sort of smug satisfaction, Bucky can admit, in seeing Steve get chewed out by the woman who was basically his mother at this point. He got to see the expressions on Steve’s face - righteous indignation when Ma started to yell… slack-jawed surprised when the first tear dripped down Ma’s face, followed by another, and another…

And Steve can’t help it, really - he’s a sympathetic crier, always has been, especially with Ma. Bucky can count on the fingers of one hand how many times he’s seen her cry, so he was almost as shocked as Steve was when Ma’s voice had started to shake.

She’d gotten over it soon, though - gathered herself together in that certain sort of way he’s only ever seen her do, grabbed Stevie by the ear, and told him to pack up his stuff.

He did, obviously. He’s not an idiot.

At that point, Ma’s relatives in Europe had been talking for a while about coming over to America. The whole Hitler business is frightening for everyone over there, not just the Jews, but it doesn’t help that they’re the ones being blamed. Something dangerous is about to happen, and everybody knows it.

It wasn’t until recently, though, that Ma had been able to save up some money to sponsor their immigration. Four kids under one roof is a hell of a lot to take care of, so Bucky had officially dropped out of school (not like he had been going much before that, anyway - he’d been taking shifts down at the docks since he was fourteen and they went four days without anything but beans and bread to pave the way) and got his own place.

It was a little tenement in Gairville, just big enough to fit him and Becca and not much else - except Stevie, maybe, who was small enough to share Bucky’s bed without people saying much of anything, (not that they would, in a place like this), who ended up moving in with the both of them.

So. Now they’re here, in a tiny one-bedroom apartment a couple blocks east of the Brooklyn Bridge, in a neighborhood with the most queers east of Greenwich. Sharing a room, and a bathroom, and a kitchen, and a living-dining-office type room. It’s everything Bucky had been dreaming of, and he can’t even get the goddamn chance to enjoy it.

“Steve?” he calls, noting the hunch in Steve’s posture and the way he keeps flexing his fingers - subconsciously, as if he’s been working for too long but hasn’t realized it yet.

He doesn’t look up, just hums and picks up the pencil-type-thing laying by his waist.

Bucky sighs. This is Steve on one of his good days - too wrapped up in whatever he’s doing to notice anything around him.

Bucky thinks maybe he’d have more energy to be annoyed by the shit Stevie pulls if he wasn’t so hopelessly gone on him.

He leans against the wall, rubbing a hand down the side of his face.

Shit like that only gets more dangerous the more you think about it.

“Stevie?”

Steve looks up, eyes unfocused and squinting, from where he’s hunched over the old desk in the living room/dining room/kitchen (when Bucky says they don’t have a lot of room, he means it). “Hey, Buck,” he says, setting down his pencil.

“Y’know, one day your back’s gonna get stuck like that, and no braces or stretching is gonna be able to fix it.” Bucky crosses over to where he’s sitting, grabbing the other stool and plopping himself down.

Steve rolls his eyes, leaning over the back of the chair and groaning softly as his spine pops. “Yeah, yeah - tell me something I don’t know, why don’t you?”

“Well, it’s one AM, for starters.” Steve jumps, a little bit, obviously surprised at the time.

“What?” Bucky nods, a small smile on his face. “But - shit. I could’ve sworn we just had dinner…”

“Mmm… yeah, around four hours ago. C’mon buddy, let’s get to bed.” Bucky presses a hand to the small of Steve’s back and pushes lightly, feeling almost no resistance as Steve lets his body go limp.

“I don’t want to,” he says mulishly, closing his eyes against the weight of Bucky’s stare.

He rolls his eyes. “Hoo boy. Yeah, no, we’re not doing this. We’ve both got early days tomorrow.” In one smooth motion, he lifted Steve out of the chair, bending to slide an arm under his knees and lifting him up with nothing so much as even a grunt.

(Steve weighs approximately a pound - it doesn't feel like there's anything to lift, really.)

Steve doesn't even fight it, he's too tired; he just curls up a little bit more, huffs a sigh into Bucky's chest, folds his arms over his own. "I could walk, y'know."

"Yeah, I know, but you won't if you don't have to, so I may as well carry you." Bucky stands up fully and walks to the bedroom, shifting Steve's weight in his arms to turn out the light.

"Ugh... I gotta finish my project - art class t'morrow, you know that -"

“I gotta say, I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference. I mean - you know Jenny loves you, right? I don’t really think she’s gonna care all that much about whether my eyes are the right shade of gray.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m well aware, asshole. Sorry if I’m not tryna slack off for this class - she’s already letting me in for cheaper than she should, I don’t want to take advantage of her.”

Bucky dumps him on the bed, tugging off Steve’s pants and shirt. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

Steve huffs out a long sigh, sinking into the mattress. He rolls over. “Mmmf.”

“Uh-huh.”

Steve shoves an arm out, flailing it around until Bucky grabs it, and then he pulls (with a surprising amount of strength, considering the size of him) Bucky into bed. “G’night,” he says.

He twists as Bucky watches, not moving, just watching Steve make himself comfortable. Eventually, they end up so that Steve’s back is facing him, pressed all along his front, knees curled up somewhere by his chest.

Bucky huffs out a breath, smiling helplessly. “Night, Stevie.”

[walters-tampon-string]

Method Acting

Fandom: Durarara!!!

Rating: T

Warnings: Implied sexual content (some mild hints but nothing too drastic)

Characters: Izaya Orihara, Shizuo Heiwajima

Relationships: Orihara Izaya/Heiwajima Shizuo

Description:  No one told them that there was going to be a kiss scene involved...

“What are you smiling about, bastard?” Shizuo Heiwajima growled, trying to put as much hatred into his glare as possible. After all, if Izaya was smiling, then that could mean nothing good for him. The best he could hope for was that he could somehow manage to intimidate the bastard into reconsidering whatever it was he was plotting in that head of his. But that would be the day pigs flew. He could try to strangle Izaya with a metal pipe, and the bastard still wouldn’t be frightened of him. He was too cheeky and brave for his own good. Shizuo was glaring goddamn daggers into him, but the man’s face remained practically serene as he spun around and hummed, the long pink and white kimono he had draped on flowing around him with an elegant grace.

“I just think we finally got put into very fitting and appropriate roles for once. I, a rich, prominent noble person, and you, a lowly servant-” Izaya’s sentence ended with a yelp as he dodged the water bottle Shizuo chucked at him, the bottle exploding everywhere, unfortunately nowhere near the louse.

Shizuo gritted his teeth in annoyance. What exactly was getting on his nerves, he wasn’t sure. Was he irritated because Izaya was being a perpetual asshole like always? But he should be used to it by now. Was he mad at himself for allowing Izaya’s quips to get under his skin in the first place? Shizuo had always had a ridiculously short fuse and bad anger issues. It didn’t take much for his temper to flare, and that flaw of his had almost caused him to lose roles before, seeing as some directors or actors felt afraid to work with him. He would like to point out if they didn’t want him blowing up half the time, they should try to avoid productions that involved Izaya, but whatever.

Maybe it was even something as base as the fact that no matter what he threw, Izaya managed to always have the evasiveness of a god and dodge it. It was a constant frustration, when all he wanted was to see the bastard get his just desserts for once.

Maybe it was a combination of all three.

Even though he didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing the water bottle hit, he took consolation at the filthy look Izaya threw his way, his strange wine-red eyes glimmering with hatred.

“Fuck you, Shizu-chan,” Izaya hissed. Shizuo felt his eye twitch at the nickname. Fuck did he hate the little bastard.

Shizuo was pretty sure he had some kind of blessing-curse rombo-combo going on right now. He was somewhat blessed, because he’d actually been managing to land a steady stream of roles, especially for a newer actor such as himself, and his status was taking off faster than he expected it to. Granted, most of his roles so far had been pretty small - just some parts in a couple of commercials and a few background roles in some TV shows and movies - but he had actually managed to land a few good spots.

