#Our friendship cannot be rivaled

[fastandcarlos]

Red Or Papaya : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: when fred vasseur starts hanging out at mclaren, people are wondering why. little do people know there’s a little connection joining these together into an unlikely friendship

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landowins101, landoscarfan and 4,589 others

f1gossip: fans are questioning why ferrari team principal fred vasseur was found in the mclaren garage over the weekend, inviting himself to be of the celebrations for lando norris’ maiden victory.

574 comments

username1: i don't get it, why would you celebrate with a rival team?? 🤔

username2: it's the big smile on his face for me... 😭

username3: i did not have this on my bingo card wtf is going on

username4: is there something going on here that we don't know about?

username5: have i blinked and missed a chapter or something? 🤯

username6: pls tell me someone can make sense of this, the most unlikely friendship ever

username7: has he not got his own team to be celebrating a podium with?

username8: i've been staring at these photos for hours and i still don't get it

landonorris: idk what you’re implying…clearly I’m just a popular guy 😂🤷🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 784,103 others

ynvasseur: finishing the season with a little company on my summer adventures this year 💕☀️

64,506 comments

alexandrasaintmleux: and here i was thinking i was gonna get to spend my summer with you 💔

ynvasseur: @/alexandrasaintmleux don't tell lando but i plan on bailing just for you

username9: how have they managed to keep this a secret from us all season

landonorris: gonna be the best summer break ever! 🫶🏻

ynvasseur: @/landonorris cannot wait to spend nonstop sunny days with you 💕💕

username10: well...at least now we know why fred and lando are besties

charles_leclerc: sorry have you forgotten the team that your dad is principal for??? 😂

username11: the only mclaren x ferrari crossover i support is carlando

username12: i don't understand how none of us have picked up on this

carlossainz55: hello traitor 🙄

ynvasseur: @/carlossainz55 says the man who's driven for most of the teams on the grid wow 🙂‍↕️

carlossainz55: @/ynvasseur gotta pay the bills somehow kiddo

username13: i can't deal with how cute these photos are omg

username14: no one speak to me for the foreseeable whilst i get over this 😭

oscarpiastri: can you make sure that he comes back in one piece please 😊

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, ynvasseur and 1,483,172 others

britishgq: in this week’s edition we catch up with f1 driver lando norris who opens up about his new relationship with the daughter of ferrari’s team principal yn vasseur 🇬🇧🏎️

173,492 comments

username15: obsessed with the fact it was carlos that actually introduced the two of them

username16: he actually sounds like he's so in love this is adorable

landonorris: thank you for a great time british gq!! ❤️

username17: thank you gq for giving us all the gossip we've been searching for

username18: not carlos setting lando up like a proud dad 😂

danielricciardo: how is an article the way I’m finding out about this relationship 😭

username19: i think daniel might've been sleeping under a rock

username20: okay but who does yn support in the constructors next year now?? 🤔

username21: he's literally gushing about her, look how happy he is with her!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, ynvasseur and 349,604 others

mclaren: yn vasseur found hanging around the mclaren garage, does this mean she’s ours now? @/scuderiaferrari

42,182 comments

username22: ferrari come and get your girl...

landonorris: not even safe in my own garage from pap like photos 🤦🏻‍♂️

mclaren: @/landonorris admin sends their apologies

username23: i'm so happy they feel comfortable enough to be public with each other now

oscarpiastri: welcome to the best team in the paddock yn 🤝

username24: the way he hides his face in his neck omg lando

username25: the hottest couple to ever appear on the grid, no one can argue with me on that

danielricciardo: since when were mclaren such a team of stalkers lmao 😂😂😂

username26: just imagine the ferrari admin having a breakdown seeing these photos

username27: is this a transition to papaya that we're seeing before us?? 🧡

ynvasseur: damn i thought you guys were supposed to protect me not throw me under the bus

username28: lando can't even breathe around his own team anymore hahah

scudieraferrari: oh it's on, we're not giving yn up without a fight

mclaren: @/scuderiaferrari when you catch us up in the constructors we'll answer your calls...

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 747,960 others

ynvasseur: i call these photos sneaking into the opposition’s garage and hiding from your dad 😂

67,323 comments

username29: stop the way he looks at her…

landonorris: calling security to get you outta here stalker

ynvasseur: @/landonorris that's alright, i'll just head back over to ferrari ❤️

landonorris: @/ynvasseur wait i'm sorry come back!!! 🧡

username30: as if fred would ever stop yn from going to see the love of her life

maxverstappen1: why are you turning a grown man into a squishy baby wtf is happening here

username31: I watched the interview for the first pic earlier and his face lit up as soon as he saw yn

carmenmmundt: come and visit me like you come and visit lando

ynvasseur: @/carmenmmundt i'm on my way bby 🏃🏻‍♀️

username32: I wish I had a guy who looked at me like this too

oscarpiastri: this kid has not stopped talking about you since you showed up at the garage today 🥺

username33: not yn still calling mclaren the opposition…she’s a ferrari girl still!!

username34: @/username33 she's still bitter at them for peeping on her and lando lmao

georgerussell63: i second oscar here pls tell your boyfriend to change the record

username35: his smile has me feeling things ngl

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 937,506 others

ynvasseur: what ferrari want you to see vs what I get to see…i promise my dad and lando are friends 🥺🍻

78,475 comments

username36: carlando is still in my heart sorry fred 🫶🏻

carlossainz55: i for one am disgusted that ferrari would try and crop papa vasseur out like this...

ynvasseur: @/carlossainz55 thank you for your love and support during these tricky times

username37: i love how fred just can’t stay away whenever lando is near

scuderiaferrari: admin says to stop exposing our posts like this 💔

username38: they’ve got such a special friendship this is adorable

iamrebeccad: can you tell carlos to stop nattering with your boyfriend and get back to the garage so we can go home

ynvasseur: @/iamrebeccad sorry but carlando are refusing to separate

username39: is that fred giving lando a beer two wtf 😂😂

landonorris: no one can deny that fred vasseur now officially loves me more than his own drivers

username40: poor carlos third wheeling the true friendship here 😭

oscarpiastri: wondering where my team mate is only to see he's gone back to his ex

danielricciardo: @/oscarpiastri he'll flirt with anyone that guy

username41: ferrari stop depriving us of sweet son in law lando content pls

username42: the look in fred’s eyes, a proud dad if I ever saw one ❤️

charles_leclerc: patiently waiting for fred to invite me for a beer like he does lando like... 😭

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by danielricciardo, maxverstappen1 and 3,859,684 others

landonorris: we couldn’t decide on red or orange so we settled on blue 💙

583,708 comments

username43: it’s not fair how adorable these two are…

carlossainz55: someone just pass me the sick bucket now please

username44: imagine being poor yn and having to pick a side 😂

maxverstappen1: does that mean you support…red bull???

landonorris: @/maxverstappen1 absolutely not stfu 🤮

username45: forever my fave couple in the paddock

username46: it’s a good job blue suits you guys so well! 💙

ynvasseur: the only person i'd wear any other colour but red for

username47: fred must be so happy his daughter has found such a good guy in lando

danielricciardo: tell me you're a secret red bull fan without telling me you're a secret red bull fan 🤷🏻

ynvasseur: @/danielricciardo 🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

username48: if these two ever breakup i will officially give up on love

charles_leclerc: i hope you look after our girl norris

landonorris: @/charles_leclerc i'll treat her like the queen that she is dw 👑

username49: yn really is winning at life isn’t she

username50: look at their faces my heart is racing 😍

oscarpiastri: can you put yn down and hurry your ass up to briefing now

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[nadvs]

omg what if basketball!rafe takes reader out to dinner after a game or something, from sleeping with the enemy’s pleaseee

AHH SO CUTE YES OFC 🙂‍↕️

based on this fic

they keep hooking up after their first night together and rafe is in shock over how good the sex is and how much he enjoys her company. he’s a ‘hit it and quit it’ type of guy but he cannot get enough of her to the point where he can hardly wait for games against her college’s team because it’s a promise that he’ll see her.

one night a few weeks after they start being friends with benefits, his team suffers a loss by a few points against their worst rivals. he’s seething. the result of a game has a crazy effect on him. it always does.

he finds her courtside and while everyone around her is celebrating, she goes still once she notices him approaching her.

“close game,” she says, tilting her head while she looks up at him. at this point, she knows well enough how hard losses hit him.

eyes are on them. she can feel people judging how close she’s gotten to her side of the rivalry’s most hated athlete, but she doesn’t care.

rafe can tell she’s trying to make him feel better. underneath their usual harsh sarcasm and jokey insults, they’re two people who have a friendship built on sincere compatibility.

“your refs should be fired,” he mutters, pissed at how many calls against his opponents were missed. he’s sweaty and breathless from the game, his chest rising and falling at full tilt.

“oh, i’ll personally see to it,” she jokes. he scoffs, hating that he can’t stifle his smile.

“be ready in an hour,” rafe tells her. “i’ll pick you up from your dorm.”

“for what?”

“dinner,” he says assertively.

before he leaves, he pulls her in for a kiss. it’s a bonus that her ex sees. when she told him she wasn’t interested in max anymore, rafe couldn’t believe how relieved he was. he may have lost the game, but he won the girl.

rafe typically lays into his teammates after a bad loss. he’s a harsh captain but the guys respect him for it. but that night, he’s uncharacteristically quiet in the locker room. he’d never admit it to anyone, but knowing he’ll see her after this makes his anger lose its power.

she’s surprised that the restaurant he picked is as elegant as it is. she knows he came from money, but this place is nice. as they settle across from each other in a booth, she’s glad she dressed up.

“i didn’t say this,” she says, looking down at her menu, “but you’re right. the refs missed a lot of travelling on our side.”

“what?” rafe says, amused. “whatever happened to loyalty?”

“i told you i didn’t say anything,” she reiterates.

he taps his knuckles on the tabletop lightly, studying her.

“you don’t have to bullshit me,” he tells her.

“rafe,” she says seriously. “when do we ever bullshit each other?”

he meets her gaze, taking in how pretty she looks tonight. they’re just friends but on the outside, this looks like a date. he doesn’t mind.

“and you need to chill with the pushing,” she tells him. “you almost got fouled out.”

“did i?” he says with a laugh. he knows he did. he finds quite a lot of sick satisfaction in shoving his opponents.

“shut up,” she chuckles. “you won’t be laughing when you get benched.”

“don’t want that,” rafe mumbles. “who will you stare at then?”

“you stare at me,” she replies. “you said it yourself the first night we hooked up.”

“why are you thinking about hooking up right now?” he says, looking around the room. “this is a classy place.”

“you’re annoying as hell,” she laughs. “and for that, i’m ordering the most expensive thing. unless you’re not paying?”

“i’m paying,” he confirms. he doesn’t even want to joke about that. “and i’m coming over after.”

“depends on how this date goes,” she quips, looking back down at the menu.

rafe loves how laidback she is. how she can call it a date, but not expect him to be her boyfriend. it’s so easy with her. no expectations. just fun.

he never felt this good this fast after a loss. he doesn’t ever feel this relaxed with anyone. she may just be his best friend at this point.

she looks up, noticing his eyes on her.

“staring again?” she teases.

just a few seconds ago, she asked when they bullshit each other. they never do. he’d like to stick to that.

“yeah. you look good,” he tells her.

her skin flushes hot. she eyes him, the way the dim lighting washes over the planes of his face, the way he put an effort in tonight, dressing in a button-down instead of the usual t-shirt and sweats he wears whenever they meet for a booty call.

“at the risk of stroking your ego, so do you,” she replies.

“what else d’you wanna stroke?”

“jesus christ,” she laughs, nudging his knee under the table. he smirks.

whatever tense feelings were left over from tonight’s loss are gone now. he’s good. happy, even.

[skzdarlings]

bodyguard: the first guard | part one | chan/reader

masterlist.

(part one of the previous story.)

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | tba

( read on AO3 )

A sequel to the Bodyguard. Miroh's daughter is assigned a bodyguard of her own. The past is confronted when old friendships and new enemies are pushed to the brink.

pairing: bang chan/reader content info: sequel to the bodyguard (felix/reader). this is a new reader perspective. please note this story will contain a great deal of physical violence, some committed against the reader and some committed by her. this will include fighting, training, torture, and parental abuse. there will also be explicit sexual content. chapter word count: 7500 words.

enjoy <3

-

B E F O R E

Felix takes his place in formation.  He is the youngest in the youth regiment at only ten years old, but he is no less competent.  They all belong to the same special-ops program, a group of specially selected children raised for armed service.  They are in the employ of Mister Miroh – and he says they will save the world. 

The world is full of shadows, dank black holes and grimy stains so embedded that no regular agent can scrub them out.  The young subjects of the soldier program are not regular agents.  Their existence is their mission.  

Felix has no life outside of the house of Miroh.   

He stands straight.  He looks forward.  His feet are the appropriate width apart and his hands are folded behind his back.  He holds this position as the trainers scour the lined formation, studying the young soldiers and reprimanding any flaw. 

They need the best soldier for this mission.  This is the most important assignment the regiment will ever receive.  Felix has trained his whole life for this.   

“Miroh has many enemies,” speaks the head trainer.  It is a familiar speech, more important now than ever.  “But our target is his local rival.  This enemy family has been a corrupting force for generations, taking through inheritance what it has not earned.  Miroh is not like The Enemy.  Miroh is a solider like you.  He came from nothing, fought for scraps, and built his own business one brick at a time.  He understands the world and he will fix it through you. You will be his hands in the places he cannot reach.  Your role is an honourable one.” 

A trainer passes Felix.  Felix straightens his spine that last infinitesimal degree.  They touch his shoulder but do not reprimand him.  It makes his pulse hammer with anticipation. 

Felix is one of the best.  There is a possibility they will pick him, if only because the actual best has a habit of—

“Oh, cheer up, mate,” Chris’s voice comes from a few rows back. “You know what they say: all work and no play makes—”

He is interrupted by a whoosh of air, probably a trainer punching him in the stomach. Felix closes his eyes so he does not wince.

“Bang Christopher Chan,” the head trainer says, his voice booming across the facility floor.  “Step forward.” 

Felix hears a frustrated sigh, then Chris stomps through the lines to reach the front row.  Everyone looks at him. 

He is an unassuming character.  Not very tall but deceptively strong.  Curly black hair and dimpled cheeks.  Felix remembers that smile, the lilting and friendly, “Call me Chris,” when Felix was just six years old and first thrown into the regiment. 

