#he should've executed him right here

[desmoonl]

Just rewatched that scene of Süleyman scolding Ibrahim for hiding Hürrem's letter from him and Ibrahim somehow turns it around and says that if Ayşe Hafsa is involved it goes way over his head. Like okay?? What does that have to do with him hiding her letter? so that Valide sultan doesn't punish him? as if Süleyman wouldn't find out that his wife has literal burn injuries on her face anyway

[0bticeo]

welcome to the show!

summary: vox sends you as a spy to the hazbin hotel. alastor decides to give him a show.

tw: voyeurism, biting, blood play, fingering, valentino mentioned. english isn't my mother tongue.

you're thrown in hell - quite literally. the fall from purgatory and its beasts was long, arduous, and painful.

you've led an ordinary life. woken up. worked. slept. repeatead. same old decaying matter as everything else. you didn't think too much of it, of course not. you were twenty something and rising slowly, steadily in your company as an esteemed lawyer. memento mori didn't ring a bell. maybe it should've.

now you're in hell, and you're burning with sheer, unbridled rage, because how dare they throw you in there? (you're all in hell for a reason. all of you, fangs and bad intentions bare to the world.)

you take up your old job at vox tech. lawyer for a corrupt company. old habits die harder than you do. there, there's the thrill of probing the opposing companies and sinking your fangs into them, corrupt little fox with a too wide smile on your face.

what you gather is this: velvette's sense of fashion involves too much purple, valentino is the embodiment of everything you hate and vox... vox is obsessed with the radio demon. he's disappeared not too long after being asked to join the vees. you'd know, you're the one who wrote the contract he refused to sign. bastard.

could've been fine, really. but they work you to the bone and treat you as little less than a glorified secretary. when valentino throws the cup of coffee you brought him to a board meeting with the other executives of the company, you slam the door on your way out and don't look back.

it goes like this: you've been in hell for a while, and you're done playing the part of the sinner. so you tell charlie morningstar when she greets you at the hazbin hotel.

she accepts you, welcomes you with, out of all things, a song. too much trouble for dear old you.

"nonsense! everyone deserves to be given their rightful importance!"

that one hit close home.

you don't have the time to thank her before she's introducing you to the staff and the rest of the hotel.

vaggie, staring you down with a suspicious eye, fingers itching to reach for her spear. ah. an angel. fascinating.

angel dust. you have to thank him for being here. after you murder him for calling you an enticing little vixen and winking at you.

husker. former overlord. sold his soul to the radio demon in a bad game of poker.

your hair stand at the back of your neck. static crackles in the air. your ear twitches. alastor's entered the game.

"alastor, it's a pleasure to meet you, quite the pleasure my dear!"

he brings your gloved hand to his lips. even through the thin leather, you can feel the warmth of his breath, the press of his teeth like a warning.

his grin deepens when you introduce yourself in turn. a glimmer of recognition flashes in his eye.

shit.

**

you've always liked to cook. there's something about the glimmering edge of a knife cutting thin slices of meat that appeases you. tonight, you crave some rabbit.

somewhere in the kitchen, the clock ticks the minutes away, time bleeding out. doesn't matter when you have eternity to atone for your sins. 

the watch at your wrist flashes. 2:37. of course, insomnia had to follow you down to hell. it served you at voxtech, back when you were pouring over contracts and meaningless paperwork.

you make your way towards the fridge, hoping to god you'll find something to satiate your appetite.

"ah, feeling peckish my dear?"

you startle.

alastor.

you turn, back facing the counter, resisting the urge to bare your fangs. there he is, slithering out of darkness, a spectre in red. you wonder if it's a reminder of the blood he's shed.

"what do you want?" you snarl.

he laughs, static buzzing in your ears. you blink. when your eyes open, he's inches away from your face, craning your neck towards him - he's tall, that fucker.

"why so aggressive, little vixen?"

his fingers dip down your shoulder, down your arm, until they close on your wrist. his teeth press against the bracelet of your watch, scraping the skin beneath, drawing a drop of blood. the screen glows, a faint blue light in the penumbra of the kitchen.

your breath catches in your throat. he's gorgeous, blue light draped over his hair like threads of moonlight.

he hums, the vibration settling low in your gut.

"i just want a little taste..."

you shiver at that. at the way he looks at you like he wants to devour you, consume you whole. at the way his tongue presses on the cut, lapping at the blood. you tense, biting back a soft, needy little sound.

his leg pushes your thighs apart. you don't realise you've been humping against the warmth of him until his hand settles on your hip, claws digging into your skin hard enough to draw blood.

"behave, little spy."

you laugh at that, baring your throat.

"was it really that obvious?"

he hums, clawed finger trailing down the column of your flesh, pressing against the jugular. he can feel your pulse, staccato little thing beating wildly as you look up at him, lips parted with want.

his smile stretches, impossibly wide.

"vox wouldn't have let his precious little lawyer go." his claws tap against your watch. "and i'd be a fool not to get a taste."

he kisses you. he kisses you, teeth nipping at your mouth until you can feel static against your tongue, until you arch your back against him. you whine, claws digging in his shirt, eager for more. of course, he pulls away. bastard.

"patience, my dear. all good things come to those who wait."

you scoff.

"because seven years and s'more weren't enough?"

a pause. his lips trail down your throat.

"i suppose that's fair."

he bites you, teeth sinking at the junction of your throat and shoulder. you keen, a breathless moan of his name as you feel him grind against you. you shouldn't let this happen. shouldn't revel in the warmth of him, body going limp in his grasp. shouldn't drag his hand towards your aching core, let him press his fingers against your slit and chuckle at how wet you are. you can't let him finger you on the kitchen's counter, can't mewl like a wanton whore.

you do.

you do, his name like a prayer on your lips, hips stuttering, desperate for release. you feel him against you, lapping at your flesh like a starved hound. when he lets you go, there's a spider-web thin string of blood connecting him to your shoulder.

the sight of him takes your breath away.

there he is, eyes half lidded, looking at you. there he is, blood, your blood, dripping down his lips, his chin.

he leans closer, watching you, the way your shiver at his every touch, as his free hand digs in the tender skin of your breast and sinks into the flesh.

oh.

something snaps in you - you're on fire, head thrown back in a silent cry of his name.

on your wrist, the watch flashes blue. alastor grasps your wrist in his hand, bringing it up. it's easy for vox to see you. you, disheveled, red fur a mess of sweat and blood, panting, cheek pressed against alastor's chest. you, nightgown hiked up to your hips. you, legs wrapped around alastor's waist, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder to muffle your moans as he drills his cock into you.

vox groans at the sight, pants growing too tight.

the radio demon smiles.

"hope you enjoyed the show, old pal!"

[niki-phoria]

‧₊˚✩ chishiya, arisu, and kuina's habits they get from dating you

warnings: ooc chishiya, mentions of blood, not exactly canon divergent but i kinda expanded on canon (??), kuina's mom being sick

a/n: most of these probably should've been full fics but i want to write more reactions so here we are

gn reader (no pronouns used)

requests open !! read my rules first

‧₊˚✩ chishiya

word count 411 jack of hearts chishiya >>>

playing with your hands

you pull the chair back, sliding into the seat next to chishiya. he’s sure to sit between you and niragi, leaning back in the seat. arisu stands awkwardly at the edge of the room. his gaze remains focused on the only person he’s seen before - chishiya. 

chishiya raises his hand, waving at him similarly to the way he did in ‘tag.’ ann, mira, and kuzuryu sit on the other side of the table. aguni shifts across from kuzuryu, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. finally, hatter stands at the head of the table. he dramatically raises his arms.

“welcome beach executives,” he bellows before glancing over at arisu. “and potential executive.” he sighs, pushing his hair back and sitting down in the chair. “we are here to debate whether or not a new executive should be instated.” 

next to you, chishiya subtly pulls his left hand from his pocket, reaching over to grab yours. it’s not an uncommon reaction, especially since you’ve become more comfortable in your relationship. he almost does it unconsciously as he casually intertwines your fingers together before stuffing your hands back into his pocket. 

the meeting drones on around you. their voices all blend together as you impatiently wait for the meeting to conclude. after a few minutes of arguing, hatter stands once again. “it’s decided. arisu will be tested, and if he passes, the beach will gain a new executive. this meeting is concluded.” he walks to the door before glancing over his shoulder. “arisu, i’d like to speak to you more. do join me.”  

you ignore arisu’s nervous look as you follow chishiya out of the room. both of you slip through the various different passageways further into the beach. he leads you to his makeshift workshop, only letting go of your hand to begin working on yet another kerosene bomb. 

you lean back against the table as you watch him tinker away. once complete, he slowly feeds the mess of wires into the metal soda can. he passes it to you, hands holding yours for a second longer than necessary. you smile, setting it aside on the table. “you always do that.” 

chishiya raises an eyebrow. “do what?” 

“hold my hand.” he doesn’t react, instead looking away as he glances for another can. but the light flush on his ears is enough confirmation for you. he’s always searching for you, even when you’re standing right next to him. 

always thinking of you

word count 456

the rest of the players crowd around into groups, forming little cliques. they nervously glance around at the other players when they aren’t taking turns turning around and exposing their symbol, relying on the trust of the group to be truthful. 

you observe them from your place at a table in the cafeteria, silently watching. this is nothing new for chishiya - picking up on the little details about people is how he’s been able to survive in the borderland for so long. but as the games become increasingly difficult and your situation becomes more dire, you find yourself replicating his mannerisms. 

chishiya glances over his shoulder at you momentarily before refocusing on the wall of snacks before him. it’s all junk food, but junk is better than nothing. you probably won’t be able to eat much while trying to complete the rest of the games and avoiding the king of spades, he reasons. 

a woman stands at the edge of the shelves, watching him. he reaches out to grab a packet of cookies, opening the bag and taking a bite of one. he glances over at her before nonchalantly raising the packet. “you should try them,” he says. “they’re the best ones.” the woman doesn’t respond. instead, she simply slips back behind the shelf to where her group is. 

despite chishiya’s insistence about his personal choice being the best cookies, he pauses when something catches his eye. this bag is a deep blue. it’s wrapped in plastic instead of the paper he holds against his chest. they’re vanilla. from the look alone he can tell that he won’t enjoy the artificial sweetness, but something makes him take a packet before he goes to find you. they’re your favorite. 

chishiya silently sits down next to you, placing his packet of cookies on the seat beside him. you subtly move closer so your shoulders brush, leaning over to see what he picked. “i didn’t take you for the cookie type.” 

“it’s good to know i can still surprise you, then.” his initial hesitance of which snack to choose immediately disappears as your face lights up when he slides the blue packet to you. 

“i didn’t know they had these!” chishiya is unable to fully suppress his smile, allowing his lips to curl upwards slightly. “thank you.” 

“i thought you would like them.” 

“you know me so well,” you hum, opening the packet before holding out one for him. “want one?” 

chishiya was right when he thought that he wouldn’t enjoy the artificial taste of the vanilla. but when you smile up at him, happily eating another, he realizes he’d be content to eat overly sweet cookies for the rest of his life - as long as it’s with you.

‧₊˚✩ arisu

constantly talking about you (pre-borderland au)

word count 425

“hey, check this out!” chota takes a packet of ramen from the shelf, holding it up. arisu squints, stepping forwards to read the words. the packaging is pink, decorated with a picture of the noodles and… strawberry? 

karube reaches out to grab it, reading the words. “strawberry shortcake ramen?” he reads, raising an eyebrow at chota. “seriously?” 

“why not?” chota shrugs, returning to look through the various options. 

“sure, man,” karube chuckles. “whatever you want.” 

arisu smiles, shaking his head. he picks out a bowl of instant ramen, tucking it in between his arm and holding it against his chest to cook later. from the corner of his eye, a different packet catches his eye. it’s spicy - spicier than he would normally eat. but it’s perfect for you. he doesn’t realize the small smile unconsciously spreading across his face as he imagines the scene. 

going home to you after a day spent with chota and karube, pulling out the noodles, dancing around the kitchen together as you let them overcook on the stove, you teasing him as he tries to eat them and then has to desperately drink milk to soothe his burning mouth. 

he’s brought back to reality when karube places a hand on his shoulder. he leans in with a raised eyebrow, kneeling down to be eye level with him. “are you crazy?” he teases, gesturing to the packet in arisu’s hand. “we all know you can’t eat that.” 

“y/n will like it,” he says. he doesn’t notice the shared glance between chota and karube. 

“wow, man, you’re whipped.” chota comments. 

“seriously, i didn’t think it would get worse than that time he left in the middle of a match because y/n wanted to cuddle,” karube laughs. 

arisu purses his lips, unable to deny their teasing. he knows he’s whipped, or a simp, or a dumb lovestruck fool, or whatever else people want to call him - but he doesn’t care. going home to you, kissing under your kitchen lights, falling asleep to a bad sitcom wrapped in your arms, it’s all worth it. 

so instead of denying it or putting the ramen back, he lets them joke as he follows them to the register. he pays extra for the second packet before rejoining karube and chota by the window of the convenience store. “hey,” karube leans over to pat his shoulder. “in all seriousness, we’re glad you found someone like y/n. we’re proud of you.”

arisu smiles, refocusing on the bowl of instant ramen in front of him. “thank you.” 

trusts you with his life

word count 701 got a little carried away whoops

usagi’s hand stays firmly on the boy’s shoulder, subtly standing in front of him. “don’t worry,” she whispers when she kneels down next to him. “i’ll protect you.” he nods a little before she stands up. 