He had gotten a very solid voice acting role for the main character of a popular anime, got to act as a main side character in a TV show for two seasons, and had even played the main antagonist in a monster movie that was getting quite the cult following.

He had been getting more and more fan letters, more and more interviews, and his name was being reached to a wider audience.

Pretty good, right?

However, there was a downside to it all. The curse of it being that almost ninety percent of the productions involved him working with Izaya Orihara. Izaya Orihara and him probably should get along. They were from very similar circumstances. They were both relatively young actors who were trying to make it in the industry. They had both been willing to pursue acting, despite knowing the risks such a life involved.

However, Izaya was an absolute asshole. He was always taunting, always sniping, always verbally jabbing at him. The pest even had a tendency to play pranks every now and then. And what Shizuo didn’t understand was why it was only him? Of course, he’d seen Izaya be mean to others, but he’d also seen a humble side of the flea. One who was professional and polite. Why couldn’t he get that kind of side of him? Even if it was just another act that the flea was pulling off. Was it because he had accidentally decked him and nearly broke his nose during a fake fight scene during one of their television shoots? Because that had been an accident .

Well, whatever the reason, it seemed Izaya had a personal vendetta against him and was determined to annoy him in anyway possible. One of his newer methods, Shizuo had been noticing was nicknaming him stuff. Protozoan had been the first, which, okay… was just a fancy way of saying the word idiot. He supposed as far as insults went though, it was generic though. But then, the flea had began throwing the word ‘monster’ around, probably to hint at the time Shizuo had, during the movie where he played the antagonist, “transformed” into a monster and had to wear a rubber suit, which Izaya, of course had found amusing.

Then, in one of the episodes of the TV show, there had been a miscommunication error, and for a good segment of the episode in question, a character thought Shizuo was a woman, who called herself ‘Shizu-chan.’ Ever since that episode had hit the airwaves, Izaya had been using the nickname to death.

He had considered getting the directors, but he knew that would be fruitless. Izaya had a way with words. Shizuo didn’t know how the flea did it, but he could get almost everyone wrapped around his finger in an instant. He would be able to convince the directors that it was simple misunderstanding or joke and sometimes, even pose it in a way that made Shizuo look like the bad guy.

So, he supposed if he wanted to be out of here faster, he should just do his lines as well as he could so he could get away from Izaya faster.

Also to get out of this tuxedo faster as well. It was making him feel unbearably hot.

So, turning away, he went to go some distance away from the flea. He had to remember… he was in a movie. A really big budget movie. The boost in his career this would give him would make it well worth having to deal with Shizuo.

He read over the lines of his script. His part was a bit harder. His character was a servant who’d been transferred from England to Japan, so he had to speak some lines with a bit of an accent and sprinkle in some broken Japanese every now and then, in order to try and make it authentic. It would lead help lead to the character Izaya was playing, Sakuraya, to feel the need to tutor the butler character, which would then lead to their eventual falling in love.

Shizuo grimaced. Not at the story itself. The story and the lines were fine. But the idea of having any romantic involvement with Izaya made him miserable just thinking about it.

But at least the directors had wanted their relationship to be “subtle” and “somewhat hidden” as to help fit the time period. So, the most they would be doing was handholding and maybe a hug.

And Shizuo supposed he could resist breaking Izaya’s hand enough to do a shoot.

All of a sudden, the director was calling for them to get into their positions. Shizuo took a breath.

Here went nothing. -------------------

Shizuo hated Izaya, but he had to admit, he saw why Izaya kept getting hired back. The guy was a very good actor. In fact, Shizuo might even say he had more talent than Shizuo, at least with his acting range. Izaya could seemingly put on any face he needed, always seemed to put the right inflection to his words. He spoke very eloquently and his memorization skills of his lines was top notch.

Shizuo, on the other hand, was a little harder on these aspects. It took him a couple tries to say some lines right and some lines he just struggled to remember. He wondered if that was part of the reason Izaya hated him too, because he was the only reason they were somewhat slow in any production. Well, Shizuo found Izaya’s infuriating perfectness to be annoying as well, so there.

But once they got it all down, the scenes seemed to flow naturally. Once Shizuo got himself in the right headspace, it was almost hard for him to remember that the soft hands he was holding belonged to the bastard flea.

They said their lines, they did their scenes, and eventually… the day was over.

Izaya stood up and looked at his hands in disgust, “Gotta go wash my hands now. Shizu-chan’s filthy hands no doubt got germs all over them.”

“Oi! What do you mean, filthy, you bastard?” Shizuo hissed.

And just like that, the illusion was dead and they were enemies once more. --------------------- “WHAT?” Both Shizuo and Izaya exclaimed the next day when they looked at the now changed script.

“You cannot be serious,” Izaya said, looking at the director imploringly.

“Please,” Shizuo groaned, “I’d be willing to do anything so long as you don’t do this.”

However, the director had very little sympathy for their plight. “We’ve decided the one way to get people to actually talk about the movie is if you two kiss. It makes it more romantic anyway.”

Izaya opened his mouth, and the director cut him off, “Before you say anything about historical accuracy, Izaya, it’s historical fiction for a reason. And if you noticed, the kiss happens in private. It’s staying in. If you two are that adamant about not doing it, we can easily find new actors to replace both of you.”

Shizuo supposed it couldn’t be more straightforward than that.

Growling, they both walked away in disgust.

“Remind me to buy some mouthwash before we shoot,” Izaya said, rolling his eyes.

Shizuo bristled, “You know I am not exactly eager, either, you fucking bastard.”

Izaya gave him a smirk and said, “Oh please, this is the probably the best thing to ever have happened for you. As far as I know, I might even be Shizu-chan’s first kiss!” He sing-songed the last part, mockingly.

“You wish, you rotten flea!” Shizuo said, tossing the script at Izaya, who like always, managed to dart away right in time, giggling.

He refused to acknowledge the fact that unfortunately, what Izaya said was indeed the truth.

Oh well… he supposed he had no choice.

The things one was willing to do for one’s craft.

--------------------------------------------------------------------- Acting was a little harder that day, at least for Shizuo. Naturally, he got into the flow of things again, but he couldn’t help but be distracted in the back of his mind that his lips were going to have to touch Izaya’s. And what’s worse, the director wanted it to look authentic. It couldn’t just be a little peck or anything, it had to involve tongue and everything, because of course it did.

Eventually though, as they continued to do the scene, it became a bit easier to fall into the role. He and Izaya were sitting on their knees, and Izaya had placed a hand on his knee, the two of them staring into one another’s eyes. Once again, Shizuo had to give it to Izaya’s acting ability. There seemed to be an actual heat in the gaze, and it seemed to electrify the air around Shizuo.

The scene was coming up any second now. Izaya was the one who had to initiate it.

Suddenly, the hand on Shizuo’s knee lifted and delicate, soft fingers touched his cheek. Eyes half-lidded, Izaya whispered, “Shitsuo-san, may I try something with you?”

“Of course,” Shizuo replied, eyes going half-lidded himself. He tried to look calm and somewhat confused, even though he was antsy as hell.

He had expected Izaya to hesitate. He probably would’ve if he was in the flea’s situation. However, the slender man actually closed his eyes and pressed their lips together immediately, his hand winding into Shizuo’s hair in a way that felt way to good.

Shizuo had to admit, he was a bit surprised. He had expected Izaya to purposely make this miserable for him. Maybe eat something absolutely nasty so his breath reeked or something while they were kissing, but Izaya’s lips actually felt soft and his breath warm. Shizuo hoped the fact that he stiffened when Izaya kissed him translated to his character being surprised rather than he himself being nervous.

Now was the point where Shizuo’s character was supposed to protest.

Pushing Izaya off of him lightly, he grabbed Izaya’s hands and said, “Master Sakuraya, we… we can’t.”

Izaya breathily chuckled and said, “Of course we can Shitsuo, so long as we are clever and coy.”