Bang “Call Me Chris” Chan is the best soldier here.  Or he would be, if he did not hate the honour. 

Even now he is glaring.  Like the rest of them, he is dressed in combat clothes, the pitch black of Miroh.  Unlike the rest of them, he stands with a lazy hunch in his shoulders.  His dark hair is dishevelled and he scowls like a petulant teenager.  He is thirteen going on fourteen but he is far from a normal teenage boy.  Even compared to the rest of them, Chris is something special. 

“Bang Chan,” the head trainer says.  “You have been chosen for this assignment.  Congratulations.” 

Felix is not surprised.  When Chris is forced to apply himself, it is abundantly clear he is the best soldier in the program by a huge margin.   Felix is also not surprised when Chris responds with his usual verve and ire.   

“Yeah, uh, you can go ahead and shove your congratulations up your ass, mate,” Chris says.  He crosses his arms stubbornly.  “Even if we kill this guy, do you really expect us to believe that’s the end of it?  You’re putting us in the middle of a fight we didn’t start.”   

He addresses the soldiers behind him just as much as the trainer.  He even glances at Felix who glares back at him, unimpressed with the rebellious dramatics.  Chris never learns.  He gets more chances than the rest of them because he is so good.  If he wanted, he could be unstoppable.  He could use his strengths for good. 

Instead, he just looks at the trainer and shakes his head.

“Nah,” Chris says.  “You started this fight.  I’m not ending it.”

A few of the adult guards move towards him.  The gathered soldiers take a collective breath, watching with anticipation.  It is common knowledge that thirteen year old Bang Chan can take a regular adult guard in a matter of seconds.  When it comes to Chris, the question is not who will win, but will he fight at all? 

He stands there like he has no intention of fighting.  But before anyone can grab him, the door opens. 

Miroh enters. 

The room is so tense and silent, his footsteps reverberate like thunder.  Miroh is every inch a soldier even in his blazer and tie.  He walks with purpose, his face intent. 

Walking behind him, keeping decent pace despite her smaller frame, is his daughter. 

Miroh is a fighter who does not believe in unearned inheritance, so his daughter is trainee soldier like the rest of them.  She is the same age as Chris.  She trains with the regiment, one of the better agents, but she was not in contention for this particular job.  People have tried to kill The Enemy before and it did not work, resulting in the death of innocents.  Miroh wants a strong heir and he is not above putting her through the same grueling regime as the rest of them, but he will not recklessly risk her life. 

It is fair to Felix.  Miroh’s world makes sense.  He believes in it.  He believes in him.

So he is rapt as Miroh approaches. 

The adult guards fall back and the young soldiers stand at attention.  Miroh’s jaw is set with grim determination.  He stares at Chris.

Chris drops his crossed arms.  He is smart enough not to run his mouth at Miroh directly, but his frustration is clearly simmering beneath the surface.  His fingers curl and uncurl in little fists. 

Miroh stands in front of him.  He speaks loud enough to address the entire room.

“I do not begrudge your desire for information,” Miroh says.  “You’re soldiers, not animals.  I acknowledge that you wish to know about the long-term goals for this company.  But that is not your job or your purpose.  This business is deliberately compartmentalized so if one cog in the machine fails, the apparatus does not cease to function.  The results of your missions speak for themselves.  What we’re doing is good work. That is all that matters.”

“Says you,” Chris blurts.  Even he looks surprised by his own retort, though he does not take it back.  He looks Miroh in the eye. 

Miroh looks back.  Then he reaches into the holster beneath his long coat and draws a gun.  It is smooth, second-nature.  Miroh is used to getting his hands dirty.  His steady hand points the gun at Chris. 

The trigger has not been pulled but the trainers already flinch.  They know Chris is the best and they have worked hard to shape him, even if his stubborn mind is not molded as easily as his body. 

Chris, himself, does not flinch.  He stares down the barrel, unrelenting. 

“You don’t want to do that.” 

The soft interjection makes everyone pause.  Heads turn and eyes dart, everyone’s attention transferring to the thirteen year old girl in the shadows.   

Miroh does not lower the gun but he looks at his daughter.  Chris looks at her too.  Felix is not sure who is more bewildered. 

The girl, herself, is calm.  She has indubitably mastered a stoic countenance, not a hint of emotion anywhere on her young face. 

“He’s the First Guard,” she states simply.  “This is not worth killing him over.”

The First Guard.  The other kids in the regiment sometimes call Chris that, though he doesn’t like it so it is usually behind his back.  Chris does not like that he has been singled out.  Chris does not like anything about the program. 

This is Miroh’s second attempt at the youth soldier program.   The operation raises soldiers from childhood to fight, to withstand pain, to feel no fear.  This training is supplemented with medical treatments, hormonal injections that are only effective if administered in the crucial developmental years of childhood.  It aids in building a body for soldiership, to take a hit just a little harder than most. 

Chris is the only survivor from the first round of injections.  He survived every test that followed.  He is stronger for it, even stronger than the rest of them.  He is a singular asset.  He will never be replicated. 

Thanks to The Enemy, none of them will ever be replicated.  The Enemy recently attempted to recruit Miroh’s developers and killed them when he did not succeed.  Detailed knowledge of the treatment died with them.   

Miroh can never accomplish anything with his enemy on perpetual offense.  Felix knows the stories like the rest of them, the generations of corruption wrought by a single wealthy family with its iron fist wrapped around the country’s throat.  Miroh wants to free them.  Felix knows if they kill this one man, if the household is left to rot in the hands of its weak successor, then Miroh can finally set everyone free. 

It is a noble honour.

Chris does not see it that way.  He never has.  Maybe it is different for him, having watched those other children die.  Felix understands it was a sacrifice, but a necessary one.  The Enemy cannot be killed by a regular soldier.  So many more innocents will die if he is left unchecked.  Surely that is worth the price of a few soldiers.  Wars have casualties.  It will be worth it.

It has to be worth it. 

Bang Chan, the First Guard – call me Chris – takes a deep breath.  It sounds frustrated.  He glares at Miroh’s daughter who is unaffected. 

Felix looks between them.  Then his gaze lands on another soldier in the formation.  Seo Changbin is in the first row, a boy one year older than Felix.  Not the best soldier, not second best, but not the worst. His most notable trait is his humour and his friendship with Miroh’s daughter.  They are close – at least as close as anyone can be down here. 

Changbin is looking at her right now, his gaze searing with intensity.  Their eyes meet briefly and he shakes his head, a small motion, just enough for her to see.  Despite his clear warning to stop, she is not dissuaded from addressing her father. 

“With all due respect, sir,” she says to Miroh, “Eliminating Bang Chan would be a mistake.  He’s the best soldier in the operation.”

“The best,” Miroh says.  He presses the barrel of the gun against Chris’s forehead.  Chris goes tense and everyone takes a breath.    

His daughter is still unmoved.  She is a quiet character in general.  Felix has barely heard her speak never mind argue.  She keeps her head down and goes about her work obediently.  She is a good daughter and a better soldier.     

Maybe that is why Miroh hesitates. 

“He is not the best if this is how he conducts himself,” Miroh says. 

“Father, aren’t you the best at what you do?” she asks without hesitation.  “Surely a proper soldier like you should be able to control a little boy.  Are you saying you are not capable of that task?  It takes no skill to shoot a teenager.  What message do you send to the rest of us if you have to resort to desperate measures to keep your own army in line?”    

The silence is deafening.  Even with a gun plastered to his forehead, a little dimple of amusement pops in Chris’s cheek.  Changbin exhales.  Felix is sick of standing still but he holds his form despite the growing tension. 

The seconds feel like hours.  Eventually, Miroh lowers the gun. 

“Guards,” he says.  The adult guards are immediately at his side.  “My daughter has faith in our order.  I would be remiss as a father to fail her.”  He looks down at Chris and speaks with a snarl in his upper lip, “Let us all try our best to succeed.” 

Miroh snaps his fingers and points at Chris.  The guards swarm him, two of them taking an arm each.  At least Chris is smart enough not to struggle.  He is an indomitable force but he does not have an army at his call.  He lets himself be seized. 

“Take him to the Cell,” Miroh says.

An instinctive hiss leaves the mouths of a few soldiers.  They have all been trained to withstand various degrees of torture, but the Cell is one of the worst.  Even Felix shudders at the mention of it.  It is a small windowless room buried deep in the bunker of the training facility, a small prison cell with no light and no warmth.  Everyone has taken a turn in isolation, camped on the hard ground in the damp and cold and dark.  Down there, minutes feel like days, days like years.  At least literal torture causes sensation.  The Cell is a great black nothing. 

Chris does not argue, knowing it would be useless, but he does glare at Miroh as he is hauled away. 

“Take her too,” Miroh says. 

With a snap of his fingers, two more guards surface and grab his daughter.  Her stoic expression finally fractures, true surprise bursting on her face. 

“Me?” she asks. 

“As my daughter, your perspective is acknowledged and appreciated,” he says.  “As a soldier, you need to remember your place.  Throw them in together.  Double the people, double the time.” 

Felix would not want to be shoved in that tiny space with another person.  Certainly not if the trade was double the duration. 

But then, Felix does not like company.  He does not understand the exhausted look on Changbin’s face.  Changbin isn’t being punished, so why would he feel anything? 

Felix watches.  He holds his form even where others begin to wane. 

The guards and their prisoners leave.  The door closes and Miroh looks over the regiment.

“Who’s the second best?”  Miroh asks. 

There is a beat of silence, the scene settling.  The trainer finally clears his throat and looks down at his papers. 

“Lee Felix Yongbok,” he says in that booming voice.  Felix’s heart soars just as high.  “Step forward.”

Felix marches forward, keeps his eyes ahead.  Miroh approaches him.  Felix does not flinch, not even when Miroh circles him like prey.

“He’s young,” Miroh says.  “What do you have to say for yourself, boy?”

“I want to do good,” Felix answers.  “I’m ready.” 

They put a gun in his hand and a beanie on his head.  He enters the world looking like a normal ten year old boy. 

He puts a bullet in the head of The Enemy. 

He suspects one day he will be back for the son and granddaughter. 

He hopes it will be soon. 

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P R E S E N T   D A Y

Despite your father’s remarkable propensity for making you feel like a child, you are a grown adult.  You are intelligent and conniving and dangerously competent.  In some ways, having been raised like a soldier beneath his merciless iron fist, you are more steadfast, more severe.  Your life is carved into his, your fates tethered as one to his success.  You are your father’s daughter, a Miroh, irrevocably a product of his upbringing.   

You do not show weakness.  You do not throw tantrums.  You might spend twenty minutes in the lobby bathroom, splashing cold water on your face, and you might spend another five minutes shining your shirt buttons, then ten more folding and re-folding the lapel of your long coat – but walking into his office almost forty minutes late is not the same thing as throwing a tantrum. 

You think you’re composed until you walk through that door, then the week’s anxieties expand in the cage of your chest.  You are capable but you are not stupid.  Miroh might be your father but he is a totalitarian man of influence and it would be foolish not to be wary of his power. 

You are more apprehensive than you appear, but you march in there like a soldier, shoulders back and head high.  You inherited your father’s marble expressions and stone stature.  No one would ever guess your palms were so clammy, your neck hot and damp with sweat. 

“I’m here,” you say by way of greeting.   You are not characters to indulge in artificial small talk.  There is no affection here and pretending otherwise is a waste of everyone’s time.  

“I won’t bother with pre-amble,” he says, predictably.   ”You know why you’re here.”

“I do,” you say.  “And I don’t agree with it.”

“I know you don’t.”

The argument ends just like that.  You knew it was a dead-end protestation before you opened your mouth, but you had to say something.  You are adamantly opposed to your father’s latest imposition.    

A personal, twenty-four hour bodyguard.   For you.    

The decision was not made lightly.   Your father’s business rival perished just under a month ago, the bloody circumstances extreme and mysterious.  Until Miroh can ascertain what truly transpired at that house on that fateful night, then he cannot be too careful when it comes to guarding his own legacy.

Your father is a military tactician and business man.  He is in the habit of bracing for every eventuality with a detached, pragmatic determination.   Of course he wants you watched. This bodyguard assignment is imperative in protecting his house. 

“I have a security team,” you say. 

“They are insufficient,” he replies. 

“I trained them myself.”

“They are too numerous.”

“I’ll cut down the roster.”

“Rotations open vulnerabilities.”    

“And who’s to replace them?” Your patience snaps. “One of your dogs?”

“You are also one of my dogs,” he says, voice soft for such a venomous retort.  It stings like a slash across your chest.  “I would not disparage them.” 

“Oh, of course, my apology.”  You speak with the same false gentility.  “What a thoughtful master you are.”

“I must be,” he says, “because the dogs still come when I call.” 

There is so much contempt in his voice.  He looks at you with more hatred than he ever directed to his worst enemy.   It makes you want to leap across this room and throttle him with your bare hands, like you can shake the animosity right out of him. 

You are too old to feel like a little girl on the verge of tears, demanding to know why her father does not love her.   You have long since accepted there is no easy answer to that question.  You would say that Miroh is simply not capable of love but you know that is not true.  He can love.  He just doesn’t love you.  

You are the perfect heir, his exact replica in ability and countenance, but it is not enough.  It will never be enough.  No matter what you do, no matter how faithfully you obey him.   You have bloodied your hands in the shadows while he takes the public credit.  You have helped build the reputation of the family name.  You have given him everything. 

He rewards you with this.   

You are not stupid.  Regardless of his excuses, he does not want you under surveillance for your protection.  You both know your personal training puts you leagues ahead of the overwhelming majority of agents.  Your security team is a superfluous accessory as is.

Miroh has just witnessed the collapse of a previously impenetrable legacy.  This does not put him at ease.  The battle technician accounts for every possible manoeuvre.  You know he foresees his own downfall just as easily as he sees his success.  Unseated before his time, reputation annihilated, replaced by someone as savage and persistent as him. 

A bodyguard will not protect you from the world.  It will protect Miroh from you. 

For all your inner turmoil, you are a steadfast rock, standing across your father in his office and exchanging a knowing glance.  You are just like him.  Of course he is scared of you.  Of course he hates you.  Of course he needs you.  

The feeling is devastatingly mutual. 

“Who is it?” you ask, calmly. 

