#but better to be considerate re: tw

[hauntedjellyfishwitch-blog]

can i please request daryl dixon x reader set during the commonwealth era?

perhaps reader goes missing and carol and daryl go looking and when she’s found, they’re checking over her and “is that- a boot print?” on her back or something.

just bruised and her face is swollen too.

reader trying to remember what happened and being sad/frustrated that she can’t and daryl having to console her

I Get Knocked Down

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader (No use of Y/N)

TW: Violence, Flashbacks, Protective!Daryl

A/N. Hi Anon! It's been a while since I've seen the commonwealth era, and its one of the parts I haven't re-watched so I hope this does your request some amount of justice.

-

He shouldn’t have let her go, he tells himself through shallow breaths and panic, but it’s not like he’s stopped her doing anything the whole time they’ve been together; she’s gotten herself out of enough scrapes without his help for him to know how capable she is, so why would he have stopped her going for a walk to clear her head? It doesn’t help, because sure she doesn’t need him to protect her, but he blames himself for failing at it every time she so much as gets a scratch. It’s a horrifying, yet accurate look into his psyche.

Twelve hours. She’s been out for twelve hours, so he’s been filled with dread for roughly ten hours and forty-eight minutes, maybe forty-nine if he’s honest with himself. A walk, she’d said, just for some fresh air, his nature girl had said, his partner who’d never been at home within walls for too long, his love who’d been a barefoot hippie before everything went down, his wife who was gone for hours at a time when she’d found a good tree or a decent field, but she’d never, not ever vanish on him.

He sits at the kitchen table, perched on the uncomfortable chair he always insists on taking, so that she can have the comfortable one; the one she takes if she wakes first because she insists on the same for him. They’re two sides of the same, overly protective creature. He doesn’t the deserve comfort of the good chair right now.

She used to talk about a cabin, trace her thumb along his knuckles whilst talking about a wraparound porch. A little, quaint home near a lake with a scruffy dog and normal jobs, a dream of a life with him like she knew, without question, he’d have found her if the world never went to shit. The new apartment here is better than their old one, but their old one was better than the prison and the prison was better than out in the open.

He’d have been happy living in a shoebox in a highway in any world as long as he was with her, and now…for reasons he doesn’t know, he can’t find her at all.

He’d been out all night with Carol, listening to her continued insistence that they’d find her, trying not to listen when she insisted if anyone could, he could. They’d checked each gate, asked each guard, scoured past the slum apartments and the fancy houses, come up empty. Carol had taken the east side, searched through the hospital and the recreation ground, only to find nothing. Daryl had taken the square, starting at the library she loves so much and working his way, franticly, around the market. It was only Carols warm, consoling voice that made him return home when he wanted to fight his way through the gates to the outside. If she’d come home, he’d need to be there. So he sits, on the uncomfortable chair, failing at finding her and failing at giving her comfort and failing and failing and failing.

A loud, harsh knock on the door startles him out of his self-deprecation. It sounds again before he’s even left the kitchen. He moves slower these days, but he’s at the door and face to face with an out of breath Carol before he’s formed any coherent thoughts.

“I found her” She pants, forgoing her usual consideration for his hesitance around touch to grab his arm and squeeze. The look on his face must worry her, because she immediately adds “she’s alive”

“Stay ‘ere” He nods at Dog, who removes himself from Daryl’s side to hop up onto the couch, eyes finding Daryl the second he’s in his spot, forever obedient and loyal. Dog is more human than humans, these days.

He follows Carols quick pace, limp in his leg be damned, until they reach the back of the fire station. The grubby alleyway he’d already checked. He’s sure he already checked. Anxious blue eyes scan the alley for any sign of, well anything but she’s the only evidence of a struggle. She’s slumped against the wood fence, swollen and bloody, shivering without the jumper she’d taken with her the night before.

He's kneeling at her side before he’s registered he’s moved, hands hovering worriedly, afraid of hurting her. She murmurs but doesn’t open her eyes. Shallow, strained breaths match his own.

“is that- a boot print?” Carol asked, voice an octave lower than usual as she lifts the younger woman’s shirt up to reveal the horrible marked on her torso. His head snaps down so fast he’d have heard it click if he wasn’t so suddenly focused on the purple and yellow and painful bruise.

“Lemme see” He insists, gravelled voice low and sure. Carol lets go of the fabric gently, eyes flicking between the discoloured mark and Daryl’s face. His tenderness, his care, his concern comes as a shock to many people, but it never has to Carol. He’d go to the ends of the earth for the people he loves, burn it all to hell for the woman he loves, and Carol would be right there next to him as they tore the world down. It is no surprise that her heart breaks for the archer as his trembling fingers graze the distinct imprints of the sole of a boot whilst he checks her over.

She whimpers, trying to curl in on herself through the pain, bloodied fingers coming up to grip his bicep, seeking him out even if she’s unaware of it.

“’s okay, ’m here”

She looks up at him, flicks her unsteady gaze up to his face. He sees her blood-stained face and tear brimmed eyes clearly now. Her swollen split lip that trembles as her grip loosens. He’s so angry, so close to bursting with all consuming ire he can feel his hands shaking from it as he draws them away from her battered torso. He tries to keep it off his face when he looks at her, knows he’s failing as he feels it thrumming so heavily under his skin. Carol looks down at her once more, nodding at Daryl to pick her up now they know there’s no internal bleeding, now they know there’s no broken bones.

He should take her to the hospital, he knows he should, but she hasn’t been comfortable with the one here, hasn’t really been comfortable with a doctor since Denise, and whilst she likes Theo as a person, she’d never forgive Daryl if she woke up in a hospital and wasn’t on the brink of death. So, he carries her home, ignoring how fragile she feels in his arms.

He sets her up in their bed, hovering in the doorway every ten minutes until it looks like she’s stirring awake. It must have been at least a few hours, He picks at the skin of his thumb as he watches her slowly open her eyes, flexing her fingers against the warm fur of his beloved pup. There’s a brief moment of panic before she focuses on him, calming instantly in a way that would warm his heart in any other situation.  

Dog grumbles when Daryl asks him to move, whether refusing to leave her side or the comfortable mattress Daryl isn’t sure. For an animal who lived in the woods at the end of the world, dog does a remarkable imitation of a pampered house pet and he’s grown accustomed to a plush surface alarmingly fast. Still, the canine moves, dragging himself off the side of bed to stand guard by the bedroom door.  

Glass of water in hand, he tries not to jostle the bed too much as he sits, watching her wince as she tries to sit up a little.

“Hey” she rasps, coughing around a sandpaper dry throat. Her vision is blurred in one eye and the side of her waist hurts like a son of a bitch, but Daryl is warm next to her, worried eyes and tense shoulders but there.

“Ya gotta take a sip, Honey” his voice is low as he proffers the glass of cold water to her lips until she makes contact, swallowing heavily around a small gulp of it “There ya go, attagirl” he praises, a skill he has long since mastered.

“Thank you”

“Scared th’ shit outta me”

She sits taller suddenly, waving off his touch when her pained gasp ends in his large, firm, always reassuring hands hover above her. There’s a tinge of panic to her now clearer voice.

“Where are the kids?”

“Carol has ‘em”

“Are they okay? Are you okay?”

“…Yeah” he responds slowly, eyebrow raised in concern at her questions “Ya don’t remember what happened?”

She turns her head to the side like Dog does when he’s trying to understand what human language is. She could laugh at the fact her neck doesn’t hurt, thanks a god she doesn’t believe in for small, humorous mercies; I’m battered and bruised, but my neck is fine and Daryl Dixon is in my bed so take that world, I fight another day. She thinks hard, tries to recall anything.

“I was going for a walk?”

“Ya vanished, looked all night f’ ya, Carol found ya in th’ alley”

Her mouth forms a small, silent ‘oh’. She doesn’t remember an alleyway, doesn’t remember seeing Carol, though she knows Daryl wouldn’t lie to her. He never does about anything but his wellbeing.

“D’ya remember anythin’ else?”

She strains her mind, pictures herself walking about of their apartment, the fresh air hitting her face. A fist coming at her face, a metal wall, pain in her cheek, the kids eating breakfast no wait that can’t be right, a heavy shoe coming at her body, dog running around the park, pain everywhere.

“I can’t…I don’t…sorry” Lip wobbling, she lets out a frustrated sob, scared and confused and worried that her mind has betrayed her. He shushes her.

“S’alright, I ain’t mad at ya”

She’s letting the tears fall freely now, ignoring the way the salt stings her cut lip and focusing on the way his palm is running soothingly along her spine, the scent of cigarettes and musk.

"S'alright, I got ya"

There will be more time, for thinking, for remembering. There will be plenty of time because he won’t go anywhere, will never leave her and nobody can know anything in the damn apocalypse, but he knows they have time; he’ll stand at the gates of heaven or hell and refuse when his time is up, because he’ll always need more. he’ll When she remembers, because Daryl absolutely refuses to acknowledge that she might not, when she remembers, Carol beside him, Daryl Dixon is going to war.

[hold-him-down]

Belleview Chapter Two (Part C): River

Notes: mostly low-level med whump

Belleview: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part A), Chapter 2 (Part B)

TW: Institutionalized slavery, Med Whump, Med Exam, References to Noncon, Noncon touch, Dubcon Medical Care, References to Human Experimentation

✥ ✥ ✥

River London proves, immediately, to be more of a challenge. 

River, in nearly poetic contrast to Felix, has been described as being filled with fiery hatred and anger and, reportedly, does little to hide this. Lincoln has prepared himself for the worst, but has his doubts about what he will find.

Still, it takes Lincoln a fair amount of hyping himself up before he pushes the door open, and when he does, he is met not by the enraged, violent man described over and over and over on paper, but a pale, skinny boy who doesn’t even acknowledge his presence, much less attack.

River sits on the floor, curled into the corner, his head resting against the tiled wall. His room is devoid of any items at all. Lincoln recalls accounts of daily disciplinary measures that have been taken over the past couple years, including the removal of his bed, his clothes, the bedside table, and all objects that can be used to act in defiance of the handlers. 

River’s file was… different, from anything Lincoln had expected to see in a place like this. Considered hostile by all the former handlers and medical staff at Belleview, River had made something of a name for himself in his persistent and unyielding defiance. Over and over, there were notes of aggression, there were incident reports, there were handlers with broken bones, with cuts or scrapes or bites. They were specific in their approach to River, using precautions in all interactions with him. Lincoln had read through the disciplinary notes and a slew of other documents warily, his stomach dropping further with each new file, and ultimately accepted that the likelihood of River being cooperative was slim. 

River’s arms are wrapped tightly around his legs, and Lincoln takes a moment to orient himself to as much of River’s physical condition as he can from this distance. River, like the rest of them, appears to be considerably underweight. He has fewer visible scars on his back, but there is bruising that peeks out from under the collar. His breaths are even enough, maybe a little shallow. He shifts, burying his head into the space between his knees and covers his ears. Alright, then.

Lincoln clears his throat but keeps his distance and crouches down to eye level. He stays aware of his exit because, while River doesn’t necessarily incite fear in his current state, his history of assaulting handlers has given Lincoln a healthy sense of caution. 

“River?” Lincoln tries. There is no response. “I’m Lincoln. Prescott,” he continues. The only obvious sign that he is being heard at all is River, not subtly, pressing the heels of his hands into his ears. So he launches into his speech, watching for any obvious signs of distress, although he finds none.

Clinically, River is in a much better position than Felix was, but Lincoln feels ill-prepared to address River’s condition. He swallows and stands, setting his phone, his keys, the tablet and folder on the floor by the door before making a slow approach. He has prepared himself for, at worst, aggression, but at the very best, a verbal undressing. He has a three-point list for today, and does not intend to push River beyond what he can handle. Step one is… to the extent that he can complete it, completed. Introduce himself. Get the information to River.

Step two: Get the collar off of him.

Lincoln points to his neck and says, as neutrally as he can, “Can I take the collar off?” 

River doesn’t respond, but he pulls his knees in tighter and lifts his head, his gaze burning into the wall. Once within arm’s reach of him, Lincoln sits back on his heels, showing River his hands.

“The clip has already been deactivated,” he says softly. “It is not anyone’s intent, nor is it legal, to reactivate it.” He notices a muscle in River’s jaw tighten but, given that River has been fairly passive so far, he continues carefully. “I need to find the physical release mechanism,” he explains as he points to River’s neck. “It’s located, I believe, on the opposite side as the… as the metal plates. I was asked to master this skill, if nothing else, over the last few weeks. It takes a little bit of finessing, but I promise it won’t hurt.” River does not outwardly acknowledge Lincoln has spoken, but his body language is as clear as it can be - he’s not comfortable with this, he does not want Lincoln near him. “I’ll go as quickly as I can,” Lincoln says, “but I will need to touch your neck, okay?”

River, unsurprisingly, does not offer an opinion one way or another, so Lincoln leans forward, keeping his movements as obvious as he can. The moment he’s within reach, though, River jerks away. 

“It’s alright,” Lincoln says. “I’m going to take it off. Then we’ll talk through what’s next.” In an instant, River goes rigid as he curls up tighter, and he holds his breath. In hindsight, Lincoln can see where he went wrong, but his focus is singularly on having any type of success with River that he doesn’t clock what’s about to happen until it’s too late. River does not look as Lincoln’s fingers experimentally brush against his skin, but he also does not immediately pull away. This close, Lincoln can feel the barely-contained tension in River’s muscles. He moves quickly to find the release, but not quickly enough, and within a split second, River throws his elbow back into Lincoln’s stomach with considerable force. The impact is both painful and unexpected, and, with murder in his eyes, River scrambles as far away as the small space will allow. 

It takes Lincoln a moment to catch his breath, and another to assess if he’s broken anything, but he hasn’t, and so he turns his attention back to River.

River’s hands move to his neck, partly cradling it and partly grasping the collar, and he’s about as small as he can get. He’s prepared for retaliation, steeling himself against the inevitable shock that he knows is coming.

“Ow,” Lincoln says as he rights himself. 

He takes a deep, experimental breath, and second guesses whether River did, in fact, break something, before he notices that River is… the anger is still there, but it’s overshadowed by how tightly he grips onto the band of the collar.

“Okay,” Lincoln says. “I may have had that coming.” He takes another breath, which aches less than the first, a good sign. “You can try it yourself?” He takes a step back. “There’s a small plastic piece at the back that you can push up, which will expose the connection point. If you push in on the raised side while sliding it down and to the left, it should free itself, okay?” 

Lincoln isn’t certain where his biggest error was, but from there, his three-point list goes up in flames. In an effort to reduce the likelihood of additional altercations, he doesn't immediately re-engage River, but rather keeps a distance, affording River enough personal space that he, god willing, does not feel threatened. For his part, River remains openly, but with a respectable stability, hostile. There's no chance that Lincoln will have success at getting his vitals, because that involves touching him, and it's been made, rather painfully, clear that that is currently off the table.

While it’s very clear that River is suffering, short of calling in support to restrain him so that Lincoln can get closer, there is no chance of Lincoln identifying the specific sources of that suffering beyond using his imagination (which, by Lincoln's own calculations, has already had more than enough play).

He tries his hand at questioning River from afar, and when that doesn’t work, he regroups again, and tries to just talk through the new circumstances.

He’s met with a soft but venomous, “Go fuck yourself,” when he tells him, eventually, that he only wants to help.

Lincoln spends nearly an hour with River, pushing him as much as he can, which is, unfortunately, not particularly far. Objectively, he admits that he may in fact have lost ground over the last hour. He certainly hasn't gained any. He changes his tactic once more, and, accepting for River’s refusal to cooperate, he settles into the far corner of River's room and leans against the wall, resigned by the fact that this has gone about as poorly as it could have gone, short of any serious bodily injury.

A soft knocking draws his attention away.

“We’re done triaging,” one of the volunteers– Doug Richmond, Lincoln corrects himself– says. “Dr. Francis asked me to find you.” Lincoln nods and stands, careful as he makes his way to the door to give River a wide berth.

Lincoln pauses near the exit and turns back. “Please try to eat,” he says gently. “We’ll have a bed ready for you in the next hour or so. You have free access to the bathroom if you’d like to take a shower. Volunteers will be in and out today getting you anything you need. Please,” he whispers. “River.”

At the mention of his name, River flinches, but his gaze doesn’t shift from the floor. 