“we need to go,” you whisper. arisu nods, grabbing your hand as you follow usagi through the structure and up the stairs. other players chasing each other echo along the metal. arisu’s grip on your hand remains tight. he’s nervous- you can tell. he glances at you every now and then, pulling you through the different structures.

“queen’s turn ends. player’s turn begins.” the announcement chimes. you pant, leaning back against the metal. arisu never lets go of your hand, leaning down on his knees to catch his breath. 

“we need to find the other players,” usagi says. “if we can convince them to help us then we can win this.” you nod, squeezing arisu’s hand. “let’s split up. we’ll find more people that way.” 

“meet back here at every round.” arisu says. you note the area, before forcing yourself up, running off in search of the other players. 

arisu curses as you follow him up the winding metal structures. it’s a dead end.you look down over the edge, and then over his shoulder. a chain hangs down from somewhere above. “you need to grab onto that chain,” you point. arisu looks at what you’re pointing at before looking back at you. 

“are you crazy?” 

“look, there’s nowhere else to go!” he seems unconvinced, looking down at the ground below. you reach over to hold his face in your hands, turning him to face you. “do you trust me?” 

arisu nods immediately. “of course i do.” 

“then i need you to grab onto the chain and swing. i’ll catch you, i promise.” he glances back at the chain before nodding. 

“okay.” 

the queen catches up to you seconds later, smirking as she pants. “looks like your luck has finally run out.” you push arisu behind you, standing between them. 

“i wouldn’t call it luck.” she narrows her eyes at you, stepping closer. “arisu, now!” 

he jumps off of the edge of the structure, grabbing onto the chain. you push the queen away, putting distance between yourself and her. you grab arisu when he swings back, helping him down from the chain as you begin running again. 

once you’re sure you’ve lost the queen in the maze of her game, you give yourself a few minutes to relax. arisu leans back against the wall, panting. “thank you,” he whispers. you reach over to grab his hand, nodding.

you lean back against the metal railing for support. “this is the final round for the players,” the announcement chimes. “after this round, the game will end.” a man wearing a bike helmet nods at you before running off towards the left. you take his cue to go right, running  to the area where you agreed to meet up with arisu and usagi, finding them already there. usagi pats your shoulder as you lean up to look up at arisu. 

“there’s only two more players on the queen’s team,” she pants. “we can do this.” you nod, running through in search of any other players. you press the button on a man’s back, sending him to the ground from the shock. “sorry,” you whisper, kneeling down next to him to make sure he’s okay. you lean over the edge of the structure again, reading the scoreboard. 19 players vs. 01 queen. you let out a relieved sigh, making your way over to the area where you first entered the game. 

a few other players are already there, standing around and watching the time tick down. the boy rushes over to your side, standing next to you. you place a hand on his shoulder, watching the timer. “it’ll be okay,” you whisper. he nods, eyes glued to the screen. 

arisu rushes over to your side, quickly followed by usagi. he immediately pulls you into a quick hug. you wrap your arms around his shoulders, keeping him close to you. “y/n,” he sighs. “i’m glad you’re okay.” 

“me too,” you pant. he presses a quick kiss against your temple. 

‧₊˚✩ kuina

doing everything for two

kuina sets the pot over the makeshift stove she created, using the fire to heat the water. a box of noodles sits beside her as she waits for it to boil. the store is almost eerily quiet, the flickering overhead lights being the only other source of noise. 

word count 532 there are literally NO kuina gifs and it makes me so sad ://

she pulls her knees up to her chest as she waits. when the water becomes uninteresting, she finds herself staring at the picture she took from the wall of her mother’s hospital room. she remembers that day clearly, valuing it as one of the most important moments of her life. she was younger when her mother had first been diagnosed. she nervously clutched the straps of her bag as the nurse guided her to the room, leaving them alone in the room. she remembers how her mother had gasped, eyes welling with tears before she wrapped her into a hug for the first time in years, whispering about how she was a beautiful young woman. 

kuina remembers calling you in her car immediately afterwards, happy tears rolling down her cheeks. she remembers the excitement in your voice as she told you the good news and the taste of the noodles you surprised her with when she arrived home. that was the night she fell in love with you. 

she sighs, refocusing on the pot of water. it’s boiling now. she slowly pours the noodles in, stirring them around with a pair of wooden chopsticks she found in the hospital’s cafeteria. it’s only once they finish cooking and she fishes them out of the pot that she realizes she has too much food just for herself. she made enough for two. enough for you.

she curses the tears that build in her eyes. the hope of you being alive fades with each day, let alone being able to find you. a noise at the doors of the store startles her. her body stiffens, anxiously peeking behind a shelf to see who’s there. 

the breath escapes her lungs when she does. bloodied, dirty, and standing on shaky knees, you stand there. you lean against the wall to catch your breath. kuina clambers to her feet, rushing over to you. “y/n?” 

your eyes blink open at the mention of your name. your voice is breathless when you speak. “kuina?” 

she runs to you, wrapping you into a hug. you’re quick to reciprocate, hiding your face into her shoulder. “i was so worried about you,” she whispers, pulling away enough to brush the hair out of your face. “how did you find me?” 

“i figured you would go to the hospital. when you weren’t there, i thought i would check the grocery store next.” kuina doesn’t notice the tears rolling down her cheeks until your hand brushes one away. “don’t cry, baby, i’m here.” 

she smiles through the tears, nodding. “are you hurt?” 

you shake your head. “i’m alright.” 

kuina traces her hand along your jawline. she can’t wait any longer, pressing her lips against yours in a sweet kiss. you smile when she pulls away. “i made food. it’s your favorite.” 

you press another peck against her lips, pulling her a little closer again. “thank you.”

always touching you

“hi,” you smile, lowering your head into a quick bow. they’re quick to reciprocate. “i’m l/n y/n.” 

word count 527

“y/n,” kuina smiles, reaching out to grab your hand as you sit down beside her. there are two people sitting on the beach chair across from her. you recognize them as being the beach’s newest recruits. 

“usagi yazuha,” the woman smiles. her hair is short, cut into a chin length bob. her forehead bangs frame her face nicely. she’s wearing a peach jacket and black biker shorts. 

“arisu ryoehi.” his hair is longer than hers. he’s wearing a white t-shirt and blue swim trunks. they both look uncomfortable surrounded by the frenzy of drunk beach members. 

“don’t worry,” kuina chuckles. “we don’t bite. there are drinks pretty much everywhere, and drugs, if you’re into that.” 

“which games have you played?” you ask. 

they detail how they first met during tag before meeting up again in a club game. kuina grows even closer to you through the course of the night as you laugh and joke around with your newfound friends. her arm interlinks with yours, body leaning into your side. 

in the mix of shared drinks and laughter, she eventually ends up on your lap. you wrap your arm around her waist, both to hold her up as she leans against you and to keep her warm. you’re all too familiar of how cold the beach gets during the night, especially when your girlfriend is only wearing a bikini. 

the night continues on, party raging around you. usagi had decided to find a room in the hotel once the ocean breeze became less of a slight annoyance and more of an unrelenting wind. the night continues to blur as kuina and arisu continue drinking and joking around together. 

“you two are cute together,” arisu’s words slur together as he smiles at you. kuina reciprocates, taking another small sip of her beer. 

“so are you two,” she smiles. 

“ah, we’re not dating,” he sighs. 

“really?” she cocks her head at him. “you should ask her out. she totally likes you!” 

arisu nods to himself, contemplating. “maybe i will.” 

“babe,” you whisper, running your hand against her side. “it’s getting late. we should head to bed.” 

“you’re right,” she hums, finishing off the rest of her beer. 

“i should probably get some sleep too.” arisu nods. 

“the rooms are all unlocked. just pick one that’s empty. we don’t really keep track of room numbers or anything.” kuina wraps her arm around your shoulder, leaning into your chest. 

“thanks,” arisu smiles. “it was nice meeting you guys.” 

“you too!” kuina clings to you as you lift her body, carrying her away from the pool and into your shared room. you use your elbow to open the door before setting her body down on the bed. you set a bottle of water on the table beside her and prepare a trash can just in case before sliding underneath the covers beside her. “i love you,” she smiles, moving to lay on your chest. you pull the blanket up over her body, rubbing your hand against her back. 

“i love you too.”

[heeliopheelia]

"i've missed you" (heeseung x reader)

genre: light angst, fluff word count: 1.3k requested by @probably-too-obssessed ♡

warnings: mentions of a break up, exes to lovers, crying

a/n: was the plan in my head perfect: yes. do i like the execution:... okay, ik this ain't technically a drabble but bear with me!! but anyways, we're officialy more than half done with the 1k event yayy!!

masterlist

Wiping the sleep out of your eyes, you make your way past the living room to answer the door. Knowing that only the closest people to you know the code to your apartment block's stairway, you can't help but worry as you approach the knocking on your door at such early hour. Has something happened? Did someone get hu-?

Suddenly more awake than a second before, you gape at ex-boyfriend in shock. Wide eyes scan his face, his brows slightly furrowed as he chews on his bottom lip, fingers twitching by his thighs. And you can't help but notice that he looks... the same. Yes, a little more mature now compared to the few years ago, features more defined than before but that's still most definitely Heeseung. Your Heeseung.

"What are you doing here?" You ask quietly, feet rooted into the floor as cold winter air sweeps from the stairway and engulfs your thinly-clothed body. You try to pretend that this sudden coolness is the cause of the shiver that runs down your spine but at the same time you know well that it's all because of Heeseung's relentless eyes placed on you.

"Hi," he breathes out and feels his heart coming up to his throat. Fuck, you're even prettier than he remembered. He clears his throat. "Can I come in?"

Somehow you muster the courage to nod your head and move back to open the door wider for him. As he sets his foot in your apartment, an instant wave of nostalgia and longing fills his heart to the brim and for the first time in three years Heeseung doesn't feel this void that's been constantly eating him from the inside. And it's all after spending only a minute with you again.

"I've missed you," he blurts out without wasting any more time, watching as your shoulders visibly tense. He takes a step closer and then one more, moving to stand right in front of you. "I'm sorry it took me so long to say it."

Pressing your lips together, you hide the trembling of your fingers by clenching them on the fabric of the shirt you've been sleeping in. His shirt which only now you seem to realize to be wearing and so does Heeseung as his eyes soften. And it makes him hope that maybe you too, after all this time, still keep a place in your heart for him.

Your heart pounds in your chest.

"You–," you stutter out, head full of running thoughts. Why is he here now? What's caused him to go against his manager and contract and show up at your door at 5 am? "Heeseung, where is this all coming from?"

"Ever since the night I broke up with you, there hasn't been a day without you on my mind." You can clearly see the distress and pain marring his soft features. "I'm sorry I fucked up, I never should've ended things with you back then."

And yes, you've missed him too. Yes, you've thought about him way too much for someone who's supposed to be over the relationship for at least two years now. But it's Heeseung after all. How does one simply move on from him?

But you keep a brave face and decide to be the more reasonable one out the two of you for once in your entire life. "There's nothing to apologize for, don't be ridiculous"

He scoffs, running his hand through his thick hair from frustration. "I was selfish. I dropped you for fame–"

"You left me for your dreams, Heeseung," you interrupt him with a scolding look. "And you did the right thing. I'd never want to be the one holding you back. Stop being so self-critical."

His eyes soften and he breathes out, all the tension leaving his body. "You could never hold me back, YN. I hate that only now I realized that you were the only thing that's kept me grounded. I'm no one without you."

Your heart stutters when his hands reach out and envelop your slightly trembling ones. "I don't know, Hee. There's just... There's so much happening right now, I can't think straight."

"I still love you." His words knock all the air out of your lungs and you swear you're falling. "After all this time, there's never been anyone else but you, love. I'd drop everything in an instant if you asked me to give my all to you right now. Everything loses its value when you're not there with me, I've learnt it the hard way."

"I–"

Your quiet stumbling gets cut off by his hands suddenly loosing their grip on yours. You watch as realization tinted with fear slowly creeps up on his beautiful face. All of sudden, Heeseung feels all of his muscles tensing as his heart drops down his chest, heavy and aching.

Already dreading your answer, he asks. "Do you... Do you have someone?"

"N-No!" You stutter out quickly, hands suddenly gaining a mind of their own as they desperately clutch on his again, heart wrenching as you already miss his touch even though he hasn't even fully pulled away. "I couldn't. Not after you."

"Then give us another try," he breathes out, chest feeling almost fifty pounds lighter at your quiet confession. His fingers quickly intertwine with yours as he pulls you closer with one tug. Your heart stalls when he leans down and starts kissing away the tears that you haven't even noticed started dropping down your cheeks. "All I want is you, YN. And there will never be anyone but you for me."

His lips trail down your cheeks, peppering kisses all over your jawline and chin and before you can even blink, your mouths are moving together in despair. The kiss is soaked and dripping with longing and love as you both pour all of the emotions from deep within into it. Even when your lips start to slightly burn from the saltiness of your tears and Heeseung's harsh sucks, you never even think of pulling away just for a second. It's only your muffled sob that makes the two of you part.