“Agent Slump, step forward,” your father calls one of the guards posted at the back wall.  “This is your new bodyguard officer.  He will accompany you at all times, day and night, including your office hours and service train—”

The agent steps forward as your father speaks.  You draw your gun out of your chest holster and shoot when the man steps into your periphery.  It blows through his shoulder and knocks him down, all in a piercing shriek that reverberates around the small room.  The other guards flinch in the ringing aftermath. 

You look at your father and re-holster your gun.  You lay the lapel of your long coat back over your chest. 

“He leaves something to be desired,” you say.  “I would have thought you learned your lesson with these undertrained toy soldiers.  Maybe a better bodyguard would have kept your wife alive.” 

Your own mother died during complications in childbirth.  Miroh remarried a few years later, a woman he genuinely seemed to cherish, a woman who was killed in retaliation for a deal gone sour.  Nothing fills your father with more righteous fury than the mention of her.  Miroh loved her almost as much as he hates you. 

You know better than to retaliate with such childish rejoinders, but you want to hit him where it hurts, see something real on that stoic face.  It garners you a flicker of rage, bathed in all that loathing, and it makes you smile. 

“Let me know if you can find a competent replacement,” you say.  “Until then, I have work to do.” 

You turn heel and march to the door.  The guards move out of your way despite lack of command.  They have never respected you the way they respect your father, but they do fear you and it works the same way. 

You are dressed for the office but after an unproductive hour spent stewing in agitation, you give up.  The head of your security team accompanies you across town to the primary training facilities.  Hidden in plain site, here Miroh has trained and developed some of his most deadly assets. 

You are one of those assets.  You spent your childhood in this facility, training among an elite selection of children, raised for the purpose of violence and victory.  It was a unique program.  It has never been revived, the medicant administered to the children lost and yet to be replicated.  

You are one of the few still living. 

Your training was relatively more lax.  As Miroh’s daughter, the trainers could not let you die.  But neither he nor they had qualms with letting you suffer.  Miroh never admonished them and you never complained, at the time naively thinking that if you could prove yourself then he would care about you.

A foolish aspiration long since abandoned. 

But the training has served you well over the years.  It certainly comes in handy when you need to fucking punch something. 

Your security team is comprised of regular soldiers so it does not take much to best them in a fight.  The exertion is nonetheless liberating.  You have always felt more at ease in action than behind a desk.  Combat clothes are less stifling than formalwear.  There is a reason Miroh never paraded you at parties the way his late enemy did with his late daughter.  Your place is in a fight and always has been.  

After a few rounds in the ring, you stop to rest.   Your team knows when to leave you alone to brood.  You lay back on the mat, flat in the ring. 

There is a moment, as often passes, where you question your entire life.  It has been a long, vicious fight, clawing your way to your position, that the road back out seems like an impossibly arduous task.  Too much has happened, too much pain and loss.  It has to mean something. 

You cannot surrender now.  The very thought has you reeling, physically painful to even consider.  

This is where you belong.  It is an irrevocable truth.  You are a Miroh. 

“Yah, murder princess,” comes a voice and the thud of booted steps.  “Just three rounds?  Tsk.  You’re getting soft.”

You roll over, grinning even though you know better.  You look up at Changbin who is dressed in similar fatigues, his bulky arms crossed over his broad chest, his dark bangs brushing his smirking face. 

“I was waiting for a real fight,” you reply.  “Looks like I’m still waiting.”

He barks out a laugh. 

Changbin is one of the few survivors of your father’s special-ops program.  Unlike others who were imported from your father’s overseas operations, Changbin was raised right here alongside you.  You do not even remember meeting him; he has just always been there.  

He is a few years younger but he always held your attention, both because of his skill and his ability to retain a sense of humour.  It was an often sought breath of relief in the conditions of your training. 

You look at Changbin now, grinning and more jovial than someone like him should be.  It is a testament to his resolute strength that he can hold a dual personality inside him.  He has always been that way.  He can flip between a stoic soldier and goofy guy in the blink of an eye.  It is part of the reason you have never let yourself entirely trust him.  Though you are fond of him, he is like you: just a little too good at what he does. 

“Haha, the princess thinks she’s a comedian now,” Changbin says.  He nudges you with the tip of his boot.  “If you want to make me laugh, you should try fighting.” 

“Oh, I see.”  You cannot help but rise to his bait, like always.  He is a perpetual little brother even though he is not your real brother and certainly not little anymore. 

You swipe at him and he jumps back.  Just like that, the pair of you fall into a long practiced dance.  

It is not the gentle footwork of a real dance, but a violent collision and parry of limbs.  It is just as musical and in sync, and somehow almost as tender.  You know each other’s weaknesses as well as strengths.  You know how to beat each other and how to prolong surrender, where to give advantage so the other can continue.  You used to fight until the trainers called a tie, saving you both from selection for the loser’s punishment.  To everyone else, it looked like a fight.  To you, it was a conversation and consolation.  Even if you had been in solitude for weeks, in that moment you were not alone. 

Changbin reads you now, in every swipe and jump and dodge.  In your matching black clothes and matching strength you collide and converse.  Your frustration strains in every vein and his enquires are plain in the deliberate pause of his complicated steps.

“Daddy problems, ah, murder princess?” he asks, grinning. 

He catches your fist before it collides with that smirk, twisting your wrist so you are forced to follow with a heavy drop.  You roll together, a back and forth until you individually spring to your feet and face each other.  You wait for the next move with equal calculation.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you say, batting a hit. 

“Really?” he asks.  “Because there are rumours in the pig pen that the general was looking for a big strong soldier to protect his little princess.” 

He lets you clock his jaw but it is a satisfying smack nonetheless.  A drop of aggravation is wrung out with your sweat.  You wipe your brow. 

“There was a change of plans,” you say.

Changbin laughs.   He is loud, always so loud for someone who can be so stealthy. 

“Of course!” he shouts.  “Keeping the doctors busy today, are you?”

He really knows you too well.  It is mutual.  You side-step a movement and body-check him. 

“Guess that’s what the general gets for choosing from the pig pen,” you say.  You infuse your father’s title with all the sardonic venom it deserves and pig pen with the same playful mockery as always. 

“Don’t be jealous,” Changbin teases right back, catching your taunt as easily as he catches your punch.  “If you keep practicing, one day you might be almost as good as me.” He has been making the same wisecrack for years, laughing to himself every single time. 

“Funny,” you say dryly. 

“I am the best,” he continues to tease, embellishing his movements with an unnecessarily dramatic flair.  “I’m sure that’s why the general doesn’t want me on bodyguard duty, right?  I need a real job, not protecting the princess.”

There are a few rapid-fire moves, too taxing for speech.  Then you manage, “Right.”  You take his offered opening and catch the back of his knee with yours.  “I’m sure it has nothing to do with your probation after the last field mission.” 

You expect to take him down but you do not expect the weight of his crash.  It is not like Changbin to fully collapse under you, almost like he was truly surprised. 

You are just as dazed by the impact.  You loom over him, staring bemusedly, like you have no idea how he got on the floor. 

It is not like Changbin to take a hit so personally.  Of all your father’s soldiers, he was always the best at shrugging off his individuality in favour of a mission.   He does not tend to dwell on his losses anymore than he lingers in his victories.  The past is a heavy thing to carry into battle.  He knows to leave it behind.  There is always another job around the corner. 

“You’re not still upset about that?” you ask.

The mission was shortly before the enemy’s downfall.  Years ago, one of your father’s child soldiers betrayed an operation.  Lee Felix switched sides and the enemy did not let your father forget it.   But Miroh is an ever-calculating general who knows which battles are worth fighting.  After one failed attempt at seizing the enemy’s daughter, he waited until the enemy came to him instead.  

When he finally did, you caught him.  You sent Changbin after his daughter and waited for the enemy’s imminent surrender.  He retracted his operation but Felix, that loose canon of a traitor-turned-bodyguard, fucked the Mirohs a second time and disappeared with her.  They all died a week later. 

Changbin was noticeably uneasy after the job, but you did not think much of it.   You were not worried about Changbin taking the mission too personally.  Yes, Felix was a former soldier in this regiment, but Changbin is not sentimental.  You chalked up his despondency to his loss.  It is not like him to let a target slip through his fingers. 

“Upset,” Changbin says.  “Me?”

You know him too well.  The joking tone is diminished, buried beneath the weight of his gloom.  He tries to smile but it does not fit on his face, too big and too wide of a grin. 

You tip your head, your regard scrutinous.  You have no idea how to talk to him with real depth.  You look at each other and understand it, but vocalizing it is another matter entirely. 

Like he can read your thoughts, his face scrunches up and he says, “Yah, you, cut that out!”  He shoves you as he gets to his feet, both of you stumbling.  “I’m fine,” he says.  “Come on, hit me again.” 

You are certainly better at conversing that way.

You take a starting stance but you are interrupted when someone from your security team whistles.  It is a warning whistle, the sharp tone a code for the arrival of your father.

You and Changbin straighten, turning to watch as Miroh approaches with a flank of armed guards behind him.  They are all dressed for combat in their black uniforms and black masks.  The half-mask is regulation for all field agents.  It covers the bottom half of the face and serves as protection in the event of smoke from explosions or exposure to noxious aerosols and gasses.

It also undoubtedly turns a human soldier into a less-than-human figure.  It obscures features, faces, flaws. 

Sharp eyes stare at you, every face uniform and expressionless.  There are half a dozen of them.  Your father’s usual security detail trails behind them.  Your security team eyes them in turn.   The whole room feels like a pot about to boil over.    

“What is this?” you demand.  

“This is my adherence to our agreement,” your father says. 

“Our agreement?” you ask.

“Yes.”  He stops in the middle of the room, standing straight and steady.  He looks at ease, like he barges in here with a small army every day.  “You tasked me to find a competent replacement bodyguard,” he says.  “So here is how this will go: whichever agent can beat you in a fight, right here, right now, will be your new bodyguard.  If you defeat them all, I will drop the issue and leave the matter of your personal security to you.” 

You look at his soldiers then at him.  You force yourself to composure.  It is not like you to instigate so much confrontation. You prefer to keep your head down and get the job done.  Your father does not love you but he knows your work is reliable.  Usually that is enough.

This entire escapade with the enemy has unravelled everyone.  The house of Miroh should be more stable than ever, your father taking over assets left behind by the enemy, but the whole world feels changed.  It is off its axis.  You feel unsteady, your body braced for attack with no reprieve.  You feel like you are looking at the world through someone else’s eyes.  Everything feels wrong.

In difficult times, you fall back on training and soldier instinct.  You are a battle technician, just as competent as your father.  He is not going to drop the issue and this is a fair compromise.  You can fight these guards.  Half a dozen well-trained field agents is a handful but not impossible.  Your body is built to be a little faster, a little stronger, to take a hit harder. 

“Fine,” you say, a single grating syllable.  You bite the word.  Through clenched teeth, you add, “Let’s do this.”

You and Changbin exchange a look.  He reflects your confusion, knowing you can easily take these guards, knowing Miroh knows that too.  It makes you feel even more uneasy.  Your father must be planning something but you do not know what.  But you cannot control him.  You can only control yourself.  You can fight these guys.  You can win. 

You take a swig of water then stretch.  The first guard takes a position in the fighting ring.  You brace yourselves with a starting stance, measuring the other. 

You wait, sweat dripping down your brow.  You feel their eyes on you, every soldier, your father, your friend.  Changbin stands off to the side, sitting in shadows.

It is where your kind belongs.  You are not regular soldiers. 

The fight begins and you take him down swiftly.  Your game with Changbin was just that, a game.  This is real.  This is a battle.  This is what your body was made to do. 

One by one, you take out the agents.  They charge at you, they swing at you, they even try to taunt you.  You deflect it all.  Your fist connects with a temple, your foot their knee.  You pop joints and flip soldiers and springboard back to action. 

You are getting tired by the last soldier but you do not let it show.  You sweat profusely, breathing hard, but you run at him and take him down.  Your bodies are a swirl of limbs and powerful movements.  Then he is on the ground, groaning, and you are rising, victorious. 

“Well?” you say.  You cannot help but grin, elated from the sheer exertion of exercise, and proud of your triumph.  There is a small, stupid part of you that hopes underneath everything, your father is proud too.  That he must relent and admit you are good.  

Miroh just stands there, unmoving and unaffected.  It dims your smile, frustration returning.  It simmers hot beneath your skin. It distracts you. 

Pain explodes in your left cheek, so sharp and searing it turns the world dark for half a second.  You see lightning flashes as you stumble, falling onto your side.  There is another guard in front of you, one you did not even see enter the room.  Did he drop down from the ceiling? 

He is a blurry shape.  You blink the stars out of your eyes, holding your throbbing head until clarity returns. 

Then your stomach drops. 

It is not a guard looming over you.  He wears the same black combat uniform and the same half-mask, but everything about him is different, everything from his build to his stance to the ice cold slash of his dark eyes.  Emotionless.  Empty. 

“Ah, I see,” you say, a breathless slur of words.  You cannot stop your voice from shaking.  “The First Guard.  I should have known.” 

There are only two living soldiers who can fight at your level.  The only two survivors of your father’s special-ops program.  One of them is Seo Changbin.

The other is Bang Christopher Chan. 

He stands over you in his combat gear, unflinching and barely human.  Even without the mask, you doubt you would see any humanity.  There is not a single shred of the boy he once was.  Chan was a problem for Miroh, once.  That was a very long time ago. 

That boy, Chris, is dead.  He has been dead for years.  The soldier in front of you is someone – something – else. 

You get to your feet, slowly and shakily.  He watches you.  He does not speak and he barely blinks, his gaze a meticulous perusal, his body braced for anything. 

Chan has the bloodiest, dirtiest hands of them all.  He does your father’s worst missions, assignments with details that even you are barred from knowing.  He is terrifyingly efficient, deadlier than any weapon in Miroh’s arsenal, and that is saying something because it is a substantial arsenal.  

Your own hands are dirty but it is nothing in comparison.  He is fast, he is deadly, and he feels nothing.  He looks at you like a machine scans a calculation.  A broken bone here, a fracture there.  You are certain he is already picturing a hundred different ways to contort your broken body. 

“Right,” you say. 

You are a strategist.  You know how to fight.  You know when not to fight.  But it is like instinct.  You look at him and something says fight him.   

You feel your father’s eyes on you.  You are not sure who is teaching who a lesson. 

You take a swing at Chan.  He dodges it.  He swings too, faster, but you anticipate it.  You tuck and roll, moving faster than you have ever moved in your life.  You are seldom pushed to the brink of your abilities like this.  Even half your skillset is double what most adversaries possess. 