“If you need anything, let me, or any of the volunteers, know, and you will have it.” Lincoln straightens his back, inhaling a slow, deep breath. “I just,” he starts, but falters, searching for the right words. The blame here, he knows, lies squarely on the shoulders of the people who have hurt him. There are no right words. Nothing makes this better. They can only move forward, in baby steps, and hope that it’s enough. “I just want to make sure you’re not in any pain.” His voice is low, but he knows that River hears him. “Anything beyond that, we can deal with when you are ready. If you are in any pain,” he says, the memory of River’s file feeling fresher by the minute. “Just… if you let me know, I can help. You do not need to suffer through this.”

River turns his head toward Lincoln, dark eyes burning with anger. He opens his mouth, and Lincoln thinks he might tell him anything, but instead, he whispers, “Leave me alone,” and buries his head once more.

Lincoln nods and makes a quiet exit, but leaves the door ajar. 

To Richmond, he says softly, “Get him set up with water and a few food options. If he'll let you, please get him a bed. If not, leave it alone for now. If he indicates he needs anything else, come find me.” He pauses, and they both stare at the half-open door. “Give him space, though,” Lincoln continues, his voice as low as he can make it. “He has a history of aggression toward handlers, and I don’t doubt he will apply the same strategies to us if threatened. He doesn’t need to speak or eat or get dressed or shower. The collar can stay on. Just try to…"

It is difficult to convey how deeply protective Lincoln suddenly feels of this boy who he has known for all of an hour and who, by all metrics, loathes him, while also not coming off as a completely sanctimonious prick. "Just be careful with him,” he finishes lamely, before glancing back at the door.

He knows this team, selected specifically for their ability to handle this, will approach River cautiously and will not back him into corners and will, ultimately, put his comfort above anything else. But still, as he forcibly turns away and walks down the corridor, he cannot shake the feeling of increasing sadness that winds its way through him.

✥ ✥ ✥

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @pirefyrelight @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@handsinmotion @whumps-and-bumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @alexmundaythrufriday @itsawhumpsideblog

[keepmeinmind-01]

Hi! How do you think would the story go if Theseus had brought real Albus to Grindelwald back then? Would Albus become a prisoner? Since blood troth does not allow them to hurt/move against each other could Grindelwald fool the pact by *loving* Albus in his own deluded way? What would happen to Theseus? Would he stay with Albus feeling guilty? Would Grindelwald let him go?

if Theseus had brought the real Dumbledore:

tw/cw for toxic relationships and manipulation

.

.

hi and thank you for your question!! <3

this is a great point because it’s exactly what I was thinking as I was writing it. the terms of the troth are so vague and based on sentiment only - what does “moving against one another” mean? if they made it for the purposes of love, surely then it acts on the terms of the emotions it was first created on, right? because they can’t confront or kill one another, but that doesn’t mean there are other options.

and as you’ve pointed out, it’s all subjective and would put Albus on the back foot immediately, because Grindelwald justifies everything as being for the greater good, hence any action will eventually not go against the pact and may not activate it, while Albus can only attempt to stop Grindelwald using his various allies indirectly.

So, I’ll dive a little into how maybe it could play out, although I think you’ve already hit the nail on the head with this ask :D

So in this scenario, I could envision Grindelwald eagerly welcoming Albus and wanting to keep him close, likely in comfortable captivity where Grindelwald could interact with him frequently. Their conversations would be very emotionally charged - Grindelwald might try persuading Albus to reconsider their youthful plans, while Albus would firmly reject Grindelwald's current violent methods.

I also think that Theseus would end up getting sucked back into it again, just because Grindelwald would see him as useful leverage and Theseus’s guilt might make him want to help his former teacher find a way out of this captivity. I imagine Albus would plead for Theseus's release or at minimum better treatment. But perhaps Theseus refuses to leave and Grindelwald’s not exactly the kind of person to let anything go either.

I could see Grindelwald playing the charming host, attentive to Albus's every need or consideration over intimate dinners. He might share stories of their youth and glory days constantly, bringing up every tender memory he’s obsessed over for years and manipulating the fact Albus has been quite lonely and equally obsessed, just in a different way. He thinks of Albus’s favourite dishes, their old letters, specific memories extracted and re-lived through magic. And Albus probably does start to feel a sense of longing, but also deep fear. They’re spiralling into a form of mutually assured destruction that seems inescapable if Albus wants to live, which I think he does. If Albus doesn’t try and accept his former lover, as flawed as he is, then he’ll be trapped in his game and in constant pain. In a way, it could be quite tempting to just try and hope he can get Grindelwald to see reason.

Meanwhile, Grindelwald would probably have guards keep Theseus under close supervision, only summoning him occasionally to provide a facsimile of pleasant company buoyed by wine, as though his tormentor truly believes the illusion of camaraderie possible. But probably not actually with them both. Grindelwald is likely to still hold a bit of a grudge against Theseus for resisting him during his earlier captivity, and I also think Grindelwald would be trying to appeal to Albus’s old morals, so Theseus would probably have to sit on the floor or kneel in the corner or something, with Grindelwald occasionally magnanimously inviting him over for a drink to play at being civilised before sending him back to spend more time talking to Albus instead. Theseus can probably see how vulnerable Albus is getting.

Albus maybe starts to try and play to their captor’s arrogance and heartstrings with delicate caution. Bringing up personal references and memories and maybe trying to play a little coquettish for Grindelwald. Shifting his vocabulary a little to change the way he talks about the outside world. Maybe he starts growing his hair out a little again (I see a lot of pictures of long-haired young Dumbledore, whether that’s canon or fanon, I don’t know, but I like it). Theseus is constantly stressed about staying useful or relevant enough not to just get killed and die knowing how badly he’s fucked everything up.

While Grindelwald might also notice this and play on their old student/teacher connection as in many ways, Theseus and Albus have got into this situation to protect one another. Theseus would be frantic to stop Albus giving in entirely and keeping up whatever resistance satisfies the troth because if Albus and Grindelwald unite on Grindelwald’s side, Theseus will be utterly left behind. For example, I think if Grindelwald worked himself into a characteristic rage, destroying things and spouting his long monologues, I think Albus would gently approach him and defuse the situation with genuinely tender love. Maybe Albus can get him to soften his stance on some of the most destructive parts of his manifesto in one of the uncanny sessions where they sit by the fireside and talk “like the old days” without Albus’s “little soldier” present.

Grindelwald is incredibly clingy with an almost childlike fear of abandonment. I don’t think Albus would resent Theseus or grow to resent Theseus—part of the reason Theseus made the vow was Albus’s plan and I also think Albus is the kind of man who searches for feelings of penitence wherever he can, even if he doesn’t act on them.

I guess from here, depending on how evil Grindelwald stays now that he technically has everything he wants (Albus), it could go several ways:

1. They genuinely rebuild some form of relationship that becomes enough for Albus to convince Grindelwald to move away from his vision; or vice versa, where Grindelwald corrupts Albus to his side.

2. Grindelwald becomes too obsessed with the concept of Albus and the power of this dynamic. They have a relationship, but it’s unequal, toxic, and painful. I know canon is that Dumbledore was celibate or something, but I think that’s just to avoid having to acknowledge what him being gay actually meant (this is just my opinion). I think this scenario would have them in a physical relationship, but certainly not a healthy one, with the caveat that if Albus got too upset, it would hurt Grindelwald. So, they’d always be on this uneasy knife’s edge.

3. Someone dies?? Haha

As for an escape - because while I suppose Grindelwald could simply keep Albus indefinitely, but going with number 2., which I think aligns most closely with how I characterise Grindelwald - I think it would once more be a case of testing and bending the rules of magic. I think the magic in Harry Potter in general is quite a “soft” system compared to a “hard” system, where there are often loopholes and workarounds.

Maybe Theseus simply attempts some kind of desperate, last-ditch sabotage effort once Grindelwald is too distracted by Albus to notice, such as knocking Grindelwald out so that the blood troth’s effects are delayed by Grindelwald having a delayed realisation. Or Albus would cunningly pretend to come around to Grindelwald's side, awaiting his chance for lethal vengeance. But taken in by Albus's apparent capitulation, Grindelwald would be caught off guard when Albus turns on him, breaking the blood pact. Maybe Albus nearly dies in the process and runs the troth right up to its limits, to the point maybe it starts to actually take off his limbs. Maybe Theseus goes dark somehow.

I think this is a cool idea! It would definitely be quite dark and I don’t see it ending well for anyone, haha. Definitely Theseus’s worst fear, as he’s the only person unlikely to win in this situation, whether he’s let go or not, just because of how it could end up.

[hexastitchimera]

Hey all, extremely sorry for my sudden disappearance. I got some pretty hard hitting news regarding my health that I needed to take time away for. I'll be okay, just waiting on August for confirmation of what we are highly suspecting (thank the Stars they expedited a good chunk of testing thanks to the severity of recent events).

Wanted to make an update re: my no minors rule, as I've gotten a few asks from those wishing to reblog my youth liberation & overall advocacy posting. Thank you to everyone who had inquired, I truly appreciate and thank you for the honor. :"]

As of today, I will be adding the stipulation to my pinned that RBing said posts are okay, so long as you don't go through the rest of my blog. I have a "no minors" rule in general because I, as a severely traumatized adult, want to keep you all safe from potentially seeing something that could affect your feelings of safety in this world.

(I also like suggestive posts because hee hee, never felt entirely safe myself having an N/S/F/Ẅ blog- and I still don't have one, despite numerous attempts- so this is the healthy compromise. Please do not follow me if you're under 18 for this reason.)

However, so long as you stick to the youth liberation & advocacy tags without consuming the rest of my blog, I don't see an issue with that thus far. I want to trust that, as always, you are responsible for your own Internet usage, and that you will blacklist TWs accordingly for your own safety and wellbeing.

If this does become a problem for whatever reason, I'll make changes accordingly. I want to do better than the Internet I was raised in, where shocking content was everywhere without warning, and it traumatized more than it benefitted, let alone amused.

Cheers, thanks for reading, and thank you again for inquiring. I'm very grateful for your time and consideration.

Take care, be safe, in solidarity as always,

- Vee 💜

[tacticalvalor]

«────── « HEADCANON » ──────»

TW / CW for: Death, Slavery, Kidnapping

I've always had some thoughts about the relationship that Boone and Carla had prior to her being sold off to the Legion, so what better way to share them than to make a sort of timeline of events.

As we know, Boone and Carla met either just before or just after the Bitter Springs Massacre:

Some time after Bitter Springs, Boone was discharged from the NCR Army, but not before meeting Carla while on leave.  Carla was the only thing in the world who made him feel calm and happy in life. When he listened to her, she made him forget about everything he did in the military. He left the military, married Carla, and moved to Novac at the invitation of his 1st Recon friend, Manny Vargas.

There’s a lot of mystery around Carla and her relationship with Boone, mostly because outside of Boone’s personal quest, Carla played no real part in the plot of Fallout: New Vegas.  However, there are some things that can be taken into consideration to determine just how long Boone and Carla were together (re: married) before Boone inevitably killed her and their unborn child to save her from a lifetime of slavery in the Legion. This post will be broken down into the following sections:

Boone’s Military Service

Discharge

Carla’s Pregnancy

Social Implications and Marriage

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BOONE’S MILITARY SERVICE

It is unknown when Boone joined the New California Republic (NCR), however his time in service prior to the Bitter Springs massacre is not entirely important, but we’ll delve into it anyway:

The Bitter Springs massacre occurred in 2278, meaning that at the time Boone was at the ripe age of 23 years old (as Boone is 26 in 2281).

Given the fact that Boone is a member of the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion (1st Recon), we can assume that he would have joined between ages 18-21 due to the fact that generally speaking, most specialized unit training can take 1.5 to 2-years. This is based off of general time estimates for the United States Marine Corps, which has a 1st Reconnaissance Battalion of its own.

NOTE: This is assuming that the NCR was running at a functional and operational level, as Boone and numerous others state that the Republic is heavily disorganized and that the selection process for the Recon is being “the best shot on the range”. This may mean that he could have been in service for a lot shorter, or that this training did not occur.

Moving on from this portion of Boone’s service, we know that Boone was placed on leave prior to his discharge after the Bitter Springs massacre, which it was during this time when he met Carla.

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DISCHARGE

Let’s dive into the conditions of Boone’s discharge, as that will help determine a time frame for how long his leave would have taken.

Given the circumstances of the Bitter Springs massacre, it is most likely that Boone filed for a Total and Permanent Disability (TPD) Discharge.  

This would happen on the grounds that, due to the events that unfolded, Boone found himself having severe symptoms of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Many of these symptoms are still found in 2281, even if not as severe. The TLDR is that this form of discharge would require a formal diagnosis which can take weeks or months, as an adult must have symptoms for at least 1 month:

At least one re-experiencing symptom

At least one avoidance symptom

At least two arousal and reactivity symptoms

At least two cognition and mood symptoms

Given that there is no definitive timeline, this process could take anywhere from two months to a year, which means Boone most likely met Carla between ages 23 and 24 while on leave for this diagnosis and discharge process.

This gives us a little more of a timeframe, which will be expanded on in the next section.

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CARLA’S PREGNANCY

According to the official Bill of Sale that can be found in the Dino Dee-lite Motel, Carla was sold for a tidy sum of 1,000 caps, plus another 500 caps for her unborn child, to slavers in Caesar’s Legion. There is also mention of a bonus 500 caps if the child “made it to term”, meaning that Carla still had plenty of time to go before giving birth.

Anyway-

Going on the assumption that, due to various medicinal tools and practices being lost in the Great War, pregnancy test were not available to those residing in the Mojave, for anybody to really know that she was pregnant, she most likely would have to have been showing her pregnancy.

If this is the case, then Carla was pregnant for any time between 12 and 16 weeks, approximately 3 to 4 months.

NOTE: Again, this part is based on the assumption that pregnancy tests were unavailable. This may be wrong or inaccurate.

However, the letter that can be found on Boone suggests that Carla was further along in her pregnancy than mentioned above, considering the circumstances:

Everyone that enters the NCR army is required to write a letter to be passed on to their loved ones if they die in action. Boone had written this to his wife Carla, apparently during her pregnancy. Boone kept his note and carries it around with him, possibly as one more way to carry on her memory.

This means that Boone wrote the letter prior to discharge, whether it was during duty or while on leave. The latter is the most likely instance, since having Boone actively on duty would mean the pregnancy would have been well over 9 months.

The letter is as follows, and addresses both Carla and their unborn child:

Carla,

If you’re reading this, then you know. Sorry. Wanted to make it back home to you.

The pension won’t be much but it should help you and the baby get by. Want you to remarry when you meet the right person. Don’t want you to have to be on your own.

Not sure the right way to say how I feel about you. Think you know already, though. Always seemed like you knew what I meant, maybe better than I did. Wish I was there with you now.

There are things I couldn’t tell you. Tried. Whatever you learn over time about my service in the NCR, hope you can forgive me.

Lastly, know you were against it, but if it’s a girl, want her to be named after her mother. Know it’s playing dirty to win the argument this way, but too bad. It’s worth it.

Craig

So realistically, Carla could be anywhere from 3 months to 7 or 8 months pregnant. Regardless, it’s known that Carla is pregnant.

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SOCIAL IMPLICATIONS AND MARRIAGE

Now, given the fact that Boone met Carla between ages 23 and 24, this would mean that by this point, Boone and Carla have at least known one another for two or three years. 

This means that they could have been married for:

Two years (assuming that they dated or were just acquainted for that first year)

3 - 8 months (assuming Boone married her when the news of her pregnancy first broke)

Looking at the social implications, though, it can be assumed the latter is the truth. This is because of various recollections of the relationship between Boone and Carla by the townsfolk of Novac:

Jeannie May Crawford describes Carla as being similar to a cactus flower; “Real pretty to look at, but there’s no getting close to her.”

Ranger Andy describes her as a “knockout” and says that Boone always had a “funny grin on his face” when they were together. Unlike the other residents of Novac, Ranger Andy doesn’t have a problem with Carla. He acknowledges her sour attitude and the poor opinions the other residents had of her, but he confides in the Courier that he always believed Carla’s cold demeanor was just a cover for her unhappiness and says he doesn’t blame her for wanting to think there was “something better out there than this (Novac).”

Alice McBride has a similar opinion of Carla to Ranger Andy.