"I missed you so much," you cry out, trembling hand coming up to cover the bottom of your wet face. It doesn't take long for him to gently pull it away and bring it closer to him, pressing his warm lips to your knuckles. You sniffle, only to feel more tears following down your cheeks. "I've watched your every single performance, you know?" You chuckle shortly trough the sobs. The smile you sent him is wobbly and teary but so full of love it makes Heeseung feel the happiest he's been for the past couple years. "I'm so proud of you."

Your words impact him harder than he would ever admit, so before you can get the glimpse of his own eyes becoming glistening, he pulls you by your face and kisses you again, swallowing each one of your sobs and whimpers. Your hands tightly cling onto his hoodie as you find yourself becoming putty underneath his touch again. His slim fingers brush away the hair that got stuck onto your teary face, his caresses so gentle you can't help but feel your legs buckling slightly, so taking two steps backwards, you pull him on the couch along with you.

"I love you too," you whisper somewhere in between your ceasing cries and his kisses.

At that, Heeseung pulls himself up on his elbows to take in your pretty face. The face that he couldn't erase from his mind for all these years. The face that kept him awake every night until he passed out from exhaustion. The face that he loves more than anything else in this world.

And damn him if he ever found anything else that brought him as close to heaven as the sight of your swollen lips parted with a smile, blush spread over your cheeks as your eyes fill up with sparkles, looking at him as if he's collected all the stars from the sky and gave them to you. And fuck, if you really ever asked him to give you the entire moon itself, he knows that he would somehow find a way to make it happen. Because he would do absolutely anything and everything to make you happy. Even if it meant giving up his entire career – he will not make the same mistake twice and lose you again, now knowing that nothing is worth of the pain that being without you has put him through.

permanent taglist: @bambisgirl @arizejkt19 @luvmura @milisabunny @cathy-1997 @satoruskitchenrag @ramenoil @jenjnk @jaylaxies @yoongspi

[osamucide]

⊹ YOU CAN BE THE BOSS

ACT I: HE HAD A CIGARETTE WITH HIS NUMBER ON IT.

wc: 3.1k

cw: alternate universe, pm boss!dazai, pm+gn!afab!reader, alcohol, cigarettes, implied/referenced drug use, canon-typical violence and referenced violence, implied/referenced ilicit activities including but not limited to prostitution, extortion, drug dealing, and fraud, kind of exposition heavy+not proofread sorry, more specific chapter warnings to come with each

reid: after losing almost all of it, chapter one is here! i hope you enjoy - im excited for whats to come. do let me know where you see this going, and if you'd liked tagged <3

⊹ SCENE I: He gave it over to me, “Do you want it?”

You consider it with an interest masked well-enough by years of practiced stoicism. If there’s one thing the mafia has taught you, it’s to never give anything up easily—not your money, not your body, not your time, not your interest. But the end of the filter touts a brand you've never heard of before, and the man who holds it in your direction, hands deceivingly delicate, is almost too well-known to you.

You are already smoking a cigarette of your own (albeit a brand likely far cheaper and less foreign), but then you spot the writing. A phone number.

Your eyes flick up to his. Dark. Dark as the night you stand in on the rooftop. The lights from the LED floor below, twitching with color, paint him deep red for a moment.

You bow only slightly, as smoothly as you can—that was the first thing you probably should've done, would’ve done if you weren’t a few cocktails deep, but the smirk already on his face—one you knew for a fact you’ve never seen through his own rehearsed mask throughout all the years you’ve worked for him—just cracks deeper.

"Boss," you address him, shuffling your drink into the same hand as your lit smoke before reaching to take the unlit invitation. "Need me to run it?" The number, you mean. Regardless of what implications are initially prompted by a phone number, you settle it on taking it as he needs it traced immediately, and you need to settle on something before you start stuttering at where the nuances of this seconds-long interaction have taken your silly little brain so far. You were mostly on the ground, giving up time and other things when and where you needed in order to get what you wanted—what you needed, and more importantly what the Port Mafia needed, but you'd skulked around intelligence enough to know standard prodecure, and right now you have, at the very least, your personal device and your work phone on you. You were nearby. He had a job for you. For someone. For anyone. That's all.

"No, no," he speaks in a cadence like a fairy jumping from one cloud to another as he taps his own smoke out of the pack. He feels his pockets and looks to you. "My personal phone number. Light?”

Oh, you almost verbalize it, but you're tucking the information in your shirt pocket so quickly and absentmindedly at the following command (if you could even call it a command—it's more a request, but anything he might ask of you, especially directly, certainly holds the weight of a command) before scrambling for your lighter. Any assignment you might be sent on would regularly be passed from him to one of the executives to a subexecutive to your division leader to you, never skipping those middlemen. You hardly ever met with the man who employed you throughout your years at the Port—you could count on less than one hand the times you had—so you look to him, confused, as you open a flame for him, but he just leans forward, dark eyes lit and melted brown for a single second as he cups a lithe hand around the end of the cigarette and puffs, puffs, silently. He almost looks like a kid. Not a god. Just a twenty-something in some club lights. But he is, indeed, more than that, you know. The first bit of smoke flies toward your face. You feel the need to step back, but he does first.

That relaxed, cryptic half-smile returns as he nods his thanks.

You bow again, so shallowly it feels like a crime—even, or maybe especially, among the company you're in—before you can flinch at the realization of where you are, what you're doing, who exactly is in front of you.

You drink often, sure, but clubbing is a luxury, and clubbing in one of Yokohama's most exclusive rooftop lounges is even more rare to come by, but the Port had recently made consequential strides in swaying a legislation to expand on both the individual and business rights of ability users, and the boss—the very man in front of you, who used successes like this as an excuse to get fucked up just as much as anyone else in the organization—is now putting his subexecs as well as his political allies and prospects up in hotels, buying them hundred-thousand yen bottles of wine, hooking everyone up with the best drugs for the low, showing his fucking face and painting himself as best businessman he can possibly be and if you're honest, the subtlety so coy it's almost theatrical and that sick little smile he wears would’ve worked on you if you weren’t so lost. He's notoriously cunning, always had been, even when he was young. His displays of grandeur, penchant for the dramatic—you certainly wouldn’t be alone in saying it only makes him more terrifying.

You're going to chalk it up in your liquor-fuzzed brain to just that—the fuzz of the liquor. But he doesn't seem especially intoxicated, nor has he done anything especially attention-stealing, and yet, here you are, lips parted for words as you watch a ring of smoke curl around him. You feel stupid for thinking he’s ever looked in your direction before this moment. Maybe he doesn't even realize you're one of his employees.

But no, all of what he does, and this you know about him, even if you're unsure what he knows about you, none of it is without motive. So you wonder what his aim is here.

“Pardon me, sir,” you continue, slowly, mindful that your tongue might be a little loose. Not like you socialized with many people on occasions such as this, let alone your boss. The boss. “But for what?”

He looks briefly as if he doesn't hear you. With his face turned to the sky and the filter on his lips, you do your best not to stare. The lights are not doing his sharp features any disservice.

“To call me.”

You wind yourself tight so you don't reel. He says it so casually; he examines the smoke between his fingers like it's an expensive piece of jewelry. A tremble threatens you. You're glad he's still turned to the stars. A pull off your cigarette, a sip of your drink. An inaudible sigh of amazement. Confusion.

The world becomes red from below again as his eyes slide back to yours.

“You’ll call me,” his voice softens in a way that catches you off-guard more than anything else he’s done thus far, “right?”

You try to recount everything you’ve done over the past few years. Surely this isn’t a ploy, right? Your loyalty to the Port is virtually unwavering. If you’d done anything wrong, you weren’t aware of it. In fact, you pride yourself on how many fingers you still have compared to how many you've seen cut off at the first knuckle. Still, he was famed in his youth for his capability to torture without mercy. You’ve seen plenty, but even you hate to imagine some of the things you've heard.

Your pounding pulse registers in your consciousness; you've pinched the filter of your cigarette so long that it’s gone out. What can you say? Or rather, what can’t you say? You must look exceptionally thoughtful in the lifetime-long space of the half-second it actually takes you to respond because, really, whether you want to or not, whether it dragged anxiety up your throat, you would do it anyway. How are you supposed to say no to the man in front of you, the leader of the Port Mafia, or worse—lie and not follow through? That itself might warrant some sort of accusation. Some sort of trouble you don't want. If you knew for a fact it was that, truthfully, you would've thrown yourself at his feet like a dog and began apologizing immediately.

But no, this would be roundabout, even for him. He's extravagant, but he's mechanical, too. A grandiose machine. He could shoot you between your eyes right now and maintain his balance, his image, whatever he wants. If he wanted you dead, you suppose you wouldn’t be standing against the rooftop railing with the sweat of your drink dripping through your fingers. So you answer, dutifully.

“Yes, sir.”

And in your good training you even raise the corners of your lips to mirror his. A defensive move away from a man you should probably feel safer with than you do. Your boss. The boss.

Defensive. For what?

Cryptic. He smiles again, vacant and chilling. You can only hope you hold enough of an air to match.

And he disappears back into the pulsing nightlife as wordlessly as he’d emerged from it. Only after he's gone do you let yourself look aghast. Your lips, slightly parted. Your smoke, tamped. The ice in your drink watering it down. Your eyes unfocused. You feel suddenly more drunk, and you didn’t know if it's for better or for worse.

It isn't really complicated—the reason you're with the mafia. You're resilient and hardworking and you're too aware that traditional routes of employment are decreasingly offering security to honest people with drive anymore and all the more, honestly, you’ve been slipping through the cracks for as long as you can remember. Although you have scars to show for it and a list of dirty laundry to do each week, the Port has yet to steer you wrong. Your integrity is celebrated. You justify a whole hell of a lot of what you do by telling yourself it isn’t all bad—the legislation that would come to pass soon, for example, largely thanks to the influence of the leaders of your faction, would benefit more gifteds around Yokohama—throughout Japan, even—than just those in the mafia. You understand yourself as a common person doing what you need to get by, and really, who wasn't? Your work gets done with the interest of the unfortunate majority you've always been a part of in mind, more than any stuffy office job could ever claim to be.

And your boss, for as horrifying of a man as he's known to be, runs an operation that's put more money in your pocket in the last few years than working your way up the ladder of some miserable corporate office would in a lifetime. You're comfortable. Safe, by your own standards. Happy, even, after your few and fair promotions within your division over the years.

Happy as you can be, anyway. And maybe that’s what this is: another promotion, if it wasn't an invitation to get your ass beat on your personal time. Everything about either of those seems more likely than an opportunity to get anywhere near him on equal ground or whatever lit up in your brain at first before you shoved it down, turned it off like the good soldier you are. Your stomach twists either way. You imagine your name after the title division leader.

So you’ll call him. But right now, you down the rest of your drink and seek out the bar—the open bar which he had paid for for the entire night—sure to tumble yourself into overserved territory with one more.

"Same thing." You waggle your empty glass at the bartender as one of your divisionmates stumbles to your side, drink of her own empty in her hand.

Her name is Iyomi, and you've had enough amicable interactions with her to consider her a friend. Maybe that's stupid in the mafia; it certainly goes against your original philosophy—from some years ago when you were younger and maybe even more jaded than you were now—which was that you were here to fly solo, get your work done, stay quiet, and find time to repair the parts of yourself you had so long sought the stability in order to do. But you're older now—still jaded, undoubtedly, but you've lost that certain determination that's only available to the youth; anymore, you feel a hopelessness about you that grows like a tumor, and it makes things difficult to take seriously. You're dying, and so is everyone, and that's why you will let yourself get so wasted tonight. Your bartender slides your glass back to you, and Iyomi latches onto your arm.

"Is that—was—were you just talking to the boss?" She slurs loudly and incredulously, and you hush her, hush her, laugh because you can't help it, hush her again. She moves on soon enough; she's swaying, flagging down the bartender, complaining that she hasn't been able to find her friend and her drinks have not been strong enough all evening, but even in the state you're in, you consider motioning for someone to fill her glass with water instead of whatever neon blue concoction she's been downing.

When you shuffle back to your post on the railing to light another cigarette (not the one with the number on it, pointedly), Iyomi follows you like a loyal dog. It's a bit endearing, how you're seasoned enough in your work that newer recruits tend to look up to you—people like Iyomi soften your stony heart a bit, so you let her start up again.

"That's—I don't think I've ever even spoken to him, like, ever—like, what was he—bleh!" She waves your smoke away from her face as it stings her eyes and puts a few inches between you; granted, she was falling all over you. You can't help your smile.

"It was nothing. Tell you the truth, I think he's as drunk as the rest of us," you said. You remind yourself to relax a little to avoid incrimination on behalf of your shaking hands. You could probably play it off as the nicotine, but Iyomi's too plastered to notice anyway.

"So strange!" she giggles, adopting your pose—elbows rested on the rail, feet crossed at the ankle. "Anyway, I saw Akane dancing with one of Nakahara's subexecs, and I wasn't gonna say anything but I think they left together and I..."

She continues to chatter in the sweet voice of hers, and you scan the rooftop for any sign of the boss. He's disappeared. It was about the time of the night (or morning, rather) when people were doubling over sick, passing out in their VIP seating, damning themselves to a tomorrow of work with a thrumming hangover. You decide you'll help yourself to a few more drinks, maybe dance with Iyomi, and then go home. The cigarette in your suit jacket pocket is heavy like a gun.

⊹ SCENE II: . . . I knew it was wrong, but I palmed it.

If you're honest—which you are often, as previously established (your correspondence with Iyomi last night aside)—you can't remember getting back to your apartment.