But Chan is too much.  You spend the fight on constant defense, blocking swing after swing, hit after hit.  You take advantage of the smallest opening and crack your fist on his chest, only to realize he deliberately opened himself to it.  He grabs your wrist and twists you around before you can retaliate.  You are not used to such brute strength.  You follow his twisting to prevent a sprain or fracture, which he anticipates.  He grabs you by the throat and yanks you into him, right off your feet. 

You choke, blue swarming your rapidly blurring vision.  He slams you down on the ground, further disorienting you, still clutching your neck.

You dive somewhere deep inside your head.  You collect yourself as per your training, then swing your knee up between his legs.  It does not fully incapacitate him but it does discombobulate him.  He lets go of your throat and you slide between his legs, jumping up behind him.  He turns just in time to take a kick to the stomach, blasting him backwards to the end of the ring.    He prevents a worse fall by forcing himself down on one knee. 

You take the second he is down to catch your breath.  You try to calculate your next move but your adrenaline is dwindling.  Hopelessness settles in your chest.  You cannot win this fight.  At best, you can prolong it, but—

For the second time, you are blind-sided by pain.  It shatters down the right side of your body, a winded shove that blows right through you.   But it is not Chan.  Chan is still getting to his feet. 

You look up only for Changbin to bring his fist down in your face.  It knocks you off your feet and you land with a heavy thud.  Your heart races inside your aching chest. 

You have never fought Changbin like this. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss when he grabs you by the neck and drags you onto your feet.  You come to your senses and fight back, but you are hurt and tired and he has been recuperating. 

He punches you clear across the jaw and knocks you down again.  The world tilts sideways, spotted with black and blue.  Changbin drops on top of you.  You cannot even wrestle him, so disoriented.  He gets you flat on your front and pins you down. 

Then he takes a second to whisper in your ear, “Stop fighting me, murder princess.  Who do you want as a bodyguard?  Me or that thing?” 

If you were not so tired, you might have laughed. 

Your life is so backwards.  Changbin is helping you by beating the shit out of you.  But it is undoubtedly helpful.  He is right.  If Chan beat you, then Chan would be your bodyguard.  Your father would win.  He would have one of his agents glued to your side.  An agent you would never be able to shake no matter what you did. 

But it is not Chan over you.  It is your friend.  Someone from the same shadows as you.  Someone your father was not anticipating.

Changbin grabs you by the neck and yanks you up.  You look at your father with blood dribbling out of your mouth.

“I win,” Changbin says. 

Your father does not look happy.  That should upset you.  You and Miroh are bound as one. 

But it gives you a thrill.  His abomination of a soldier looms to the side, still staring at you, like he expects the fight to continue any second.  You suppose Chan’s life is one big fight and always has been. 

It doesn’t have to be that way for you, you think to yourself, a dangerous thought, one conjured by the feeling of your only friend holding you in his arms.  It looks like a death grip to anyone else, purely technical, but you feel it, the way he cups your injuries carefully despite his bulk and power.     

Miroh is scared.  He is getting desperate.  He wants you brought to heel.   In doing so, he is only stoking your resentment.

That pot starts to boil over.

“Well?” you say, in a voice as rough as gravel. 

“Yes,” your father says with a petty little snarl.  “I suppose you have won, haven’t you?” 

Changbin helps you off the ground.  You suffer through your pains.  You can feign steadiness for another minute, for long enough to retaliate.

You climb out of the ring.   You pass the other injured guards.  You walk right up to your father. 

Miroh stares at you.  You have identical glares, measuring each other.  Two soldiers with the same fire in their blood. 

You punch him.  It is a nice sharp shot across the face, using all the strength you have left.  You are one of the best.  Despite your injuries, it is still one fucking hell of a punch.

Miroh falls back in an undignified sprawl, hitting the hard ground with a painful thud.  He is good but he is not you. A fall like that would not have broken your bones the way it clearly fractures his arm.  

“Until next time, father,” you say. 

You step over him.  His security team immediately surrounds him, helping him up.  Your team comes to your aid as well.  Changbin follows too, coming right up to your side.  He grabs your arm and slings it around his shoulder, taking the brunt of your weight seconds before you would have collapsed. 

You look back over your shoulder.  The injured guards are tending their wounds.  Chan is looming in the background like a living shadow.  Miroh is clutching his arm and staring at you with fury pouring out of him.  You walk away, smiling despite your injuries. 

Your father should know better than to hit you.

You always hit back.

[musamora]

𝖎'𝖒𝖆 𝖒𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖒 「𝔬𝔰𝔞𝔪𝔲 𝔡𝔞𝔷𝔞𝔦」 ༉‧₊˚

from anonymous ⇢ can I request a fanfic Nikolai or Dazai nsfw? maybe it could be a new coworker that he’s interested it or something, honestly I’m fine with anything but i just an idea!

content. f!reader. not-safe for work, alcohol, bathroom sex, bruises, choking, clubbing, creampie, fingering, hickeys, implied/referenced fleshlights, jealousy, misogyny, perverted dazai, pet names (baby, dearest, good girl), possessiveness, protectiveness, praise kink, semi-public sex. not proofread. 4.2k+ words.

author's note. i cannot believe how long this request took for me to complete. it is the first in a series of requests that i've received in the past two months that i'm finally getting to, but it's here! and this is weirdly my first full BSD smut fic, so sit back and enjoy the ride ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

synopsis. it started as a night at the club and then became something much, much better.

After multiple bouts of terrible run-ins with the press, Fukuzawa had made the executive decision to hire a media liaison as an intermediary for their discussions with the news. And she was, at least in Dazai's eyes, the perfect little thing. He almost fell over when she strode through the door—well, he actually did. He had dropped to his knees and begged her to kill him, grasping onto her delicate hands for the first time, only for the sweet woman to dismiss his proposal with a wave of her fingers and a concerned contort of her lips.

And God, she was perfect.

She walked around the office with such charismatic confidence, one that rivaled his own, always clad in a fashionable pair of dress pants that shaped her ass just right and flared at the bottom to compliment her legs. Her blouse was even better, with puffed sleeves that bounced at every step and a collarline that exposed just the right amount of cleavage. It was the perverted mummy's dream.

However, he liked their new liaison for many other reasons—he wasn't that shallow. (Name) She was so easy to talk to and kind to her co-workers, even with a sassy flare rivaling Doctor Yosano's. And even though she didn't have an ability, she held herself up with wit and intelligence alone—he couldn't help but admit that the smirk that curled onto her very kissable-looking lips whenever she outsmarted someone made the hairs on the nape of his neck stand up.

His personal favorite habit of hers had become the one that centered entirely around him—obviously. (Name) always made it a habit to check in on him, especially once she realized his suicide quips weren't just a ploy to get closer to women. It had started with a weary checkup and an occasional smile but blossomed into a friendship laced with jokes and playful banter.

She was such a charmer.

It had been quite a busy day for the agency—though it typically was—involved in another city-wide event that had placed every citizen on their toes. So, to his dismay, he was forced to admire her from afar, watching her hold off intrusive media outlets with a grace and dignity that she solely wielded. Though he couldn't help but notice her rapidly dwindling patience—it was apparent. The scrunch of her nose as she listened to the misogynistic rambles of news anchors or the overly-sweetened tune of her smile as she confronted a demeaning photographer—all little traits he had fallen for.

He knew the next person who even looked at her funny would face the wrath of a she-demon.

And he couldn't wait to watch.

"How's our charming Ms. (Name) doing on a fine evening such as this, hm?" he mused as he rolled towards her desk, spinning circles as he sat backward in the chair. A softened smile, starkly contrasting her prior annoyance, appeared on her face, shoulders slumping as she relaxed into her chair.

"I'm doing fine, Mr. Dazai," she mocked, hands settled near her hips. "But if I have to talk to another snobby reporter, I may commit a murder."

She leaned towards his chair, dramatically batting her eyes. "You'd bail me out, wouldn't you?"

He smirked—this back-and-forth banter had become more and more common between them, much to his delight. He swooned with a coo, draping his arm across his forehead. "I would, dearest—if only I had the money for such a thing!"

"I barely have enough for canned crab..." he trailed off with a frown, a sudden reminder popping into his head. "How would you feel about an evening on the town."

She raised a brow. "Hmm, what are you suggesting?"

"I'd forgotten about these tickets." He reached into his back pocket and then into his other back pocket—then another and another. "I received them as a favor a couple months ago. They're entry tickets to a fancy club up in the north sector."

She peered over his shoulder with pursed lips once he pulled two crumpled tickets out of his vest pocket, eyes widening once he unfolded them. "The Royal Crown? Dazai, these are so expensive!" She snatched them from his hands, holding them up with scrutinizing eyes to the light. "Are you sure they're real?"

He pouted. "Of course I am! Can you really doubt a handsome face such as mine?"

She struck him with her pointed, unimpressed expression. He fell as if he'd been shot, crying out to the ceiling, temporarily drawing the attention of their co-workers, only for them to look away. Same routine. "Oh, Ms. (Name)! You wound me!"

She huffed, unable to restrain her laughter, returning the tickets to him with a slap to his chest. "Uh-huh. I'm so sorry."

Her coy, playful grin softened with a sigh, her beaming smile stirring Dazai's stomach. "But I'd love to go with you—if they're real. And if they're real." She stood from her chair, patting his shoulder as she passed by. "You can pick me up at 8."

And she walked off, clocking out of her shift with an almost unnoticeable pep in her step—unnoticeable to everyone that wasn't Dazai. He sighed, leaning against the seat of his chair with a lopsided grin.

She was so cute.

She spent the next few hours inside her apartment dolling herself up, swaying and humming to the tune of the local radio station as she slipped on one of her favorite dresses, drawing a dark shade of lipstick on with a pop of her lips. A knock rang out just as she slipped her heels on, gathering her purse as she made her way to the door.

"Coming!" she called from down the hall, only to pause mid-step.

The knocking hadn't come from the door. It came from the balcony.

She crept towards the balcony, ducking behind some of her furniture as she tried to spot some kind of burglar or serial killer, but she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. It was just her balcony, sitting aglow in the warm setting sun. She stepped out, taking in the breathtaking sight of the cityscape as she relaxed, relieved to find that she hadn't been stuck in a horror scenario—

"Graaah!"

"Oh fuck!"

She smacked the obscured figure with her purse, knocking whoever it was to the ground. It groaned in pain, and that familiar voice struck a chord with her, making her look closer at the figure as grumbles tumbled from its mouth.

"Bellaaaaa. How rude," Dazai whined, rubbing his forehead.

She clutched her hand to her chest, calming her racing heart as she panted. "Don't do that!" Her lips twisted into a snarl, glaring daggers into the wounded man. "You scared the shit outta me!"

"I was just making sure you could defend yourself," he claimed, although she could spot the lie through the amused glint in his eyes. "You never know what could happen to a poor, unprepared damsel."

"I am not a damsel, Dazai," she deadpaned, bending down beside him. "Let me see your face."

Her hands cupped his face, ignoring or missing the blush surfacing on his cheeks as he stared at her wide-eyed. Gentle fingers brushed the wound's edges, wincing with a tense sigh as she examined the damage. "Yikes. That's gonna leave a bruise."

Damn, she didn't realize the force she had behind her hit. Good to know.

She grabbed him by the hand, taking him inside and into her bathroom, kicking a stool out from behind her toilet with her foot. He looked at her dumbly, watching as she tapped it with her heel. "Have a seat."

He plopped down, looking almost monstrous with his lanky legs bunched awkwardly against the floor of the pintsized room. With bated breath, he watched as (Name) shuffled through her cabinets, having to stretch on her toes and allowing him to admire her in full view. She was wearing a velvety little cocktail dress that cupped her curves and cinched in all the right places—was it getting hot in here? He couldn't help the way his mind wandered, wondering what would happen if he just stood up, grabbing her by the hips and just—

"And there we go." She thumbed a plaster onto his forehead with rhythmic circles, brushing her lips against the material's edge before she placed the medical kit back. He froze at the feeling of her lips, fingers hovering over the spot she kissed—they were so soft—staring at her as she obliviously continued to hum to the radio. But then she stiffened as if snapped out of a trance, turning towards him with a blank expression, though the panic in her eyes was palpable.

"Don't say a word."

He grinned softly, leaning against his palm.

"Wouldn't dream of it, dear."

It was a bar unlike any (Name) had ever seen. The outside sparkled in the peeks of moonlight that escaped through alleyways, contrasting the warmth of browned brick encompassing the walls. It glimmered the further they walked in, arm-in-arm, as excitement bounced between them. Goosebumps crawled up her arm as thumps of pop music chimed out from the entryway, the buzz of anticipation running through her veins.

The main room was bustling with people, chatting between sips of bubbling champagnes and smooth whiskies. A ginormous bar was the centerpiece, lined with aged-metal chairs lit with LED lights. Warm backlights illuminated a collection of rums, bourbons, whiskeys, and wines she had never seen before, making her mouth dry. One of the bartenders, clad in an all-black suit, poured another patron a sweet drink, vicariously feeling the antsiness of alcohol settling into her system.

"Can't believe you're looking at him like that and not me," Dazai whispered into her ear, tickling her skin.

She hid her flustered expression with a jab to his side—Dazai did look quite handsome now that she had a better look at him. He was decked out in a black suit jacket, unbuttoned to reveal a dark red vest and white dress shirt underneath, topped off with a tie. Her favorite part had to be his hair, which was pined to the side, allowing her to see how his rich, chocolate-brown eyes bloomed in the heated light.

Part of her was tempted to run a hand through the soft, bouncy waves. Maybe if she just—

"Something on your mind, dear?" he asked, his voice low as they settled into seats at the bar.

She perked from her daydreams, shaking her head. "Nope. Just thinking about what to drink."

He huffed, amused with a cocked brow. "Are you sure about—"

"What can I get you two tonight?" a bartender asked promptly, and (Name) couldn't help but internally thank him for his impeccable timing.

"I'll have a French 65."

Dazai hummed at her choice, though he already figured she would pick something along those lines, eyes scanning the bottles of alcohol for a second. "And I'll have a Negroni."

The bartender whipped up their drinks with a flick of his wrist, and she couldn't be but stare at the burbling liquid as it poured out of the strainer and into a tall glass, sliding with a clink in front of her. She lifted the glass to her lips, savoring the hints of citrus within layers of bourbon and champagne.