Manny Vargas, Boone’s former friend, says that he and Carla couldn’t see eye-to-eye on anything, and he argued with her frequently. Carla wanted Boone to end his service in the NCR which eventually led to a rift between Manny and Boone. Manny also testifies that Boone and Carla often fought since they moved to Novac.

Cliff Briscoe states that Carla always had a sour look on her face whenever she was in his Dino Bite gift shop.

These testimonies, particularly those praising the relationship that Boone and Carla had, would suggest they are still well within the “honeymoon phase” of their marriage.

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TLDR

It’s very hard to put together the timeline of Boone and Carla’s relationship, and it’s very likely that Boone and Carla may not have been married for too long before she was killed, as evidence suggests they were still in their honeymoon phase before she was sold.

[deadlyflan]

TMNT Micro Fic #2

Leonardo limped back from kitchen and sighed one of those sighs. The kind of sigh that set Raphael’s teeth on edge. The kind of sigh that started Michelangelo preparing excuses. The kind of sigh that Donatello steeled himself not to take personally.

Picking his way through the paper wrappers, loose bottles, and cotton balls, Leonardo very carefully moved a handful of bandage wraps off the the sofa. He draped his ice pack over his elevated knee. Leo selected an unused and unspooled bandage and started to wind it. Pointedly. Silently. Very loudly judgmentally silently.

His brothers sagged over various other furniture and just as pointedly obviously ignored Leonardo’s accusatory tidying. They knew how it was. He was tired and injured post-battle. His base level of passive aggressive got aggressively passive aggressive when he was run down. His brothers, also battered and exhausted, simply did not have any more ‘team spirit’ left for cleaning.

He finished winding the bandages he could reach from the sofa. The silence stretched, and his brothers held their breath. Maybe Leo was satisfied? Maybe the ‘lead by example’ cleaning martyr routine was over? He had taken some serious hits this time. Maybe he was actually relaxing?

Leo stood up.

Dammit.

Maybe he just needed something to drink.

Crinkling sounds. Wrappers from bandaids and sterile gauze.

Raph’s eyes opened. He stared at the ceiling, counting down from 20. He could still feel his bloody nose draining into the back of his throat and his face felt like roadkill and here was his injured, idiot, neurotic brother limping around the freaking living room like a shell-backed Cinderella, gathering up loose bottles of disinfectant and trash while his very-necessary ice pack melted on the sofa—

Michelangelo called out lazily from the beanbag, “I read this funny thing on the internet the other day.” The smile in his pause was audible. A pretty good trick for a guy with fresh stitches. “Every corpse on Mt. Everest was once a Very Motivated(tm) person.”

Mikey applied ‘trademark’ to all the dead people on Everest and knocked Raph right out of his anger. He barked a laugh and snorted painfully before clutching his head. Chuckling and changing out the wad of gauze up his nose, Raph flashed a loose-toothed smile at Mikey. “Yeah. Mountaineer Leo, come back to base camp.”

Donatello giggled from the recliner, but didn’t sit up. Bruised ribs. He moaned. Shouldn’t have laughed.

“Oh for—I'm not asking you to climb mountains! Just clean up after yourselves!” Leonardo finally spoke! Even without looking, Donatello knew Leo’s hands were on his hips.

Raphael groaned, “We'll do it in the morning!”

“Yeah, Leo. We just saved the city.” Michelangelo wadded the paper from his gauze pads into a ball and threw it at Leo’s head.

He batted it away and glared at Mikey as if Michelangelo had just smacked trash into the hallway by himself! Such injustice! 

Since they were all registering complaints, Donatello added his. “Just let us bleed into our bandages for a second.” He was probably going to sleep in the recliner tonight. Soon. Now? Maybe now.

“We’ve all been hurt far worse! And the first aid kit is all over the room!”

“Your teeth are gonna be all over the ro—“

Michelangelo saved Leonardo’s teeth with a terrible betrayal. “Weren't you supposed to be icing your knee, Leo?”

“Gottfried Leibniz! Did he get up?” The recliner creaked ominously. “Leo. If you make me sit up to glare at you, I will zip tie you to a table.”

Leonardo made a tactical assessment. “Donnie, you couldn’t—“

“Okay. He couldn't." Michelangelo groped around for more trash to throw at Leo. "But Raph and I could.”

“Yeah. I’m in.” Raphael wiggled his nose. Had it stopped bleeding yet?

Leonardo limped back to his seat with poor grace. “Fine.” He repositioned his ice pack with the air of a sulky general in retreat. Sun Tzu’s Art of War had been silent on the topic of clutter but crystal clear on avoiding a fight with a superior force. Two against one put Leo back on the sofa.

Raphael rolled his watery eyes. “We'll get the mess later. Geez.”

[qu1etwolf]

Click Me For Comfort

Bucky/Natasha/Reader (Nightmare)

A/N - These are little Y/N blurbs specially written for people like me who deal with a lot of ment health issues and could use a little comfort from their favorite MCU characters. Feel free to send me requests for these.

TW - Graphic violence

Characters - Bucky, Natasha

Summary - Y/N has a nightmare during a mission.

You hear screaming all around you. The coppery smell of blood and the sharp smell of gunpowder invades your senses in the dimly lit room. You walk slowly down the hallway, stepping across bodies of loved ones, friends, and strangers you only met once or twice…but all of the faces are recognizable. Nothing about this feels right.

You open doors and they lead to strange places - mostly places you recognize but also a few that you don't. All of them are full of violence.

You can feel the scream buzz up your spine like someone touched you with a live wire. You turn and find yourself face to face with the wrong end of a pistol an inch from your face.

"Y/N." The sound comes from the other side of the gun and it is jarring. You vaguely register the soft voice.

"Y/N…" You hear it again as smoke fills the room and reality fuzzes around the edges a little.

"Y/N!" You open your eyes to soft green eyes and a delicate hand on your shoulder. 

You blink for a minute, sitting up and looking quickly around the room. No blood, no smells, no bodies, no gun in your face. Was it a dream? It must have been a dream. You suck in air and let it back out in a loud huff. You slowly register Natasha's face.

"I was dreaming again, wasn't I?"

She nods and says, "You were. But you're in the safehouse. You're fine, sweetie. I'm just thankful these walls are thin. Are you okay?"

"I think so? My head is still buzzing. Can you hand me my bag?" you say, sleep and fear still dripping from your voice.

Natasha nods and hands you your backpack from the floor. You root around in it for a minute before pulling out a small orange pill bottle. You take a pair of your anxiety meds and chase them with the glass of water you always keep beside your bed at night. The act of just finding and taking your meds calming you down considerably even before the meds themselves dull your senses.

"Y/N? Don't move. I'll be back in a minute." As soon as Natasha leaves the room the hair on the back of your neck prickles a little. You don't like being alone after a nightmare that rough.

She quickly re-emerges through your door followed by a yawning Bucky rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The three of you have been on this mission for a few weeks. You have all gotten used to your various bouts of sleeplessness and nightmare fits. It comes along with being who you are. You don't know a single Avenger who doesn't have a hard time sleeping now and again - except maybe Vision, but that's self-explanatory.

"Natalia said you had a rough one? That she heard you kick the wall, you alright? Need to talk it out? Wanna take a walk?" His voice is still heavy with sleep as he yawns again. "I can go make coffee."

You shake your head, not wanting to be that much of a bother. "No, I'm okay. And it was the same old thing. Nothing unusual."

Natasha folds her arms and Bucky glares at you and plants his feet in the doorway before leaning against the doorframe. "You are not okay, you look like you went 10 rounds with Thanos."

"Alright, fine. Maybe I'm not okay. But I'm not up to talking about it either. I just wanna go back to sleep."

Natasha smiles, "Well, I think that we can manage."

She gestures toward you with her head as she stretches out on one side of you and tugs you over onto her shoulder. She pulls your arm across her stomach and gives your hair a rustle like you were a 1/4th the age that you are. You feel the bed behind you dip as Bucky steals half the blanket and curls up against your back, wrapping an arm across your hip.

"There. That better, doll?" he says quietly before passing right back out.

You nod and nuzzle into Natasha's arm, eventually falling into a quiet dreamless sleep.

[yandere-daze]

Horrortober Day 1

The first day of this challenge and I´m very motivated! Let´s hope it stays that way sfnlf

I´ve never written for Tori before so I´m sorry if this is slighty ooc! I just thought it might be fun to write for someone I haven´t before ^^

Prompt and challenge by @pastelbirb and @yandere-sins!

Link to my Horrortober masterlist here!

Day 1: Listen  --> “Listen to me!”

tw yandere, tw possessiveness, tw master/servant relationship, power imbalance, Tori calls you his slave once or twice, tw emotional manipulation

You were carefully balancing a tray stacked full with numerous cookies, cakes and other sweets as you walked through the vast halls of the Himemiya mansion. Briefly glancing at the grandfather clock you passed by, you noticed with a start that you were over 30 minutes late. Tori, the boy whose family you were working for, usually preferred to have his tea time at 4 pm and it was your duty to bring him everything he asked for every day.

You had made it a point to never be late, knowing just how angry the boy could get but today had been different. Your beloved partner had surprised you with a spontaneous visit during your working hours, since you hadn´t had the chance to meet with each other recently. Somehow the young Himemiya managed to always think of an extra chore for you when you were just about to leave on a date. If you didn´t know any better you would think he made you cancel all of your plans on purpose.

But yes, secretly meeting your beloved again for the first time since what had felt like forever had caused you to be behind in schedule with your duties and your palms were getting sweaty when you thought about what would happen once you met face to face with Tori. His mood must be very soured now that he had to wait longer for his beloved sweets. He could be quite temperamental and was infamous for childishly throwing tantrums when things didn´t go his way. You still remember the times when he would refuse to go to bed before you visited him to plant a goodnight-kiss on his forehead. You used to think it was strange for him to want to be so close to one of his so-called “slaves” but stopped questioning it a long time ago. It was better that way.

Lost in your thoughts, you suddenly found yourself in front of a door, the door to Tori´s room. It´s a place only you and his personal butler Yuzuru were allowed to enter. And speaking of the butler, the door in front of you opened as he walked out of the bedroom. He smiled softly as he saw you but there was a hint of irritation veiled behind the friendly expression.

“Ah there you finally are, y/n. The young master has been asking for you for quite a while now. He´s grown positively restless in your absence. Please don´t make it a habit to keep him waiting.”, he smiled once more at your frantic nodding, then disappeared into one of the many rooms of the mansion.

Tori has been waiting for you all this time? Sure, realistically speaking it had only been half an hour but you felt the anxiety bubble up within you. Knowing him, he must be very unhappy right now. Deciding to not waste anymore time, you knocked on the door before inviting yourself in.

What greeted you was the sight of Tori sitting on his bed, curled up in a blanket that he seemed to be clutching with considerable force. He was impatiently tapping his foot as he glanced at the clock hung on the opposite wall. As soon as he heard the sound of the door opening, his head whipped around and his eyes widened as a bright smile spread on his face. Then his smile dropped and he frowned angrily as if he just remembered he was supposed to me mad at you.

You sheepishly entered the room and set down the tray you were carrying on the desk beside the desk before turning around to face him. “How dare you keep me waiting, slave? You´re supposed to be here the moment I call for you!”, Tori whined quite angrily. “I´m very sorry, young master. Something I had to took care of came up”, you shamefully lied as you bowed your head in front of him. You couldn´t possibly tell him that instead of doing your work you spent your time talking to your sweetheart.

“….you´re lying to me, aren´t you?”, he whispered as his hand shook in what you presumed to be held-back rage. He looked like he was trying to force himself to be calm. “I´m not sure what you mean? Know that I would never lie to you, young master.” Another lie. And Tori must have caught it as well as he let out an angry yell, shaking off the blanket from around his shoulders with considerable force as he rushed forward to wrap his arms around you, his head pressed against your chest.

“Listen to me, slave!”, he whined and tightened his grip on you as you shivered. “I saw you. I was sitting by the window, waiting for you all this time when I saw you with that scum! How dare they think that they´re allowed to have even a moment of your time? Don´t they know that you belong to me? I´m your master, so you´re mine and mine alone! I can have you whenever I want and how long I want! They´re so utterly insignificant! ….so why would you choose their company over mine? What do they have that I don´t?! Tell me!!”, by the end of his tirade Tori was sobbing uncontrollably as he pounded his fists against your chest with every word he spoke. You couldn´t believe what he had just said, couldn´t even begin to comprehend it. He had seen your secret meetup and disapproved of it, that much you could understand but the rest? You didn´t feel right about him treating you like you were a possession.

“Young master, I´m sorry but I don’t belong to anyone.” That seemed to be enough to shake him because he took a sharp intake of breath, resting his hands for a moment as he looks down. Then after a few seconds he raises his head again to meet your gaze head on. His grip on you tightens dramatically as he starts sobbing again, looking at you with tearful eyes.

“But, but you´re my servant! You´ve been with me for so long, don´t you care about me at all? Am I just some kid you have to deal with?”, the tears kept rolling and despite the sinking feeling in your stomach you began to feel sorry for him. How could you not when he was pouring his heart out to you like this?  “Y/n, I don’t want to ever be away from you. I really really like you, so why do you hate me? Do you hate being around me so much?” You awkwardly pat his head to help him calm down. “Of course I don´t hate you, I couldn´t…”, you trail of. “Really? Does that mean you will stay with me?”, Tori immediately perks up at very prospect and you don´t have the heart to tell him no after he had just begun feeling better so you hesitantly nodded your head.

“Hm, you better not be lying this time. Maybe I´ll accept your apology if you kneel down in front of me”, he huffed as he turned his head but you knew he wasn´t serious anymore. Crisis averted it seems. “Well, then we should better make up the time we were away from each other, all right? You should be honored to eat cake together with your master, understood, slave?” Seeing as he was back to his usual demeanor, you felt yourself relax as you cut up the cakes for you both to try. The rest of the day went pretty unremarkably. Tori personally excused you for all your other duties that day so you two can spend more time together. You two eat cake and talk as if nothing happened, only being interrupted once when Yuzuru steps into the room to refill the tea.

Turning around to face the butler, Tori spoke up, the air suddenly very serious. “Has the issue been dealt with?”, he asks, a dark look on his face. “They won´t be causing any more problems anytime soon, young master.”, Yuzuru answered dutifully as he refilled both of your cups. “You know just how meticulous I am.”, he finishes with an eerie smile then leaves the room.

“What was that all about?”, you ask slightly concerned as you lean forward a bit. Tori cheerfully takes a sip from his cup before answering, an oddly satisfied look on his face.

“Don´t worry about that. You won´t have to bother with trash like them anymore. Now we can truly be together forever.”

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Investigations (Part 7): Ran Haitani x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.6k

tw: NSFW is you squint

masterlist

song recommendation:

You try your best to shuffle around the kitchen surreptitiously, clicking the espresso pod into the machine with a soft 'snap'.

The machine begins its duty, whirring to life before the liquid is deposited into the cup below.

Success.

Your fingers wrap around the mug and take it to the counter, where you've already prepared your milk and syrup for a quick and easy cup of coffee.

Lately, you've had to sneak and make coffee (all futile attempts ruined by Kai or Ran), but you consider today full of promise. You'd gotten the formula down so far.

"I thought I said no coffee."

Your hands hover over the cup, the steam caressing your fingers like a warm invitation. Your eyes don't move to look at Ran, but they do watch his fingers snatch the cup away from you - full of warm milk and espresso.

"Y/n, it's not good for the baby."

"Okay, but..." Your feet carry you to the sink, where Ran is pouring the concoction down the drain. "Just a taste?"

"No."

"A sip?"

"No."

"I'll make it and just stick my tongue in it once."

"No."

Ran stands firm on his opinions at all times. Especially now. Arms cross over your chest and you huff, turning away from him.

"So strict." Ran fingers slide down your neck, resting around your full hips.

"It's not just about you," he begins, kissing the space between your neck and shoulder. "I'm looking out for our child, too. You know that."

"I do," you groan.

"Now, we have a baby shower to host. Let's get ready."

_____________________________________________________________

"We thought you were gone forever!" The three women come around you and huddle close, cooing, and crying, spewing lamentations and satisfied praises that you've returned.

Sanzu - out of the kindness of his heart - planned the baby shower, and you're at his house, eating cake with your friends and consuming hors d'oeuvres. But when you find a free moment, you corner Ran in the kitchen.