You remember very well talking to the boss. You remember agreeing to call him. You remember smoking cigarette after cigarette until you finally did leave, but the leaving itself is blurry—you think you'd walked most if not all the way back if your sore calf muscles were anything to go by, but you end up fishing a crumpled train ticket out of your jacket pocket the next morning with the cigarette.

The cigarette. You let it roll side to side in your palm before it settles.

The writing is less than neat, but impressive enough for obivously being done on the tubing after it was rolled. Treasurer is what the filter reads, beneath an elegant printed seal. Unknown brand of pen ink disregarded, you briefly wonder about the monetary value of the thing in your hand. He's daunting to you—the boss and all his wealth and influence, even in the privacy of your home.

After tucking it neatly between two books on the decorative table near your slider, you shake the feeling and go about your day.

It's less than notable. You run into colleagues who were shitfaced just six hours ago. Some are very obviously still hopped up on something. You flash your teeth and play nice with everyone, just as always, despite the slight headache thumping at the inside of your skull. You're usually never achy after a night of indulging—it had to be all those damn cigarettes you smoked.

You do your little to-do's. You go represent your division at a meeting in a bar with your branch's subexec, and you're surprised to see the executive your division falls under there—her name is Koyou, and she's a stunning woman with scarlet hair and a voice that's always set you slightly on edge. She never says much, and this meeting is no different; she nods, she hums, she drinks a glass of wine and speaks a total of seven words before you're dismissed. You follow up with your division leader on the meeting—routine reporting, monthly headcount, housecleaning—as well as some paperwork about a small foreign syndicate your division had been assigned to sniff out. Everything's in order and nothing's come of the group. Not yet, anyway. Everyone's in good spirits in light of the recent private endorsement. Your overtime pay could increase soon enough, so it's enough to keep you regarding your associates with pleasantries throughout the day.

And you get home, unreasonably tired from scampering around the bars the rest of the evening. You had little to drink, only one at each, but you're warm enough and your headache's disappeared completely and you remember the cigarette on your little table.

The sliding door leads out to a balcony—a modest one, but it allows you to recline with a smoke, so it's all you'll ever need.

You're seated when you glare down the number again. Your pack is on the little table—the one outside, almost identical to the one just inside your door but more built for withstanding the elements—but you punch the number into your contacts and snatch up your lighter before you can wonder if the next day is too soon. Or, if any longer would lack punctuality and respect for the boss's time. Or what this is at all. What are you doing?

You almost feel stupid again as your thumb hovers over the "call" button. This is something you will have to face. This is something you will have to do. Isn't it?

You stick the filter of the Treasurer between your lips and flick your lighter. The 0 at the end of the number goes up in ash.

And it rings.

It rings a few times, and you don't expect anything other than that from here on out. In fact, through your first puff off this exquisite tobacco, you resign yourself to lowering all your expectations for this. You're nervous in one way, but you're dying in another. Maybe either your hands are holding the thing that'll do it. Whatever. You're tipsy enough. It's nighttime and no one can see you but God.

You're ashing the Treasurer into your tray as the line clicks and your name is spoken in a voice you can't mistake. One that, too, sets you on edge. But you play the part right now, for no one but yourself. Maybe for God.

"Boss," you respond, softly, dutifully. Your smoke dissipates on the quiet breeze.

"I'm glad you called."

[republicsglory]

i think the faeries of cookie run kingdom in general are a waste and that's really sad </3

okay, face it. faeries are already a banger concept, and kingdom's twist on them is really unique! and very ironic — fae are often depicted to be allergic to silvers. really fun spin on it.

but god..... head in hands.... what did you DOOOOOOOO. it's no secret that the beast yeast arc was (and still is) a mess. but i think it's really sad how these sick ass concepts just.. get executed so poorly??

the thing is, in the 3rd anniversary, devsisters was trying to bite off more than they could chew. the introduction of the beasts was sudden, they felt pretty shoehorned in. i COULD say shadow milk is exempt from this — he's got some decent foreshadowing! can't say the others have it going for them...

okay, sure, introduce the beasts. introduce the faerie kingdom with them. these two things of course go hand in hand. BUT HOLD YOUR HORSES WITH THE BEASTS???

it's okay for crk to introduce new nations! but the faerie kingdom was out of the BLUE. nothing leading to it whatsoever. how are we supposed to deduce anything from what, white lily's prologue asset?

it's very possible to introduce a new nation and do it right. dare i say the créme republic? there were previous mentions and hints to it ingame, making its introduction decent. see — if executed correctly enough, the faerie kingdom may not have needed too much of that.

let's say.. i dunno... two beast yeast episodes are equal to two days of odyssey. in two days of odyssey past ch1, that'd give us enough about the créme republic and time to learn about it! the good parts, and the gritty. BUT in the 3rd anniversary they were obviously trying to make it a little TOO big...

it'd have been nice to see those two episodes focus around the faerie kingdom, its traditions, its denizens and general environment and culture. there could've been problems without too much of a big bad, hell we could've had an almost beast escape. but then again, it WAS the anniversary, but was releasing lily not enough?

now don't get me wrong here — shadow milk had a spectacular introduction! he kind of saved the story i can't lie LOL but was his releasing from the seal..necessary so soon? of course, we'd just be delaying the inevitable, but it'd be nice to just..explore our surroundings a little first.

most information on faeriewood and the silver kingdom are in the LIMITED artbook </3 which kinda. sucks.

we should've also had time to meet the characters more. elder faerie dying is chill with me, nice to know devsisters aren't afraid to kill someone permanently. the problem is, his death was notably supposed to have impact. but like most people felt nothing... because elder faerie is more or less a plot device. give him a character, traits we can attach ourselves to!

there's a Lot more i could rant about actually, but my wrist hurts and i'm tired. i've posted stuff about the silver knights before. just had to let some of this out. tldr the faerie kingdom and faeries are a cool concept but dear god they were executed AWFULLY

[deanscutiepiesam]

I can't stop thinking about that one post about how Lucifer should've been played by Jared when projecting the image of himself [this post, go read it. It's so good]. And I completely agree with them across the board. Sam, being his true vessel and the horrific impact it would have on him, would've been amazing to see explored. But I also think Lucifer should've been played by Jared because he was better for the character.

And I don't just mean this in an acting way, (though, I am biased. Jared has skills), but for the sake of the story and his likability. Obviously, we aren't supposed to like Lucifer, I don't, but I did like how he was written when Jared played him. Think of Endverse!Lucifer in his white suit. Telling Dean how no matter what, he'll always end up here. Think of Swan Song, where he was pleading with Michael. How Lucifer didn't want to hurt his brother, but he "left him no choice." He's almost oddly sympathetic, but then you have to remember he's literally trying to start the Apocalypse. He's manipulative. He's the devil. We've gotten accustomed to Jared's face being Sam, all soft and sweet, so that image being juxtaposed with evil incarnate is so powerful. Wolf in sheep's clothing and all that. Gives you chills.

Now compare that with Nick's Lucifer or even Casifer. Not even close (in my opinion, at least). I was talking to a friend of mine about this a while ago, but those versions of Lucifer don't even feel like the same guy. He went from an intimidating, genuinely scary, and interesting character to a "I'm so silly" comedian - and a weak one at that. And I know this was unfortunately because the show went the route of making Sam's cage trauma a joke, but why, though?? There was so much potential for Jared to play him, and even going the Nick vessel route, they could've written him not... like that.

And this isn't to say Lucifer can't crack jokes. I think, executed well, it could be funny and add to the horror. Supernatural has done funny bad guys before (like I personally enjoy Azazel's and Crowley's quips), and it works for them. But Lucifer just feels like a failed version of that. It doesn't fit his character, personally. And I know some people enjoy Nick's Lucifer and Casifer, and that's valid, but it just doesn't sit right with me. He loses aura points, and I don't enjoy watching him.

And once again, I know we aren't supposed to like him, but it's not even a dislike because he's a good villain; he's just annoying. He comes on screen, and I'm not scared or anxious, I'm annoyed. And it's frustrating because they did so well with him in my Jared examples. And not only that, it could've been a foundation for later seasons. (Imagine Sam!Lucifer doing the misunderstood guy facade to get Jack on his side. Like come on, we were robbed.)

Anyways, I don't know... I just had to get that out. Not sure if I made any sense, but I'm gonna trust I'm coherent enough for you to get the gist of it. Shout out to well written Lucifer. You will always be famous. I hope you die — oh, wait...

[biggie-chcese]

Why I think Yomi Hellsmile should've died in Chapter 4

(this essay isnt what you think it is. spoilers for the whole game btw)

Alright so let me preface this by saying that this is not a Yomi Hellsmile hate essay. I like Yomi. He's my favorite peacekeeper. He's funny, he's entertaining, and he makes for a very effective antagonist. So why have him die? Well, for the same reason I wouldn't have Yakou live: I think it makes for a better story.

So here's the true title of my essay: A Critique of how Rain Code's Narrative Handles the Peacekeepers (and by Extension, Yomi) and their Downfall

Let's start with Yomi's downfall in canon. Yuma and Vivia find out his role in Huesca's murder and, ultimately, Yakou's death, and are angry beyond belief. But they're also helpless to do anything as they escape the labyrinth with vengeance on their minds. Of course, this gets shut down immediately, and then Makoto ex machina comes in with Martina in tow to arrest Yomi for his money laundering and bribery. And right then and there, in one fell swoop, the peacekeepers are completely eliminated as a threat in the story to be replaced by Makoto.

But okay... isn't that super underwhelming? The peacekeepers and Amaterasu corp have been the main driving force of the game's primary conflict, and yet somehow they are completely eliminated as a threat because Makoto grabbed a few files off screen. And also, this brings me to my first major issue I have with this ending:

Part 1: Why the fuck do they care?

No I'm serious. Why do the peacekeepers care? So what if Yomi bribed his way to the top? You mean to tell me that the cops who spent the entire game assaulting and antagonizing civilians give a shit? They're never shown to have any sort of problem with their corruption. They send people to be executed on whims and knowingly, regularly falsify evidence on murder cases. At best the peacekeepers are indifferent to the suffering they cause, and at worst they are gleefully complicit in it. So, again, why do they care about Yomi's money schemes? In fact, they only benefit from Yomi's rule because he gives them the power to freely instill fear in Kanai Ward's citizens. The game never, at any point, has an "are we the baddies?" moment from them nor does it ever even try to have at least one peacekeeper question Yomi's authority, even when he's throwing them under the bus. Throughout the whole game, they stand as a completely one-note, cartoonishly evil representation of police corruption.

So why the sudden heel turn? The resolution of chapter 4 feels so jarring to me because the game has zero buildup to it. This also applies to Martina's return. Actually let's also talk about her.

Part 2: So... Martina's return lowkey is kinda lame

Don't get me wrong, I was pretty hype when she came back. But also, the magic wore off pretty quickly for me because I didn't understand why she was suddenly a whole different character. I suppose her brush with death gave her some time to contemplate her actions, or perhaps she felt indebted to Makoto and asked him what she should do, or maybe Makoto held her life over her head and told her to change her act or he's letting her get cubed. Who knows? We get nothing expanding on this so it could be anything.

I feel like people kinda forget that Martina was just as corrupt as Yomi? Like, she is not his helpless victim. I'd even argue that their relationship isn't abusive. Martina is in it with her own interests in mind in addition to just being a massive sadomasochist. I cannot stress this enough: whatever tf she and Yomi had going on, she was completely into it. Even at the end of chapter 2, she was drooling over him and the idea of punishment... until Yomi crossed a line.

Y'see, Martina thought she was special. She thought that whatever punishment Yomi had for her Aetheria Academy blunder, she'd come out of it alive, because she's his beloved right hand. Yomi then showed her that she's just as disposable as the rest of his underlings by ordering her to be brutally executed. That is when she becomes a victim.

Anyway, I'm saying all this to make a point that Martina hasn't shown any interest in being an honest cop until chapter 4. It's completely out of nowhere, just like with the other peacekeepers.

"But Biggie," you may be thinking, "why would Yomi dying fix these issues?" Well I'm so glad you hypothetically asked!

Part 3: We love missed potential, baby!

Kodaka sometimes does this thing where he introduces an interesting concept that plays with the rules of the game... and then doesn't commit to it. Think like the double murder clause in Danganronpa V3 chapter 3, where they mention that if two separate murderers act in the same day then only one of those murders counts. Then they do nothing with this, and instead create a very weak chapter.

This is a similar problem I have with the tail end of chapter 4's mystery labyrinth, which is a really amazing labyrinth that introduces a really amazing concept: taking down a secret mastermind. After reaping the culprit's soul, they have this cool, brand new secret area that... does nothing. No, I'm serious. Nothing happens. All it does is piss Yuma and Vivia off and waste everyone's time. They find out Yomi's involvement in the case, but they still don't do anything with that. Sure it brings a whole new feeling of hopelessness, but doesn't that make Yomi's downfall literally five minutes later through the mundane actions of someone else off screen seem all the more underwhelming? From a gameplay and storytelling standpoint, I think this is just... a cop-out. I think it'd be cool if he was involved enough in Huesca's murder to count as an accomplice, then with Vivia and Shinigami at his side, Yuma reaps Yomi's soul. It's a decent payoff for the NDA and the player while supporting the game's message about the importance of finding the truth. And god does the game need support in that regard, because the Mystery Labyrinth almost never helps and Yuma instead gets saved by someone else (which would've been nice to expand on if we go this route bc there's something interesting about Yuma calling for the labyrinth to kill people for ultimately no reason, but they don't do anything with that and that is a WHOLE other essay lol).