The bar continued to become more crowded, not surprising due to its popularity among tourists and affluent residents of the city. She couldn't help how she stiffened as they touched shoulder-to-shoulder, packed in by the crowd; her heart thumped inside her chest—she couldn't tell whether it was due to the adrenaline of the alcohol or the proximity of their bodies.

"—and then he smacked me! Can you believe it? Me!" Dazai raved, an alcohol-induced flush on his cheeks.

She merely giggled, pushing his shoulder with her free hand. "Poor Kunikida. That man has to deal with your—"

"Hey, sweetheart."

Another person slid up in the seat beside her, replacing the sweet but drunk woman who had previously sat there. She stared at him, a man with greasy blonde hair and eyebags that rivaled a raccoon, with bewilderment. The exhaustion of the day had settled deep within her bones, her sass dulled by the alcohol and blanketing warmth of the bar atmosphere.

"Can I help you?" she asked, raising a brow. Dazai stiffened behind her, his muscles growing tense as he stared at the man with equal scrutiny.

The man grinned. "I was just wonderin' what a pretty lady like you is doin' here all by your lonesome."

"I'm not—"

To her utter annoyance, he cut her off again and placed a sweaty hand on her arm. "How 'bout you come back to my place, eh?" She winced as the smell of beer hit her nose, trying to scoot away. "And I'll treat ya' to some dinner."

A bandaged hand settled against her back. "I'm afraid she's with me."

The stranger merely laughed at Dazai, and even (Name) couldn't help noticing how fingers twitched around her waist. "Come on, man. You wouldn't mind sharing, would ya'?" Those sweaty hands caressed her arm, and she couldn't help feeling relief when she realized that she had long sleeves. However, she grimaced at his disgusting insinuation. "A pretty thing like her deserves to be—"

"I'm afraid you're mistaken."

Arms snatched her by the waist, settling her onto Dazai's lap. She could not stop trembling in his arms, eyes wide as his chest met her back—wholly encased in him. Though, she couldn't say she minded too much.

"She's mine." Warm breath bristled against the exposed flesh of her neck, a trill of anticipation traveling up her spine as a hint of arousal shot between her legs. "And someone as short as yourself should probably focus on homework rather than picking up women."

The drunken man shuddered as he felt the stern glare of the former Demon Prodigy, who was eyeing him like a hawk. This was far from the humor Dazai held in his previous conversation, eyes reflecting a past he had tried to leave behind long ago. Cold and irate, like the biting sting of a gun pressed against the temple. The man sputtered his apologies underneath whimpered breath, scrambling to leave his seat as he pushed between weary bystanders.

She watched the stranger leave with a stern stare, slumping against Dazai with a huff of relief. "Heh. Thanks, Dazai." Her eyes tilted down to look at the head propped on her shoulder, only to see burning brown eyes staring at her, his expression unreadable. Analyzing. Sweat gathered on her temple, straightening up as her fight-or-flight response screamed at her, his arms tightening around her waist to trap her against him.

"Dazai?"

He interwove his fingers with hers, pulling her off the bar seat as he led her towards the back of the club. They rushed past varieties of people as the bass of music shook their feet, some chatting while others practically fucked with their clothes on. The smell of alcohol grew stronger as they reached a strange hallway, the former mafia executive pushing her into a single-stall restroom before locking the door behind them.

"D-Dazai—what's going—mmf-!"

He sealed his lips across hers, devouring her whimpers with desperate kisses as he pressed her body against the door. She trembled in his hold, wrapping her arms around his neck as his tongue slid across her bottom lip. It was electrifying, the bubbling sensation of an intoxicating haze slipping between them.

"You're so pretty like this, ya' know?" He trailed kisses across her jawline. "So sexy. And that dress—it was made for you, baby."

Her laughter was almost hysterical, drawing him in with a pull of his tie. "Then I must say that you look quite handsome in that suit of yours, Osamu."

He forced himself to restrain a groan, muffling it into her neck. "I love it when you call me that." His hand drifted to the back of her throat, trailing kisses along the searing skin as her moans mixed with laughter to create an invigorating concoction. "And those sweet little giggles of yours—God, you've got the voice of an angel."

He drew her in with a squeeze to her throat, teasing the skin at the junction of her neck between his teeth. "I've gotta hear more."

Each kiss was calculated, ensuring that her body felt inflamed. She flinched every time Dazai's lips met her now-aching skin, stroking her fingers through his hair, eliciting a low groan from him as she tugged at the soft curls that blanketed his neck.

Her hands fiddled with the edges of his suit jacket, shimmying it down his shoulders and flinging it onto the floor. She wanted him badly—she didn't know if it was the alcohol acting as liquid courage, but as his hands drifted across her breasts, she found that she didn't care.

His lips met hers again, meticulously working her dress up and bunching it around her hips. He pried her legs apart with his hand, settling his knee between them and pressing up. For months, he had thought about the noises she'd make when he touched her like this. But it was better than he had imagined. She practically melted in his mouth, moving her hips in small circles as more noises were withdrawn from her lips.

His hands met her hips again, gently, before squeezing them with a bruise-inducing grip. "Stay still." She froze, unable to hide the thousands of impure thoughts that bounced around her head in reaction to his voice's simple, low rasp. His fingers slipped under the band of her panties, pooling arousal on his fingers as he drew diligent strokes around her sensitive bud, enthralled in the orchestra of pleasure that begged to be brought forth from her lips.

"You're soaked, baby."

"D-Dazai." She bristled, breath hitching as he pried her wet pussy apart. He looked absolutely entranced by the amount of arousal that gathered on his fingers, dipping one inside and then another, watching with predatory eyes as her thighs began to tremble.

His fingers were much longer than hers, hitting spots she could only dream of reaching on her own. "Mmm. You like that, baby?" She cried out as he stretched them out, brushing against her sweet spot. "You like the idea of being full, don't ya'?"

She could merely nod as she threw her head back, being forced still by the hand on her hip.

He littered openmouthed kisses across her jaw, running his tongue across her skin to taste her as he thrust his fingers inside her pussy at an aggravating pace. "You need to be full, right? You want my cock. You want me to fill you up."

"Please, 'Samu—" She batted at his spine, heaving as she pleaded. "Fuck me."

Any of his remaining resolve crumbled in a matter of seconds, sliding his fingers out from between her legs as she whined. Instead, he placed them inside his mouth, opened barely enough to let her see how his tongue wrapped around his fingers, consuming her liquid arousal with a pleased hum.

"How could I refuse when you asked me so nicely?"

He hoisted her by her hips, hands propped against her ass as she was pinned to him, her sensitive, soaked pussy brushing against his strained erection that sat painfully inside his pants. With a flick of his wrists, he pulled her panties off and sat her bare ass down on the frigid marble surface of the counter, spreading her legs with a firm tug as he soaked in how her arousal pooled onto the surface below.

His fingers went to pull at the zipper of his pants, tantalizingly slow. "Look at me." Her eyes shot up to his face, a darkened look in his eye at the way she immediately obeyed his command. "Yeah, that's a good girl."

He leaned forward, the warm scent of gin brushing against her face as he cupped her face, almost drawing her attention from the feeling of his cock resting against her folds. "You're my good girl, right?"

She nodded, staring at him despite the temptations to glance downwards. He only continued to rub his cock against her, with enough irritating pressure to make her want to wrap her legs around his hips but not enough to make her mind go blank. Her brows furrowed, a pleading pout evident in the beginnings of her lips.

He only grinned.

"Come on, baby. I need'ta hear you say it."

Her mind was hazy, too fogged to connect her abstract thoughts through the heat. Words tumbled out of her mouth faster than she could process them. "Please, Dazai—I need you. Please, please—I'll be good, please—" She let out a yelp as he slapped her thighs, hands working to relieve the sensitive skin as he moved his cock away.

"You're almost there, sweet girl," he cooed, condescension as heavy as the liquor in his breath. "You know what to say. Come on."

Her muscles screamed at her as she did everything in her power to remain upright, wanting to give into the fantasy of crumpling over and letting him pound into her while she lay limp. Not yet. She always knew that he would be the type to tease, to make a woman work a bit for what they wanted. She just didn't realize how infuriating it would be—not that she had the will to complain.

She just wanted to be full.

"Please, 'Samu. I'll be good—I'll be your good girl, I promise." Her rambling ceased with a shudder as he slid his cock inside her, immediately trying to buck her hips forward to take more. He only smiled at her impatience, filling her to the brim as her pussy quivered around his cock.

"That's right." He kissed the seared skin near her collarbone. "You're mine."

She couldn't control herself as he began to pump in and out of her, salacious cries of his name pouring into the open air with just the music of the club outside to deafen the sounds of their pornographic escapade. Her nails caught onto the fabric of his shirt, scratching at any sliver of unbandaged skin to create crescent scars.

He groaned at the perfect fit, eyes rolled back at the sheer bliss of it all. She was so much better than the stupid fleshlight he had been using almost every night, too pent up from the sight of her at work every day. This was so much better.

He finally had the real deal, and he wasn't gonna let her go.

"That bastard thought he could put his hands on you." His voice had darkened, becoming guttural as his grip on her hips tightened. "He probably thought he'd be the one doing this to you. Taking you back to his dinky little apartment and prying you apart." And a part of her wanted him to leave a bruise, a reminder that this wasn't some lustful wet dream.

He chuckled, holding onto her like an anchor as he found his rhythm. "But I'm the only one who gets to see you like this."

His hand wrapped around her throat, strained moans escaping from her kiss-bruised lips as he squeezed down. "To touch you like this." He pinned her down, flattening her to the counter with each thrust, relishing in the way she clenched down on him the deeper he went. "To fuck you like this."

"F-Fuck-'Samu–" she whined, her stomach twisting in knots from the pressure of his cock, growing even wetter from the edge of a snarl in his voice.

He chuckled, his other hand crawling up her chest, pressing against her breast to feel her heave. Her back arched up to his touch despite how the grip on her throat grew tighter, making her feel lightheaded. "You like that, don't you? Like being mine?" The way she tightened around him was the only answer he needed, mindless babbles escaping her mouth. He released her throat with one last little squeeze, smearing her remaining lipstick across her cheek with his thumb. "Good. You'll have to get used to that, baby."

She grabbed onto his shoulder, bringing him into another searing kiss as her impending release approached, her arousal already creating a puddle as it dripped off the counter and onto the floor. He rasped against her lips, slipping his tongue into her mouth to devour more.

"Scream for me, baby."

Her vision went white as she let out a loud, debauched moan of his name, rocking her hips to his ceaseless thrusts as she chased through her release. He jerked at the feeling of her pussy fluttering around him, pumping into her as he groaned into her mouth, spit trailing from his lips as he panted, bracing himself against the counter.

"Fuck."

If he had to pick his favorite sight of the night, it would be this very moment. Here she was in front of him, his beautiful co-worker, dress disheveled and makeup smudged by her tears as she creamed on his cock. God, he could feel himself getting hard again already, watching carnivorously as her legs trembled, eyes closing in exhaustion. His hands traced through her sweat-slicked baby hairs, thumbing her dress down as best he could while he leaned into her. Part of him would've been okay with falling asleep right here, basking in the afterglow.

But the music outside served as a reminder.

He glanced up from his place, nuzzling her neck, mischief already drawn in his eyes.

"We're not done, love. We're heading back to my place."

taglist: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive @solandiss @ruru-kiss @ishqani @sillyspookycat

© 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 2023 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Pass the Star

Azalea Fell meets Antoinette Crowley at her first roller derby bout with a new league. After an incident leads to a trip to A&E, the two are drawn to one another but Crowley is reluctant to potentially ruin a great friendship for something more.

Length: 57,618 Words

AO3 Rating: Explicit/ Spice Level 🔥🔥🔥🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, Human AU

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by mageofthepeople

*Minor Spoilers* I'm super totally normal about this one. I've been on an ineffable wives obsession this week and that was largely due to this fic. This is everything I want in a wives story! It's fun, engaging, creative, and a total win for lesbians.

Azalea and Crowley are derby girls on rival teams. I love the derby use here because, well it's hot, but also it's a fun sport that I can totally understand these two enjoying. Crowley is obvious to understand, it's physical and aggressive, outside the norm, and again hot. But the hard work here was to make Azalea fit in this space. The author does this by giving us a character that has already done some of the work of leaving her repressive past behind. She's uniquely herself, has a strong moral code, still hates customers and selling books, and has a sense of fashion and style that doesn't give a damn what other people think. She's still our sexy bookseller, but with tattoos and skates! Ugh tattooed omens is like catnip to me!

But the setting also works because it's well crafted! If you didn't have an obsession with the Elliot Page movie Whip It like I did, and don't know anything about roller derby, there's no worry here. You'll be able to follow right along. And the side characters fit into this word great! Ana was a surprise use, and one that I enjoyed! I feel like we usually see a Gabriel type character in the role that Ana fills here, so I loved the shake up. Plus, CAT. It's an instant win for me when there's a cat.

And did I mention it's hot?? The sex scenes in here are a little shorter, but excellent, and something to keep thinking about afterwards for sure. It's mostly safe in public overall, but for me I devoured it in one sitting at home. It's set up well for something to read in smaller bits but I cannot resist a good binge read. It's also clearly setting up for a sequel and honey, I'm seated. I'm subscribed and ready to go the moment more of this series drops. Already after my first draft of this post we got one! So I will end with a reminder to always subscribe to your favorite authors, because if I hadn't been I may have missed another entry to this universe and I'm an addict to these girls.