"Did you tell the others?"

"Tell them what?" Ran tilts his head at you and leans onto the counter, frowning. Your face smoothes out into an expression of disappointment, and you sigh.

Of course, he hadn't.

It's still your job to carry this terrible secret. It's still your job to bury your deepest, darkest knowing, all while the other girls are parading about like their husbands aren't killers and extortionists.

"Hey, y/n! It's time to open the presents!"

_____________________________________________________________

The water surrounding your figure is warm, full of bubbles and Epsom salt, as well as a little bath bomb that Ran bought - well, he bought sixteen, but that's beside the point.

"Feeling okay? Is it too hot?" You look over to the man sitting on the toilet seat, his elbows resting on his knees as he observes you pour water over your belly.

"It's fine," you murmur, blinking slowly. "Feels good."

"Want to turn on the jets or--"

"I want to join Bonten." Ran's face drops, his violet eyes clouding with confusion.

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me." You stare at him, fully intent on getting your desired response. "I want to be a part of what you do."

"Babe, no." Ran leans his head forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"You haven't even listened to me," you whisper, looking down at the ten toes poking out of the water. "You always do this. You tell me 'no' because that's the way you want things. I can't even drink coffee without your permission."

"Listen, I'll let you do whatever you want, but Bonten is out of the question. You're pregnant --"

"Then I can wait until I have the baby."

"Even after that, I'm going to say no. This is a dangerous business." He emphasizes his words with a shake of his head, pressing his lips together.

"You act like I wasn't an investigative journalist for ten years."

"This shit could get you killed, y/n."

"Yes," you begin. "But you do it every day. I want to be a part of it."

"Why?" Ran finally asks, and your lips curl into a smile.

"I know things you don't know. The media follows you very closely, and you need a good image if you ever run into a problem with... say, law enforcement. What better way to prove that this is a harmless organization than hiring a woman - your wife?" Ran quirks his lips, looking at the door of the bathroom with consideration.

"Is there any particular skill you'll avail to us other than just public relations? I mean, I could get someone to do that who isn't my wife."

"I have connections that will divert attention away from Bonten, if necessary." You think of the little group you and the other wives have created, and send a mental apology their way. "You can use me to get the word out about any other suspicious groups who might be involved. Aid and abet, like a good wife."

Ran stands from the toilet, sighing deeply. "I'll ask Mikey. But don't expect me to attempt to sway him with my loyalty. If anything, I'll ask him to really think about it before he makes a choice."

"That's all I want," you breathe, taking Ran's hand and pressing your lips against the back of it. "You're too good to me."

"Don't thank me yet, sweetheart."

_____________________________________________________________

Convincing Ran to part with his old-fashioned ways is something you're very skilled at. All you need to do is get on your knees... and be as sweet as you can be.

"Babe," you mutter, sucking Ran's thick cock from the side. "You're such a good husband."

"Buttering me up for Mikey, huh?" Fingers cup the back of your head and push you down slightly. "Why am I not surprised?"

And every single time, Ran sees straight through your little act. But he enjoys it nonetheless. He loves seeing you like this - giving him the attention he missed so much while you were gone.

"Because you know me so well. And that's why you married me."

That's why you married me. Ran's eyes close as he re-imagines himself the first time he decided to visit you, hands full of shit he didn't have to buy, and eyes full of stars at the sight of you answering the door in a tank top and shorts with a cast on your leg. That's when he knew that he wanted to marry you. Not because you're good at anything in particular, but because you were so ordinary... So normal. He needed someone like you then, and he needs you now.

"Stop."

"Am I doing something wrong?" you murmur, but Ran shakes his head, strands of his black and white hair flopping back and forth.

"You're perfect," he whispers. "You're always so perfect." He brings you off your knees and face to face with him, holding you by the arms. "Let me make love to you. I'll do the work," Ran promises. "You just enjoy yourself."

"But--"

"I've already told you what I'm going to do. Just let me give you what you deserve." Ran angles forward, leaning into a gentle kiss that makes your knees weak and your head spin.

Ran spoons you from behind on the bed, holding your leg up and sliding in and out of you with care. The other arm is holding you against him - wrapped around your chest - as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

"I love the way you moan my name," he breathes. "You always know how to make me feel like the only man in the world."

"You are," you reply honestly. "You're the only man for me."

_____________________________________________________________

"Why do you want to join Bonten?"

The dead eyes of the man across from you are unyielding, and part of you feels nervous that he's staring at you so intensely.

"I want to help you all out. I want to make sure that not only do my children have something to rely on when they grow up, but that my husband is taken care of in all ways."

"Your children and your husband?" You think of Ran, who is just outside of the door, probably pacing with his hands in his pockets. "Your husband just spent three hours arguing with me."

"About?"

"You." The man stands, and Sanzu looks over at him with blank eyes. He wants to chime in, but he can't say anything right now. Not when Mikey was supposed to handle this himself. "Your presence here will be controversial. Especially since you're... in the state you're in."

"Pregnancy isn't a fatal disease."

"No, but being in Bonten could be fatal. And I don't know if both ran and I would be willing to accept the consequences of two deaths on our hand."

"But--" Sanzu raises a finger to his lips, warning you to be quiet.

"However," the man murmurs, rolling his neck around. "Sanzu, Rindou, and Kakucho have vouched for you and your connections." Your shoulders slacken, and you lean back in the chair, somewhat relieved. "I will put it to an anonymous vote in thirty-six hours. Whatever the outcome is, we'll both accept it."

A blind vote.

Thirty-six hours.

"Thank you, sir." You stand and bow slightly, hands clasped together. When you leave the room, Ran is waiting for you in the hallway, eyes wide.

"Well?"

"It'll be put to an anonymous vote in thirty-six hours. Whatever happens, happens."

Ran's face is anything but pleased as you drive home, but you don't worry about that too much. You have one and a half days to wait for the results, and you'd make the best of it either way.

[dangan-writing]

I need a n g s t

Kokichi, Nagito and Shuichi with a s/o that’s really forgiving? You could make them end up in the hospital and they’d forgive you

So what if they accidentally kill them and their s/o still forgives them?

If you want, you can do a happy ending where they live! Your choice! :)

╔═══════════════════════════╗

*__ i pick different endings if that's okay Anon, And i picked it to be in the killing game, please tell me if you want it to be changed Anon.

*__ and i apologise if it seems rushed, it's hard to write for 3 character's. And also because you were probably waiting for so long. you can still request for me to remake it Anon, don't worry ^^

*___ Tw -> Ch/king, po/soning, Ka/de, caps, violence, curse words, f/re, injuries

*___Mod Miaya___*

»»———————————- ♡ ————————————««

*___Kokichi Oma___*

When somebody hurts you Kokichi will be fucking rude to them since they don't deserve respect since they hurted you

"Ah Kokichi! Calm down, it didn't hurt that much! I'm okay, see?" You try to move around, but gasping because of the pain "O-Oh.." "See! You got really hurt! That person is gonna get it!!" Kokichi wails "H-hey, i forgive them.. it's not like they murdered me or anything! I'm still here, with just some small injury!" You giggled "Are you that nice?" Kokichi mumbled, before getting up "Hey c'mon! Let's go to Keeboy and have fun with him!" Kokichi smiled mischievously, you laugh "let's go."

That was actually to distract you and go to the person who hurted you and prank the fuck out of the person-

He's concerned about you, i mean. A forgiving S/O? He'll be watching out the people who talks to you, he's a liar. He'll know if they're lying or not. It's impossible for them to hurt you since you have a liar by your side! Impossible he says as he didn't realize they lied in front of his face as you and the person walked away together

After a few minutes passed, he was concerned. Why were you two taking so long? You two must not have been- no, that can't be. Unless...

Shit.. he ran looking after you "S/O!!~ where are you?~ we better not play hide and seek! You'd know i win easily~" he tried to keep up his facade, not wanting to freak himself out... then he saw you tied up, with blood and bruises all over you, with you breathing heavily.

"S/O!" He ran towards you, not even noticing the trap beneath him. As he tried to remove the ropes around you, as he turned around, the door was closed and fire started appearing "Oh shit, t-there was a trap?" He was trying to remove the ropes but it was too tight "Aha.. Don't worry we'll get out of h-here S/O! And we'll get that bastard later for doing this to you dear!" He started to breathe heavily, some smoke blocking his vision. He started to grow weaker "H-ha.. S/O i'm t-truly sorry.." he passed out, luckily people started to bust the door open. The people.. Gonta, and Kaito. With Tenko and the other people "S/O, KOKICHI!" Gonta yelled "Is there any water to put the fire out?" Tenko asked, she doesn't even care if the males save them she just wants them to be saved "I have it here!" Kaito yelled holding some fire grenades with him, he passed the fire grenades to everyone and they started to throw it in the fire

After some minutes, the fire stopped. The others rushed in there finding you two, they picked you two up and put you two in the dorms, Kirumi offered to heal you two. 1st degree burns.. a lot of bruises and blood on you. It took you two two days to wake up.. Kokichi woke up first "nghn.. uh what happened?" Kokichi asked, confused before realizing "ah!- is S/O okay! They better be okay!" Kokichi pouted, looking at Kirumi "they're okay, they just needed more rest then they'll be fine, no need to wory Kokichi. I attended to their injuries quickly after everyone pulled you two out of the fire, they are right next to you Kokichi." Kokichi looked next to him to see you beside him resting peacefully "oh damn, nishishi~" Kokichi looked at Kirumi "Can you leave? I have something to do, like a leader would do!" Kokichi just want to cuddle you actually. Kirumi did as he said, but she knew that he wanted to cuddle you after seeing you there beside him, she smiled.

Cuddling..

After some cuddling you woke up aswell due to his constant moving

"Mmmm Koshi..?" You groaned, half asleep. You rubbed your eyes for a bit "Heeeeey your awake noow! You take too long to wake up!" Kokichi childishly pouted, it's too adorable to be guilty with it, you laugh "That's not going to work in me, that's too adorable y'know?" Kokichi tried his scary face, it's a little intimidating. But it's still cute "still cute-" "Man can't you be scared of me!?" Kokichi cried out! Shaking his arms like a child

After you two were okay now, everyone besides one was trying to find the person who almost killed the both of you

It took 1-2 hours to find the the person who did this

It.. was Angie?

"Uhm.. Why did you try to kill S/O and uh, Ouma-san?" Shuichi asked Angie, who was tied up in a chair "Ahhh~ S/O wanted to give their blood to Atua! That's what Atua told Angie!~" Angie was cheerful as always. Almost everyone didn't believe that "Hey you almost killed me and my dearest S/O!" Kokichi wailed trying to attack Angie, but Gonta was holding onto him as Shuichi said, Angie laughed "S/O offered me some of their-" Shuichi isn't having none of it "Listen.. uhm, you almost killed S/O and Kokichi, how is that uh- related to Atua? And you started a fire for hell's sake...!" Shuichi yelled at Angie, Angie didn't smile. It sended chills on all of their spines.. it wasn't normal for her to not smile, since she always smiles. Seems like she isn't gonna talk for the time "Guys, please don't worry, i forgive her." You jumped in "WHAT? She almost killed you y'know!?" Kaito yelled "Yeah! The idiots right! Angie killed you!" "She's not dead you fuckin' brat!" Miu yelled at Kokichi "h-huh? That w-was uncalled for!" Oh dear now she messed up "W-Wai-" "WWWWWWAAAAAAAHHHHH!!" Kokichi wailed, annoying the others, especially Korekiyo, Kaito, and Maki. They left as soon Kokichi started to cry, except for Kaito-

"Like i said, i forgive her. I'm still alive anyways so that's good right?"

"You forgivable cutie.." Kokichi mumbles

»»———————————- ♡ ————————————««

*___Nagito Komaeda___*

He's a bit protective, you forgive people so easily. He doesn't mind if it's the hopeful people but, the despairful people?? Fuck no he won't let them go to you ever again, he has a quick eye. He'll catch them if they are looking at you

"S/O! Why do you forgive such despairing ugly humans, they hurted you!" Nagito spoke, angrily confused, you are filled with hope thats what he loves but you are a bit too considerate about *everyone's* feelings, even if it's a inanimate object you still refuse to break it.. you really are filled of hope.. too much hope "Huh? Why i forgive people all the time? Uhm... it's just my nature to forgive them, i am aware of how forgiveful i am. I forgive them, but that doesn't mean i like them, listen.. i forgive people but i stay away from them. I can understand when i forgive someone when they hurted me for so long, that's why you never see me with the people i know that hurted me Nagito." You try to give an explaination, of course. You know it isn't all but you decided to give an answer for him to know "S/O.. i.. i understand, how stupid am i to question such hope!" Nagito please calm down we care for you-

You saw him walking, bringing some stuff. Is.. is that poison? Spear, rope, speakers... what is he planning again? He walked inside the warehouse, you need to stop him from being reckless again. But you didn't move from your spot, you waited for a little while. Then you heard fireworks? Then.. running, everyone? They walked to the warehouse, Akane trying to bust the door open. You still stayed im your spot, trying to see if someone is doing stupid. Eventually Akane busted the door open, then you heard

Fire. What the hell? Wasn't Nagito in there? Shit.. You run in the warehouse

"NAGITO!!" you yelled, trying to get the fire canisters and threw them on the fire, it only made the fire more bigger? It's a fire canister.. isn't it suppose to put the fire out? Soon everyone moved and threw the individual fire canister's

Soon enough, the sprinklers put the fire out. You stood up "NAGITO ARE THERE!?" You tried to run in but Monokuma stopped you "Uh-Oh! Unfortuantely you can't be in here for now! Now get out so i can fix this damn warehouse!" You all got kicked out, after 6 minutes Monokuma appeared "Yahhoo, now it's finished now go in there you damn kids!" it's finally done.. honestly it felt like forever. But no time for that, you all ran in the warehouse "hmnn, i smell somethin'.." Akane's nose twitched like a beast when she said that "...That's probably because of the fire earlier.." Chiaki said, and Chiaki pointed out the there was space in the curtains from here, Hajime walked next to the curtain. You felt sick, it can't happen to him plea-

Ding dong bing bong! A body has been discovered! After a certain amount of time, a class trial will begin!

Screams, Kazuichi, Sonia.. and of course you.

You ran to his body begging that this isn't real "plEASE THIS ISN'T- ISN'T R-REAL" You sobbed, the others felt pity.. They tried to drag you away from his body, of course they did take you away from his body.

You eventually pass out from crying, too tired to investigate for the trial. They dragged you in the trial room, you wouldn't wake up so they had no choice but to drag you in the trial. Few minutes later you woke up

"N-Nagito.. set one of us as the killer..." what? Set one of us?

"Huh? What do you mean he set someone as the murderer..?" you asked in disbelief, Hajime explained what basically happened while you were asleep, you just stood there. You tried to focus, you threw a fire canister in the fire, but it only made the fire larger than before.

What...? This.. is unfair unfair- no.

»»———————————- ♡ ————————————««

"I know who did it." You spoke, interrupting their panicking which they snapped out of it when they looked at you "You only decide to talk now!?" Kazuichi yelled, obviously scared for his life "yeah" you nod "uhm.. may i ask who it is?" Sonia nervously asked, you sighed heavily "uh, it's me."

"W-what!? That can't be true! You saved me when i was starvin'!' Akane yelled out "Huuuuuhhh!? What the hell? S/O bought you some food?! That w-wasn't supposed to be allowed-" Monokuma looked dumbfounded until he was cut off "Who the hell cares!? They still saved me.." Akane looked down, it felt like Nekomaru's death all of a sudden..

Hajime and others felt like crying, you were like a leader trying to protect them even though you forgive people too easily "..." Chiaki didn't said anything, she just looked at you. You smiled at her "Do... do you forgive Komaeda-san for what happened S/O?" Chiaki asked "of course not! He set them up as the culprit you kno-" "Yes." You answered, ignoring Kazuichi's comment "hnm, you still forgive him? After he set you up S/O?" She tilt her head "yes, i know he must have a reason. He wouldn't kill someone for his own benifit, that's what i deduced, i believe he has a reason for this. He loves hope, he thinks me as his hope. He wouldn't just throw me away without an explanation, why would he call me a despairing person? I.. yes, i forgive him.." you lowered your head, you didn't understand any of this, why would he kill himself and you?