But this is not my main reason that Yomi should've died here. I wouldn't feel so strongly if that was the case. No, my problem lies with a character that isn't Yomi, and what is part of the entire reason Rain Code's plot exists.

Part 4: Is Makoto fucking stupid?

"/lh" by the way. Makoto is my second favorite character in this game behind Yuma, and I adore him. His story, his motivations, his undying will to be a protector of a people that no one else will protect, by any means necessary... he is such an incredible character and antagonist and I genuinely adore him. But I have one eensy weensy, teeny weeny little issue with him:

Why did he need the detectives to oust Yomi?

Makoto claims in the ch 5 labyrinth that the reason the detectives were brought over was to oust Yomi, which leads me to believe the command for the detectives to come to Kanai Ward was his work, not Number One's, then Number One simply caught onto this and took advantage of the situation to sneak in. Though, that's just a guess on my part, mind you. So I suppose he was just desperately hoping at least one of them would take care of Yomi, but isn't that weird?

The detectives don't ever find the evidence of Yomi's money laundering and bribery. Makoto does. The detectives don't ever bring Yomi's corruption to light. Yomi... already does that without their help. Actually, why didn't he secretly team up with the Resistance for that? Too busy ignoring Dohya District's glaring issues, Makoto? Too busy turning a blind eye to your people's suffering?

Uh. Anyway, the only detective that actually does something beneficial for Makoto and kills Huesca is Yakou, who was already in Kanai Ward. And don't tell me that Makoto accounted for Fubuki and Desuhiko's fortes here because that part of the plan was all Yakou's idea. If Makoto could've predicted this, he would've just called the detectives necessary to this plan instead of luring in a bunch of them at once to get slaughtered.

Tons of detectives died coming to Kanai Ward to do... what? Distract Yomi? Could the World's Greatest Mind truly never come up with a better distraction for a guy who didn't even realize his Martina Cube™ order never came in? Yomi isn't shown to be some sort of hypervigilant supergenius nor is he nearly on Makoto's level. Could he truly not have outsmarted Yomi and led him astray long enough to grab a little binder of paper?

So, once again, you may be wondering how Yomi's death would fix this. Well, Yuma, a detective, is the one who kills Yomi.

Makoto is well aware of Yuma using the Book of Death at this point. So what better way to get rid of Yomi than to carefully manipulate the detective who has the Perfect Criminal Murder Tool™? Makoto can't just assassinate Yomi himself- that would make him the main suspect and he'd have to do a lot of PR maintenance to get the rest of Amaterasu Corp off his back. But Yomi mysteriously dying of a heart attack while Makoto isn't anywhere around... well, that's different.

"But wait," you may be thinking, "doesn't Makoto want to keep Yomi alive because he's a Kanai Ward citizen, and he loves Kanai Ward?"

Good point! But doesn't that also apply to Yakou, whom he also had a hand in manipulating into that crazy sui-homocide of Dr. Huesca? Or, what about Fink? Remember him? Makoto killed him for "knowing too much." I know that information is missable, but it's there. And don't tell me it's just because he's a hitman and has killed other Kanai Ward residents, because Yomi has sent many residents to their deaths without trial... not a huge difference. So a body count isn't really on Makoto's "should I kill them" conditions, it seems.

If Fink gets killed for "knowing too much," then Yomi shouldn't be exempt from this, especially when he was leaking homunculus information to the outside world. That goes far beyond "knowing too much." It just doesn't make sense.

But you know what does? Makoto actually using the detectives to wipe his hands clean of Yomi's mess. Yakou is used to take care of Huesca, Yuma is used to take care of Yomi, and Makoto gets to sit back, relax, and watch everything play out just as planned.

And later, in the next chapter, when Yuma learns about Makoto using him like this, he realizes that he's truly been had.

Part 5: How I think it should play out

I'm not being a hater. In fact, I deeply love this game and have a lot of respect for Kodaka and the writing team, so please don't take my little rant as some sort of effort to bash on my favorite video game because that's not what this is. I'm not gonna prop myself up as a better writer than anyone on the team because I'm not, but I'll still try my hand at rewriting this scene to fit my personal taste. So I would like for you to imagine with me, the end of chapter 4...

Yuma and Vivia find the secret area of the labyrinth and find out that Yomi has been masterminding Huesca's murder. Shinigami points out that, hey, that's why the labyrinth is falling so slowly: we haven't finished it off! Vivia stands by Yuma's side, and all of them, driven by their rage and desire to see justice be done, reap the soul of the true mastermind through one final strike of the solution blade. Labyrinth collapses, snap back to reality, oop there goes gravity, oop there goes Yomi, who collapses on the ground.

The peacekeepers are surprised and approach the body. They find that Yomi is dead. They're shocked, and as this is happening, Yuma isn't sure what to feel. Is he glad that he managed to avenge Yakou? Not quite, because Yakou is still gone, the hitman is still out there, and everything still hurts. But a part of him feels... vindicated. Vivia seems to have equally complicated feelings about this. For once, it was... kind of worth it to find the truth, even if a bit messy.

Well now the peacekeepers confirmed Yomi is dead, but now they're accusing the detectives of this. And they're honestly kinda right. Yuma and Vivia realize that they're in kind of deep shit, but the sound of Martina's voice comes from off screen asking what on earth is going on here, making everyone freeze.

Enter her, Makoto, and Seth (I'll say why he's here too in a moment). They're surprised at the sight before them, but Makoto only pretends to be. Then you see it... Martina and Seth go from visibly suprised... to relieved. And there's something oddly triumphant, yet a bit chilling about Makoto and the two people we've witnessed Yomi throw under the bus standing over his corpse. It feels thematic now, as if righteous judgement has come. And... it also solves the "what happened to Seth" question, lol.

Makoto shakes his head and sighs, stepping over the corpse and approaching Yuma and Vivia as he comes up with an excuse: "I always told him that those temper tantrums weren't good for his blood pressure. I guess his heart couldn't take it anymore."

He then nods to the others. Seth instructs the peacekeepers to clean up the body, as they rot quickly in this city. There's this foreboding feeling in the peacekeepers' obedience and efficiency, and Yuma begins to wonder if he did a good thing. Did his actions change the peacekeepers for the better, he asks himself, or did he simply shift the power over to someone worse? Shinigami tells him she doesn't know.

Makoto approaches them with good news: they found and arrested the hitman! Yuma, frightened, does not address that and instead asks him why the other high ranking peacekeepers are here. Makoto says that they... owe him a favor. Martina expresses her gratefulness for him stopping her execution order and asks if they can do anything else, to which Makoto replies telling her no, they're doing an excellent job. After some more conversation, Seth, Martina, and the peacekeepers then leave with Yomi's body to let Makoto talk privately to Yuma and Vivia. Makoto apologizes for their loss of Yakou and offers some faux sympathy. They're both... still conflicted about this conclusion, but Makoto tells them they're free to go, so they'll think about it later. Oh, but before they leave, he gives Yuma a little gift: a suspicious black box. Of course, Yuma can't open it just yet- it's a surprise!

Then the rest could play out pretty much normally (though an encounter with zombie Yomi chapter 5 seems inevitable and also awesome).

I think this alone would solve every issue I addressed before. The peacekeepers do not change out of nowhere. They simply reallocate power and there's still this feeling of them being a threat as they're now directly connected to the game's true antagonist. There's now a theme to Martina's return with Seth's presence as well. There's now a narrative purpose to that final section of the mystery labyrinth with proper payoff. And, most importantly, Makoto's motivations to use the detectives make more sense.

By the way, if any Yomi lovers think that he should stay alive for a potential return in the sequel... isn't it such a blessing that Yakou's DLC introduced this pretty neat little pill that could still make that possible? Just saying.

So yeah. Yuma, for the sake of narrative payoff and character writing consistency, please kill this clown. Thanks for reading <3

[suzukiblu]

Greetings! I truly enjoy your writing, and I would like to see more of the Tim/Kon soulmates AU, if you feel like it!

Thank you! I do have a bit more of it lying around, sooooo . . .

Continued from here, for anyone who needs the setup.

It's early morning in Honolulu and Tim is very, very tired. He didn't sleep on the flight because he was making plans, but to be honest said plans are all shit. His best option is gonna take six months to fully execute, for starters. Which is a reasonable amount of time to have to spend getting a near-complete stranger to trust you enough to let you kidnap them away from everything and everyone they know, he knows, but still. It's not even that solid a plan, even discounting the frustrating time delay. It's just the best of a bad lot.

Maybe Tim should've, like . . . actually stopped long enough to tell Bruce what he was doing and get some advice. Or at least Alfred, anyway.

Just . . . it's fine, Tim tells himself as he and his go-bag get a taxi. This is just preliminary work anyway. Recon more than anything else. Ideally he'll manage to "meet" Superboy, but he's not dumb enough to think he's going to get the guy to like him this quick, much less trust him. The goal is "passing awareness of his civilian identity's existence" and nothing else.

Then the street kind of blows up in front of his taxi.

So that's a whole thing.

And here's Tim without so much as a damn domino in his pocket.

People are screaming, things are very literally on fire, and some rando in lycra is yelling at the cop car on the corner. Normal Tuesday, really, except it's broad fucking daylight and again Tim doesn't have a mask on him, much less his bo staff or utility belt or anything actually any kind of useful.

Fuck airport security, Tim thinks.

"Who's the jerk with the monologue?" he asks the driver, who seems largely nonplussed by the whole situation and has definitely left the meter running while they're trapped between the other cars and the blown-up street. Priorities, Tim guesses. Can't blame a guy for having them.

"Beats me, man," the driver says with a shrug. "I don't keep track of the spandex set, I just take the necessary detours around 'em when I'm working."

"That might be lycra," Tim says, reaching for his wallet. "But fair enough. How much do I owe you?"

He doesn't have a mask right now, no, but he can't just leave civilians unprotected. He can at least help people get out of the area and maybe distract the lycra rando for a bit, if it comes to it. If nothing else, he can–

Somebody in flashy red and blue and a black leather jacket crash-lands on top of the lycra rando with very deliberate flair, and then the street blows up again.

This time, though, the explosion is definitely telekinetic in origin.

Specifically tactile telekinetic, Tim thinks it's safe to assume.

He pays the driver, then grabs his go-bag and gets to getting people out of the area as subtly as possible while Superboy and the lycra rando tear up the street even worse. Like, almost impressively worse. Tim really wouldn't have thought the damage could even get that much worse, but they both find a way.

He is going to have such a hard time convincing Bruce to let him drag Superboy to Gotham.

Well, it's a six-month plan. Maybe the guy will mellow out a bit somewhere in there. Learn some subtlety. Pick up a bit of finesse.

Tim isn't actually that delusional, obviously, but that's the lie he's gonna tell Batman.

[darknight3904]

The preview to the next part of my Gojo x reader fic.

"Stop thinking so hard, you'll hurt yourself," He says before grabbing your arm and hauling to your feet, "You promised me a sparring match."

The scene before you is oddly familiar. You've been dragged to the training grounds against your will and he's now preparing for a fight he expects to go his way. It's nostalgic and makes you feel like a child again.

"Before we start...I want to ask you something." You say

"I'm not pulling my punches. This is our first match since we were 14, I intend to go all out." He glares

"I know that. I wanted to ask why you bothered saving me from execution and from Jinichi. Letting me die would be easier and it would get you out of the contract easily." You say

"You're smart for a woman. I kept you alive because I wanted to be the one to kill you. I can't let you go to the grave without having won a fight against you, simple as that." He shrugs

You should've known it was something as petty as that. Of course, Naoya only cared about his ego.

"So is this my death sentence then?" You ask warily

"Sure. After you it'll be Megumi and then Maki and Mai. I can't have any competition for the clan head. I'm the sole heir." He says

"Yeah those 15-year-olds, they pose a big threat, huh?" You laugh and pick up the training staff that rests on the stand of weapons, "You know Satoru doesn't sit around worrying that a child is going to take over his spot."

"Shut up." He says

"So are we using techniques? Or just hand to hand like when we were kids?" You ask

"Both. I want to beat you at your best. Besides we already know I'm physically bigger than you. I don't want to cheat my way to victory."He says

"Right. You're a Special grade one right? Last time I checked that means I still rank higher than you." You smile

"Do you ever stop running your mouth?" Naoya groans

"No, I in fact quite enjoy hearing the sound of my own voice."

You're taunting him and he's falling for it like he always does. Naoya makes the first move, and like always he swings right for your head.

"So predictable." You huff and easily jump back.

The medicine that was clogging your brain has worn off and you feel better than ever. All the bed rest has payed off.

"Head of the Hei, and I can still read your every move." You say

"Shut up!" Naoya yells and stomps his foot like a small child

"I don't think I will." You say

A loud bell interrupts Naoya before he can speak again.

"The alarm?" You ask dropping the staff

"What the hell is going on?" Naoya asks looking at you for an answer

"You seriously think I'd use a cheap distraction to beat you?" You roll your eyes

"You've become quite the conniving bitch over the years, I wouldn't put it past you." He snaps "Come, let's see what's going on."