Then once more, Izaya pressed his lips to Shizuo’s. And this was the part where they were supposed to get more intense with the kiss, Shitsuo eventually giving in to his desires, at least for a moment. Izaya reminded him of this by tracing the line of his lips with his tongue, which caused Shizuo to gasp involuntarily. The flea took advantage of this, his tongue goading Shizuo’s to work with him. The flea was letting out convincing little hums too.

He was too good at this.

Eventually, Shizuo went along with it. And it felt good. Izaya was a great kisser, despite all of his other flaws. Shizuo found himself actually getting lost somewhat in baser desires.

However, eventually Izaya pulled away and his character let out a giggle, “See, you seemed to enjoy that, Shitsuo-san.”

Now, this was where Shitsuo was supposed to exit the scene. Pushing Izaya away, this time more roughly, he wiped at his lips and said, “No Sakuraya, doing such illicit acts will get us in trouble eventually. I… I have to leave.”

He stood up to leave, hearing Izaya’s character call out, “Shitsuo, please-!”

But Shizuo’s character snapped the door closed.

“CUT!” he heard the director say, but Shizuo continued to walk on until he reached the bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror. Had… he actually enjoyed kissing Izaya? ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night Shizuo was haunted by his dreams. Dreams of soft lips against his. The feeling of hands shifting through his hair. But there was a slight change to the context of the dreams. Instead of innocent hums, it was shameless hums he was swallowing. Instead of pushing Izaya away, his hands were slipping underneath Izaya’s kimono, feeling up the man’s pale skin, pinching a nipple and causing the other man to mewl in his mouth.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya whined, “Please-”

Shizuo awoke with a groan. Shit… what the fuck… --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Working with Izaya was already a pain in the ass, with the flea being, well, the way he was.

But somehow, this felt even worse. Cause now, he felt awkward.

His dreams hadn’t ended there. They had continued well throughout the night. Every single time, Izaya was in a new position, saying new things, but the concept was basically the same. Shizuo felt himself burning with shame.

Sure, Izaya was attractive, and okay, he was a good kisser. But he was an asshole.

And he was his coworker. He had to remember this. That kiss had been nothing but acting. Nothing else.

But for the whole day, as they were doing their shoots, Shizuo found he couldn’t focus. He kept messing up the lines, he refused to make eye contact with Izaya half the time, and he couldn’t put any heart into his lines.

Eventually, the director, frustrated, decided that what they needed was a break. He gave generic advice to Shizuo, which made him feel embarrassed… but he had simply nodded and walked away to the set to get a drink from his water bottle, wondering if it was going to be like this for the whole rest of the movie shoot. Because if so, he was going to lose a very valuable acting role, cause he highly doubted this director would have the patience to deal with him.

All of a sudden, he felt something hit him in the back. Not too hard, but enough to catch him off-guard.

When he looked down, he saw a water bottle rolling innocently by his foot. When he looked at the direction it had been thrown from, he saw Izaya smirking, saying, “Revenge.”

When Shizuo didn’t laugh, Izaya said, “Oh fine, no sense of humor… anyway, I just came to ask what the hell was with you up there? You struggle sometimes, but never that badly. What’s got you so bothered?”

Shizuo swallowed as he looked at Izaya. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this.

“Can I kiss you again?”

Izaya actually blinked in surprise for a moment. Shizuo expected him to refuse or to be disgusted, but Izaya actually just smirked.

“What?” Shizuo barked gruffly, already bracing for Izaya to mock him.

However, he was pleasantly surprised when Izaya just said, “See… told you it would be the best thing to happen to you.”

Shizuo rolled his eyes and snapped, “Shut up and come over here, flea, before I regret it.”

“Happy to oblige,” Izaya said with a purr, before striding over and pressing their lips in a kiss.

It was as good as Shizuo remembered it.

He would’ve been happy to stay there for a while, but Izaya pulled away and said, “If you want continued kisses, you got to take me out to dinner first.”

Shizuo swallowed and said, “Deal.”

Izaya was an asshole… but maybe… just maybe… he could get this to work.

Shizuo had always been the hopeful sort.

[rennyji]

June 30th and 29th tweets...

June 30th and 29th tweets...

June 30th tweets…

on my way home after lunch hour, &close 2 my neighborhood, a ripped tan white guy without a shirt &kiwi green shorts gestures “if I want 2 fight him from the side of the road” & walks toward the road. now I don’t know him, have been living here for yrs, minding my own-so random.-

- once again I would have to suspect the orchestrators are passing something off as me, relaying something they’re not supposed to, or filtering my writing. When people get on ur case out of the blue, does that bacon fueled animal think in any shape or form he’s part of my life?-

- I guess that’s why so many of my friends are south or East Asian- like Indian, Pakistani, Chinese, Korean…and then there are the Greeks or the Mediterranean variety of people…I feel these groups are less aggressive and randomly looking for a fight…

Now I come home, gotta deal with the village personality of my Indian father & the overly Christian nature from Biblical times of my “pretending everything’s okay with life” parents. Seeing them for 30 years made me want 2 leave my the background they hail from, their religion.-

- I contemplate marrying out for mixed race children…but now America has teamed up against me as one team leaving me with no one. Just the crazy random people on the street.

- one ray of sunlight is the Chinese woman who held my hand in passing, or the tall blonde with the dog crossing the street in Bronxville, from in front of my car, who went out of her way to wave at me twice…-

- amidst the “situation”, the stupidity in my home till I can afford an apartment, the crazies gesturing me if I want to fight, the people at work with misconceptions…it just never ends…Thank God for my morning coffee or when I go for a massage…

Yeah, for one reason or another, just putting this out there, real men get men’s pedicures and manicures. Who wants flaky skin on their fingers or rough feet?! Got the idea from Will Smiths character on one of the episodes in The Fresh Prince of Bel Air…

i like christina aguilera, in terms of looks, when she first started out...now she's too...too...tough looking...

msn dot com has a lot of interesting stories that catch my eye, in my old, obese age...stories like whats trending and about pop culture...

Have you ever been around someone who randomly and alone, develops the habit or ability of chewing out loud...I think I’ve heard those three words together out loud before: “chew out loud.” I think it’s a thing.-

- I mean, to make every sound behind eating audible is just a ridiculous habit. What is the benefit for those who eat like that?! I eat without making a sound and I’m still able to enjoy the taste of my food. -

-Is it just an old habit that kept repeating with no real origin or reason? I saw a friend from long ago on Facebook yesterday with his beautiful wife and child,living as lawyers, and a “classy life”, a “life of standard”, at that. -

-People who chew/ or eat out loud for that matter have got to be because their parents didn’t give them an a*s wh*pping and spoiled them for being the baby in the family.-

-Mother probably did everything and now that child has that expectation of others in his/her life. I’ll bet these same people, while innately smart, just sit around, while their spouses, siblings, or roommates have 10x the activity in the same time frame of their day.-

- I’ll bet their perception of life is on the unconventional side too, siding on ideal scenarios and not a life of meaning, probably more along the lines of how people of your world see you. I mean things like that, it affects who you associate with or go out in public with. -

-It’s not about freedom. Whatever the age, practice decency...don’t be an animal...that’s just my thought on eating out loud...probably the only way to get it through to some, in the spirit of patience, not practiced in actual conversation..-

-I mean literally, every sound from sipping the drink into the mouth-if it’s drinking- to expressing satisfaction upon swallowing, to burping when digested...geez...learn from the point, rather than seeing it as some cultural insult from another world, -

-or seeing it as humorous that someone you know is talking about you...it’s disgusting and there comes a time to snap out of it...-

-when those of ur world put you through actual tormenting procedures over the course of eleven years, excuse you for bringing up a real concern/issue over what actually is stubbornness or lack of ability to comprehend.

but moving on...just bumping into random behaviors all day from random people...

doctors...i think theyre among the people you say/hear are out to get your money. Not accepting insurance, charging $350 per visit is one thing. But then simply to discuss an email or one phone call's worth of change and charging $350 for that...geez...-

-then theres the not-understanding-what-ur-going-thru &ur mental energy taken 2enforce a decision..the 1st $350 proved worthless, as that doctorProbablyDid more harm than good, &now an additional $350 4 a minor detail?! Hippocratic Oath my a*s. Even doctors lie 2me despite oaths.

the world is an ugly place, save for a few people...like that innocent pale blond riding her bike who apologizes for running into you with her bike, a couple of weeks ago...rest of the world is filled with attitude and things they see you through and simply foolishness...