"Alrighty! Time to vote! Who would be chosen as the blackened?" Monokuma butted in the conversation "Goodbye everyone.. please remember me and everyone in this damned killing game." You smiled, looking at everyone. You are terrified of what kind of execution you have, but you tried to forget it.

This.. is goodbye for me.

S/O has been found guilty, time for the execution!

Right.. goodbye.

I forgive you all for..

*___Shuichi Saihara___*

The same with the two guys, he'll be pretty protective of you since you are so forgiving, there's a high chance you'll get killed because of your friendly nature and he doesn't want that to happen, not ever

"S-S/O, please try to be less considerate.. N-Not that you should be r-rude to anyone! I mean.. you s-shouldn't forgive p-people that easily, even if they are s-sorry. They hurted you uhm, S/O you don't have to feel o-obligated to forgive them." He hugged you, making you feel protected. You laughed

"Ahah, Shuichi. Thank you, i understand that i shouldn't forgive people that easily but, we really are just like that. No matter how many times they hurted us we forgive them. we people, are like that." You tighten the hug, smiling onto his chest

"S-S/O!" He screamed as he rushed towards you, you choking. He didn't realize he put in the poison instead the water.

"S/O DON'T DIE YET PLEASE" Shuichi was panicking, he is gonna murder his own S/O because he was losing sleep that he didn't realize that he put poison in your drink.

'Please pleaee please please please please please please please please please please please please pleaee please please please please please please please please'

..it....

..It was too late? He looked at your dead body.

"S-S/O.. I.. I'm so sorry... i'm such a failure.." he caressed your face. Sobbing, Before.

Ding dong bing bong! A body has been discovered, after a certain amount of time, a class trial will begin!

"WH-WHAT THE HELL!?" Miu screamed out, she rushed to hide in Kaito's back "EEEEEEIIIII, POOICHI IS THE MURDERER!" "What the hell Shuichi!" Kaito stumbled back a bit. Their screams of terror alerted the others, making Kaede, with Tsumugi and Rantaro on her trail.

"H-huh Shuichi!?" "Aaaauuuhh! The killing has started! It's much more different than Sakura's death on Danganronpa trigger happy hav-" "S-Shuichi.." Kaede, Tsumugi, and Rantaro reacted altogether, Rantaro ran towards Shuichi pushing him and trying to do something so he couldn't move "Anyone here have any rope? We need to tie him up first before questioning whats happened." Rantaro stated, looking up at the others "I-I'm sorry.." Rantaro looked down at Shuichi "you will have to explain yourself later, we don't know if you are the culprit, but be honest later on aight?" Shuichi didn't reply

Korekiyo walked in the scene, with a velvet colored rope in hand "i heard that you will be needing this, and so i give this rope to you Amami-san.." Korekiyo handed him the rope " Thanks Kiyo." Amami tied up Shuichi but didn't question on how Korekiyo found the rope but he isn't complaining "Kekehehe.. it is no problem Amami-san..." weirdo..

After they tied him up, they investigated the crime scene first before talking to him because that will waste their time, as they all went to the trial grounds, with Shuichi still tied up. Kaito guarding so he couldn't run away.

"So.. Shuichi, Why did you plan on killing your S/O. Your S/O." Rantaro said. Even if he is not your S/O he cared abiut you deeply, to just see your dead body fuels him with rage "Y-yeah.. Why Shuichi, you guys loved eachother so deeply, i don't understand why you k-killed them." Kaede tried not to sob, but horribly failed "I... i-i didn't mean to kill them, i was tired, stupid.. just vote me out already, i don't care if i die." .. Nobody tried to argue against him, he already admitted it, no point of arguing anyway

"Man you guys got it right! That was boring. an accidental death! Woohoo surely they wouldn't forgive him, he killed them. They wanted to live, yet. You.. killed... them! Puhuhuhu..lets get with on it, i have a special punishment for the ultimate detective, Shuichi Saihara!" Some of the people were clenching their fists, the ultimate detective.. was going to get executed "Let's give it everything we've got! It's... PUNISHMENT TIIIME!"

...

..

.

Huh? What..

What? Why is he, in a pod? He saw someone outside of the pod..is that? No way, S/O?

You opened the pod, smiling at him "well hello there Shuichi, it's so good to see you again." You held his hand, he looked dumbfounded, soon tears started to build up "S-S/O!" He hugged you tightly, not wanting to let go "I'm s-so sorry.. i didn't mean to kill you! I-i... you can hurt me, anything to make you satisfied with what happened.." Shuichi begged you to do it.. he's sobbing, he's so sorry "it's okay dear, i know you didn't mean it! I forgive you! I don't care how many times you hurt me, i'll always forgive you Shuhara. I love you too much for me to not forgive you, or anyone." You caressed his face, smiling softly at him.

"A-ah.." he looked down before smiling, you standed up and he followed what you did "Now, let's go and watch the others now Detective Shuhara."

"Of course."

╚═══════════════════════════╝

[blackspoon99]

The Sign of Three Pt. 3

Sherlock x Female! Reader

TW: Drinking, Language, Potential Emetophobia (If you’ve seen this episode, you know), Spoilers to Season 3

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4

Part 5

“Of course, there’s hours of material here, but I’ve cut it down to the really good bits.”

Oh god, the stag night. You almost laughed just thinking about it. It was unbelievable that Sherlock was willingly telling this story to an audience. You were fortunate enough to witness some of the events of the night firsthand.

The story began the morning of in Baker Street, 11 am:

It was a Saturday morning, and you were over having tea with Sherlock. For the two of you, “having tea” consisted of you both reading in complete silence while you happened to be drinking tea. It was a common occurrence, and for you, it was a treasured tradition. You were curled up in John’s chair opposite Sherlock. Today, you were reading Emma by Jane Austen. You peeked over at Sherlock to see what he was reading. Sherlock was reading a book titled “Atlas of Forensic Pathology”. Riveting. The book looked so heavy; it would probably go straight through the floor if he dropped it.

You returned to your book. This was probably your third time reading the Jane Austen classic. You were inexplicably drawn to the plot, the message, the love story, all of it. You finally were at your favorite part. When Mr. Knightly said to Emma, “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” You looked at Sherlock over the pages of your book. You couldn’t help but consider the relevance of the quote in your own life.

When you first came to terms with the fact that you were in love with Sherlock, the feeling had burned through you. You couldn’t focus and constantly fought the urge to tell him. Possibly because of the several near-death experiences you'd had. After you made up with Sherlock at the engagement party, the feeling persisted but it was almost duller, easier to live with. You’d slowly regained security in Sherlock’s role in your life and you no longer constantly worried he’d leave again. You returned to your version of mundane and your unrequited feelings for Sherlock became the new normal. It had become more of a consistent ache than a burn.

Sherlock interrupted your thoughts: “Shouldn’t it be relatively easy to find a new book to read if you work in a bookstore?”

“True, but I like this one,” you said without looking up from your book.

“Why? What do you gain from reading a convoluted story of questionable morals that provides no useful information?”

You finally put your book down. “Because, I like to read for fun. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Sherlock smiled and scoffed at you then returned to his book.

You shook your head and downed the rest of your tea. “Okay, I’ve got to go to work.” You got up and took your mug to the kitchen. On your way back to gather your things, you noticed an open file on the kitchen table that looked like a John Watson scrapbook. You pulled the first paper off the stack to see a cutout of John’s head pasted onto the Vitruvian Man. “Sherlock?” you called over your shoulder, “What’s this file for?”

“What file?” He asked.

You picked up the file and carried it back to the living room. You returned to your seat and started thumbing through it.

“Oh. That’s for the stag night,” said Sherlock.

“Stag night? I didn’t think you would want to do that sort of thing”

“Why not?” He swiftly closed his book. If you didn’t know better, you’d take the action as a sign of offense.

“Uh, no reason,” you said hastily. The file was full of peer-reviewed studies on alcohol consumption, detailed chemistry notes, and copies of John’s medical records. The last page was a detailed schedule of where they were going and how much they were going to drink every hour. “This is awfully thorough.”

“I needed to ensure the maximum amount of enjoyment for the both of us for the duration of the night.”

“How considerate of you.” You put the file down and leaned forward. “So, what do you have planned?”

“John and I will be drinking at a pub on every street we ever found a corpse.”

“That is oddly perfect for the both of you.”

“I thought so,” Sherlock said with a grin.

You looked at the time. If you didn’t leave now, you’d be late. “Well, I’m off. See you later, Sherlock.”

“Yes, yes, goodbye,” he mumbled and returned to reading. You left the file on the table, gathered your belongings, and left for your shift. 

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

Later that evening:

You closed the bookshop at 8 pm and headed to the tube station. As you made your way through the crowded streets, you heard your phone ringing. You dug through your bag to find it as you walked. You saw Sherlock’s name on the caller ID and answered it. Your ears were immediately assaulted by electronic dance music.

You heard Sherlock’s voice first “Shut up John, I’m calling her.” He shouted over the music

“Who?” you then recognized John’s voice.

“Her John, I’m calling her!”

You struggled to hear the call over the booming music “Hello?? Sherlock? Why are you calling me?”

“Oh! It’s y/n! Hello!” John shouted into the phone. You winced at the volume.

“John? Where are you? Are you drunk?”

“Stag night! Sherlock tried to measure my piss. Then he got into a fight.”

“Give me that back” Sherlock’s voice “Y/n meet us back at Baker Street. It’s an ‘mergency”

“What did you say? Sherlock? It’s really hard to hear,”

“Baker Street. Now!” He shouted then hung up.

For a moment, you stood in the street, dumbfounded. It was only 8 pm and both Sherlock and John were piss drunk at some club. You couldn’t even begin to process the rest of the information. So much for Sherlock’s plan, although it did seem like they had “maximized their enjoyment”. You weren’t about to miss this.

——————————

You arrived at Baker Street by 8:30 pm. You opened the door to find Sherlock and John laying across the bottom of the stairs. “Hello boys, I’m here.” You announced.

At the sound of your voice, Sherlock and John scrambled to sit upright. Sherlock fell down a step in the process. You tried your best to suppress your laughter. “So, I’m here. What’s the emergency, Sherlock?”

“Right, you,” He said, raising his arm to point at you. “Upstairs.”

You watched Sherlock and John slowly stand up. John lifted one foot to climb the stairs, then stumbled backward.

“Do you need help, John?” You asked.

“Nah,” he said, “‘s alright, I’m fine. I can do it myself.”  

You slowly helped Sherlock and John up and into the flat. Sherlock tried to take off his coat, but his arms got stuck behind him. You giggled and gently pulled his coat off him and hung it on the coat rack. You lead Sherlock over to his chair and he flopped down into it.

You went into the kitchen to get some water for him and John. You figured they’d need it. You searched the cabinets, but there wasn’t a clean glass in sight. You resorted to the clean beakers on the countertops instead. You poured two 250mL beakers most of the way with water and walked them back into the living room. When you returned, Sherlock was sitting in his chair. He was drinking from a glass of scotch.

“Sherlock,” you groaned. “Where did you get that?” You attempted to reach for the glass, but he pulled his hand away, spilling it all over himself.

“It’s okay, this is fine,” he said, staring at his scotch-soaked shirt. “Oh,” he started. “I almost forgot,” Sherlock leaned over the side of his chair to grab something off the floor “You left this,” Sherlock said and handed you your copy of Emma. You hadn’t even realized it was gone.

“That was the emergency?”

“I still don’t understand how you could read this 3 times,” Sherlock slurred. “It’s so- what’s the word? Incorrect? ‘There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.’ What an absurd thing to say” He contorted his face into an expression of disgust and took a sip of scotch from the glass in his hand.

“You read it? Today?” The fact that Sherlock had gone out of his way to read your favorite book made you unnaturally happy. You knew not to read into the things with Sherlock, but sometimes you couldn’t help yourself.

“You left it behind and I was so bored. Besides, I had to understand why you liked it so much. I still don’t know.”

You leaned over and snatched the glass of scotch from him. “I don’t think that’s the best idea, do you?” You handed him the beaker of water.

“Thank you,” he said with a goofy grin. In all the years you’d known Sherlock, you had never seen him like this. It was odd to say the least yet decidedly hilarious.

“Where’s John?”

Sherlock didn’t answer but pointed in the general direction of the bathroom. You decided to take the seat opposite Sherlock. As you sat down, Sherlock put his water on the floor. He then leaned forward and put his head in his hands, staring at you.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?” you asked.

“You,” he said, pointing at your face “are so hard to figure out sometimes, you know that?”

“Me?”

“It’s soooooo annoying. I can tell what almost everyone is thinking all the time, but not always you.”

“You think I’m hard to read?”

“Yes, you. Y/n L/n.” He waved his hands around while he slightly slurred his words.

“Okay then, how about this: I tell you what I’m thinking right now, and you do the same. Then, for one moment, we can understand each other completely.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow “You first.”

“I’m thinking… that I’m glad you called me.” Sherlock smiled and nodded. You giggled, “Now it’s your turn, and don’t lie to me. What are you thinking in this moment?”

Sherlock paused. “I’m thinking that my shirt’s all wet,” he said with a slight frown.

“That’s your own fault,” you said, putting one hand over your mouth to contain your laughter.

John re-entered the room holding post-it notes and a sharpie. “I’ve just had the best idea,” he said with a sloppy grin.

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

The three of you all had post-its stuck to your foreheads, each with names written down. John sat in the client’s seat with the name MADONNA scribbled on the piece of paper stuck to his forehead. Sherlock, much to your enjoyment, had SHERLOCK HOLMES sloppily written on his forehead. As per the game, you had no idea what was written on yours. Sherlock was lounging back in his chair, resting his head on his hand.

“Am I a vegetable?” asked John

“You? Or the thing?” Sherlock asked smiling. The two of them snickered.

“Funny!” said John.

Sherlock looked down and smiled. “Thank you,” he choked out.

“To answer your question, John, no,” you said.

“Your go, Sherlock,” said John.

“Erm…. am I human?” he asked, turning to you.

“Sometimes,” you said with a smirk.

“No, no, it can’t be sometimes, can’t have that…”

“Fine. Yes, you’re human” you confirmed. “My turn. Am I a man?”

“Yeeep” answered John. “Sherlock, you again,” John said, forgetting it was his turn.

“Am I a man?”

John nodded. Sherlock kept going. “Am I a tall man?”

John looked at you and started laughing before he even spoke “Mm, not as tall as people think.” John’s head flopped to the side as he let out a hiccup

“Nice?”

“Ishh,” John said skeptically.

“Clever?”

“I’d say so,” you interjected.

“Do people…” he made air quotes as he spoke the word ‘people’ “... like me?”

“Not really,” you said, chuckling “You tend to rub them the wrong way.” If you had to babysit your adult drunk friends, you might as well have some fun.

“Hm,” Sherlock nodded intently. “Am I the current King of England?”

You and John immediately burst into laughter. “Good guess, Sherlock. But you do know England doesn’t have a king?” 

“Don’t we?”

“No,” John said. “Y/n, you go now”

“Right, okay. Am I a friend of ours?”

“Ehh, yes?” Sherlock said.

“Yes, yes they are Sherlock,” said John “Jesus.”

“Well, that narrows it down significantly. Am I Greg?”

“Who’s Greg?” Sherlock asked.

You rolled your eyes and took the post-it off your forehead. The name “Gavin” was written on it in Sherlock’s handwriting. Of course.

“Hey!” Sherlock yelled, “Cheater, that’s cheating. John, did you see that? Y/n’s cheating.” Sherlock got up and took the post-it from your hand. He leaned forward and stuck it back on your forehead. “There. Now it’s John’s turn.”

“Am I a woman?” asked John. He slumped in his seat. Sherlock immediately started giggling. “What?” John asked.

“Yes,” confirmed Sherlock

“Am I a pretty woman?”

“Er, beauty is a construct based entirely on childhood impressions, influences, and role models.”

“But am I pretty?” John asked again.

“Yeah, Sherlock? Is John a pretty woman?”

“I don’t know who you are. I don’t know who you’re supposed to be.”

“What?! You picked the name,” John said.

“Ah, but I picked it at random from the papers,” Sherlock said, flailing his arm over to the stack of newspapers in the corner.

“I don’t think you understand the point of this game, Sherlock,” you added.

“So, I am human, I’m not as tall as people think I am ... I’m-I’m nice-ish ... clever, but I tend to rub them up the wrong way.”