This is now out. Check it out here

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

[circyexistforcontent]

IMPOSTER AU! BUT WITH OBLIVIOUS GOD READER PT. 1

✿ trigger warnings: cultish behavior, yandere's, mentions of weaponry, religious themes, god reader being an idiot because they don't know someone is impersonating them.

✿ pronouns: They/them

✿ notes: prologue is here. the reader is actually the god of teyvat, and also thank you for supporting the last part. I hope this mini-series will satisfy your expectations :]

"Y-your grace! What happened?!" Venti asks worriedly. He hurried to your side to help you sit up from your position. He caught wind (ehe) of everything happening in Monstadt, rumors about an imposter wandering freely in the city. He knew it wasn't true, the wind told him so. He rushed to where you were before anyone else can.

You were found in Windwail highland near one of the shrines. Exhausted and disheveled. But you seem to be in good condition, you only looked exhausted. He wanted to cry out in relief, but then he felt your aura getting more vicious as seconds pass by. "Barbatos..." You slowly look up at him, and when your eyes met he could feel every emotion you were feeling.

Relief, distraught, frustration, exhaustion...and what stood out from the four was the last emotion.

fury.

"WHAT LAWS DID YOU ENFORCE IN YOUR NATION BARBATOS!?" it took only a millisecond for you to launch yourself in front of the Anemo archon and strangle him. "Your grace- please! I can't breathe-" While strangling him you shook him back and forth as he struggles to free himself from your iron grip.

"I GAVE YOU LIFE I CAN TAKE IT FROM YOU!"

"So that's all there is to it." Venti finishes. It took a while for you to stop strangling him and listen to what he had to say (he's never been more relieved) and he told you everything you needed to know. So apparently Venti wasn't the one who made the law. It wasn't even a legitimate law, the people decided to make the choice themselves to follow it. The "law" states that no one should impersonate the divine creator.

Basically saying whoever was born with your face is to be killed, maybe even tortured if they put off a struggle, or publicly executed if your followers feel extra quirky that day.

"I see..." You look at Venti apologetically. "Forgive me for acting out impetuously Barbatos." Venti just waved off your apology.

"You don't need to apologize for anything your grace, if anything I deserved it. I should've been there earlier to help you." He can feel the shame creep up on his back. Your actions before seemed reasonable, he was an archon, the archon of wind, he can swiftly take you away from the commotion before anyone can comprehend that you missing.

"But if I may, what happened when I was away?" Venti asks you. You just exhaled tiredly, recalling everything that has happened to you this morning. It all started at seven in the morning, SEVEN, and only in the span of a few hours did the people of Monstadt chase you out of the city.

"Well, since your curious I may as well tell you..."

You have experienced at least 7 attempted murders in the past 5 hours you entered Monstadt. With people either throwing rocks at your head, the knights trying to slash you, the bar owner trying to poison you, and a witch trying to electrocute you. You may be wondering, how are you not injured? How did you survive all those murder attempts?

The answer is very simple, dear reader. Remember in the prologue where you simply transferred a piece of your consciousness to Teyvat? That's it. That's your answer. Your form right now is simply a piece of your consciousness that has been solidified enough to be seen. But of course, if you want to touch someone you can.

Attacking you or touching you will be like trying to punch the air. Because trying to put a piece of your real form or going to Teyvat as a whole would be equivalent to pushing the sun to fit earth. So this is what you can do for now.

I mean, you could just use a host or make a human body for you to possess. But you wanted to go there yourself, and possessing a human body would cause the body to mutate. At the very least the usual red blood running through the body's veins would turn to melted gold.

But back to the main point, there was an instance of you getting chased by the guards. You weaved through the gathering crowd like liquid, turning at every corner you see. At one point you did meet Jean since one of them reported the commotion happening.

You thought, with Jean being responsible and even reasonable, you thought telling her that your god wouldn't go wrong. And that she will take your side.

No. She did not take your side and immediately tried to apprehend you. She chased you around Monstadt, along with Amber who has come back to assist Jean on the hunt for your head. At this point it was getting ridiculous for how long they could chase you.

"Please! Let's communicate!" You cry out to the knights. "There is nothing to talk about, impostor!" A flaming arrow shoots through you again. You were getting tired at this point and decided to just teleport out of the area.

But it seems fate wanted to fuck you over because you ended up teleporting at the edge of a cliff making you fall 60 feet above the ground.

"And then you found me here." You finished your story. Venti for the entire time was disappointed, he knew his people were a little more than obsessed with your godly image but he didn't think they would act so violent against anyone who looks significantly similar to you.

But then again, people before would make human or blood sacrifices to gods. He had a good portion of people being sacrificed to him before and has seen people do the same for your name. He's still disappointed though, haven't they become more humane in giving sacrifices?

"I apologize on their behalf your grace, I thought they would know better." You pat his shoulder a few times. "Don't worry about it, I was never hurt in the process."

"So, what do we do now?" You reckon for a moment about what your next move is, if Monstadt reacted so violently to your appearance what would the other cities be like? Why did they react so violently in the first place.

"Venti, do you know the reason why they keep calling me impostor?" Venti freezes before face palming.

"Venti?" You ask again. "Just, give me a minute your grace I- *sigh*"

He forgot to mention the faker sitting on your throne the entire time.

"I guess I can finally tell you something I've been itching to tell." Venti looks at you straight in the eyes.

"An Impostor has taken your throne, your grace."

...

"What?"

[circinuus]

Hey !!! I saw ur request open and can i ask an port mafia dazai! X reader where its their first time meeting ? They are 15 and reader is just a highschooler but got in the wrong place at the wrong moment and got attacked by some ennemies but Pm!Dazai saves them? And then he got interest into reader and go to visit him to their highschool and all ^^

dying prohibited!

15! dazai x highschooler! reader. 1.6k words

in which a strange meeting leads to the start of a peculiar friendship, and an odd game of persuasion.

[platonic -> slow burn]

❥ anon I love this scenario so much. tweaked some things but i hope i didn't flunk the execution

There is something unusual about the boy standing in front of you.

He is dressed in a dark trench coat, with an equally dark suit and tie. The bandages he wears are reminiscent of an article about 'eight-grader syndrome' you once read. But the more you look at him with your panic-struck eyes, you worry your judgment is a mere product of parochial thoughts.

"Come now," he steps forward.

"Shoot. Right here. There is nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging this life, anyway."

You should've listened to your parents. Criminals knew how well summer fireworks mask the noise of crime. Now you're stuck in some dark alley with a coward who mugs kids and a suicidal, depressed boy.

"You, brat with the yukata!"

Oh shit. 

"That's a nice looking wear you got there. Bet mommy and daddy got loads of money, huh?"

"Listen, please," you approach him with trembling hands, eyes flitting between the bastard and the poor boy sharing your predicament, "I only have this.."

This is stupid. But it's no time to be a smart coward, either.

Closing the distance, you raise the small pouch you brought to his eye level, and-

Gave the thug a hard kick on the groin. 

It could've been the momentary adrenaline, or the surge of protectiveness you felt for the boy who seemed to lose all hope in living. You didn't miss a beat and hastily grab his frail hand, dashing out from the alley as fast as your sandal-covered soles can afford you to be. 

"Don't say things like that," you pant in between breaths. His wrist felt very thin, and you fear to see what lies under the bandages.

Is he from an abusive household?

"I'm (Name)," you turn to his deep, jet-black irises, "I'll be your friend. We'll be okay." The sight of the increasingly bright street colors your eyes with hope, and your hold tightens in his hand.

"There's still something to look forward to in life! So-"

"Nice try, brat." 

The flickering lights of the festival across the alley slip off your sight, robbed off by rough, burly hands manhandling your small stature like a kid to a ragdoll.

Your heart drops. 

There were two of them.

"Since you both want death so much," another click of a cheap Glock resounds in your ear. "Why don't I just blow off your head right now?"

Shit.

The world spins. Oxygen feels scarce. Fear bites your heart like a rabid beast. You glance at the black-clad boy in desperation, the guy from before already recovering with limping steps; another bullet aimed at the back of the boy's head. But- 

"You're interesting," he smiles at your fear-stricken face.

"The hell is this brat-"

"(Name), was it?" he approaches you, voice incongruously steady among the chaos.

"Close your eyes and make a wish. The fireworks will go off soon." 

"!"

The headlock on your neck tightens and the press of the cold firearm harsher. Before drops of dread-induced tears run down your cheek, loud explosions intruded your senses, littering the sky with miscellaneous bursts of fire flowers. 

Your ears ring, and panic numbed your body. Your eyes flutter close in wishful desperation.

Please make this go away.

You couldn't feel your body, and for the remaining time of the summer explosions, your mind is numbed. 

I don't want to die.

A heavy thud falls behind you, the noise losing against the raging summer festivities. Almost simultaneously, your body feels lighter.

Light, then frigid by your cold sweat. Your eyelids remain still, darkness reigning over your senses. It was a beat after the fireworks cease when swift steps approach you.

"Keep them closed," a pair of hands take hold of you, the edges of fraying bandages brushing against your fingertips as they guide you forward.

"Good job. You can open them now."

As if the curtain calls, everything oxidizes away like a distant dream. In your line of sight was the bandaged kid, the streetlights and the distant buzz of the festival serve as a backdrop for his dark-clad figure.

"I-" a broken sob escapes you, "The police?"

"The police?" he tilts his head.

A beat of silence passed by, until the boy smiles indulgently.

"..Sure. The police found us. Can you believe it? The timing was impeccable."

"Where are they now?" you falter, "Shouldn't anyone be making sure we're safe?-"

"They're taking those criminals away. You're safe now."

You look at him, to his barely shaken voice and eyes, to the frail hands that still hold your wrist. 

Something tells you you shouldn't prod further. 

"Well then!" he steps back with a swish of his coat. "Another suicide attempt thwarted huh? Talk about a time of celebrations.."

"You-"

"Oh, right! You can go back on your own, can you? Don't get yourself lost again. Unless you're really just a dumb dog who needs to be guided on the-"

"A dog?! That's it, enough cutting me off!" 

You eye the bandages that litter his skin, mind flitting to the way he addressed suicide like talking about school holidays, or whatever the hell just happened. Everything about him screams something you shouldn't be involved with. But the alertness, confusion and mild annoyance drain away the moment your mind came to a realization.

He needs help more than you do.

"Are you okay?"

The words slides from your tongue unbidden, and for a second, he looks dumbstruck. 

"I mean!" you flail your arms, "I'm fine. But are you injured? We should call the police back. No, an ambulance! My parents!"

"But, you know.. I was serious about being your friend. You can talk to me about anything if you want! Just don't say such depressing things again.."

The languid summer night air blows, and you're face to face with those jet-black eyes again. A hint of surprise, then something curious.

Has no one ever said that to him before? 

"You are interesting!" a beat passes before he chirps with a sing-song voice, "You're (Name), right? Nice to meet you, new friend." 

"Huh? Oh- Nice to meet you too, er.." 

He smiles a cat-like grin, "You can call me.."

"Dazai!?"

Your second meeting with the bandaged boy was when the early winds of autumn blow away summer heat and its holiday joy; unprecedented all the same. Back then, his dark garments melded flawlessly with the darkness of the deserted alleyway—as flawlessly as how he slipped away before your parents came to you with worried fuss. Now he appears misplaced among the brightly painted walls of your school's cafeteria.

He lounged about like a lethargic cat, uncaring by your friends' inquisitive murmurs before his eyes finally meet yours.

"Yukata looked good on you," he hums, appraising eyes observing your befuddled state. "But you're not half bad in a school uniform too! Maybe try a maid costume next, and-"

As the cafeteria is drowned by the increasing hustle of bustle of recess, you drag dazai away before any teacher or security can ask you why your 'friend' is trespassing on the private school grounds.

"So this is where you go to school," Dazai leans again the scrawny metal fence. You are now nestled in the less crowdy garden behind the class buildings. It was something of a lucky streak how you didn't come across anyone.

"Don't lean on that," slight frown blooms on your face. "What're you doing here anyway?"

He shrugs, "Seeing a friend?"

Huh. okay. But more importantly-

"I don't remember telling you where I-"

"Speaking of!" he cuts you off, "I have something important to talk about."

"Hence!" he suddenly takes your hands, clasping both of them in his, "There's no point in prolonging such a life of suffering! we should just go and die-"

You eye him worriedly.

"On the way, I saw a glimpse of your class. I can't help noticing you all look depressed, like suuper depressed!"

"Dazai!" 

You subtly flinch at how unintentionally loud your voice was, slightly guilty when Dazai looks positively like a perplexed cat. When you feel that surge of protectiveness resurfaces, his expression melts to one of those curious ones he always liked to give you.

Cute. If he hasn't been saying all these extremely concerning things.

"Listen," you give his hands a firm grasp, "I'm not.. good with this kind of talk. But you're not going to die anytime soon."

"Why not?"

"I won't let you."

"Why?"

"Aren't we friends?"

"So?"

You bite your tongue.

"I'll miss you."

The twinge of discomfort was inevitable as you realize how vain and vacuous that sounded. And yet,

"High schoolers are so bold!" his scandalized gasp breaks your worry, "Do you like me?"

"What?" 

"You do! I knew my charm is just irresistible."

Well, he is cute.

"So let's not wait for a second and go die together!-"

But that is the last time you're humoring him.

"Listen," you hold his gaze.

"Friends don't let their friends go on some..suicide," the words roll on your tongue like sour candy.

"And I did say there's more to life to look forward to."