On Amazon, they sell the " Nitrofit Pro Limber Stretch Machine " or U can search stretch machine, but it looks like Nitrofit brand's version. It costs $500. I wish morePeople would buy this stuff, so prices would go down. its an E-Z way 2 do essential stretching 4 tired muscles.-

- I mean you just have to get on top of it, in the prescribed positions, rather than using one of those straps...but then at the same time, if you go to a massage place for someone to stretch your muscles for you, it's $80 at discount pricing-and how often can you spend $80?-

- a one time investment of $500 could allow you to get the $80 benefit daily at your own comfort.

so they say vibrating foam rollers are good 4 tender muscles.has any1 noticed that some versionsVibrate more against urHands or theFloor, then the targeted area of ur chest or leg muscles? so how is it helping if most of the vibration goes 2the floor? or is it just 1 or 2 brands?

When I make it big, on really warm days, whether Im on that floor of my house or not, Im going  2turn on the central AC 4 all floors inTheHouse? Why? I find it annoying &disgusting, when I have 2 make that trip 2 the floor where the AC isn't on, & Im smacked w/a burst of heat.

So I'm experiencing that moment when one realizes he/she has everything on their bedroom L-Desk, with the exception of a pen and some paper to write on...but mostly a pen...how did that happen?!

June 29th tweets...

Came home after being in the heat, was thirsty. Had a cup of raspberry soda water from my soda stream. It felt so right for the opportunity…felt good going down my throat…

While out and about, kept seeing smoking hot Hispanic women…these women all, whether it’s good genes or makeup I dunno, have flawless, non oily, glistening skin…is the source some product from your native places and/or good genes? Share the knowledge…

Heard a song I downloaded long ago, on my car’s cd playlist…YouTube “Gained the World” by Morcheeba (I think that’s how it’s spelled…) - I heard it when channel 11 was WB11 and not The CW…anyone else remember that?!

“Will You Be There” by Michael Jackson…heard it for the first time in “Free Willy” and kept on listening to it…beautiful song…

Tired of plugging in ur iPhone or whatever else phone?! You can just put it on a stand to charge wirelessly. Works even with the case. On Amazon, search “ Anker 3 in 1 Multi Device Charging Station “.

U know whats also a good product 2 relieve fatigue in place of caffeine? A hand massager. LifePro has a version with some good intensity, but I prefer the highTech looking Chinese made ones. Just sharing the knowledge. Finding something good takes buying them all & trying em out.

Has anyone else tried Shawarma? Heard it for the first time in Iron Man from the Tony Stark character. It came off to me as a healthy version of the Indian “ biryani “ dish, minus the spices and butter. Now I can cross that off my list of things to try…

U know whats good? - Arabic food… “kibbeh” (an appetizer) comes off 2 me as something 2 remind me of Indian kababs w/an edibleCovering around the powderedMeat. Then theres the dessert, “Kunafa”-like sugary lasagna minus the tomatoSauce &cheese but w/something like cream inside.

[surveysonfleek]

512.

5000 Question Survey Pt. 27

2501. What image, scent, memory, etc. would you take with you into the dark/light, the land of dead, heaven, infinity.....? my whole existence tbh. 2502. Who is the most annoying musical artist EVER? that catch me outside girl lol. 2503. If you HAD to go to one of the following concerts, which would it be: Snow Vanilla Ice NKOTB Milli Vanilli BSB <----- easily NSYNC 2504. Do you believe in manifest destiney? what?