“That’s correct,” said John.

“I’m you, aren’t I?” Sherlock asked, pointing to John.

“Ooh-ooh!” Mrs. Hudson chirped as she knocked on the door. “Client!” Behind Mrs. Hudson was a woman wearing a nurse’s outfit with a cardigan over it. You scrambled to take the post-it off your forehead as you stood up.

“Hello, I’m sorry, but this really isn’t a good time—”

Sherlock immediately stood up and interrupted you. “It’s not a bad time, no, no Y/n. We always help a person in need.”

“Do we?” you said with a forced smile and looked over at John for help. John just stared back blankly at you with a goofy drunken smile.

The woman beamed “Thank you,” she said. “Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?”

John imitated a slide whistle, and pointed to Sherlock’s post-it on his forehead. Sherlock flashed a wide toothy grin. You put your head in your hands in defeat.

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

A few moments later, you’d made the woman, Tessa, some tea, and you John and Sherlock were sitting on the couch. Sherlock was sat in between you and John. Tessa sat in a chair opposite the three of you.

“I don’t ... a lot ... I mean, I don’t ... date all that much ... and ... he seemed ... nice, you know?”

You looked over at Sherlock and John hoping they could keep it together. John was blinking slowly and heavily while trying to stay awake. Sherlock was listening to Tessa’s story intently.

She continued. “We seemed to automatically connect. We had one night – dinner, such interesting conversation. It was ... lovely. To be honest, I’d love to have gone further ...”

Beside you, Sherlock closed his eyes and began to lean into your shoulder, dozing off. You subtly elbowed him, and he straightened up abruptly.

“But I thought, no, this is special. Let’s take it slowly, exchange numbers. He said he’d get in touch and then ... Maybe he wasn’t quite as keen as I was ...”

You looked over at John who was practically asleep with his eyes open. He had a blank stare and his mouth hung slightly open.

“But I – I just thought ... at least he’d call to say that we were finished,” Tessa concluded, tearing up slightly and looking at the floor. Immediately, Sherlock’s face contorted into an expression of sympathy as he dramatically brought his hand to his mouth. You stared in disbelief and handed Tessa a tissue. “Thank you,” she said to you. “I went round there, to his flat. No trace of him. Mr. Holmes…”

Sherlock leaned forward and rested his head on his hands.

“I honestly think I had dinner ... with a ghost.”

You and Tessa waited to hear what Sherlock had to say. You leaned forward to look at Sherlock and John’s faces only to discover they had both fallen asleep.

“With a ghost, Mr. Holmes!” Tessa repeated, louder.

You sharply elbowed Sherlock in the ribs much harder than before, and he sprung awake. “Boring, boring, boring,” he mumbled, then turned to you and put his hands on either side of your head. “No! fascinating!” He exclaimed, his face right up close to yours. Sherlock then turned to John “John – John! Wake up!” John finally stirred awake.

“I’m up,” he mumbled.

“Apologies about my ... you know ... thing,” Sherlock said, pointing at John. “Rude. Rude!” he yelled straight into your ear. You grimaced at the loud noise and put your hand on Sherlock’s forearm to settle him.

“Yes, that’s enough, Sherlock,” you whispered. “Uhm, go on, Tessa.”

“I checked with the landlord, and the man who lived there died. Heart attack. And there we are, having dinner one week on.” She turned and began to rummage through her purse. She pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper and handed it to Sherlock. You grabbed it before he could take it. It was a print-out of an online chatroom. “And I found this thing online, sort of chatroom thing for girls who think they’re dating men from the spirit world.”

You nodded. This actually seemed like a decent case. Too bad Sherlock and John probably wouldn’t remember one word of it tomorrow. Sherlock tried to stand up next to you, wobbled, and then put one hand on the top of your head to steady himself. You groaned and struggled to untangle his hand from your hair.

“Don’t worry. I’ll find him in ten minutes,” Sherlock said confidently. Tessa smiled in relief. “What’s your dog’s name?”

You facepalmed and stood up next to Sherlock. He leaned over to wake up John. “John! Wake up! We’re meant to ... The game’s ... something” he said, waving his hand around.

“On!” yelled John.

“Yes, that,” Sherlock said, walking out the door. “Come on, Y/n.”

“Wait, Sherlock. Where are you going?” You protested, following him down the stairs.

“That’s a good question. Where are we going?” he asked Tessa in the foyer.

“Oh! Well, I suppose we ought to go to his flat,” Tessa said.

“Sherlock, no,” you said, “You can’t leave...” you looked off the the side awkwardly “…like this.” He ignored you and dragged John out to the sidewalk by his sweater sleeve. He stepped out into the street and hailed down a cab.

“40a, Jasmine Grove,” interjected Tessa as the cab pulled up.

“Are you coming Y/n?” Sherlock slurred.

“No!” you yelled. “And neither are you.” Before you could reach him, Sherlock climbed into the cab after John and Tessa and slammed the cab door in your face. The car drove off. 

“Come on, really?!” you yelled in frustration. Now you had to follow them. You ran to the edge of the sidewalk and decided to call a cab for yourself.

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

You finally made it to the apartment to see Tessa and a man you presumed to be the landlord standing by the door. It was a rather modern apartment with exposed brick and abstract furniture. John was standing in the corner with his hands crossed over his chest and his lips pursed. He was swaying slightly, trying to keep his balance. You pushed past the landlord to see Sherlock kneeling on a shag carpet holding his pocket magnifier. As soon as you walked in, he face-planted into the carpet and passed out.

“He’s clueing for looks” John announced, proudly.

“Oh god,” you said, scrambling over to Sherlock. You grabbed his upper arm and tried to pull him up. God, he was heavy. 

“That’s it, I’m calling the police.” The landlord pulled out his cell phone.

“No, no, please, that won’t be necessary,” you protested.

“This is a famous detective. It’s Sherlock Holmes and his partner, John Hamish Watson,” Tessa clarified.

You finally managed to get Sherlock to straighten up. “When did you get here?” Sherlock asked, looking up at you. Then, he bent over and immediately threw up on the carpet.

“Ugh why?” you groaned and plugged your nose. Sherlock wiped his mouth on his sleeve and then clicked his magnifier shut.

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

The next morning…

The landlord had called the police and the night ended with you watching Sherlock and John being driven away in the back of a police car. You’d immediately called Greg hoping he’d let them go. Greg had said the best he could do was try and let them off with a warning if they spent the night in the drunk tank. When the station opened, Greg sent you a photo of Sherlock and John asleep in a cell with the caption “Come and get ‘em!”

You walked into Scotland Yard and Greg was there to meet you. “Thank you, Greg,” you said, handing him one of the 4 coffees you’d brought.

“God, what on earth happened to them?” Greg asked, taking a sip from the coffee you gave him.

“Stag night got a bit out of hand,” you said. “Afraid I lost control of the situation.”  

“You can say that again,” agreed Greg as the two of you walked through the station to the drunk tank.

“Rise and Shine!” Greg bellowed as he swung open the door. John was awake and sitting on the floor. He had his hands on his head while Sherlock was still fast asleep on the bench.

“Oh my god,” John said, grimacing in pain. “Is that Greg?”

“Get up,” he said “Y/n’s come to collect you. Managed to square things with the desk sergeant.” John painfully and slowly got up. “What a couple of lightweights! Y/n said you couldn’t even make it to closing time!”

“Yeah, could you whisper?” John asked.

“NOT REALLY!” Greg shouted straight into his ear. Across the cell, Sherlock jolted awake, mouth wide open in shock. He tried to stand up, then fell backward back onto the bench. You walked over and helped him up.

“There you go, Sherlock. Nice and easy,” you said quietly and handed him one of the coffees. He took it and stumbled out of the cell, head down. He looked like hell, not to mention the way he smelled. You caught up to John and handed him one of the remaining coffees, leaving the last for yourself. You took a sip of your coffee and continued down the hall. 

“Well, thanks for a ... you know ... an evening,” John said to Sherlock.

“Oh, it was awful,” Sherlock said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I was gonna pretend, but it was, truly,” said John. He then turned to you. “Y/n, I am so sorry, that was—”

“It’s okay, I had fun,” you said with a smile.

“At least someone did,” said Sherlock. “That woman, Tessa, dated a ghost. The most interesting case for months. What a wasted opportunity.”

“Really? That’s your takeaway from this?” you asked. He shrugged. “Come on, boys, let’s get you home.” 

A/N: Stag night! I love this part of the episode, so I hope I did it justice. Funny story. When I was writing this, I was trying to find real book titles for Sherlock to read and I came across a real book titled “Surrounded by Idiots” I wanted to use it in the story SO BAD but it was so perfect, that it sounded cheesy and made up lmao. I’m 100% certain Sherlock would have it in his bookcase though. 

Taglist: @the-chaotic-cow @amoeebaa @scorpios-echos @sad-bitch-h0ur @drifting-away-in-space @that-thing-in-the-graveyard 

[shadyteacup]

Hey sorry if you don’t take requests like this but could you write something about Dazai with a fem s/o or crush who keeps saying she hates herself and has very low self esteem like Atsushi and panic attacks sometimes? Again sorry if you don’t take these! If it’s uncomfortable for you it’s okay to not do it!!!

Hey, this is my first time writing something like this, but it's perfectly fine! There's always a first time for everything. Sorry this took so long.. it was slightly triggering, ngl, but I managed, so all's good :D

I kinda made it relevant to my own self.... I didn't know any other way to write this....

Love, know that you are more than enough, and that you deserve love, support and happiness!

Let Me Teach You, What Love Feels Like

Dazai x f!reader

Tw: panic attack, self doubt, self hate

You sat at your desk, trying to come up with something to write. You weren't exactly a writer, just someone who always liked to read and sometimes write. You were a student, but recently you had started your own blog, and turns out, people actually liked your work.

But you couldn't accept the fact that they liked it because you were a 'good writer'. You never doubted your followers, or their tastes, but you just weren't sure if you were actually good enough, or if they were just being kind to you, out of their goodness.

Thoughts like these always flooded your mind whenever you sat to write. Whenever you get any requests, you go over them a million times before posting anything, wanting it all to be perfect for your followers.

But you still thought that you could do better.

You stared at your phone screen, reading and re-reading the request that was sent to you.

You had an idea in your mind, but what if the person who sent this, wouldn't like it? What if they aren't satisfied with what you wrote? What if your effort isn't enough? What if they hate it? What if-

Your thoughts were interrupted by two arms draping themselves around your shoulders.

You jolted out of your spiraling thoughts, and let out a silent gasp.

Tufts of brown tickled your cheeks, as a chin placed itself on your head.

"Hey beautiful", a melodic voice spoke.

"Dazai! You scared the shit out of me!"

You wiggled out of his grasp, turning around to scowl at his handsome face.

He chuckled, booping your nose with his own.

"You look so cute when you're flustered, I can't help but pull such tricks on you ;)"

His cute smirk and light hazelnut orbs filled you with happiness. You loved him so much. He was a dork sometimes, but, alas, he was your dork.

"What are doing, love?", he asks, peering over your head to observe the blank page of your book, and the text on your phone.

"Just writing...", you say,"or atleast, I'm attempting to.."

Your far away look, and the doubt in your eyes instantly told him what you were going through. You were a lot like a certain subordinate of his, and it both pained and hurt him.

You always looked down at yourself. You never gave yourself enough credit. If something that you worked for was successful, you would give credit to the luck, or some stupid coincidence, or anybody else who had merely lent a helping hand. And when it didn't work out, you blamed yourself, calling yourself weak and inefficient. You would easily take the fall for all the misfortunes, and never pat your back for all the good you do. It frustrated him to no end. What should he do to make you realize that you're perfect the way you are? How can he convince you that you are more than enough, and that you are such an important and worthy person in not only his life, but everybody around you? You are capable of bringing a smile to everyone's faces, and your mere presence makes their day. How do you not see that?

When you wake up and look in the mirror, all you see are made up imperfections.

He remembers when you were staring at the mirror one morning, and he had asked you teasingly, "Are you checking yourself out?"

You had merely shaken your head, and replied with a,"There's nothing to check out..."

Before he could say something, you had begun talking.

"I'm not beautiful, Dazai. Look at me. My curves aren't quite right. At some places, they are non existent and at others, they're way too bulging. I'm not pretty, either. My eyes are way too huge, and my nose is slightly crooked. My hair isn't silky, and my height isn't ideal. I'm.... nothing of value..."

You turned to face him, with tears in your eyes.

"I... I don't know why you stay... You can do so much bett-"

He had cut you mid way with a kiss.

"You are the most beautiful person on the planet, Y/N."

You looked away, mumbling, "You just say that for the sake of it... You don't have to, you know..."

He cupped your cheek, looking you in the eyes.

"When you smile, my entire world lights up. That's because you are my world. Your curves are perfect. Your eyes aren't too huge, infact, they're the prettiest pair I have ever seen. The way they shine, and hold so much kindness, beauty and love; they make me fall for you over and over again. Your smile, and your gurgling laughter gives me a reason to live. You are my reason, Y/N. You are perfect."

You blushed. You wanted to believe him; the genuine look in his eyes, the soft smile on his lovely lips, and the gentle tone of his voice; it all made you want to believe him. But you couldn't bring yourself to do so. You couldn't give yourself any credit, and couldn't see the perfect, amazing parts of you that he saw. And he knew that. He could read it on your face. You were flustered by his words; he could see that. But he also saw the doubt. He saw the hesitance on your face.

So he did what he thought was best. He made love to you. He very passionately explained to you, all the best parts of you. He kissed every bit of skin, telling you just how much he adores every inch of you.

It did wonders to your confidence, too.

Now, instead of thinking that everybody hates you, you knew that atleast one person doesn't fully despise you, and that person was Dazai. Although it didn't quite work the way he wanted it to work, it still did something.

So he kept going, proving to you at every opportunity that you were perfect, and deserve all the love in this world.

Right now, staring at your doubtful eyes, he saw just how skeptical you were about your writing abilities.

He was going to change that.

"Say, Y/N, do you want a break?"

You tilt your head in consideration.

"I haven't even written a word yet..."

He smiled, saying,"Maybe your mind needs a refresher. Something to help unclog your thoughts."

He tugged on your wrist, beckoning you to follow him.

"Where are we going?"

He threw on his coat, helping you into yours.

"You'll see", he said, giving you a wink.

Walking down the lanes of Yokohama was one of your favorite pastimes.

Observing the people, the diverse culture and the beauty of the city filled you with content.

He took you to have your favorite ice-cream. The rich flavour and the way it melted on your tongue always made you feel happy.

"This is so yummy!!", you squealed, licking it.

Dazai chuckled ruffling your hair.

"Don't do that! It completely spoiles my look!", you say, trying to fix your hair.

"I love you so much..", he says, voice completely serious, his face adorning a charming but genuine smile.

You blush at the sincerity of his words, and smile.

Your little moment was interrupted by a furry ball running past your legs. The cat looked injured.

"Hey, hold onto this for a moment. I'll go check if that cat is hurt.", you say, handing your cone to Dazai.

He nods, as you begin running after it. He doesn't know why you care so much, but it's probably because of your big heart. Sighing, he begins walking in your direction slowly.

You try to catch up to the animal, turning a corner, and in the process, bumping into a small boy.

The ice-cream in his hands drops to the ground.

He looks at you, devastated and sad, and begins bawling his eyes out.

You try to apologize to him, promising to buy him a new one, but he just wouldn't stop crying. The loud noise of his cries and the exertion caused due to running made your breaths uneven. You tried to push it away, but you could feel your head pulsating with pain. A high pitched tone filled your ears. You tried to block the sound to get some relief, but to no avail. The intensity of the sound, the headache and the boys teary face made you drop to ground, and curl up against the wall.

'You are so useless. Whenever you try to help someone, you only end up ruining it. You always ruin things. Nothing you do is valuable. You cause so much pain to everyone around you. You can never make anyone happy. You are the cause of everybody's sadness. You are a disappointment. Pathetic, useless person.. Why are you even alive?'

Your thoughts were swallowing you. They were pulling you into a deep, dark hole, one that was draining your life out of you. You couldn't stop the shaking of your palms, your whole body trembled.