Read it here, fic by mageofthepeople

[mocha-tapioca]

spoilers for drdt beyond the prologue utc

funniest plot twist guys actually wouldn’t it be funny if teruko was actually the rival this whole time. like if david (the guy we all collectively love and hate atp) was actually the protagonist because he still clings onto the hope that there is still some good in this world while teruko has all but given up on it because nothing good has ever come out of hoping for her. like what if this is david’s world and we’re all just living in it

okay i typed this all out for fun n i was gonna say goodnight but now that im like. writing this out. wait lowkey why is this clicking a little. something something teruko “i keep losing everything i love so i have no choice but to slowly rot in my own despair while shielding myself from letting things get worse for me. but i’m still alive anyway so i’ll survive quietly” tawaki vs. david “there is something (maybe even someone) beyond this sadistic game show that allows me to cling onto hope despite it all, and if that means everyone else including me will die then so be it” chiem

the ways they cope with loss—lashing out only to bottle it up in the end vs bottling it up only to lash out at the end—oh i love them. i love them so dearly thank u for these compelling dynamics drdt dev

is teruko actually the protagonist? she should be—we’ve been following her perspective this whole time after all. but at the same time she is constantly having her cynical worldview challenged by other people, like charles and eden and whit and david, who all cling to hope and happiness despite it all. for all the cast’s eccentricities, they have the luxuries of being able to wish for something teruko doesn’t have: a life worth living outside of this killing game. something that, as she slowly loosens up during this trial, makes her realize that oh, maybe i could have a future like this too. it’s something that i’ve noticed rivals in the canon games have too (maybe minus nagito but he was not someone whose personality i’d analyzed back in middle school where my danganronpa roots lie. also he lowkey freaks me out). maybe with these guys by my side, i can finally learn to hope again. idk power of friendship guys wahoo

david is surrounded by people who love him, who he encourages like a knight in shining armor—like a main character, perhaps. we don’t fully know how much of act it is, especially considering how this is chapter two and we got our current emo eyebag loser literally one episode ago. but what we do know is that he treasures xander a lot, though the nature of that relationship right now is unknown—romantic? platonic? parasitic, even? im not rlly into the drdt ship culture so i couldn’t tell u. the fact that david’s memories are also starting to return can help us assume that in both the current killing game and during hope’s peak, they’d idolized each other. could david be connected to the sterlings, that business family we keep seeing within the drdt universe? could the sterlings be the true mastermind and the reasons behind this place’s existence?

idk how to continue this but something something “i am the protagonist and i cannot die” seems like some sort of vague setup for a 5th/6th chapter death involving teruko that will involve david needing to take over. ties it back together for her essentially being the reason behind the first murder

[letters-from-dekarios]

{written on pub stationary, stained with aclohol. The hand writing is messy, obviously written in a less than sober state. The paper is creased and crumpled, as though it’s original destination was to be the trash bin. Multiple words are misspelled or crudely scribbled out.}

~

Dear Dekarriose Dekarios,

I guess youre actual title now is the Wizard of Waterdeep, it may be inappropriate to still simply call you ‘Dekarios’ or ‘Gale’. I still will, change all you want, detest me all you want for it, I cannot change that image I still have of you from our youths.

A cocky bastard smug young man who probably had a good reason for being smug. A learned young wizard who, despite his inherent talents, buried his nose in a million books a second to learn more. I hated you for it back then. I think I hate you for it now.

I don’t know. I’ve never understood it. I never figured out how you could be more with so much inherent magical talent, but not enough to make you a sorcerer. I never understood how you could be more in control of your magic than a sorcerer. I never understood how we could be the same age, and yet when I first started my academic career at Blackstaff you were already finishing yours. I admired you for it, I hated you for it.

I thought you hated me too.

Not hate, that’s not right. I thought you abdhorred disliked me. I thought in some way, it was okay, we were rivals. We had our fun, I cursed you a few times (if you never knew that was me doing it. Sorry.), you explained every spell you knew in such detail I assumed you were being condescending on purpose. I casted spells with ease without trying but I could never learn a new spell. You learned a million new spells but took great effort in casting them. I hated you for your succeeding where I failed. I thought you felt the same.

I question that recently. I have people who hate me now. It’s not the same. If you did hate me, I guess I liked the way you hated me, it was more fun than how I’m hated now. But did you hate me? Were you being condescending, or did you just like to talk about things you found interesting? Do you even remember a word I’m writing down? Do you remember me? I can’t bame blame you if you don’t. It’s been so many years, even I only remember once I’ve reached the bottom of a bottle, but I remember a lot.

I’m reaching the end of the page. I feel I’ve written a lot about nothing, so I guess it’s time I cut to the chase. I do miss our rivalry, our misadventures, our friendship, whatever you’d call it. I miss Gale Dekarios, the smug little bastard that once tried to tutor me. I miss you.

I wish you the best,

Irisa

-~•~-

{set before the events of the game, written by my tiefling Tav, Irisa, a wild magic sorceress who briefly did not know she was a sorceress, thus she briefly tried to learn Wizardry at Blackstaff. It did not go well. In her time there she had a rivalrous relationship with Gale, because the two of them were young and immature, and eventually she was expelled from the academy. Years down the line her life is not great, she’s drunk a lot, misses petty arguments with our favorite wizard, reflects on their time together, and wrote this letter and sent it out when drunk and probably forgot all about it come morning.}

Dearest Irisa,

Your letter, though quite barely decipherable, comes as a bit of a shock for me. I did not expect to receive word from you after so many years, and though I can tell you’re not doing exactly the greatest at the time of writing, I hope you’re well otherwise.

It may shock you to know that, despite how many years it’s been, I do remember you. For all it’s worth, I remember the rivalry between us. Who puts a Wizard and a Sorcerer in the same fold? I’ll never understand how that came to be, but it was an enjoyable few years with you there.

I do get that a lot, the admiration and the hatred all mixed in one. It may do well to understand that I am, or, rather, was one of Mystra’s chosen. Though my abilities as a child were to be challenged, it was all because of her. It’s not every day you have an eight-year-old human practicing magic, and Mystra knew that of me. She’s the only reason why I had such control and understanding, though it helped being quite studious.

Despite it all, I can say I never did hate you. You pushed me to countless new limits, helped me see my oddities and how to work through them, and showed me the intensity of magic on a grander scale than reading books ever could. You brought out the best in me, regardless of our differences.

While I didn’t hate you, I can confidently say I did envy your ease in casting spells. If only I could whisk a spell together that easily! Concentration gets the best of me nowadays, perhaps I should have practiced more of that while at the Academy.

I do sincerely apologize for any condescension you may have felt. I tend to do that at times apparently! It was a genuine interest on my part to have someone who shared a similar understanding with me, and I wanted to tell you of all the worlds we could both accomplish. My mother has quipped it as “Galesplaining”, whatever she intends that to mean.

I remember you completely. All the glory, the joy, the hurt, the failure. It’s ingrained in my mind and I doubt I can ever sand it away. I wouldn’t want to, either. You made my time at the Academy more enjoyable than it had been for years. You changed me, in some of the best ways imaginable.

I can’t deny finding myself at the bottom of a bottle stirring over the past, much like yourself, wondering what I could have changed or done differently. Maybe we could’ve stayed friends, that’s a nice alternate reality to think of.

I miss you, too, Irisa, even if you were the cause of all my misdemeanors and failures when my day started on the wrong foot. I have to know, were you the one who caused my portal home to get so out of shape?

When you’re sober, I implore you to visit my tower in Waterdeep. I’d like to catch up with you, it’s been far too long since we’ve spoken.

From the desk of,

𝑮𝒂𝒍𝒆 𝑫𝒆𝒌𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒔

And, for reference, I sort of liked the way you hated me, too.

text reads: gale dekarios

[loveislandthegame]

my overall thoughts on season 7, writing edition: what in the world ? 😭 i cannot believe i thought this season was gonna be good. i’ll be joining rohan & S2 MC in the circus, since FB made me look like a damn clown. i don't even know where to begin

being a casa girl had so much potential, and it was something that a lot of players actually wanted, even before FB started doing these themed seasons. they really fumbled the bag here

i enjoyed casa amor. the guys were all unique, had their own dialogue, and it was cool to see their pre-established relationships (alex being the villa dad, bryson and rafa being partners in chaos, the beef between bryson & joyo) then we arrived in the villa, and it all went downhill from there:

everybody became an empty husk, so they could be forced into interchangeable roles: uma’s partner, bonnie’s partner, OG LI’s ex, loved up couple (summer/joyo or #rafne) to name a few. FB’s lazy asses ruined their own characters . why is alex, the supposed level-headed & mature one, being petty & childish af in my playthrough? 😭

MC literally had no thoughts, head empty. we barely participated in any of the challenges and games. it felt like we didn't do anything besides "get pulled for a chat" by your LI or the girls

the LI personality merge in this season was the worst it has ever been. all they do is agree with whatever you say, or tell you how great you are (gone are the days of LIs having their own interests, & getting extra dialogue because of that, like levi with artist MCs)

same problem as the most recent seasons, where MC doesn’t have friendships. she has a forced bestie, then potential LIs that sit around waiting for you to pick them, choose them, love them (they immediately disappear if you don’t pick them)

the plot made no sense at all. being a casa girl means we miss out on the first half of the season, but there were many different ways they could've shown what happened before we arrived (it couldve been something as simple as MC watching the show at home or during the jeep ride to the villa. lol) the timeline was inconsistent, so much important information was paywalled, and i’m pretty sure FB was just making shit up as they went along, since the drama with stephen and OG LI's ex genuinely came out of nowhere . he wasn’t previously mentioned in the beach hut, casa amor, nothing . his only purpose was to make the OG girl look bad.

speaking of the OG girls, what a disappointment . before we got to the villa, i honestly thought they were hinting at estelle and/or willow being LIs . even if they were forced to be our rival, they still could’ve had an interesting character arc . it would've been a lot more fun if she was like allegra, rather than OG LI's equivalent of suresh

i was gonna write, "why tf did she even make it to the finale?" but the answer is obvious : for the gem scenes. every damn volume, it's pay diamonds to upstage her, pay diamonds to clapback, pay diamonds so “your man” doesn't turn his head 🙄 it's already stupid enough, but it makes even less sense if you're not pursuing your OG LI

which leads me to the biggest problem of this season, the lack of branching. you're given the illusion of choice, everything leads to the same outcome . i didn't think it could get any worse, until i saw what happens when you choose the money . does your LI storm off? nope. they make you do the treasure hunt anyways...to win you back ??😭 MC should've called security on their ass

s7 had a promising start but ended up being a flop. it was better than s5, but that's really not saying much . i wish FB would just take their time—s1 and 2 had a whole year long gap between them. but it's clear that rushed seasons are gonna be the norm, season 8 is dropping in february . capitalism ruins everything luv x

[thedivineart]

PICK A CARD: 10 THINGS ABOUT YOUR FEBRUARY.

꒰⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⌷ .⠀⠀d i s c l a i m e r⠀⠀✿𝆬

[ 𝒜𝓇𝓉 ✧ ] any events and other things in your life are cannot be accurately predict by me and the tarot cards, do take a note that we are 'still' the creator of our 'future'- what you 'do' now will be the outcome of your future life and this could be either a good or bad, if your doing good and you are good to others expect the bright future ahead but in reverse you might expect the worst.

[ ℰ𝓂𝒾𝓈 ✧ ] to pick a pile, firstly take a good deep breath, second focus on every pile in the photo provided below { pile one, pile two, pile three }, and lastly scroll more down to reveal your reading. if you cannot still pick up any of the pile, do remember the sequence of what is written in the first sentence.

[ 𝒜𝓇𝓉ℯ𝓂𝒾𝓈 ✧ ] grammatical errors ahead, if you're a perfectionist then leave this pac. I do write with so many flaws and I know it's not perfect since my first language isn't english.

-` 𝑇𝐻𝐸𝐷𝐼𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐸𝐴𝑅𝑇 ´- ✰︵ — m a s t e r l i s t ´-

: ･. ﾟ ✧. : ･. ☽˚｡ ･ﾟ ✧: ･. :.

𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗜𝗡𝗔𝗟 𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗜𝗡 𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗠 @𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘁𝘁

PILE ONE

• shock from something either a situation or a news

• honor or recognition from your labor ( work and study )

• death of someone or a major change; new beginning. for some, this could be an important decision that will brings change or worries and anxiety might be present too

• a news related to finances, either financial help or a loan.

• you will cut something or someone to your life, anger, loss and loneliness. seperation accompanied by pain.

• success from bussiness and love or moving away from local area or home environment to city life.

• changes in business or social situation and happy times

• letting go and releasing what is no longer serves you, moving and parting way. for some, loss by theft and will recover after difficulty.

• desires will be fulfilled; a wealth or inheritance from something or someone and a voyage specially using ships.

• a successful speculations.

PILE TWO

• loss and unhappy surprise or unexpected trouble

• change of residence for the better and could be later or sooner, a opportunity to redo something

• be careful when it comes for your health. A trip that usually over the water.

• success in business and love or signs about a successful speculations

• receiving or giving small sum of money. for some financial growth.

• desired opportunities or fulfilling your dreams. moon symbol is fortunate in your side.

• long distance journey. a gift, either materialism or time of someone, a helpful advice and a bit good news.

• do not trust someone, even though it's your family or friends, in next month possibly someone may betray you.

• a conflict, disagreement, betrayal that from a home or family.

PILE THREE

• gatherings with cheerful and gaiety moment.

• if your in relationship: marriage and rich is it or if not and single sensitive moments will may arrive

• shock from something or someone either it is bad or good

• being in a relationship if single. a return of ex-lover or broken friendship. A party and having fun. sexual contact or physical union.

• the discovery of a mystery from what affects you in this month (January).

• a new beginning or start of new phase of life. Marriage or engagement might be it is for some.

• wish fulfilment or desires being fulfill. for some, a wealth from inheritance or trade.

• financial achievement or improvement. lucky wins or lucky money.

• flattery of someone to you or having mutual feelings to someone.

• if single, fulfilment of highest aims or if not a rival in love.

[ 🪷. ] Hello! Thank You so much for checking out this pac reading, if you ever like it please do follow and reblog for more pac. Let me know what you feel by commenting down below...

© thedivineart — do not plagiarize any of my work, translate or repost it on other social media platform , do remember that this is only my official account where all my pac are posted, if you ever see something like mine from word by word kindly report it to me, thank you<3. theme is included.

[nyanloane]

Nacho!! ★

I remade his ref 2 days ago! My goober evolved so much :-)

More info about him below ↴

⚡️Basics

Nicknames / Referred as : Chips boy, Cheesy superhero, Chipster

Gender : Male

Age range : 20s

Birthday : March 9th

🇫🇷 headcanon voice : Ramzy Bedia (Rapido from Ratz)

Nacho is the delivery guy of Peppino and the main rival of The Noise.

He is a playful, energized dude, generally outgoing and kind, probably the most fun person you’ll ever meet!

He goes super fast with his rollers and might act as a superhero sometimes, he also looks like one too ☆.

He is generally nice, and frank; he is not the type to lie (unless it would be for his own safety…). He still likes being provoking, teasing others, especially towards his enemies, he doesn’t waste the eventual fun!

He is also used to often drink orange juice, like, a lot of it. might be the reason why he is so energized heh?

And because of how energized he is, he can’t stay still for a second! (or at least it’s pretty hard).