2505. Have you ever fallen for an email forwarding hoax (send this to 13 people and old navy will send you a $200.00(100 pound) gift card)? Do you ever think 'well, maybe...' and actually forward those damn things? never. i haven’t forwarded a chain letter in years. 2506. Let's say there are 2 schools. one for boys and one for girls. They are both supposed to offer the same facilities so that the girls and boys get equal education. Would you take this to mean that the same courses should be offered to both girls and boys or that the same amount of money should be spent on each school? i’d take it as if they’re both being offered the same courses. Imagine that in the boys school fifteen boys sign up for calculus. In the girls school only five girls sign up for calculus. Should the girls calculus class be dissolved and replaced with an easier one? no. if they have the staff they should conduct them both. if not, they should combine them. 2507. Would it bother you if you found out that the fruits, vegetables, and meat that you eat is genetically altered (in lots of cases it is!)? i’d have to research it to understand. 2508. What does this world need? love. 2509. Is there anything you do just because you want to even though it has no redeeming social value? yup. like surveys lol. 2510. If you drink what kind of drunk are you? a loud one. 2511, Do you ever 'conveniently' forget something you don't want to remember? nope. 2512. If you have any cousins are you close? none of my cousins live close to me but we all get along really well when we’re together. 2513. Are you in love with yourself (your beautiful self)? haha no. 2514. What was the first movie you got on dvd? bug’s life i think. 2515. If you're sexy and you know it clap your hands. Did you clap? nope. 2516. have you ever called a: psychic hotline? suicide crisis line? sex line? dating line? none. 2517. Have you ever placed a personal ad anywhere? nope. 2518. Do guys look good in make up? some do, it all depends on skills. 2519. What are 5 things you don't care about? soccer, golf, working, drugs and my future lol. 2520. wHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO UNTIL YOU DIE? i don’t knowww. live. 2521. What 'issue' do you think your opinion is so right about that you end up trying to sway others to your point of view? i don’t try and sway people tbh. everyone is entitled to their own opinion. i hate it when people get all preachy to me. 2522. What age do you hope to live until? over 80. or at least to see my grandkids grow up. 2523. Do you like to tie others down during sex? nope. Have you ever been tied down? i don’t think so. 2524. Do you own any "toys"? no. Do you ever use them? no. 2525. Have you ever been spanked in that sexy way? maybe a couple times. it’s not a usual thing. Have you ever spanked anyone else? no. 2526. Do these questions make you uncomfortable? no. Do you like that feeling? what feeling? Does it turn you on? no. 2527. You know those ___ for dummies books (COMPTERS FOR DUMMIES, SURFING FOR DUMMIES, GOLDF FOR DUMMIES, WICCA FOR DUMMIES)? yes. Which one do you need to reaad? life for dummies lol. 2528. What do your socks look like? they’re mostly all black. 2529. Which of these really famous music artists started their career as a mime: Alice Cooper David Bowie Bruce Springsteen Moby Jewel Frank Zappa no idea. 2530. Does love float away if you let go? i don’t think so? it probably sinks lol. 2531. Do you think that most people in today's society are: kind? calm? humble? peaceful? helpful? happy? spiritual? creative? friendly? independant? intelligent? having fun? coming up with new ideas? no to all except this. able to think for themselves? able to really connect with others? If you answered no to any of the above, why do you think that is? the world sucks, let’s be real. there are some brilliant people out there but since the question said ‘most people’, it’s a hard no from me. 2532. Do you believe that every action has a sexual motive (think Freud)? nahhh. 2533. Speaking of Freud, did you know he was on drugs (think cocaine)? i don’t know enough about his life and studies. 2534. Do you trust psychology as a valid science? to an extent. can’t comment much since i don’t know enough abou tit. 2535. ID: In Freudian theory, the division of the psyche that is totally unconscious and serves as the source of instinctual impulses and demands for immediate satisfaction of primitive needs(sex, food, agressive behavior, drugs, alcohol, yelling, anger, fighting). SUPEREGO: In Freudian theory, the division of the unconscious that is formed through the internalization of moral standards of parents and society, and that censors and restrains the ego. So, which one do you express more, your ID or your SUPEREGO? idk. i’m too tired to think right now. 2536. Do you think that people who are alone and depressed are depressed because they are alone or alone because they are depressed? it can go both ways. 2537. Can you complete any of the following lyrics: I stop and I stare too much, afraid that I care too much... You're a new and better man, he helps youtounderstand,He does everything he can, he's.... Took the needles from my arms and put them to the sky... Top Gun shut down your Firm like Tom Cruise.... Don't you take it so hard now, And please don't take it so bad.... i don’t think i know any of these. 2538. How about these? From around the way, born in '73, Harcore B-boy named... And this feeling shivers down your spine, Love comes in colors I can't deny.... Before he hung up the phone he took a deep breath, stopped, and replied.... When I want you in my arms, when I want you and all your charms, whenever I want you all I have to do is... Silly games that you were playing, empty words we both were saying... 2539. Have you ever been to see a ballet? nope. 2540. What is the differance between Satan and Pan? i have no idea. 2541. What should a poem be or do if it is a sucessful poem? evoke thought or emotion. 2542. When you interpret a poem can each line mean anything you want it to? yes. 2543. Are you an orgasm addict? haha no. i love it but i wouldn’t say i’m an ‘addict’. 2544. Are you a sugar junkie? no. 2545. WHAT are you DOING? this. WHY aren't you marching in line with the rest of them? ooookay... 2546. Do you only hear what you want to? nope. 2547. Are you anal-retentive? i don’t think so. 2548. In and Out Over and Under Around and ??? about? lol. 2549. What was the last thing you returned to the store? a candle. 2550. Why ask why? why not? 2551. What is your favorite song or artist that is: jazz: metal: rock: new wave: psychedelic:  eh, idk for all. 2552. What are your feelings about: Picasso? love his style. Van Gogh? good paintings lol. Michaelangelo? incredible attention to detail. Da Vinci? cool. Einstein? smart. Tesla? cool cars lol. tbh i don’t know much about the inventor. 2553. Who else can you think of that made a MAJOR contribution to art or science? anyone and everyone who contributed to everything we have today. 2554. Who can you think of that made a major contribution to modern thought? idk. 2555. Why is it called 'coca cola'? no clue. 2556. Would you ever buy a Ford car? i used to have one. 2557. Donald or Daffy duck? donald. 2558. What is the most memorable thing about Pee-Wee Herman? never watched his stuff. 2559. Lease or buy a car? buy. 2560. Have you met Real Talkin' Bubba? no. Do you love him to death? - 2561. Have you ever been in a situation where you weren't sure if you were seducing or being seduced? nope. 2562. Can you 'pinch an inch' on your belly? yep lol. 2563. Have you ever been to: a temple? yes. a bar? yes. a massage parlor? yes. 2564. Would you ever want to visit Thailand? i wouldn’t mind it. 2565. What culture are you fascinated by? japanese. 2566. Have you ever worn a cape? probably. 2567. What is the difference between 'nude' and 'naked'? haha i’m not sure. 2568. What can you get for a dollar (.59 british pounds)? a soft serve from maccas. 2569. What makes you who you are? my dna. 2570. How do you search for meaning in life? idk. 2571. If your partner collected internet porn pics of celebs s/he thought was hot would that bother you? yeah, it would be kinda weird if he collected it. 2572. You are alone with your lover's diary. What do you do? flick through it hahaha. 2573. You read some and find out that a whhhiiillle back your lover had a crush on someone else, but you two were together. You both still hang out with this person. What do you do? question him to clear the air. 2574. Are you an old fart? no. 2575. What were your favorite things to do in the yard as a kid? ride my bike, pretend my yard was another world, play with a ball, jump rope etc. 2576. Why don't people have more fun? idk, maybe they have other things to worry about. 2577. Have you ever wanted to have a pet skinned and turned into an article of clothing? hell no. What pet? What article of clothing? 2578. Do I come off sounding normal, mildly irrational, blatently insane or completely certifiable? none lol. 2579. Did you ever feel that you were unable to function in society? not really. 2580. Is it nap time yet? very soon. 2581. Do you have to have the space next to the door or can you walk from the other end of the parking lot and still be okay with the world? let’s be real, the closer the parking spot to the entrance, the better. 2582. Do you like trains? i hate them. 2583. What's in Hungary? budapest. 2584. Have you ever felt like you were holding someone else back? no. Has someone ever held you back? kinda. 2585. What do you think of the term, 'organized religion'? nothing really. 2586. What do you think of the name 'Orson'? sounds very old timey. 2587. What frustrates you? people. 2588. Winkin, Blinkin and Nod, one night, sailed off in a sea of dew.. cool. 2589. Is ten dollars (5 pounds) a good price to pay for one lipstick? yes. Does anyone else remember when lipstick was, like, 2 or 3 bucks? no. 2590. Are you ill? no. 2591. Where were you the night of.....oh hell, last night? working. 2592. Do you pronounce the 'er' sound at the end of words(lookER or lookA)? the australian way. 2593. Do you drink only 100% juice? nope. 2594. Do you remember the bills you have to pay...or even yesterday? yes. 2595. What duck? donald. 2596. Do you collect coins? no. How about stamps? no. 2597. wHAT'S the best way to learn a new language? duolingo or a class. 2598. Is god in you? maybe. 2599. Are you in god? maybe. 2600. Do you know which fork to use at a formal table setting? the most outer fork first lol.

[izanyas]

Not Justice (6)

It’s here... the post-ketsu Big Fic Update... :D thank you @scarlet-blossoms​! 

Rating: M Words: 5,500 Warnings: PTSD (panic attack, derealization, some unsanitary stuff), child kidnapping, Namie’s ego.

Not Justice Chapter 6

Izaya refused to go back to Tokyo as long as Namie herself wasn't already there to wait for him. Namie had expected it, had her brain rushing ahead and her fingers on the keyboard of her laptop by the time he hung up on her, trying to buy the quickest plane ticket to Narita that she could find.

It didn't matter how expensive it was. She still had access to one of Izaya's bank accounts, and what was left on it largely paid for the fee.

She left the same evening with not even a note behind herself. The woman at the entrance of the hotel she was staying at looked at her with wide eyes when she handed over her keys—for good—and all Namie felt at the sight was a burning sort of satisfaction. "You'd look better with short hair," she told her, breaking another of the rules she had set for herself by the time she reached fifteen years old.

She didn't compliment people who weren't Seiji. Especially not women.

The text she sent to Kishitani Shingen from the airport was to the point. I quit, it said. Shingen tried to call her almost immediately, but Namie shuffled deeper inside the armchair of the first class resting lounge and turned off her phone entirely. The champagne she downed from the offered buffet was the best she had ever tasted.

She didn't retain much from the flight. She wasn't sick, and her ears didn't hurt like Seiji's had when they had traveled to America together almost two years ago. She grabbed a few fitful hours of sleep, her back aching despite the comfort of her seat and her dreams plagued by Izaya's voice and flashes of the city she was going to. The city she was returning to.

She didn't know if it felt like going home. She had never had a place to call home in the first place.

It took until her plane landed in Japan for her to realize that the weightlessness of her heart came from the fact that, for the first time in years, no one was after her. She wasn't in danger. Seiji was thousands of miles away, unaware of her departure, and the only thing waiting for her here was what she herself had brought. She had nothing to expect here but maybe answers to the void inside her—and already this gap was being bridged, already she could breathe like she hadn't in months. She was clean, and she was fed, and she had two suitcases with her full of belongings that she didn't have to hand over to anyone.

Her inbox was full when she turned on her phone once more. She deleted the Kishitanis' inquiries without reading them, opened Izaya's email to check what time his train would arrive in Narita—ten thirty—and finally, her thumb hovered over the single text she had received from Harima Mika.

There was a sense of finality in her when she opened it.