You didn't realize when the commotion stopped, or when or how the boy left the area, but you could hear a voice, a familiar voice, and you tried to hold onto it. You tried with your best efforts to clutch onto the one ray of light in the dark hole you were in. You used all your might and focused on those words. Slowly, you could make sense of them.

"Take deep breaths, Y/N. I'm here. Don't worry. Just focus on your breathing."

You did that. You tried to hear your own breaths.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You were slowly crawling out of there, tuning out the thoughts that were trying to pull you in.

"Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in..."

You followed the voice, and felt the angry thoughts fade away.

Once you were almost in control of your mind, you tried to open your eyes, only a little bit. Through the tiny aperture, you saw soft brown orbs staring back at you. Dazai smiled at you, hesitantly raising his hand near your face. Silently asking for permission to touch you. You nuzzle your face in his palm. He slowly pulls you into a hug. Kissing your forehead, he picks you up, and begins walking home.

You snuggled against him, hiding your face in his chest, and closing your eyes.

He just wanted you to have a good time. He had messed up. But it's alright. As long as he was with you, he would help you get out of your spiraling thoughts. He would always be by your side. He would protect you, even if it meant from your own mind.

On reaching back home, he helped you change into comfortable clothes, and laid you on the bed, wrapping the comforter around your body to keep you warm. He made some soup and rice for you. He brought you a tall glass of water, too. He took complete care of you. He fed you the food, cooing you to have as much as possible. You needed the strength. You soon fell into a deep slumber, with his arms wrapped securely around your petite form.

Dazai held you close, and slowly rocked you. He observed your sleeping form, and felt so frustrated. He wanted to help you out of this, and he was trying his best to do so. He was taking small, baby steps, and they were working, too. But it was all too slow. He didn't want you to experience one more second of this. He wants you to never go through that again. But he knows that things like this take time. He's willing to sacrifice everything for you. He loves you, and will always love you, no matter what. He will not stop until you are free of the dark thoughts that plague your mind, and will, at every step, assure you that you deserve all the happiness and live in this world.

Because you matter to him. You mean the world to him. So he will hold you close, kiss your lips, and wipe your tears until you break free. He will walk through fire for you.

He looks down at your face, the way your eyes fluttered every now and then, and the way your rosy, delicate lips were slightly parted, the way a strand of your hair fell onto your face, and the way you looked so innocent and protected in his arms; it all made him love you even more.

He made a promise to you.

"I will always be there for you, my little lady. I will always love you, and will teach you to love yourself."

He kissed your forehead.

"I love you, my princess."

Sorry if this wasn't what you wanted! I tried my best...But do request again, if it isn't satisfactory!

[i-need-entertainment]

Wish I Were Heather...

**ANGST!!! THIS IS REALLY ANGSTY AHAHAH sorry...**

*Based off of the song Heather by Conan Gray, Lyrics were used.*

Character: Iwaizumi  I’ll say it again, A N G S T

I am also changing Heather to another name for ~story reasons~

TW- mentions of death (song),jealousy, reader is gonna get hurted

1st year

“I still remember the third of December, me in your sweater

You said it looked better on me than it did you”

“Oh Hajime~” The male in question looked at you, an exasperated expression already on his face. “No.” Your head shot up from where it had been rested on your folded arms, your eyes narrowing at the male. “I haven’t even said anything meanie!” He rolled his eyes before he turned to face you, green eyes softening ever so slightly at your ‘angry’ expression.

 “AAAnnyways, I wanted to know if I could borrow your sweatshirt.” It was Iwaizumi’s turn to narrow his eyes at you. “I thought I told you to bring one idiot, I told you you’d get cold!” You rolled your eyes as your head returned to your desk, your crossed arms shielding you from the world. “Yeah, yeah I knooow. But I forgot! Please Hajime~” Having known him since elementary school you knew he could never resist ‘the look’, sighing he reached into his bag and grabbed his gray hoodie, throwing it on top of your head as you happily pulled it over your head. He couldn’t help but smile as he saw your goofy smile poke through the head of the sweatshirt. “Just give it back after practice, alright?” Feigning a surprised expression you batted your eyelashes at him. “I get to keep it that long? Hajime are you feeling okay? You’re being oddly generous…” You whined as he flicked your forehead, desperately trying to hide your blush as he chuckled, a soft smile falling onto his usually gruff face. “It’s already 7th period, so you only get it for 4 more hours. And don’t act so surprised, I am actually nice to the people I care about.” You tried to memorize the feeling of your heart swelling with his words. If only he knew….Just how much you liked him…

2nd Year

“Only if you knew how much I liked you But I watch your eyes as she Walks by What a sight for sore eyes Brighter than the blue sky She's got you mesmerized while I die”

Over the course of the two years you had been in high school you had developed feelings for your closest childhood friend. And things were honestly going pretty well, or at least you felt like they were. The two of you were already close but you felt like you were getting closer. You spent a lot of time together and the time spent with Iwaizumi never failed to make you feel like you were flying. Over these past two years you had also become close with Hanamaki since you two had a similar sense of humor and he was in general fun to be around. You had told him all about your crush on Iwaizumi, so when you couldn’t talk to Iwaizumi you knew you could talk to him. You and Iwaizumi were in the same class and sat side by side, much to the both of your satisfaction. Everything in your life was honestly going pretty great. Your grades were better than they had ever been, you felt like you were finally getting somewhere with Iwaizumi and you had a lot of fun managing the volleyball team! That was until she moved here…. Kumiko Nakamura. You had heard good things about her, she was very pretty, very sweet and she quickly became a schoolwide sensation. You didn’t really pay it any mind; this school had a lot of popular and pretty people so you figured the hype would die down sometime. That was until she was moved up to class five. The moment she walked in you knew, you just knew Iwaizumi was interested. Because no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t take his eyes off the stunning girl, and no matter how you tried you couldn’t distract your heart from slowly cracking with every glance he threw her way. 

 “You gave her your sweater, it's just polyester But you like her better Wish I were Heather”

You don’t think Iwaizumi realized what he was doing…or at least you really hoped not. It seemed inevitable the two would become acquainted somehow. And that’s just what happened when the two bumped into each other, she had been lost and Iwaizumi had offered to help her…and that’s how it started. You knew he was falling, you could see it in his eyes, hear it in the way he talked about her, to anyone who knew him it was painfully obvious just how smitten he was with her. And all you could do is sit there and ignore the breaking of your heart as he gushed to you about his new crush….and only a few weeks later, his new girlfriend. He promised she wouldn’t come between you two, I mean the two of you had been friends since elementary school, so you knew you were together through thick and through thin. But that doesn’t make up for the fact that the outings the two of you used to take…the lunches that used to be spent with laughter and jokes…the study sessions the night before a big test because you both procrastinated were nonexistent. It hurt so, so much to see them walking hand in hand, see her wearing his spare jersey at games, see them kiss goodbye in the hallways…it hurt. And it’s not like you could go to your best friend about it. So. You went to Makki. The truth is (not like you KNEW that is) Hanamaki Takahiro had liked you since you were first years, but he never said anything…since you were head over heels in love with Iwaizumi. Someone he felt he was no match for. So when he caught you crying your eyes out in the club room he didn’t hesitate to step up and comfort and care for you the way you deserved. He knew Iwaizumi wasn’t doing it on purpose, and he knew it wasn’t Nakamura either, but man he wished the ace would open his eyes. But as long as he pushed you away, Makki would be right there to get you through it. 

“Watch as she stands with her, holding your hand Put your arm 'round her shoulder, now I'm getting colder”

Watch. That’s all you could do is watch. As bad as it sounds you tried to hate her, you tried to find something to dislike, something to show she wasn’t ‘all that’. But no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t find anything, nothing worthwhile anyway. She really was a kind, considerate person who you knew would take care of Iwaizumi. Just like you knew he’d take care of her…since it was how he used to take care of you…You saw as he gave his sweatshirt to her, the same sweatshirt he used to give you. You saw as she teased him a playful glint In her eye as she batted her eyelashes, and how he rolled his eyes but couldn’t shake the smile from his face. And you knew. You just knew you stood no chance. Because you knew they were in love. Because that’s the way you used to look at him…but he never looked that way at you. 

3rd Year

“But how could I hate her, she's such an angel But then again, kinda wish she were dead as she Walks by What a sight for sore eyes Brighter than the blue sky She's got you mesmerized while I die” 

 It was now your third year of high school, your last year of high school. And despite the pain you endured last year, you were during much better. You and Makki both moved to class 4, you telling Iwaizumi class 5 was a bit too much, and Makki deciding the challenge would be worth it if he got to share his classes with you. You still talked to Iwaizumi, I mean you were still the volleyball manager after all. But you definitely didn’t spend as much time with him as you used to. And it still hurt like crazy, but you also had Makki to lean on, who had happily spent his time with you. And you had to admit it was working, but healing a broken heart takes time…and it takes more time when every time you see them hold hands, or kiss or say ‘I love you’ re-opens closed doors and picks at old wounds. You didn’t know if you’d ever tell Iwaizumi how you felt, heck right now it wasn’t even an option. It was hard for a long time to extinguish that little spark of hope, to silence that little ‘what if’ inside your brain that you never could shut up. Sometimes it still kept you up at night thinking ‘we’re not that different…what does she have that I don’t...?’ you’ve spent hours on this question alone. So many sleepless nights and daydreams. But every time, every scenario ends the same. Why? Because in the end you know you are no match for her. Because in the end she has one thing, one thing that will always ensure her victory over you. Because in the end, She has him, and that is one thing you know you never will.

“But you like her better Wish I were-”

[fanfalc-616]

The Rights Of A Nindroid

Chapter Thirty-Four: Lights, Camera, Action

(Previous Chapter Here)

Major TW for android gore and descriptions of being in agony and stuff. Because, uh, yeah, this chapter is intense-

Kai really needs to learn how to behave huh

Original walks silently down the halls, eyes kept straight ahead as it does. It had recently been given permission to occasionally move from room to room without supervision or handcuffs, and it finds that this allows it to work much more efficiently than it had before.

Opening the door to the workshop, where it had been told to go, it pauses a moment. Should it go and sit down? Or should it wait for orders?

After a moment of hesitation, it walks over and stands a few paces away from Master. It will wait until she notices it and tells it what to do. That way, it will be able to avoid any potential errors.

“Original.” She turns to face it, an expression of mild annoyance on her face.

Annoyance? Did it do something wrong? When? It doesn’t remember doing anything. What could it have-

“Yes, Master?” Original cuts off its thoughts. It shouldn’t think about things that aren’t beneficial to a master- it’s a waste of processing power.

She gestures to the work table, and Original quickly sits down. Is it here for a punishment? That’s odd. It still can’t recall doing anything wrong recently… but then again, Master doesn’t need a reason to hurt it. Given that it’s not alive, it doesn’t matter what any human does to it- a machine doesn’t have any feelings to be hurt.

“Today we’re going to be doing something a little bit different.” She watches it for a moment, and Original nods its understanding, waiting for her to continue.

It could swear that there’s a twitch of a smile on her face as she turns around, picking something up from a nearby table.

She holds it out for it to take, and it quickly does, studying the oddly shaped piece of metal. After a moment of consideration, it glances back up to her. “What would you like me to do with this, Master?”

Again, Master seems to be vaguely amused. “It’s your faceplate. We had to take it a long time ago, back when you were being disobedient. But for now, I want you to reattach it.”

“Yes, Master.” Original answers, looking over the faceplate once more. It looks as though it should connect relatively easily…

It glances at Master once more before lifting the faceplate up, pressing it against its facial workings.

A loud ‘click’ echoes outwards, and Original feels the metal plating snap into place, suddenly tight against it.

The feeling is… unusual. It can’t recall ever having anything against its facial workings, but Master said it did, so it must have. Still, that doesn’t make the feeling any less awkward.

“Is everything alright, Original?” Master’s voice has a mild threat to it, and the nindroid answers without a second thought.

“I am functioning at an optimal level. Thank you for your concern.”

Any digital feelings it may have are inconsequential to its Master, and do not deserve any kind of attention.

“Good.” Master nods once before turning away. Wordlessly, she walks out of the room, leaving Original by itself.

It blinks in coded confusion, but then recoils at the odd feeling. The mechanical eyelids seem to almost itch against its optics, and Original finds itself starting to grimace.

Quickly wiping the pseudo-emotion away, a new realization dawns on it. Being so unused to having something so expressive attached, it will likely be much more difficult to hide the code that mimics human feelings.

Well, that is certainly not ideal, but Original will simply have to do its best. It will likely be punished for any mistakes, but hopefully that will help it do better in the future.

It looks over at the doorway as it notices Master re-entering the workshop, this time with another person. After a moment, it recognizes him as the one who had been there the time when Original had been made to manipulate its own inner workings.

That had been a very… uncomfortable experience. Somehow, other hands inflicting the pain seems to make it more bearable. Of course, it’s not as though it’s real pain- only a digital mimicry of it. Nindroids can’t feel anything; they’re not human.

It tilts its head as it watches the mechanic set up what appears to be some kind of camera. What do they need that for?

“You are not going to speak during this. Not even in acknowledgement- all you will do is nod. And unless your focus is on what you are being told to do, I want you looking at the camera. Is that understood?” Master looks it dead in the eyes.

Original nods its understanding before turning its gaze to the camera. Something about this situation is putting it on edge, but it ignores the coded unease in favor of waiting for more instructions.

The mechanic picks up a clipboard, looking over… wait, are those the blueprints they took from the treehouse?

Looking closer, it recognizes that they are- mostly. There seem to be a lot of modified details, but-

“Shirt off, open your chestplate,” the mechanic orders, grabbing its attention. Original is quick to comply with the command. It fumbles with the seam on its torso for a moment, as it’s not used to being the one opening it. The slip up couldn’t have lasted for more than half a moment, but that’s likely enough to deserve a punishment.

Still, it tries to keep the flash of pseudo-fear off of its face as it waits to be told what to do next, returning its gaze to the camera while it does.

“There’s a set of spiral bevel gears on your left side, about where a human’s ninth rib is. Between them and your main cooling fans, there’s some green and purple wires. Disconnect them from the system they attach to near your core.”

Original quickly glances down, using the diagnostic it had run the first time to help locate the mentioned wires. With a nod of acknowledgement, it carefully reaches inside, taking one between its fingers. Slowly, it traces it to the connector port where it attaches to its artificial stomach.

It hesitates for half a moment. Should it detach them all at once? Or one by one?

Well, the Master hadn’t said to do it one at a time, so it would likely be best to do it all together.

Returning its focus to the task, Original takes the set of wires into its hand, wrapping them in a tight grip.

It tears them from their ports.

A thing that Original can only describe as nausea washes over it as sudden warnings flash in its vision.

It fights to keep the artificial pain and fear from showing, but it can’t help the low and strangled gasp that escapes it at the jarring sensation.

With a quiet, hopefully decently muffled whimper, Original returns its gaze to the camera, allowing its hands to tightly grip the edge of the work table.

The churning feeling in its gut almost makes it groan out of discomfort, but it’s able to at least suppress that much.

The Master continues with his instructions, and even through the uncomfortable torment, Original continues, mutilating its insides, ignoring the oil and grease starting to stick to its fingers. Even when it almost painfully drips down over its innards and sensors, it keeps following the orders to the best of its ability.

“Just above where a human’s hip would be on the right side, there’s a flat panel against the inside of your outer layer. Pull it down until it brushes against the top of the console with a set of switches.” The Master looks down at his clipboard as he speaks, seeming to be going over something.

Nevertheless, Original nods, pushing past the discomfort in order to follow the command. But when its fingers brush even gently against the mentioned panel, sudden throbbing pain flashes through it.

It can’t resist the shaky and pained cry that forces its way out its throat- though it manages to cut it off rather quickly.

Glancing back up, it silently curses itself for the wince that forms when it notices its prioritized Master’s withering look.

Even though it’s unable to control its shaky breathing, it does its best to push past the artificially-made nauseating discomfort, reaching inside itself again.

This time, it braces itself, preparing for the pain that’s sure to hit it.

Before it has time to back out, it yanks on the panel, dragging it downwards.

The red-hot agony floods through it once more, and Original shouts out again, the hurt scream forcing its way out even as it tries to suppress it.