'I can prove it!' you added. But Dazai only sizes you up with that same calculating, appraising eyes.

"Come on, give me a chance?"

A strange meeting leads to a strange reunion. And this small game of persuasion might be the start of your peculiar friendship with the equally strange boy. Perhaps it'll even bloom into something more along the way.

sorry this feels so clunky i gave up editing🤡

♡ @ashthemadwriter

[queenslimeball]

I'm home

Sounds like a dream part 2

Gator Tillman x fem!reader

Contents; angst, fluff, mother!reader, dad!gator

Summary; After finding out about his son, Gator can't deal with prison life. So he takes matters into his own hands.

Even with good behaviour, Gator isn't getting out of prison any time soon. He'd very much like to. Not for selfish reasons like they were for the first two years of his sentence. Now, he just wants to be there to support his family. His son.

Not a day goes by where he doesn't think of both Y/n and Alex. The only two people that really give his life meaning. Every day is filled with regret and remorse for what he's done. For what he thought he should've done. Now, it all seems insane to him. No matter how much he rants to the guards, who surprisingly haven't quit their jobs, he's just stuck. Nothing he can do.

Y/n's words still ring in his ears. "He reminds me of you in a way because he–"

Gator still wonders what she was about to say. Even three years later, it's still on his mind.

Three years, that's right, since he last got visited by Y/n and Alex. Another three years of crippling loneliness. Another three years with the added pain that he'll never know truly what his son looks like. That's the reason why he cries himself to sleep most nights.

He doesn't want to seem weak, so he keeps noise to a minimum, facing the wall. He can't control when the tears fall each time he thinks about it. He'll never see his son, and he'll never see Y/n again.

That's when, one night, Gator has a terrible thought. One that never even crossed his mind before, shockingly. It's a horrible idea, of course. An idea that most likely cannot be executed in his state. But he thinks it. And he likes the thought of it. I'm gonna break out.

The thought resonates with him for a long while. But each day that goes by, it seems more and more impossible for him. His dream life is just out of reach.

Y/n, with her five year old at her hip, enters the prison. It's been long enough since she's visited the father of her child, so it's only right that she sees him. Plus, Alex is old enough now to talk to his daddy properly. She wants Gator to have that experience of having a conversation with him. She knows it will make him feel better.

She approaches the front desk and smiles at the woman there, who doesn't seem as friendly. She looks up to Y/n, shooting her a glare as if to ask what she wants.

"Uh, hi! I'm here to visit Gator Tillman. Is he available?" Y/n says nervously under the receptionist's judging stare.

"No." She bluntly replies.

"Why not?"

"Haven't you heard?" The woman questions, as if obvious.

"Heard what?"

"Gator Tillman escaped."

Y/n leaves the prison in shock. How did he manage that!? Why did he escape!? She carefully puts Alex in his car seat before getting in the front of her car. She drove up here to visit Gator. It's somewhat of a holiday. Where is she gonna find her son's father?

Gator had received a lot of help. Luckily, he surrounded himself with the right kind of guys for him in jail. Ones who had been planning a breakout for years. Gator was allowed to tag along, so he quickly found himself on a bus to Chicago. Or at least he hopes so.

On the bus, he met a sweet woman named Georgia. She was on the way to Chicago and helped him get there. But that's as far as she could do. With the departure of Georgia and the sudden realisation that he's alone, blind, in a city he doesn't know he feels a sense of panic. He doesn't even know where Y/n lives.

Y/n is doing the dishes while Alex sits at the kitchen counter with a few pillows to act as a booster seat. He's drawing with the pack of pencils his mother recently bought for him, humming along to whatever song is playing on the radio that he doesn't recognise.

"Mommy, what should I draw next to the tiger eating an apple?" Alex asks. He looks over to Y/n, a bright smile on his face like usual as he kicks his legs happily.

"How about the tree where the apple came from?" Y/n suggests. "That way, you can draw an animal in the tree."

"That's a good idea. Thank you, Mommy."

When the doorbell rings, Y/n huffs, taking off the washing up gloves.

"Ooh! Who is it?"

"I don't know, sweetie. Wait here." She assures, kissing Alex's forehead as she walks by. The doorbell rings again and she shouts out to whoever is at the door that she's coming. Damn, this person is impatient.

Looking through the peephole, her eyes widen. She debates whether she wants to open the door or not, ultimately deciding to just do it...

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd drop by. Does a lovely lady like you need any help?" It's Devon, a guy she knows from work but often has to avoid.

"I never gave you my address." Y/n narrows her eyes at him, feeling slightly creeped out.

"Oh, I know." He chuckles. "I asked around."

"Who told you?"

"Charlotte. Nice girl. Didn't question it."

Goddammit, Charlie... She's Y/n's closest friend at work and the best friend she has as of moving to Chicago. She's a little bit ditzy but insanely friendly and sweet. It's no wonder she gave Y/n's address to Devon, no questions asked.

"Why did you ask people for where I live?" She says, hand on the door and having to physically restrain herself from slamming the door in his face.

"Well, I understand being a single mom wouldn't be easy. So... I wondered if you need any help with anything at all." He flashes a grin, as if that would charm her. Rather the opposite.

"I think I've got it under control. You can go." Y/n replies, pulling a face. Devon starts to speak again, but she quickly shuts the door and locks it. She heads back to the kitchen to continue washing up.

"Mommy, do you like my tree? I added a bird in it with a nest." Alex says, pushing the piece of paper in her direction.

"Aw, it's beautiful, baby." She replies, petting his hair gently. "Are you done, or are you gonna add more?"

"More! Can you help?"

"Something climbing the tree, maybe? Like a cat?"

"Ooh! Thank you, Mommy."

"Of course, sweetheart, of course." She replies gently, giving him a forehead kiss and walking over to the sink.

Devon, to say the least, is disappointed. Although, it's not a big deal. There's several other women he could and would go for. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he makes his way down the street.

The winter air is chilly and bitter, nipping at the skin of his face and making his eyes water. He doesn't want to be outside for that much longer, so he pulls out his phone to text someone, anyone, to see if they're free.

Turning a corner close to the building beside him, Devon bumps into someone. He staggers and looks up from his phone. "Hey! Watch where you're goin'!" Devon shouts, sending his text and putting it back in his pocket.

"I can't." Gator replies, trying to steady himself from the ground. That's when Devon realises he's knocked over a blind person.

"Shit– sorry, man. Didn't notice." Devon says, grabbing Gator's wrist to help him stand up.

"S'all good." Gator murmurs, palm flat against the wall to familiarise himself. "D'you mind helping me get somewhere?"

"Yeah, go on."

"An apartment complex should be nearby if I'm in the right place. One apparently with loads of flowers outside." Gator recalls.

"Oh, I just been there." Devon says, helping Gator around the corner. "Go straight down that sidewalk, and it's on your right."

Devon may be nice enough to give the directions, but he's not nice enough to help Gator get there. He's not that kind of guy. He wouldn't take that much time out of his day to help some random guy. So with that, he walks off.

"Oh, thank you! Do you, uh–" Gator trails off, hearing him walk away. "Hey–"

Gator huffs, left alone. He begins to make his way forward again. He's been on the run for months now, trying to find his way to his family. For the most part, he's failed this goal. But after getting a lead of her address, he hasn't stopped hoping to find them both. Now, he's so close he can just feel it. He feels that familiar tingling in his stomach.

The only things he hears are the wind rushing by his ears and the rolling sound of his mobility cane on the jagged sidewalk. Mutters of people walking by remind him to tug his hood further over his head. He doesn't want any chance of being caught. Not now.

He finally feels glass instead of brick. Windows... to the apartment complex? He finds the handle of a door and hopes that he's there.

Once inside, he confronts the dilemma that is finding the right apartment number. He knows it's number 34. He's definitely sure. He needs help...

Gator knocks at the first door he can find, hoping to encounter a nice person. He waits for a moment and hears the door unlock and swing open.

"Can I help you?" A woman's voice says.

"Yeah!" Gator replies. "Please. Couldja help me find apartment 34?"

"Oh, yeah, of course. Let's go to the elevator." She replies. Gator is relieved. He's finally made it, right?

After being guided into the elevator and shown down a hallway, the woman taps him to stop him. She guides his hand to the right door and bids her farewell.

Y/n is getting Alex ready for school when she hears an unrhythmic knock at the door. She sits Alex down on the sofa and allows him to watch the TV for a little bit longer while she goes to see who it is.

She's a lot more shocked to look through the peephole this time. But she rushes to open the door quickly, swinging it open with a little too much force.

"Gator!? What are you– I went to visit you a few months ago and you wasn't there! Alex was so disappointed."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I'm here now." He reaches out, hand brushing against Y/n's ear, despite him aiming to find her cheek. "I'm home."

"You can't be here.." She replies reluctantly. "You broke out of jail! I mean– what if I get in trouble just for knowing you? For harbouring you from the cops?"

"I broke out to be with you." Gator's voice cracks. "To be here for Alex. Please."

Y/n knows what's safe for Alex. She does. But the desperation in Gator's voice really gets to her. She can imagine he's been through a lot. And he's had to find her blindly. She was confused with how Devon found her address, but Gator? That's a whole other level. She reaches out for him, arms sliding around him and gently pulling him close.

"You're home." She murmurs.

"Really?"

"Really." She adds. She pressed a gentle kiss to Gator's jaw. "The fact you broke out of jail to be here for me and Alex means alot."

"So you'll be with me again? I've made it up to you?" He asks pleasingly. He needs this to be true.

"I'm prepared to be with you." She replies, cupping his cheek in her hand softly. "If you're here for me, I'm here for you."

[lavenderchqn]

𝑃𝑅𝑂𝐿𝑂𝐺𝑈𝐸 — BEVERAGE GANG

𝑅𝐸𝐷 𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑆 — lyney x f!reader smau

𝑆𝑌𝑁𝑂𝑃𝑆𝐼𝑆 —

Second year of university should've been everything you thought of it - more studying with human interaction sprinkled throught... What it definitely wasn't supposed to be was an investigation saga where one of your friends goes missing out of nowhere

There was something about group projects early into the semester that filled people with uncertainty — for one, your grade was dependent on others doing their part… as well as having to deal with the awkwardness that came with not knowing each other that well…

Lyney was now experiencing it first hand, being stuck with a partner that they simply knew due to sitting next to each other on “The History of Theatre”. Luckily for him, the lovely girl he ended up with was practically more knowledgeable on this topic than their lecturer. 

On the other hand, she was a disorganised mess… as he managed to observe so far. 

“I am so sorry…” Furina sighed, searching her bag for notes a classmate had asked for their shared project. “I must’ve left my folder at my desk this morning…” 

“Whoa, whoa. You don’t have to apologise.” Lyney — the classmate in question — was stuck trying to console her, finding the apologetic behaviour of hers unnecessary. “It happens to all of us!” He did his best to cheer the panicked girl up… which seemed to be working, at least partially. 

In the blink of an eye, she got an idea, taking her phone out and deciding to call someone. 

“Please, please, please pick up— Hiii!” Her call went through and thus began her explanation of the situation. She stopped in the middle of her monologue, having realised something crucial. “Wait, I forgot to ask! Are you still home?”

“I was almost out the door.” Lyney could hear a deeper voice on the other end. “You are the last person that would make a phone call, so I picked up in case it was an emergency.” 

Furina, reassured by this knowledge, soon resumed her pleas of getting the folder delivered by her roommate, which by the steadily rising voice tone seemed to be going well. 

“You’re going to be at Café Lutece? We can go get there and pick it up!”

And that’s how Lyney ended up here. Sitting at a lovely establishment with his project partner… and a guy, with who he had major beef ever since starting university. All due to a singular game of Valorant. 

While Lyney’s only interaction with him was their twitter banter turning into said one-on-one match in the game… According to Furina, he has been nothing short of being a lovely guy and an amazing friend. 

From what she mentioned, they had become friends thanks to a well-timed suggestion at a tea shop one time. Something about her favourite brand discontinuing one of the flavours… and her being deprived of her lovely peach and raspberry beverage. 

“Neuvi should be here in a minute, quite the luck you managed to get ahold of him in time, Furu.” Wriothesley said, taking a sip of his coffee. He has been stealing occasional glances at the two of them ever since they got to the café. 

During Lyney and Furina’s walk to the café, she mentioned how Wriothesley was a frequent visitor here on his breaks between work… and so-called ‘Neuvi’ was meeting here with him to give back something he borrowed a while back, whatever it was. 

“I know right… He said something about me being the last person to make a call, and picking up in case it was serious” She executed her best Neuvillette voice, being surprisingly spot on. 

Wriothesley couldn’t help but chuckle at the girl’s impression of their friend. Even Lyney seemed to ease after witnessing it. 

“That’s quite a good impression, compared to what I heard on the phone call.” He said, grinning. “Are you sure that the seriousness in the tone isn’t a bit exaggerated, though?” Spoken like a true performance art major. 

Furina smirked, flipping her hair dramatically. “Someone has to keep things interesting around here.” 

Just then, the doors to Café Lutece swung open, and a tall and slender figure stepped in, scanning the room briefly before locking eyes with his childhood friend. Neuvillette with his calm demeanour soon approached the table, the missing folder in his hand. 

“Here you go.” He greeted her, handing her the file folder. “You ought to be more mindful of your things.” 

The girl accepted the folder with a grateful smile. “Thanks a bunch, Neuvi! You’re a lifesaver.” 