Good luck, it read. And, like an afterthought, Thank you.

Namie's jaw was tense, her throat dry and hot. She felt no anger, though, and no regret.

Namie took a seat at a café inside the station and resolved to spend the next two hours waiting in silence, hands resolutely not shaking around the porcelain cup that a waiter brought her, stomach too knotted to eat the breakfast she had ordered with it. Her toast cooled down within a few minutes, the grease from the butter growing less appealing as it did. She ate half of an apple and the tiny piece of chocolate that went with the coffee. She felt tired but restless, and the caffeine helped with that, making it almost impossible for her to close her eyes or quiet her own heartbeat.

She told Izaya where exactly she was waiting thirty minutes before his train was scheduled to arrive. She couldn't see the tracks from inside the station, but she was right outside of where he should come up once the time came. Seeing posters written in her own language and hearing it spoken around her in the café hadn't been surprising at first; now, though, she found herself lending an ear to the other customers' murmurs and glancing at the ads plastered over the walls of the station.

She thought she must simply be too tense at first. The closer she got to the time of Izaya's arrival and the harder her heart beat against her ribcage, the more she felt her own clothes tighten around her as if to suffocate her—her bra was digging into her sides, making it hard to breathe. She was considering sneaking a hand under her shirt to unclasp it when her eyes glanced over one more movie poster.

Hanejima Yuuhei, she thought. He was on it, looking no different than she remembered. Pretty but plain. Namie rubbed her forehead with tired fingers, a useless attempt at pushing away the headache she could feel coming; her eyes lowered to read the title of the movie, and her heart jumped in her chest before she could understand why.

There was a man standing next to the poster. He was too far away for her to see his features, and he was looking to his side anyway.

He had blond hair.

Her leg jerked under the table, making her empty cup and untouched plate rattle loudly. Namie barely remembered to drop a few bills onto it before she jumped out of her chair, dragging her suitcases behind her, walking toward the man with fury flowering inside her, tasting fire on her tongue.

There must be tens of thousands of men with blond hair in Tokyo and its vicinity. She knew that. And even as she got closer she couldn't see this one's face, and he was wearing very plain clothes too. But the build fit, and the atmosphere did too, and Izaya's train would be here in less than five minutes.

Heiwajima Shizuo barely managed to avoid the suitcase she threw at his legs. He turned his head in her direction right as she was reaching back, feet slipping on the floor as she tried to gain traction on it, and his side-step was done with a loud swear.

Namie's suitcase crashed into the wall, right under the Hanejima poster.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Heiwajima barked, veins turning dark in his face and hands flexing by his sides.

Namie was too tired to be afraid. "You are not going to ruin this for me," she hissed. "Get out."

"You just tried to break my leg—"

Nami stepped forward and grabbed him by the collar before he could finish, and he looked bewildered, an expression she had never seen on his face in the few glimpses she had had of him in person before. "Get out!" she yelled, her spit probably flying into his face, she was so close. "I don't care if you beat me up later, just get out, now."

"Who the fuck are you?" Heiwajima took hold of her hands and ripped them off of him—lifted her and pushed her away as if she weighed nothing at all. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't punch your face in!"

Namie's body was too tense on anger, red-hot and slimy inside her veins. She couldn't feel any more fear because she was already bursting with it. "It doesn't matter," she said. From the corner of her eyes, she saw a man in uniform approach them slowly. "Fuck. Heiwajima, you need to get out of here."

"Why should I?" he answered loudly. "Who are you?"

"Shit," Namie whispered, biting into her own lips. She had the taste of metal on her tongue when she ordered, "Tell that guy that everything's fine."

"You—"

"Please." She wasn't above begging. Not for this.

Ten-twenty-eight, the clock on the wall said.

Heiwajima looked at her—too long, too slow—and she thought she saw him physically reign in the violence visible in the line of his shoulders. He exhaled as though trying to expel it from his own lungs, he closed his eyes, and he rubbed a hand over his face. When he nodded to the man she could feel walking in their direction, he looked older than she had ever seen him.

"Explain yourself," he told her between his teeth.

But she couldn't. Not now. "There's no time," she replied—and her voice was shaking, she noticed, horrified—"Just do as I say. I'll give you my number, you can contact me later if you want, but I need you out of this station right now."

Heiwajima stared at her without moving. She knew that she must look frightful, deranged, out of her mind; she knew that her face was hot and her luggage spread around her on the floor and her hands twisting together; she knew how much her face was marked with the insomnia of the past year and how little she cared about masking this with makeup. "I'll contact you later," she said again. She tried to push him toward the exit, but he didn't bulge, not even one bit.

"Who are you?" he asked for the third time. She was staring at his chest—at the deceptively normal white shirt he wore, not unlike her own—both of her hands shaking against him. Trying to move him felt like trying to move a brick wall. "You obviously know who I am," he continued, getting rid of her grip on him once more.

So easily. As if he were batting away an annoying fly.

Ten-twenty-nine. Namie thought she could hear the train stop from where she was, its doors opening, its passengers getting out, Izaya among them.

"If you stay here," she said, throat tight, "you're going to provoke a fight."

Heiwajima's eyebrows twitched in irritation. "I haven't punched you, have I?"

She almost wanted to laugh. "You won't be able to help it."

In the second that followed she saw Heiwajima's face change; the hostility seemed to bleed out of him and leave nothing behind but closed doors. "Ah," he said. His hand released her wrists. People crawled up the escalator that led out from the platform under their feet, and they both turned to look at them spilling out into the station, carrying luggage and holding children's hands.

"You're here for him too." Heiwajima's voice was heavy.

She couldn't look at him anymore.

They stood frozen in front of his brother's movie poster, Namie's suitcases still lying on the floor, gathering dirt. She felt tied up. Strangled. The hard plastic of her bra dug into her chest with every breath she took, painful and relentless; the lighting was too harsh now, making her blink away tears and leaving gray spots in her vision.

The doors to the elevator opened again. Namie and Heiwajima turned their heads to look at them with the same breath lodged in their throats, and, she thought, with the same apprehension.

Izaya wheeled himself out of the elevator's cage and right out in the open, his black hair shining blue under the electric lights, his face turned away to look at the old man standing beside him.

"Don't," she breathed.

Heiwajima kicked her suitcase out of his way and started walking.

--

Sozoro was hovering.

He looked like a bird of prey. Today wasn't the first time Izaya had had this thought, and it wouldn't be the last; Sozoro had eyes like an eagle's and talons to go with them too—knives hidden on his person, just like Izaya did.

Izaya hadn't had much use for his knives lately.

Sorozo, though, seemed to be having the time of his life. The closer their train got to Tokyo and the sharper the glee was on his face, and Izaya was too bored, or too tense, not to ask questions.

"It'll be interesting to see how you fare there," Sozoro answered him. "Somewhere you know, among people you know. People who know you."

"I don't intend to make my presence known."

Sozoro's eyes were glinting. "Plans don't always come to fruition," was all he said.

The train ride wasn't uncomfortable. Izaya had traveled light—most of his luggage would be transported at a later date if necessary. Because of Namie's insistence that he go to Tokyo within twenty-four hours of her call, he hadn't had much time to prepare. He had to get a prescription filled and book train tickets and pack. Even with Sozoro's help, this took time.

Now he was sitting between two wagons, in a space left free for the disabled, back against the soft train seat and legs extended onto his own wheelchair in front. His laptop was on his knees, but he wasn't doing anything with it other than watching the video Namie had sent him of the creature they called Snake Hands. Over and over. Hoping for his eyes to catch a new detail.

Izaya didn't know anything or anyone who could outrun the Black Rider. It made sense to suspect that someone—or something—he didn't know might have taken Kururi.

"You're hesitant," Sozoro commented.

Izaya tensed. He lifted his right thigh with his hands, so he could cross his legs at the knee in front of him. "I'm just tired."