Body trembling heavily, Original jolts forwards, hands returning to the edge of the table as it curls in on itself, the ‘nausea’ from before only adding another layer of throbbing discomfort as the sharp, hot, tormenting agony wracks its whole body, making it almost fall into the nindroid equivalent of tears, breathing rapid and shaky and unsteady as its power source grows uncomfortably hot, yet another sensation that makes it-

“Up at around your-“

No, no, it can’t- no, this already too much, it- it needs a minute, and minute to adjust-

“-collarbone area, there’s a cable that-“

First Master, it just- it needs second, just a few seconds, to let it- to help it cope, please, it just- it can’t handle-

“-connects from your power source to what would be-“

It- it knows that it hasn’t been very long, they’ve only been doing this for an hour at the very most, but it- it’s already too much, it knows that it’s being weak and that it’s pathetic and worthless but it can’t- it can’t do this, it needs to-

“-your spinal cord. Detach it from its connector.”

Shaking, panting, knowing that if it were human, if it were actually, really human, tears would have begun to form, it forces itself to pull itself together, to move, to reach for the mentioned coil, to actually follow orders the way it should, the way it’s meant to, the way it was built for.

“Yes, Mas-“ Original cuts itself off, internally cursing and yelling at itself for its mistake. Master had said not to speak, not even to acknowledge what it had been ordered to do.

Body trembling, shaking, highlighting exactly how pathetic and worthless it is, it manages to get a grip on the cable, barely able to even try to keep its digital misery from showing.

Sucking in a deep breath, it follows the instruction, roughly pulling the coil from where it connects, and-

And almost falling over at the sudden fuzziness that glazes over its processor.

Weakly, it groans, barely even able to register the sharp and piercing glares thrown at it.

It manages to look back up, dismissing the warning pop-ups that appear in its rapidly deteriorating vision. The room seems to be almost spinning, even the table under him feeling much more unsteady than it knows it is.

Shaking its head, Original tries to bring itself back to reality. But it- it’s just so much, too much, the pain and disorientation, the heat and the fuzziness, it just takes over so easily.

Helpless to the horrible, sickening, miserable sensations, it can faintly hear more weak and uncomfortable whimpers and groans escaping it.

It can barely even register it when it’s shoved down on the table, back flat against it as rough hands reach into its already unbearably pained body.

Through its haze, it manages to recall its orders.

Body sending agony at a level too much to even begin to process, it manages to move its head just enough to lock its eyes on the lens of the camera.

Then a flash of something too intense to even name wracks through it, tearing one last final scream from it, vision wavering and flickering-

Before everything goes peacefully, blissfully dark.

[octalove]

VIII: Struck by Lightning

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader makes a confession, and goes on a date. Previous.

TW: Brief mention of gore (just blood)

In the weeks succeeding the Little Italy mission, I found a rhythm in the two conflicting heartbeats of my life. Occasionally, I met with Jason to file down the multitude of criminals who opposed him (it wasn’t all rescuing orphans and kittens, but his justice was fair and swift), and other than that, I carried on with life as normal; both as myself, and Batgirl. It was an inconsistent, exciting balancing act.

I tried to humor Bruce’s transparent attempts to placate me with cold cases, deeming it study. My school work had unsurprisingly lost its appeal, and I found myself rocking in the river banks of what was sure to be a failing grade in most of my classes- though I had yet to run ashore. Yet.

I danced along, despite my reprisal (a lack of sleep, and white lies on either side), and overall there was a certain stalemate. With that, peace. Or at least, the closest I could get.

On a Saturday I happened to have free (to my great relief), I woke up at one in the afternoon, to a blessedly dim day that kept the light in my room dark enough to cradle my lie-in.

I washed the sleep from my face, and stumbled downstairs, muscles sore from a Thursday night mission with Jason at the Port (of which I told my family I was going to a party). Tim was the only one in the kitchen- looking like he, too, had just crawled out of bed. He was eating cereal in silence.

We hadn’t been avoiding each other, per say- just got wrapped up in our own routines. Routines that kept me out of the house, and him trapped within it.

“Morning.” I said.

“Mm.” He replied.

I poured out my own bowl of cereal and settled on top of the glossy white granite. It was kind of a running joke at the Wayne household that you could sit anywhere but the chairs. Even Damian picked up on it- and, naturally, he was the best at it- perching his lithe little form atop the fridge at one point.

Now, Tim and I sat side by side on the countertop, shoulders brushing and spoons clanging against our glass bowls. Nothing more was said, but it was a comfortable silence.

I thought, for a second, about the world he’d been living in for the past few months as November bled into December. About his work and his many, many jobs he had to do. The way he shouldered them all week-to-week. He didn’t have to, but he did.

Tim made me a better person. I thought so, anyway.

But then, before I met him, I was the kind of person who let Carolyn Crawford slap me across the face to cover for someone else’s secret. Now, I was the kind who let other people take the blame for mine. Maybe Tim didn’t make me a better person. Only I could do that.

*

“I need to talk to you.” I said it firmly, and with authority. Mostly to convince myself that I was certain in my intention to go through with it. Bruce eyed me, looking up from his book.

“Alright.”

“...”

“...”

“In private.”

Alfred and Damian’s voices carried through to the living room as they had tea (an evening tradition). Bruce nodded, closed his book, and led me upstairs.

His office was a quiet, peaceful place. Finished dark wood, glass tables, and black leather accents. It was the room in the house that was most furnished to his own private taste, and thus, a glimpse inside was into him. It was mostly predictable; W.E. briefcases, notebooks and pens, case files open, and a map of the city that was displayed behind his desk. But there were other things too; a rubik’s cube half solved on the settee, a magazine featuring Vicki Vale with a pen in her hand and a defiant, head-strong look on her face. A gorgeous trailing point knife that belonged to Damian (probably confiscated).

I sat down in the chair that faced his own; his giant, glossy desk between us. I wanted to be swallowed into the dark leather. I felt like I was back at the shrink.

“Tim didn’t sneak off on the 21st.” I said quickly, cutting off the silence as quickly as I could. “He’s not the one who saw Red Hood kill that guy. It was me. I made Tim promise not to tell. He lied to cover for me.”

Bruce was quiet. He did that a lot; made you wait for him to speak. Seconds, minutes, hours. It all felt the same when he let you simmer in your own mistakes. I didn’t look up.

“I see.”

Silence. A long, testing silence. His irritating little desk clock ticked away.

“Is that all you wanted to tell me?” He asked.

I nodded.

“Very well. You’re dismissed.”

“Really?” I asked. “That’s it? You’re not mad?”

He paused. “Should I be?”

I blinked, gaze falling on the floor. “I put Tim in a really shitty position. He didn’t have to lie, but he did because I asked him to. I’m mad at me.” I admitted quietly.

Bruce nodded pedantically, resting his head on his hand. “Then that’s good enough for me.”

I furrowed my brow. It wasn’t good enough for me. “It was wrong.” I clarified, trying to press for some manner of reprimand that I didn’t truly want, but felt deserving of anyway. Bruce considered this, in his quiet, inscrutable way. After a moment, he spoke.

“Your mothers trusted me.” He said. I knew that. My parents were business-oriented like that. They were pulled together by happenstance, each without family and carving their own way in the world by studying international law, and applying it to companies who could afford private foreign trade, such as Wayne Enterprises. I attended the parties, the galas, standing around in my designer gowns while my moms handed out their business cards and talked about imports. They weren’t neglectful, just distracted.

“I don’t know if you remember-“

“I do.”

And if I had a dollar for every time the cops or the shrink asked me if I remembered that night, I’d buy my own manor.

Bruce Wayne was at my birth. He and my mothers had been business partners for a while by that time. He watched me, dutifully, when my parents went on date nights, and played catch with me when I accompanied him and Dick to the park. He cooked me breakfast the morning after my mothers died.

I knew it wasn’t a random killing, but he didn’t talk about why they were murdered in their own bed until I was fifteen. By then, I was knowledgeable enough to go searching through the police reports on my own. So instead, one night he’d sat me down at the kitchen table, looking at me earnestly.

“You have to understand, Y/N. Your mothers were...” He’d taken a deep breath. Tried again. “They were involved in things. Things I didn’t know about. It made them a lot of enemies.” Then, something harder passed his features. A frustration.

“They were completely blind to the fact that it meant you would never have a normal life. Not as long as they kept it up- that... double life.” I let the statement hang in the air for a time. “That was stolen from you, from the moment they got involved with the Baciu. And I’m sorry.”

It was easy to be sorry. I was sorry, too. My mothers got themselves tangled in Gotham’s heroin trade, and they weren’t careful enough, so they died for it. It was fairly cut and dry. Open file, close case. But the part that was so bitter to swallow was that it happened to me. A fourteen-year-old child creeping into my mothers’ bed because I’d heard a noise, and the re-runs of Ghost Hunter I’d religiously consumed were conjuring movement in the shadows. But there were no ghosts. Just sheets stained with blood that looked black in the darkness. Just the wet, clogged sort of sound when I peeled back the covers, unable to register they way my mothers were bent, and stilled in a way that only death can induce, where just earlier that night they’d been walking and talking. Bringing me Chinese take-out for dinner.

Their death, and everything that followed was emptying. Cracking open a great chasm and bringing death home, into the halls, and into my room. No longer a rumor. It was an empty chair, and a storied space made cold and worthless. It would’ve been easier if they had simply died as a random killing. Tragic, standard, random Gotham City killing. If I had just been that unlucky. If they’d only been struck by lightning. Instead, I grieved twice; once for who they were, and another time, for who I thought they were.

When Bruce adopted me, I became Batgirl. I made it my own vendetta to stop criminals without killing them, because I knew that some- most of them had children at home who would be the real victims if I did.

But then, I thought deeper. More considerately, about who my mothers were. Moreover, who they weren’t. Pearl and gold, white teeth and hairspray. Singing to me, and playing Monopoly, at which they were both so competitive that they had to kiss and make up after every game. Bringing me a strawberry cupcake in bed every year on my birthday. Kissing me on the head. Telling me to be good. Leaving me in that big house. Going off to Port Adams, or Crime Alley. Signing orders. Putting bodies in Finger River.

Nobody’s innocent here, dollface.

“They trusted me.” Bruce’s voice interrupted my reminiscing with the ghosts of my past. “I know their death was hard, and you may still be recovering. I’m trying to do the best I can for you.” He finished. For all the gnashing teeth and avaricious expanses of Gotham City secrets, he looked tired.

“I know, Bruce.” I said quietly. “Me too.”

*

The following Tuesday, I got home from school and started on a mountain of homework I needed to do- some make up work as well. Christmas break was around the corner, and I was slowly losing motivation as the semester drew to a close. I had too many distractions; and tonight was no exception.

Ding.

My phone buzzed, and I looked down, eyebrows raising to find that it was a text from Jason- one that wasn’t just a pin dropped to a location.

Meet me at Twin Sharks. I’ll buy you a coffee.

- What’s the occasion?

No reply. I sighed. I should’ve called him and made him tell me, but I knew that I would go no matter what, so I decided to play the apathy card. Despite my cool response, my heart (the traitor) was fluttering like a bird. Was this about the kiss? Our partnership? Was it an actual, regular date? Or was he breaking it off? My mind raced, and as I pulled together a tasteful outfit and sprayed myself with perfume, I promised myself that it wasn’t for him.

The Twin Sharks was a diner in Upper West Side, near China town. It was nicer than the likes of Sherman’s, or anything else East End had to offer. The late afternoon was unexpectedly bright, clouds parted for a sweet reprieve of gold and blush in the sky. The sun was a striking blood-orange, hung low over the city. It struck a match in my chest- some childish, poetic hopefulness.

The diner’s door jingled, and I scanned the booths and tables. It was a little crowded, but I spotted Jason alone in a booth, his eyes cast down, involved with his phone. I made my way over to him, slipping off my coat and plopping down his opposite.

“Hey.” I said. His eyes fell upon me, and I saw something on his face- maybe surprise, or something to that effect- before he composed his expression into something unreadable.

“Hey.”

The diner had a big, hot pink neon sign that depicted a matching pair of sharks above the counter. Its buzzing glow mixed with the orange gleam of the lowering sun through the windows- it was all very rose-colored.

The waitress put a coffee in front of me, and I got to work on adorning it with the little cream and sugar packets on the table. He watched me do it for while.

“What?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

“Nothin’.” He said. Then, he reached across the table, and took my hand, pulling it back to him, and pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles. I was so startled by it that I dropped the sugar packet I was holding. Neither of us seemed to notice. He turned my hand over and placed another kiss in the inside of my wrist before returning it safely to my side of the table. I was certain my face burned like the neon sharks.

“I’m- um- is this a date?” I asked, trying to get him to say something- anything- to get my mind off the way he’d just reduced me to a puddle.

He looked amused by that. “You want it to be?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, stirring my coffee. “You invited me.”

He nodded, eyes falling away. “Yeah. I’ve got an update for you. D’amici business.”

“Oh.” By the look on his face, it wasn’t good news.

“You’re not gonna like it.”

“Perfect. My day’s been a little too good so far.” I said. He slid me his phone- on the screen was an article from the Gotham Quarterly.

Young Bride Found Murdered in Diamond District Estate

I read over it a couple times, brow furrowing. “You mean...“

“Penelope. It happened last night.”

“Shit.” I muttered, scrolling down and scanning through the article. My throat caught as I read over it. She was shot in her bed. “It says there’s no suspects.”

“Course it does. It’s the mafia. They handle things nice and quiet.”

“And I’m guessing you have a few a suspects.” He nodded grimly as I slid his phone back to him.

“One better. I know exactly who did it. I think you do, too.”

I put my head in my hands, mulling over my options. Really there was only one. Penelope’s beautiful, flustered face and apologetic eyes flashed through my mind. Her wind-chime laugh as we ate scones under the watchful eye of her adoring, peculiar grandmother.

“Okay.” I resolved. “Let’s get that girl justice.”

[yandere-daze]

Hellooo congratulations on 1400 followers !! (vry late srry,,)

for the promps, could i rq tsukasa with the tower, the sun and the hanged man?? Also hope you get more and more followers, your writing is one of my favorites ☆

Heya! Better late than never, as they say ^^ And omg thank you!! That´s so sweet of you to say, I feel very flattered to hear that you like my writing so much ☺️💕

tw yandere, obssession, possessiveness, mention of reader being harmed

The Tower - If this yandere saw their darling in danger, how would they respond/react?

Tsukasa sees himself as your own personal knight so when he sees that you´re in danger his goal is to protect you at all costs! When he is around, no one will be able to hurt you! He would do anything to prevent that! He´s dropping anything he´s doing at the moment and comes rushing to your aid. It´s his honorable duty to serve you after all!

How dare they think that they could ever lay a hand on you! A sacrilege like that shall not go unpunished. Tsukasa is part of the Suou family and thus has a lot of influence. He would try to hide his burning anger under a guise of calmness as he start interrogating the perpetrator, making thinly veiled threats that they shouldn´t dare to pick a fight with the Suou heir if they want to have a promising future. Normally he doesn´t like to hold his own status over other people´s heads but all rationality falls to the wayside when you are concerned.

Your safety is all that matters to him at that moment and Tsukasa won´t rest until these horrible people are punished for what they have done to you. So please stop crying, your honorable knight is here to protect you from any further harm!

The Sun - When would this yandere feel content with their situation?

A huge weight is lifted off Tsukasa´s shoulder once you accept his earnest confession. He loves you so wholeheartedly and now he can finally be sure that you feel the same way about him, he feels like nothing could tear you two apart now!

Of course, parts of his childish jealousy will always remain, his feelings for you aren´t quite normal after all but his possessiveness and intensity will dial back a considerable amount once you two are together.

Of course, the ultimate declaration of love would be marriage, which is definitely something Tsukasa is already planning for. You won´t mind, right?

The Hanged Man - Is controlling their darling important? Or do they want their darling to love them willingly?

Controlling you is not a goal in Tsukasa´s mind, all he wants is you to fall in love with him and adore him just as much as he does you. So yes, he would want you to love him willingly. He doesn´t see this as a sort of game for his own enjoyment, no! To him, this is true love!

He knows from what Arashi has told him that love needs time so he tries to be patient. Tsukasa tries his best to act like a gentleman in front of you to make you notice just how well he could take care of you. He wants you to fall for him on your own accord.

What´s the point in controlling you when that will just make you hate him? That´s the worst thing that could happen!

The only “controlling” part about him is that he wouldn´t want you to talk to certain people he doesn´t like, like Tori for example. He gets terribly upset in those cases.