Neuvillette nodded, his gaze briefly shifting to Lyney, then to Wriothesley. An unreadable expression crossed his face before he returned his attention to the short male. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. I’m Neuvillette” He reached his hand out to shake Lyney’s. 

“Lyney.” He shook his hand. “Pleasure to meet you and huge thanks for coming through with the docs!” 

Neuvillette offered a polite nod. "It was no trouble. Good luck with your project."

As Furina and Lyney started to gather their things to leave, Wriothesley who had been listening in finally spoke up. “Why not join the two of us for coffee? Now that you have the notes, surely you could spare some time for the two of us.” 

At Wriothesley's suggestion, Lyney and Furina stared at each other, silently figuring out his proposal. 

“I can pay for your drink, as apologises.” Furina offered, looking the boy right in the eye. 

“I don't mind staying, as long as you stop being so apologetic, holy…” Lyney smiled awkwardly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone apologise so much for such a silly thing.” 

“To be completely honest, it is her fault.” Neuvillette declared, getting a look from the group. 

“Neuvillette… you will get yourself kicked out of the house again if you don’t shut up right this second.” Wriothesley countered, being met with a confused look on Lyney’s face. “Their water bill is atrocious. Don't ask.” 

With that, Lyney and Furina retook their seats, and the group settled into an unexpected but somewhat pleasant camaraderie. The initial awkwardness began to melt away as the conversation turned to lighter topics, ranging from the topics of university projects to computer games. Even Lyney and Wriothesley managed to find common ground once the topic of favourite café items came around. 

The day may not have started exactly how Lyney would predict it, but it ended on the best note possible. Although nobody at the time voiced it, this was the day when the group of friends had expanded into its final form… thanks to bonding over beverages of all things. 

𝑃𝑅𝐸𝑉𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆 — 𝑀𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇 — 𝑁𝐸𝑋𝑇 𝐸𝑃𝐼𝑆𝑂𝐷𝐸

date of posting — july 12th 2024

[neyswxrld]

weightless

Wrecker & Tech

summary: Wrecker and Tech meet in the afterlife.

warnings/vibe: it's not something that is all too sad i guess; there's an explosion, some clichés (the light in the darkness, force ghosts, you know the drill!)

words: ~1490

a/n: happy final bad batch eve! 🖤❤���🧡🖤

ok, hear me out - i don't want to fuel or believe in any theories before the final episode tomorrow. this is just for myself, for comforting and assuring myself that no matter what, everything will be okay eventually! of course, i absolutely hope nothing bad is going to happen, but for the case that wrecker dies ((and tech actually is dead)), i needed something to hold on to. and i'm sharing this because maybe someone finds some comfort in this one, too.

p.s.: english isn't my mother tongue, sorry for mistakes!

The last thing he sees is a bright fireball.

The last thing he feels is that burning heat all over his body.

The last thing he hears are Crosshair's frantic screams for him.

And then there's nothing.

Everything is quiet, peaceful.

There aren't any aches, or pain.

He isn't hungry, thirsty, too hot or too cold.

Everything feels content and for a short moment he thinks he's flying.

Floating around, weightless. Which is funny, because due to his mutations, he's always been the biggest of his brothers. And the heaviest. But he didn't mind, as long as he was able to protect them. Keep them safe.

He almost feels comforted by the nothingness surrounding him.

Everything seems balanced. Okay.

For the first time in a long while, he doesn't even feel scared. Just... indifferent. Good indifferent.

But suddenly there's that small light in the distance.

It's almost sparkling, whirling around, and he almost feels like it's calling for him.

Slowly, he starts to float towards the light.

It seems to be warm and bright, a huge contrast to this foreign quietness surrounding him, but it's not unwelcome.

It kinda... feels like home. Like he needs to go to that light. He needs to touch it. Feel its warmth, its energy.

Carefully, he reaches for the light.

The warmth emitted from the ball suddenly swarms through his body, reaching every inch, every hair, every scar. Inside and outside.

It's so good... It feels so good. Like he has to be here.

The longer he touches the light, the brighter it gets, filling up all the surrounding space.

He has to close his eyes, the light is getting too much, and... and-

When Wrecker opens his eyes for the next time, he looks into the googled face of his brother.

This one looks down at him with a confused frown plastered across his face.

He looks... Just like on the day they lost him.

"Tech?" he asks, confused, worried.

Why is he here? Is he dreaming? Tech was... Tech is... Tech is dead. How could this be?

"Wrecker," Tech says, adjusting his goggles.

"What's goin' on?" he asks, groaning slightly as he sits up.

But it's more a reflex. Nothing... hurts. He feels fine.

"How long was I out? Has to be for a long time, I feel good, nothin' hurts. At all," he raises his arms over his head, stretching, "I- I dreamed you died. Stupid plan 99, should've never came up with that, you'd never leave us like that, right, Tech? Wouldn't just... do that," Wrecker rambles and scratches his neck with his hand, looking up to Tech.

His older brother looks at him with a weird look on his face.

"I indeed executed plan 99. It was the only way out for the majority of the squad. I kept you safe," Tech says, pulling his lips into a straight line.

"W-What?" Wrecker asks confused, before shaking his head.

For the first time, he looks around and sees some sort of space shuttle. Maybe Phees ship? Or was it the one Rex arrived with? He had no idea.

"What can you remember?" Tech asks next, shuffling on his feet a bit.

He stands in front of the bunk Wrecker lays in. The rest of the room was empty, quiet. He could hear some muffled voices outside the room, but he couldn't make out any words.

"We were going in on Tantiss. There was this massive animal kicking my ass. Hurt like hell... But I still made it. I'm not made of sugar, right? Then...," Wrecker stops for a second, thinking about everything. His memory starts to get sloppy.

"Just remember meeting Omega somewhere. She freed that zillo beast. It was huge! And then... There's something about an explosion. Crosshair almost got caught in it. I shielded him, I think," Wrecker murmurs and takes another deep breath as the memory of that burning pain around his body catches up with his brain.

But that's all - just a memory... Nothing hurts for real.

"Is he safe? Are the others? Where are they? Why are you here? Tech, I'm really confused right now," Wrecker shakes his head and looks up at his older brother again.

Tech swallows before nodding.

"They made it out fine, Wrecker," Tech assures him, before swallowing for a second time.

Why is he acting so weird?

"Great!" Wrecker exclaims, at the same as Tech says, "But you didn't."

They look at each other, keeping quiet for a while.

"I didn't?" He asks, "What do you mean by that?"

"You blew up, Wrecker. I think... you died," Tech states.

"I'm dead?" he echoes, before adding, "You think?"

"It appears that the explosion you shielded Crosshair from was a lot heavier than anticipated. While you saved Crosshair's life, you... you lost yours," Tech explains, breaking the news to him.

Wrecker looks at him for a few seconds, speechless.

That would explain why there isn't any pain. Or why he's able to talk to Tech.

They're both dead.

"I-I don't... Where are we? Why are we here?" is the next thing he wants to know, not fully able to understand how he should approach this new... situation. Everything's so strange.

"Currently, we are on a shuttle with the others. I dragged you up here. It appears that we are some kind of ghosts. At least we're in a state after life, which takes part in either some kind of parallel universe or in a temporal upheaval. I am not certain about that," Tech says, adjusting his goggles again.

Wrecker looks at him with raised brows, a huge question mark forming in his head. "You don't know?"

"In all that time I've been here, I wasn't able to fully conclude the whole extent of this... situation. But I've met some other clones, following their loved ones around in this state. So I assume it's a part of life, or, more precisely, the afterlife," his older brother sighs a little.

Wrecker pulls his feet over the edge of the bunk so he's fully sitting now, holding his head in his hands.

"Can the others see us?" Wrecker asks and Tech looks at him like he just lost his head.

"Of course not."

Wrecker feels like he just lost his head.

"It takes time getting used to. I'll leave you alone so you can think about it," Tech says.

Wrecker thinks he still acts a little odd. Not like the Tech he used to know. Not like the Tech that... was alive.

Tech seems to be honest about the fact that it takes some time to get used to the new situation. Wrecker isn't sure if his brother even got used to it by now. Not with how he's acting. And now... He's here, too.

"Tech," Wrecker starts and reaches for his brothers' wrist, gently laying his fingers around it and pulling him towards him.

"I-I don't want to be alone. Can you stay?" he says and moves to the side a little.

Tech nods and carefully sits down, unusually close to him.

"Have you been alone the whole time since..?" he wants to know, but Tech just shrugs.

"I was following the squad around," Tech murmurs and sinks into Wrecker's side as he lays an arm around him.

They haven't 'cuddled' like that in so, so many years.

"But now you have me," Wrecker whispers almost. He doesn't know if he's glad or sad about it.

Sure, he saved Crosshairs life. He helped his brothers. He had Tech again. But he'll miss the others. So, so much.

Tech has had to go through those first steps alone. He must have been so lost in the beginning. So lonely.

"Are we going to see the others again when they... When they die?" he wants to know after some time.

"That seems to be very likely," Tech answers, and Wrecker nods again.

That means he could still watch over them, be with them, and meet them again. And now, neither him or Tech, or the others will be alone for a while. Hopefully.

They freed Omega, they made a run for their lives.

They lost brothers, gained friends and family.

They settled down on a remote planet.

Quiet and peaceful.

They made a life for themselves, far, far away from the empire and all the evil in the world.

They saw Omega grow up.

They saw the others growing old.

They saw the others live the life they never had the chance to. And they were happy for them.

When Hunter joined them one day, they welcomed him with warm hugs and reassurances that everything would be fine.

As soon as Crosshair was with them, they almost felt complete once more.

When they followed Omega to Rex and his remaining brothers, they met Echo again.

Together, they kept watching over their baby sister, never forgetting their promises of staying with her.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

@isthereanechoinhere96 @trixie2023 @freesia-writes

[dalekofchaos]

How do you fuck up a show about Boba Fett?

I will forever be baffled by how Filoni and Favreau botched Boba Fett's show nor will I ever forgive them for how they did Boba Fett dirty just to be used as a fucking stepping stone for Din and Grogu. Even worse is how Disney refuses to give Temuera Morrison the audience or time to grant him a season 2.

A Boba Fett show on paper should've been the easiest thing in the world. I already made a list of ways how season 1 could've been better. But here's a smaller list.

Boba Fett actually being a crime lord and acts like the ruthless bounty hunter only doing it on his terms

Give us flashbacks to Jango during the Mandalorian Civil War(bonus points. Jango killed Tor Viszla, but Deathwatch refused to give up the Darksaber. By rights Jango is the rightful ruler of the Darksaber and for that very reason is why the weapon is cursed with hints that because Boba is Jango's son, Boba Fett is destined to wield the Darksaber)

GIve us flashbacks of Daniel Logan during Boba's rise as a ruthless bounty hunter and you know, give us the cut Bounty Hunter arc via flashbacks

Keep the helmet on. He shouldn't even take it off for Fennec. If I wanted to see Temuera's face, I would advocate for a Captain Rex show. The mask IS BOBA'S FACE

Instead of being this dumbed down idiot who's more of a sheriff instead of a Godfather like criminal. Boba is 10 steps ahead of everyone. He knows how this game is played and will use the knowledge he's gained from his father and working with Jabba. Instead of being hunted down by the Syndicate, it's him hunting them down.

A good Boba Fett story is easy, it just needs proper execution.

He just needs to be a darker version of The Mandalorian. Instead of being on the run, he is hunting. Instead of showing mercy, he has little.

Where Din and Grogu are the heroes, Boba and Fennec are the clear seedier and morally grey figures.

Hell just make John Wick in space. Spice Syndicate gets ballsy and fucks up his little kingdom, so Boba Fett dons the helmet and doesn't take it off until he's dismantled the entire syndicate one boss per episode tracking them across their galactic network. And when the syndicate bosses thinks Boba's left them alive, Fennec is there to finish the job. Fennec's role is to assassinate targets that could cripple rival syndicates and enrich their own empire. You can have guest stars and cameos, which would be interesting to see pre-established characters react to his ruthless effective extermination. Hell, maybe some object so strongly they fight Boba Fett so the boss battle of an episode is against a good guy.

Or hell. If the rumors of Mace returning are true, maybe you could center the season around that. Mace Windu is Boba's Moby Dick and he's chasing him throughout the Outer Rim. But when he finds Mace, he's just a tired old man who cut himself off from the force after his failure. When the audience thinks Boba might forgive him and give up his vengeance, BAM! Boba shoots him dead. Boba has no mercy.

I mean this shit isn't hard to outline, which is why what we got was confusing.

Boba Fett in Mando was physically portrayed as even more of a threat than Din and took out SHIPS of stormtroopers single-handedly and morally he was honorable but still grey.

Now all of a sudden he's completely different. He constantly needs a bacta nap. He barely fires his weapons. He is easily duped by everyone. He wants to "rule with respect". He gets duped by everyone. And the out of place Mods.

You know what would've been an easy fix to all of this? No Din Djarin, no Grogu and it's all about Boba and Jango Fett.

Imagine instead of Din and Grogu. The Mandalorian was about Jango and Boba Fett. Jango is the Mandalorian and we see his back story and him training Boba.

It could’ve honestly been a generational story

S1: Jango story that fleshes out his time before the prequels to his death

S2: young Boba post prequels to his escape of the Pitt

S3 Boba’s journey post Pitt to after sequel timeline