"Your sister has been missing for more than thirty hours now," Sozoro continued evenly. "You know the chances of finding her alive are thin."

Izaya knew. He was no stranger to abductions.

He couldn't call anyone yet, though. Not as long as he was out of the city—and, his mind whispered, not as long as Namie wasn't there.

She texted him right then, telling him where she was waiting. Izaya put his phone back into his pocket without answering.

He would be with her soon enough.

The last few minutes of travel were spent in silence for the both of them. Sozoro hadn't sat down at all through the trip; he was holding a wall loosely so as not to lose his balance in case the train slowed suddenly. Every seat except for the one Izaya had taken was free, but he ignored them all.

Izaya had to resist uncrossing his legs and crossing them again. His spine was burning harder than usual as it was. He couldn't even tell if that was his imagination—most of the pain was his imagination in the first place.

In the balance of all the painful days he'd had since waking up in the hospital, paralyzed from the waist down and both arms in casts, this one weighed toward the bad.

Izaya packed his laptop into his bag ten minutes before the train was scheduled to stop. He tugged his legs out of the wheelchair's seat and brought it closer to him. Then, after locking the breaks in place, he pushed himself onto it.

"You should've eaten before we left," Sozoro said, eyeing the way Izaya's arms shook under his weight.

"Too early to eat," Izaya replied between clenched teeth.

He let out a harsh breath once he was securely seated. His legs ached, but the worst of the pain was always at his lower back; as though someone had taken hold of his spine there and twisted their fist sideways. With a wave of his hand, Izaya ordered Sozoro to pick up his suitcase and push his backpack under the seat of the chair.

He ignored the doors opening around him. Other passengers were walking out of their assigned seats to wait near the door where he was; some of them marked a pause at the sight of him, one or two flicked their tongue in annoyance. Izaya leaned back in his seat and turned his head to look at them, lips stretching on amusement despite himself, despite everything.

"My apologies for blocking the way," he told them. "I'm in quite a bit of pain, so I'd like to hurry out."

The couple behind him seemed to deflate; soon enough, everyone in the vicinity was looking at them with animosity. Izaya entertained himself with the whispers for the last two minutes of the drive.

He barely felt the train slow and stop. The doors opened in front of him silently, the platform almost empty but for a few people come to wait directly on it; Namie would be upstairs, though, he knew.

Sozoro pushed down on the handles of the wheelchair so that its front would lift and allow to cross the small step separating Izaya from the edge of the quay.

Nothing around was especially different or stressful. Narita was a big station and a bigger airport; the chance of accidentally crossing paths with anyone he knew was small. Still Izaya felt his lungs fill with ice as he breathed, felt a tell-tale pain in his chest that he knew would soon enough be lodged in his forehead and his throat. Sozoro handed him the small pill pouch from his bag wordlessly as they waited by the elevator.

For once, Izaya didn't rue Sozoro's foresight. He didn't pretend that everything was fine. He popped an anti-emetic tablet into his mouth and swallowed it dry.

"There's nothing for you to throw up," Sozoro murmured.

"I'd rather not be nauseous at all. It's a pain to get rid of."

Sozoro didn't mention the chest pain. Izaya had pills for that, too; but Izaya would die before he admitted to needing those.

The line for the elevator was almost empty now. People kept throwing curious glances at Izaya, offering to let him go first, and Izaya smiled and waved them off. He wanted to avoid as much as the crowd as he could before meeting Namie. Finally, it was only him, Sozoro, and his luggage. The train that had driven them here had already left the platform. Izaya pushed himself into the elevator manually despite the strain on his back and let out a sigh once the doors closed.

"You're going to have a grand old time here," he told Sozoro, looking at the ceiling.

"Indeed."

Izaya chuckled. "I could introduce you to quite a few skilled fighters. One of them a former classmate of mine. She'd be delighted to take on a specialist, her usual sparring partners are mostly comprised of children."

"I'll make sure not to hit too hard," Sozoro drawled, and Izaya laughed brightly.

"Oh, I wouldn't underestimate her if I were you." The elevator stopped. A bell rang, softly, and as Izaya turned his head to look over his shoulder and into Sozoro's dark eyes, the doors started opening. "As I said, though, I don't plan on making myself—"

He choked. His mouth stayed open for a timeless second, voice gone from him; the pain in his chest disappeared entirely under the cold air that filled his lungs, thick, heavy, till they were so full of ice that he couldn't breathe at all.

He barely heard Sozoro ask, Izaya-dono? with something akin to surprise on his voice. Izaya whipped his head around to look at the crowd walking through the station, and as he did, it parted in front of him neatly, people pressing backwards to make way for the man walking in his direction.

Shizuo's eyes met his in less than a second, hooked them in and made it impossible for Izaya to look away. And it didn't matter that his eyesight blurred almost instantly or that he could feel blood rush to his head painfully, begging him to breathe again—Shizuo's face fit itself into the hole in Izaya's mind as neatly as if it had only been a day since he has last smelled murder off of the other's body and felt all the bones in his arms snap.

Shizuo stopped in front of Izaya, both of his feet hitting the ground like earthquakes; he never paid any mind to the way Sozoro moved, wrapping a hand around his wrist and no doubt pressing a blade against the blue veins there. "Izaya," he said, and the word shook through Izaya like that metal beam had twenty months prior. Painting his entire back blue and purple from the shock; twisting his spine, halting his steps.

Izaya rasped in a breath when Sozoro's blade started pushing into Shizuo's skin. He didn't check to see if the man had managed to draw blood. He couldn't look away from Shizuo's face.

"It's no use," he tried—he clenched his teeth so the shaking would stop. "Sozoro-san," he continued, louder. "You won't be able to stop him."

He could feel the incredulous glance Sozoro gave him. But the man obeyed, bound by contract and no doubt encouraged by his own dislike of Izaya—and Shizuo took another step forward, raising the hand—ah, the hand that Sozoro had grabbed, and indeed it was bleeding from a tiny cut at the wrist, already staining Shizuo's shirt sleeve crimson.

When he grabbed Izaya by the collar, the stain spread over it.

"Izaya," Shizuo growled again.

Izaya smiled, and tasted bile on his tongue as he did. "Shizuo. Long time no see."

There was no pain anymore. His entire body felt electric instead. In the pit of his stomach, heat spread, familiar and forgotten at once—but this time there was something blocking it, something that made Izaya want to scream instead of laugh and trapped all of his voice in at the same time.

It was fear. Worse than he felt even waking up from nightmares, swimming in his own sweat, thighs wet with his own piss.

Shizuo's face hadn't changed. Through the white haze Izaya saw the same nose and eyes and mouth, saw the dark roots of Shizuo's sloppily-dyed hair, saw the white teeth in his mouth as he opened it to speak again.

Except—something happened. There was a shock, enough to make even Shizuo falter slightly. Izaya's now blood-stained collar slipped out of his grip, and Shizuo broke away from his eyes to look behind himself. Izaya did the same with a scream stuck in his throat.

A suitcase fell to the floor, probably after hitting Shizuo's back. When Izaya looked up from it he saw Namie, almost comical in her fury; her arm was still extended forward after throwing it, and her face was a vibrant red.

Izaya let out the ugliest laugh, shoulders shaking and making the fabric of his clothes drag against the slick sweat at his back. "And Namie-san," he declared shakily. "My, what a reunion."

"Will you fucking leave me alone," Shizuo snapped in her direction, but all Namie did was attempt to kick him in the thigh.

"Fuck off, Heiwajima. Just—fuck you, fuck everything about you."

They glared at each other, violence gleaming at Namie's throat and straining the lines of Shizuo's back—and Sozoro stepped forward again.

"If I may—"

"Shut up," they told him, at the exact same time.

Izaya couldn't help it; he laughed again, belly aching on it, chest shaking, heart bruising his throat; it was loud enough to attract the attention of two people wearing the station's uniform and make them walk toward him in hurry.