Our dear hero isn't only able to make deliveries for Peppino, but also a pretty good dancer, (maybe even singer?? ✨)! He usually moves a lot and would usually twist a lot if he does a pre-existing dance, he puts his own touch into it! He seems to share some in common with the Italian man too ★.

Not only that, he is pretty good at playing basketball or any kind of sports in general. This helped him to make more precise shots if he had to throw something that requires that (on an enemy for example). It seems Nacho also has a good strength, he can lift pretty heavy things! (Even Peppino, crazy right-)

The Chipster is also used of doing pretty acrobatic moves while running, it can be pretty impressive to see him jumping around everywhere…

Outside of work, Nacho likes to spend time playing videogames, or going to arcades, it's more fun with friends! he would probably beat you on DDR haha

He also enjoys going to the cinema, always with some popcorn ☆.

Nacho is also mostly a joyful guy, filled with joy and excitement ★. He is always hyper-vitamined, cannot take a break and needs to move and do something constantly! No wonder why he gathered multiple skills and hobbies to stretch that endless stamina he contains.

Nonetheless, he can still sometimes be moody due to being upset or too tired (if he didn’t sleep well for example). In this state he wouldn’t like things he would usually do...

Nacho also likes having some attention or just showing off in general ☆. He is flexing!!

He takes a lot of care about his appearance (hair included), he is a superhero after all!

It's not hard to flatter him and he would appreciate compliments and support quite a lot ☆.

Nacho also does not really care much about money, he is even the opposite of greedy : he loves gifting, sharing to others despite not being *extremely* rich, a generous lad! ★

And just like most superheroes, no one knows what Nacho looks like without his mask nor his true identity (is Nacho his real name??).

He said that he decided to look like this to make him look "swag and mysterious".

Nacho also likes to dress differently from time to time, but he will remain keeping his mask and sometimes his gloves too while doing so.

⚡️Relations with…

💢 The Noise

Nacho and him are main rivals. They hate each other, and cannot stand each other for a minute. They would usually fight a lot, but they sometimes enjoy themselves on rare occasions, even helping the other at times but it’s not common.

It seems they know each other before the events of Pizza Tower.

Nacho doesn’t entirely hate him, but The Noise is not in the same way and wants him gone...

💖 Noisette

Him and Noisette are good friends! They share quite a lot in common, sharing the same interests like stuff with wheels ☆.

He sometimes likes to help her out with her café just to give his help.

We could see them as besties! But this friendship doesn’t make The Noise really happy about it as you may have guessed… He can be jealous, and even feel humiliated seeing his rival hanging out with his girlfriend.

Nacho sometimes needs to be sneaky while trying to chat with Noisette, her boyfriend always has an eye on him.

He also always gives a tip whenever he comes to see her!

🍝 Peppino

Speaking of his relation with Peppino, they're on good terms, and could even consider them as good pals now.

He first met him by hearing Peppino needing some help with his pizzeria, and Nacho took the opportunity to be his delivery man. At that time Peppino wasn’t really benefiting that much, but Nacho insisted on being hired him. Seems like he wasn’t really looking for money for this job. Peppino was pretty skeptical at first, not knowing Nacho at all but ended up accepting.

As time passed, Nacho was able to impress the Italian man by showing how fast he was with his job, always asking when the next order is coming! He is very motivated. After after a while, Nacho could gain some money with tips, and since he is fast for delivering the boxes, people were usually generous with him, wanted to see him delivering them!

Though, I wonder if one of them got unsatisfied with the order to come too fast heh…

When they are off work, they sometimes spend time together to have fun ☆.

⭐️ Vigilante

They're both good cheesy friendos. Despite not spending a lot of time together, they still enjoy the time they spend when they do!

🍕 Pizzaface

(If they ever encounter)

Nacho and him are both true enemies. They both despise each other a lot, but they somehow can be cool but only in a comical way.

Pizzaface would messes a lot if Nacho was seen in the tower, Nacho does not hesitate a second to mock him or make him look like a fool!

Pizzaface doesn't want to deal with another speedy guy after all, and even more annoying.

⚙️ Nabot

Nacho and them are meant to be enemies. Nacho personally has nothing against Nabot but sees them more as a goofy robot who wants to defeat him. He is not worried about it though, he even takes it easy and prefers to tease them ☆.

❤️ Pepperoncino

Nacho only met him once. All he knows about Pepper' is that he was Peppino's mentor and that he is "a nice pizza".

⚡️Likes :

Reading comics, watching movies & cartoons, collecting things he finds ‘cool’

He is very passionate about superheroes, he would discuss about them for countless hours

Helping others and giving things

Orange juice, one brand in particular 🍊

Cola

Mint flavor!

The color orange 🟠 obviously it's his fav color haha

Being complimented ✨

Dancing, music that kicks and is funky!! ♪

Playing videogames

Noisette, they're besties :)

He can be a sweet tooth at times 🍭

Ice creams, especially banana split and Sunday :p

Butterscotch popcorn 🍿

⚡️Dislikes :

The Noise >:( (grrr)

Being bothered when he is moody

Overly complicated things : can be either discussion or instructions. He would end up not caring listening

The color green 🟢, especially on him

Whenever we mess with their friends

Anything that is ‘dirty’

⚡️Fun & Facts :

Nacho is very expressive even though he would usually put his "serious face" by default

He can speak Spanish, but it not confirmed he has any kind of latino nationality

It sometimes happens that he can become drunk by drinking too much orange juice (based on a true story)

It is said that he may have wanted to be a delivery man to have some visibility this way…

He is bad at math.

He is very secured about his secret identity that the only way to see his true self would be after wedding (if it ever happens) "You might see my face after our wedding."

Nacho doesn't mind crossdressing!

His design was first inspired by the supervillain Electro (Marvel), one of his powers he can obtain is also taken from this character!

The main inspirations for Nacho are : Bugs Bunny, Superheroes (like Batman), Sonic, Rapido (from Ratz), ROBIN IS A COINCIDENCE

His english voice would be similar to Sonic.

Copy pasta from his TH profile.

[honestlyboringperson]

Name: Milana Donini

Age: 14

Wish: “We wish to stay together, with nothing to impede our friendship.”

Power: Can Strengthen her allies

Weapon: Lyre

Likes: Sylvana, Aquariums

Dislikes: Milk

Element: Water

Magia: Call of the Selkie

Teammate(s): Sylvana

Witch/Doppel: Pumpe

A reserved girl who spends most of her time with her best friend. She resents most of the people in her town for trying to separate her from her “other half”. She tends to be extremely distrustful of the people around her with the exception of her best friend.

BACKSTORY

Milana grew up poor in a town beside the sea. She spent her days working with her family to gather income. She would go fishing with her father, do odd jobs with her mother, and spend her time doing boring and lonely tasks to simply get by with enough money to have a roof over her head.

One day, she met Sylvana a rich girl who was similar in age. She and Sylvana hit it off immediately with their shared interest in simply running away and seeing the world. But when she tried to introduce her to her parents, they recognize her as the daughter of a rival company that was putting their family into poverty and forbid them to ever meeting.

It didn’t go well with Sylvana’s family either. They had to meet in secret, but with Milana’s work hours they never got to meet often. Sylvana’s family threaten to move away and keep the friends apart.

Kyubey approached both of them in their meeting spot and they both wished to stay friends, with nothing impede their friendship, not parents, petty arguements, or moving away.

They were finally allowed to meet whenever they desired and both made a great tag team in fighting, allowing them to defeat witches and territorial magical girls relatively easy. But Milana was particularly selfless, and always insisted on using the majority of their grief seeds on Sylvana as she used up the most magic to attack.

But this led to Milana using up too many grief seeds on Sylvana and she became a witch.

HUNGRIGE PUMPE

The witches of ancient seas. They have a gregarious nature. Two witches, both connected at the hip make up one powerful witch. Both dread being apart and cannot stand the idea of being alone. One witch can pump the other full of water to expand the other and the second witch can split themselves into countless copies of themselves. The tendrils that trail off the witch can inject a soul gem filled with curses, so it’s best to simply avoid this witch unless you have a ranged weapon. Only through camaraderie can one defeat these witches.

Doppel Description

“Sylvana is my only…!”

The doppel of neighbouring. It takes the form of shallow seas. The master of this emotion simply wishes to stay with her best friend forevermore, and as such this doppel can only emerge if it’s sister doppel emerges as well. This doppel is similar to a jellyfish or cephalopod, with tentacles trailing behind it like parade streamers. If it sees something that could have a desire to separate it from it’s soulmate, it will slam it’s delicate tentacles into them paralyzing them and preventing them from moving. Both doppels, when united become an undefeated force of nature, lashing at their target with poisonous tentacles and a gullet filled with acid.

[tobiasdrake]

So. Himiko. Let's talk for a moment about her journey.

3-2 introduces... not so much a love triangle as a dependency triangle between these three characters.

This lays the groundwork for what will be the central conflict of 3-3. Uh, before it disappears up its own ass and does something completely different instead but we'll get to that.

Himiko is in a bad place emotionally. The stress of the Killing Game is quite reasonably getting to her. She doesn't emote very strongly so it's easy to miss how she's feeling at times. She doesn't broadcast it the way that Ryoma does. Nonetheless, she's so freaked out that she's outright suicidal.

Himiko is in dire need of a coping mechanism. As is often the case with vulnerable people, this quality of hers immediately attracts attention from people hungry for an opportunity to fill that void with themselves.

What Angie and Tenko want from Himiko are not mutually exclusive. Angie wants to be her pastor and Tenko wants to be her girlfriend. These two things do not contradict each other. And yet they become rivals for Himiko's attention all the same, because in their pursuit of that goal, each of them wishes to isolate her from the other.

They both have a selfish interest in Himiko; Not seeking to help her, but rather to capitalize on her vulnerability to fabricate an emotional dependency. Tenko's been more or less stalking Himiko from the moment they met, while Angie's... Well. Doing this.

Thus, while romance and religion are not mutually exclusive, they nonetheless end up competing for the position of "Himiko's One and Only Coping Mechanism".

A competition that Angie wins quite handily, I should note. Cultists (both religious and personality) prey on the scared, vulnerable, and disenfranchised. They offer a sense of stability and purpose in times where none can be found. This is why Junko always targeted vulnerable people like the Remnants or Warriors of Hope.

Under the circumstances of the Killing Game, Angie might as well be sitting at a buffet table. She is a cat among mice.

Like. The sheer charisma of this woman cannot be understated.

"The reason everyone's suffering is because you are all trying to leave. If we just stopped trying to leave and accepted our lives in this place then nobody would have to die!" is. Not. Wrong? Like. That's been the case since the first Killing Game. It's even an optional ending in DR1.

"Let's just live here forever then" has always been an option on the table for the Killing Game victims. Hell, that's basically what the DR2 cast ultimately wound up doing, in a roundabout way. Angie makes true statements but packages them with her faith, smoothly conflating "the truth" and "the belief" with one another.

It's not hard to see why Himiko fell for her. It's not hard to see why others like Gonta will fall for her in the future. This is how cultists operate and it is effective; They sell their rhetoric as the cost-of-admission to something more valuable, such as friendship or a support group for personal trauma. In this time of immense vulnerability, Himiko never stood a chance against her.

[dooplissss]

i saw your tags on that post, can you tell me about the homestuck quadrants? i was hugely into homestuck like 10 years ago but i’ve forgotten almost everything. i want to remember the ancient ways

* cracks knuckles >:) *

Matesprit ❤️ is easy, its just what humans see as romance and true love etc. One of the two reproductive quadrants, yadda yadda you get it.

Examples: - Morticia <3 Gomez - Ruby <3 Sapphire - Darcy <3 Elizabeth, with arguably some grey/black romance thru the story but thats what makes it so enduring

Moirails ♦️ is my personal favorite quadrant and is fairly straightforward, tho the canon definition is different from fanon. In fanon, its interpreted basically as best friends/queerplatonic, which, yeah, can and usually does happen with that proximity and thats why I love it, but in canon its more a power balance to prevent violence and death, typically with one figure reining back a more chaotic one. When applying to humans and other fandoms tho its better to lean toward the slightly fanon interpretation since Alternia's violent culture is so different from ours.

Examples: - Nepeta <> Equius - Aziraphale <> Crowley (obvi the situation is changing but lets leave this here) - Dean <> Castiel (obvi i'm team matesprit but canonically they belong here up til cas declares his love) - Joel <> Ellie (this is a strictly platonic quadrant dw) - Caleb <> Nott/Veth (I want to shake liam and sam so bad and explain that the relationship they were looking for was right here and they didnt have to awkwardly choose between romance and friendship)

Auspictice ♣️is the one everyone gets wrong and drives me the most insane. It's a tricky and very specific balancing dynamic thats hard to find, except maybe on the CW. Canonically, its a group of three people, two (left and right leaves) want to outright kill each other. This does not make them kismesis, I cannot stress that enough, kismesis don't want each other dead, but we'll get there in a sec. The third person is meant to prevent them from killing each other, being the mediator. Its rare for this dynamic to not be outright toxic, esp in human examples, but its a healthy option on Alternia to prevent unnecessary murder. I think this dynamic is meant to be temporary tho, even in that culture, as it weighs on the mediator a lot.

Examples: - Eridan <3< Sollux ^ Feferi, unfortunately unsuccessful showing how difficult and straining this relationship type is (also everyone who said eridan and sollux were kismesis owes me $5, I'll become a millionaire instantly) - Edward <3< Jacob ^ Bella - Pearl <3< Greg ^ Steven, a happy ending example of an auspictice (ignore the ptsd)

Kismesis ♠️is. man where do I begin. its so good. its such a fun dynamic, especially when you have a pairing that gets it just right. Kismesis is perfect enemies, arch-rivals that share a mutual respect and drive each other to improve themselves to better outwit their opponent. Its when a captain sees one of their ships on fire and smiles, knowing just who did it. Its tipping your opponents head up by the tip of a sword. Its the bad guy showing up at your doorstep because theres no one else they trust more than their greatest nemesis. Its the other reproductive quadrant because its just as deep and passionate as true love, and it can in fact switch between love and hate very easily and often.