Izaya shook a tranquil hand in their direction. The laughter had made the cold dissipate and the pain come back tenfold. "Let's take this elsewhere," he declared, leaning back into the chair.

Namie tried to walk in his direction, but Shizuo grabbed her by the shoulder to stop her. "No," he told Izaya—Izaya's stomach tightened at the sound. "I'm not fucking following you anywhere. You sit there and listen to me."

"I can't exactly run away, Shizuo."

There wasn't a hint of pity on Shizuo's face when he looked at the armchair. "Do you want me to kill you?"

And Izaya should have expected that, really; but he found that the smile left his lips as violently as it had appeared, leaving his entire face numb in its wake.

Something changed on Shizuo's face as well. Both of his hands turned to fists by his sides as he breathed—Izaya's eyes zeroed in on them, helplessly—but all he did was put them into the pockets of his jeans.

"Are you here for Kururi?" he asked lowly.

Izaya licked his bottom lip. "Did Namie tell you I'd be here?"

"I did not," Namie exclaimed, still red with rage—but it was Shizuo whom Izaya was looking at. The hatred in his eyes was not as vibrant as it was in his memories. He said, plain and honest: "I knew you were coming back. The city stank." After a breath, he added: "Been hanging around here since yesterday, just in case."

Izaya raised a trembling hand to his lips and wiped the sweat off from under his nose. "Mmh."

"Mairu is losing her shit. She asked me to help—but I don't have any fucking clue where Kururi is. Do you?"

Izaya said nothing. The white around him was worse than it had been a minute ago; he was having trouble focusing on anything, but despite even this, his entire body tensed as Shizuo approached.

"Do you?" he repeated, hunched forward so that Izaya was only a couple inches under him. "Do you have anything to do with those fucking kidnappings, Izaya?"

"No," Sozoro answered for him. He stepped in front of Shizuo; Izaya usually disliked this sort of behavior from anyone, but this time, he felt grateful. "Izaya-dono came back at his sister's request. I'm sure he'll do his utmost to find her." Sozoro's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Shizuo didn't seem to catch it, but it didn't matter, because he knew Izaya better than any of the people here anyway. "Are you here for her?" he asked again.

"You already got your answer," Izaya muttered. He had to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand again—his face was clammy. He felt cold all over. Breathing caused the same ache in his chest that drowning would.

Shizuo pushed Sozoro away with only the strength of his wrist—if he had been in any state to, Izaya would've laughed again at the face Sozoro made. "I didn't get any answers." He put both of his hands on the armrests of Izaya's chairs, and Izaya pulled his own arms back in his lap, whip-fast.

"Why are you here, Izaya?" Shizuo asked, this time right into his face.

And Izaya had prepared lies for this; he had been still in bed all night, stomach twisting, waking up from hazy nightmares of fire-lit rooftops and a headless woman descending from heavens on stairs made of shadows; he had told himself, over and over, that coming back meant nothing to him.

He found himself telling the truth. "I'm here for the same reason I do anything," he said. "Because I'm interested, Shizu-chan."

Shizuo didn't react to the nickname. Izaya stared into the eye of the storm, the rest of the station completely gone from his mind. Voices and footsteps erased, walls painted white by his mind struggling against unconsciousness.

He realized that he was hyperventilating.

Shizuo seemed to drag all the air with him when he drew back. His steps were the only thing Izaya heard and his body the only thing he saw.

He looked like a creature from a book. Like a giant at the foot of a bridge.

"Fine," Shizuo said. Izaya blinked, and didn't see anything anymore. "Fine. I don't give a shit. Just find Kururi."

Izaya breathed a half-laugh, half-sob out. "There's no certainty that I can do that."

"Then you're even more rotten than I thought." As Izaya blinked in his general direction, Shizuo added, "Find her and get out of here for good, or this time I'll kill you for real."

"That's the plan," Izaya grit out. He heard Shizuo's footstep distance themselves from him, almost breaking out of the liminal space that fate or trauma or both had opened for them; before he could, Izaya asked, "Did you think you'd killed me?"

Shizuo stopped.

The silence was absolute, now. White and endless. Izaya thought he wouldn't have been able to notice someone touching him.

"Yeah," Shizuo said from far away. "Yeah, I thought I did."

Izaya smiled. "There I guess there's reason for you to celebrate after all. You didn't kill me." He leaned back into the shapeless space where his chair should be. "You didn't give me what I wanted."

The space broke, allowing in the white lights of the station and Namie's still-pink face in front of him. Izaya couldn't see Shizuo anywhere.

"I think I'll be passing out now," he informed Sozoro. "Namie will help you with directions."

He barely felt Namie's hand on his arm and the vicious words she threw at him in answer. The fog covered his brain and drew his eyelids shut, and with the last of his awareness he brought a hand to his collar and touched the wet, warm stain.

It was fitting, in a way. Stepping back into Ikebukuro with Shizuo's blood at his throat.

--

Kururi opened her eyes to a hospital-like room.

She had never had to go to a hospital herself. Neither had Mairu. Her mom had always said that she and her sister were healthier than anyone she knew—never got worse than cut knees or bruised eyes, even with Mairu's training at the dojo. She used to compare them to Izaya, because Izaya got sick often, according to her. Flu after flu, cold after cold. Perpetually underweight. Always an insomniac.

Kururi couldn't ever remember seeing her brother sick. Or at least not in the physical way. It might have been before, though; before the time she started to look at Izaya, before she realized that there was a fifth member to their family that she ought to get to know.

The ceiling was bare and grey. Dirty. Not a hospital, she thought faintly. Hospitals must look better on TV than they did in real life, she knew, but she didn't think one would look quite this bad.

Not a legal one, at least.

Kururi let her head fall sideways on the pillow. She was lying on a low bed, almost to floor-level. Other beds were in the room, with other people in them. There was a plastic pole next to her holding a transparent bag of… something. A tube went out of it, dropping down to her level, up to the crook of her elbow where a needle was stuck into her skin.

She tried to move, but found that she couldn't.

Mairu, she thought.

She felt as though she had slept for a very long time. The memories of being grabbed by the middle and lifted off the Black Rider's bike came to her sluggishly. Like trying to remember a dream.

Had Mairu been taken too?

She couldn't hear any voices. The people she could see next to her all seemed to be asleep or at least drugged, like she had been.

Her heart almost jumped out of her chest when something touched her face, but she couldn't move away from it. A hand grabbed her by the chin gently and made her turn her head back.

"There's only so long we can make a child sleep," the woman above her said.

She had a red coat on. At first, that was her most distinguishable trait. Kururi blinked forcefully, until she could see enough to make out the woman's features. She was pretty. Light-colored hair held up above her nape, warm skin and soft fingers against Kururi's cheek, wide eyes. Kururi couldn't guess her age. She smelled of flowers and smoke.

Her eyes were yellow.

The woman patted Kururi's hair briefly. "Don't panic," she said. "Though, I guess that's a little useless. You seem pretty calm already."

Kururi opened her mouth, forced her voice to come out. "M-Mairu…"

"Your sister's safe. I only need one of you, after all." She had a melodious voice, every word singing itself out of her. It might have been because of the drugs, but when she carded her hand through Kururi's hair once more, Kururi relaxed into it. "You really are family," the woman murmured. "He wasn't anxious in the least when I caught him either."

What do you mean? Kururi wanted to ask. But the woman fiddled with something on the pole, and already the room was blurring into black around her. Already all that Kururi could make out was the deep red of the woman's coat—and the bright glow of her inhuman eyes.

"Shh," the woman said. "Your brother is full of lies. Even back then, he made sure to protect you from me." Kururi opened her mouth silently; the woman patted her shoulder and stood up, her face disappearing into the dark.

"He'll come," she said. "Even if he doesn't care about his family."

Her eyes flashed, burning bright spots into Kururi's sight every time she closed her eyes; and Kururi saw the woman raise one of her soft hands and examine the sharp, gleaming claws protruding out her fingertips.

"He'll be too curious not to."

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