Examples: - Quark <3< Odo (imo the BEST non-homestuck example) - Batman <3< Joker (friend hates when i say this but i'm right, esp with lego batman) - Xavier <3< Magneto - Light <3< L - God <3< Satan, why not lmao

I wish homestuck was seen as less cringe bc the quadrants are SOOO FUN to apply to ships and dynamics in other fandoms and contexts. At the same time, people get the quadrants wrong constantly, especially between kismesis and auspictice. And the quadrants aren't static, you don't have to lock a ship in just one forever! feelings change and very easily turn from black to red to black again, its all so complicated and fun to watch.

Hope all this makes sense lmao, thanks for the ask!

[alicianaidoo1234]

Together again

The void stretched before them, an endless expanse of nothingness. It felt like a familiar playground, one they had conquered countless times in their youth.

'You know,' Geto said, his voice a low rumble, 'This feels a lot like our old training ground.'

Gojo chuckled, his eyes twinkling with a familiar mischief. 'You're right, Suguru. Just without the annoying presence of old man Gakuganji.'

They fell into an easy silence, the kind they used to share, before the world turned their friendship into a bitter rivalry. Geto looked down, his gaze drawn to the swirling darkness that promised only pain and despair.

'My path is clear, Gojo,' he said, his voice tinged with melancholy. 'I see only hell.'

Gojo's smile faltered. He, too, saw the dark path ahead, but his vision was broader. 'And mine,' he started, his voice softening, 'I see both heaven and hell. But I think I'll choose… well, let's just say I have options.'

Geto nodded, a shadow crossing his face. 'That's good, Satoru. It means you can still choose to go towards the light. I cannot.'

He turned, his steps firm, his back straighter than it had been in years. Gojo watched him go, a pang of sorrow twisting his heart. This was it. The parting of ways.

Suddenly, Gojo's voice cut through the silence, sharp and resolute. 'Suguru,' he called, his voice echoing through the void. 'Wait.'

Geto stopped, a flicker of hope igniting in his eyes. He turned, his expression questioning.

'Let's go show hell who the strongest sorcerers are,' Gojo said, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. 'Together.'

Geto's lips curled into a bittersweet smile. 'Together, Satoru.'

And they walked into the darkness side by side, not as rivals, but as best friends, ready to face their shared fate, even if it meant embracing the flames of hell.

[caramelmochacrow]

I love how in the movie everyone was in their gay divorce arc except maya and claudine

YES. LIKE. EVERYONE WAS DIVORCING EACH OTHER WHILE MAYA AND CLAUDINE WERE JUST. DOING WHATEVER THE HECK THEIR REVUE WAS.

When THOSE scene happened in the kaoruko and futaba revue me and my sister were losing our shit. Like. There is no straight explanation for anything that was happening in that revue and the others in general. Nothing. I know that futaba and kaoruko being those positions probably means something other than 'they're gay', I know it does, but my GOD THESE BITCHES GAY. Also at the beginning when claudine was being a gambler and kaoruko a dealer, kaoruko saying she ruined her sweets box, saying she ruined it and poisoned it, and then says 'your the reason that we...' and then futaba (literally) breaks into the scene a few moments later and says that their friendship was like a box of sweets all imply that kaoruko is blaming claudine for their divorce. I love it.

The revue of hunting was just. God. Nana saying junna was bright, nana asking where her junna was and that she was beautiful, junna saying that the words she quotes inspire and move her while to nana they mean nothing, Junna finally finding her own words and saying that she will finally become the protagonist and then the last part where they're going toward the next stage, moving on from the starlights they did in seisho and everything else, nana crying and saying that she was a liar and that junna is still bright, junna not going back to comfort her and nana wiping away her own tears and both of them calling each other by their full names killed me.

That entire revue was just an Experience for me. I love nana a lot so seeing her just be THAT in the entire movie and revue made me so so insane. Nana ilysm but :(

Karen and hikari was the biggest divorce in the movie ofc. Karen worked so hard to just do one play with hikari, but now that she did it, what else can she do? She finally did starlight with hikari. Hikari did the same, but she always loved the stage, so she knew what to do next, to go to the next one. But karen didnt. She doesnt know what to do. Without hikari she isnt a stage girl. Literally. Once hikari leaves her she wont have a purpose on the stage, she is nothing. So instead of something like hikari helping karen find her new purpose for the stage, she just helps by telling her which direction she should go to find her next purpose by herself, then everyone throwing away the cloaks that the giraffe gave them except for karen meaning that they found their next stage and at the end they show karen about to audition for something and her cloak finally flying away meaning she found a new purpose and reason for the stage just. Yeah. They sure are that, huh?

Maya and claudine. These bitches. When I finished kaoruko and futaba's revue, i told my sister, "if this is kaoruko and futaba, what's maya and claudine going to be?" And after junnanna, I said, "that was the gayest one so far, wonder if maya and claudine can top it," AND THEY DID. They didnt do any of those positions the other guys did but the things they said? Oohhhh boy. It beats a confession by anyone.

The subs I watched are different to the ones some people watched I think but the implications still stand. Maya and claudine's revue begins with them acting out a play. (Also can I say that claudine's voice and outfit was TOP NOTCH AMAZING AT THIS PART. HER VOICE AND FIT OOZES WITH SMUG I LOVE IT) claudine and maya make a deal, implying that claudine is the devil and that maya is a pure and innocent person wrapped in the devil's finger. Things happen, blah blah blah, and maya tells her that she cannot steal her soul because she has none, she is a vessel for the gods and gets an outfit change, she wears all white and a fancy gown that's clearly suppose to be a swan, contrasting claudine's black attire. the part where they're fighting as other people from other countries, rivals in history, they say (in the subs I was watching) something along the lines of "a hero is nothing without trials and a saint is nothing without temptation." Maya is clearly the saint at that part, with claudine asking her to make a deal with her like the devil, maya plays a lot of lead roles, which is usually the hero, so maya is the hero. A hero cant be a hero without trials, if they are a hero, what will prove it? A saint cannot be a saint without temptation, what proves they are a saint without it? So if that's what the questions are, what proves that maya is amazing?

It's claudine. Claudine is her trials, claudine is her temptation, without claudine maya has no proof she is amazing.

Then at the end, instead of one of them being on top of the other like the other guys, they are lying down on the ground at the same area, they are both finally on equal ground.

Anyway wow I rambled a lot lol sorry.... I just love the movie a lot so... just take this ramble?

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Hi it’s the Anon from earlier who asked about requests! It’s actually kinda funny because I first read you Mauraders fic and had never seen peaky blinders but after reading all your fics I started watching the show. I think this is the first time I start a show because of the fics and not the other way around lol. But anyways my idea was having a reader who speaks Multiple languages and so whenever she’s at meeting and rivals are trying to talk to each other without letting the Thomas know she just translates what they are saying into Romani. Like maybe one of the rivals are talking about double crossing Thomas but they say it in another language so the reader repeats what they are saying to Thomas. Idk if I’m making sense and don’t worry about how long it takes I know class can be overwhelming

Dear Anon,

I don't know what to say. I simply cannot believe that someone enjoyed my writing that much. Wow, I hope you have enjoyed the show, and thank you for writing in a request! Also thank you for being so considerate! School often leaves me so burnt out that I can barely manage school work. But I had a good time writing this one!

XOXO Jamie

Warnings: fight scene implied, violent themes, reference to past relationship abuse.

People often wondered what your involvement was with the notorious Shelby family. You were a university grad who used to work as a language tutor, from a decent family. It was a common question passed through the mouths of locals who saw you standing next to Thomas. 

What on earth is she doing with that man? 

The things they came up with often ran around the drinking table leading to endless bouts of laughter from you, Polly, Esme, and Ada. But even they didn’t fully understand how you ended up a part of the family. Only that Tommy needed you, and that you were to be trusted. It was enough for you to build close friendships. 

There were only two people that understood the full depth of the situation and that was you and Tommy. He’d told you to keep your involvement in the business secret, and in turn, he kept the reason you initially crossed paths with him a long-forgotten memory. 

You surveyed the men at the opposite side of the table. You wished that they would have chosen a better location. The large abandoned warehouse had little to no insulation and rain was falling through the cracks in the old wooden roof. Tommy pulled out the chair and motioned for you to sit down. You watched as the leader of the Italian gang silently protested your seat at the table. 

“Bold of him” One of the men whispered in Italian causing John's fist to clench. The last time he was involved with such families things didn't go as planned, making you all the more anxious to be out of there. 

“Mr. Shelby, thank you for meeting with us.” The man had seen better, well, younger years. From your research, he’d been retired for quite some time. 

“Pleasure is all mine.” He answered curtly. 

“We are hoping you might be interested in expanding your Gin business.” 

Coming out of retirement to go into the booze trade? Italians don't even drink Gin? 

“Always looking to expand the business,” Tommy responded hoping the man would get to the point. 

“We have certain connections in New York that may be worthwhile to you -” The man was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing. You wondered how they even managed electricity in a building like this. He continued to drone on about some elaborate story while your mind was preoccupied with the man in the back. 

“It’s not our fault they showed up an hour late. Freezing our balls off out here.” He said in Italian.

“Yes sir, he seems to be interested in the deal. No, he showed up with his brothers and some chick.” 

“Well, it looks like it's going alright. He said he wanted to expand the business.”

“Look we understand what’s at stake you want him gone just as much as we do.”  

“Bye” 

You touched the tip of your ear then adjusted the pendant on the necklace, and recrossed your legs. 

“Just a moment“ He stated, he grabbed your arm and you were happy that he caught your message. 

You stood up and he placed his arm around your shoulders. You leaned up to him with a coy look on your face, lips upturned slightly as you both moved away from the table. You wanted it to look casual or flirtatious. 

“They want us dead.” You whispered in Romani.

He looked over you at John and gave him a nod. Tommy walked you out of the building and handed you the keys to the car. You didn't need him to tell you what to do. He turned around and joined the loud fight erupting from the barn. 

The adrenaline was moving through your blood and you found it impossible to settle sitting behind the wheel of the car. The rain was pouring down and you found the fogging glass all the more unsettling. 

It wasn't long till you saw the boys emerge from the barn. The old building was erupting into flames just as they reached the car. You slid across the front bench seat allowing Tommy to sit in the driver's seat. You quickly looked each of them over as he tore down the road. 

“Your all okay?!” You asked slightly frantically. 

“What the fuck did they say?” Tommy barked at you. 

“Just that someone was employing them to get to you. That they understood the importance because they also wanted you dead just as badly.” You blurted out, your hand instinctively grabbing his arm. 

“Fuck.” 

“Fucking pricks just won't quit,” Arthur stated crossing his arms. 

“Once we get back I need you to call the family in. I want everyone back at the betting shop till this clears up.” 

“That’s going to be a nightmare,” John mumbled under his breath. 

“You speak Italian?” Arthur said suspiciously.

“She speaks just about everything Arthur, that’s why she’s here,” Tommy said sighing at the obvious. 

“So that’s what you do,” John said absently. 

“What do you mean that’s what she does?” He snapped back 

“Well, I just assumed she was around for other reasons.” John shrugged and Arthur let out a chuckle. 

“She’s a language tutor, she comes with us to deal with foreign business.” He said tensely. “What did you tell them you do?” 

Your face flushed with the attention on you now. 

“-Uh- Well I tell them I do whatever you ask me to do and leave it at that. Thought it was top secret.” 

John and Arthur both started to howl with laughter as Tommy’s face twisted up. 

“That explains a few things.” He said under his breath.

____________________________________________

He’d helped you pack up some necessities before driving you over to the cramped apartment. 

Tommy insisted you stay with the family, especially once finding out that whoever was on the other end of that phone call knew you were present at the meeting. A precaution. 

Polly was sharing her room with Ada and her children. John, Esme, and the little ones in his old room. Arthur shared with Finn and Michale. 

Leaving you to the couch, or at least that’s what you assumed. Tommy passed the small living room and continued up the worn stairs.

“Here we go. You can take the bed, and I’ll stay downstairs.” 

“It’s fine, it’s big enough to share.” You said easily, not thinking it could imply other things. You were tired and well, most business meetings flopped but they had never exploded before. Or left Tommy with such a worrying presence. Being next to him felt safe, and that's what you needed to get to sleep. Win, win. 

You stretched and opened your bag, pulling your nightgown out. You excused yourself to go to the bathroom and quickly changed. Your clothes were still damp, and your skin was covered in goose flesh as you slipped into your nightgown. You quickly pulled your robe around you trying to find some sense of warmth. 

You made it upstairs and saw Tommy laying on the edge of the bed, you climbed over him to the inside. He’d put the fire on and you were grateful for the extra quilt on your side of the bed. Shivering you pressed your cold feet into the side of his leg. 

“Jesus woman!” He jumped slightly but allowed your closeness. 

“Sorry! You're the reason I’ve been shivering all day - the least you could do is - ” 

“The Italians are the reason you’ve been shivering.” He corrected.

“They wouldn't be after me if you had cleaned this up ages ago.” 

“Mhmm.” 

“Is that so?” he asked. 

“Well, best put you in charge then, eh?” He said pulling you against his chest. 

“Things would run much smoother if that was the case.” You said, his proximity having a noticeable effect on the tone of your voice. 

You let out a huff as you felt your body settle against him. Thinking everything through, you wondered why he had you tenderly placed in his arms. Not exactly the usual place of a languages expert. You were just a translator, it was doubtful you even needed to stay with them for protection. 

“Tommy?” You asked softly. 

“Yes?”

“Why am I here?” You struggled to get the words above a whisper. 

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He said easily. 

“Why?” 

“Maybe I want you around for a long while.” 

“For business or for - more?” 

He didn't respond for a long moment and embarrassment set in quickly. 

“More. But we can worry about that in the morning.” 

You didn't trust yourself to speak, your body felt the need to discover what more meant immediately. Your memories flashed back to why you ended up with him in the first place and conflict made its home in your mind. 

“Won’t be like last time. I won’t be like him.” He said softly running a hand down your back. 

“You sure you want more?” You knew he’d seen the damage that had been done. It was painted all over you when you had initially asked him for help. Pink, black, and blue, he’d agreed to help you by offering you employment. But really he’d given you life. A family to replace the one that caused all that pain, money, a way to have your own space. People avoided you, your family too scared to approach you. 

“Very.” 

You took a breath and felt calm in the knowledge that he cared for you just as much as you cared for him. You fell asleep to his fingers running through your hair. 

You fell in love with him more as the days went on. Him making you tea in the morning, the way his family pestered him about the effort he made to make you comfortable. The world was closing in on the family and yet he still had time to pull you onto his lap to teach you how to play his hand at cards. It was a bad situation but Thomas took it for the opportunity that it was.