#no there's a deep seated self consciousness to both the characters

[natjennie]

it's about the fact that if stede had told ed he needed to find mary and set things right, he would've gone along. I know he would've. but in no world would stede be in a place to believe that ed would go. that someone would support him. so of course he goes off on his own, scared, in shock, delirious, exhausted, traumatized. of course he's on autopilot, trying desperately to go back to when things made a little bit of sense. if he was cognizant enough to include ed in his line of thinking, or course ed would be amenable, quickly reshaping their future to include a quick stop in barbados because it's what stede needed in that moment. of course he would. but they're both so fucking hurt and scared and have such low self esteem that badminton's speech and death, and subsequently stede's absence at the dock, were the nail in the coffin for them both. just.. the way that, logically, they could've come together, they could've communicated, they could have worked it out, but it makes absolutely perfect sense that they didn't. that they couldn't. yknow what I mean?

[lupinmoonlight]

Submission Part 3: Obedience

Masterlist AO3 Submission Part 1 Submission Part 2: Establishing Rules

Summary - Your fantasies to be dominated finally become true. Professor Lupin leaves a mark of ownership on your skin and tests your willingness to submit to him. You also lose your BJ v-card on your knees in his quarters. (4,062 words)

Warnings - smut, teacher/student relationship, heavy D/s undertones, professor/sir kink, rules, mention of pushing limits, mention of safeword, self-degradation, LOTS of "good girl" and "Yes, Sir", oral sex (reader giving), swallowing, mentions of bruises, spanking, being tied up, very light innocence kink if you squint, marking, my grammar.

Notes - This is not proof-read. Almost just pure smut. I had a lot of fun writing this one. This is also my longest piece. Still not sure where I am going with this, I just want it to be kinky. I know how out of character this is for Lupin, but I still try to keep some of his traits in this.

You were staring at your reflection in the mirror, meticulously pulling your hair into a neat bun like he had instructed. Every strand felt significant, every lock a piece of the puzzle you were stepping into or rather, diving into. The collar of your uniform felt tighter than usual, your exposed neck, just for him, sending a chill down your spine. This was real. And there was no going back.

You attended your morning classes in a daze, barely aware of your surroundings, the voices of your professors sounding distant and muffled. You tired to focus, but your mind was elsewhere, the memory of you standing between his legs as he gave you commands taking up all the space in your head.

When it was finally time for your DADA class, your heart pounded in your chest. You suddenly regretted having all those fantasies and acting on them. You were dumb. A dumb, horny teenager desperate to be dominated by her professor. Desperate to give in, to submit, to be used. You took your usual seat, consciously trying to keep your breathing steady. You were filled with a weird mix of nervousness and excitement as Professor Lupin entered the classroom, his gaze momentarily meeting yours before he began the lesson.

As the class progressed, you noticed his gaze lingering on you more often than usual. Every time he looked at you, his eyes would drop to your neck, observing the exposed skin there. The heat that spread through your body was both exhilarating and terrifying, like you were going to combust, leaving you feeling breathless and flustered.

His voice, usually so soothing and calming, felt different today. Every word he spoke seemed to be laced with an undercurrent of something more, something only the two of you were privy to. Each time he said your name, it felt like a secret shared, a promise made. However, he gave no indication of any change in your relationship, but those lingering glances, the slight change in his tone when addressing you, were enough to make you want to kneel right then and there. Pathetic.

Dinner felt like a strange dream, the food tasteless in your mouth as your mind raced with possibilities of what the event might hold. Would he bend you over and fuck you senseless? Would he slowly tease you and make you beg for his touch? Was he even going to touch you? You didn't even care at that point. You would take anything he gave you. You wanted him, needed him.

You finally left the Great Hall, your heart pounding in your chest, barely able to breathe, and made your way to Professor Lupin's quarters. The hallways, usually so familiar and comforting, felt alien tonight. You cursed yourself for being so nervous. You had willingly put yourself in this situation, yet at that moment, it was like you wanted to run away from it, the anxiety consuming you entirely.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself before knocking softly. The door swung open almost immediately, revealing him standing there, his expression calm and composed.

"Come in," he said simply, stepping aside to let you enter. As you crossed the threshold, you felt like you were going to combust. His quarters were warm and inviting, a reflection of the man consuming your thoughts. A roaring fire cast flickering shadows across the room, bathing everything in a soft, golden light. It smelled of tea, fresh parchment, and something uniquely him. You were dizzy, nauseous, aroused, absolutely intoxicated.

"Sit," he gestured towards a chair near the fireplace. You did as you were told, your hands nervously clutching at the edge of your skirt. He took a seat opposite you, his gaze steady and serious.

"Before we continue," he began, his voice firm yet gentle, "we need to discuss the possible consequences and punishments if you fail to follow my instructions. It's important that you understand what is expected of you, and that you agree to these terms."

He paused, letting his words sink in, before continuing. "Are you ready to hear them?"

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to maintain eye contact with him. "Yes," you finally let out, your voice barely above a whisper.

He arched an eyebrow, a clear sign that you'd made a mistake. "Yes, what?" he corrected, his tone stern.

You blinked, realizing your error. "Yes, Sir," you corrected yourself, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Good. Firstly, if you fail to maintain eye contact or address me properly during our sessions, you will lose privileges. This could mean that our sessions are shortened or certain activities are taken off the table."

You nodded, feeling the heat pool between your legs. The simple act of him giving you a mundane instruction was enough to make your breath hitch in your throat, and you hated yourself for it. He was your weakness and you could not deny it.

"Secondly," he continued, "if you fail to follow my instructions, either inside or outside our sessions, you will be given a chance to explain yourself. However, if I find your explanation unsatisfactory or if it happens repeatedly, you may be subjected to physical punishments. These may include, but are not limited to, spankings, or standing in the corner for a predetermined amount of time. Do you understand?"

You felt your heart race at the thought of such punishments. Were they even punishments for you? You were ready to beg to be spanked by him, to be manhandled, humiliated, but you managed to reply, "Yes, Sir."

"Very good," he continued, satisfied. "Lastly, I must remind you that if you ever feel uncomfortable, unsafe, or overwhelmed, you must tell me immediately. Failing to do so will be considered a breach of our agreement and may lead to the termination of our arrangement. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir," you said, feeling a strange mix of relief and apprehension. You went into this thinking you wouldn't have any limits, but how far would he be pushing you? And how much were you able to let go entirely?

He nodded, satisfied with your response, and leaned back in his chair, studying you with a focused gaze. You felt exposed, vulnerable, and it was oddly thrilling.

"Are you ready to proceed to the next part of our session?" he asked, his voice steady and calm.

"Yes, Sir," you replied again, feeling as if you were going to pass out.

"Good," he said, nodding in approval. "Stand up."

You quickly rose to your feet, your legs slightly shaky beneath you. His gaze never left you, taking in your every move, every reaction. It was dark, intense, almost predatory. A stark contrast to the kind and soft professor you were used to see in the classroom.

He stood up from his chair, moving to stand in front of you. "Kneel," he commanded. You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing, but eventually obeyed. Sinking to your knees on the plush rug in front of him.

He looked down at you, his gaze softening. "I can see you're nervous," he said, his voice gentle. "It's okay. I want you to relax and let me take over completely. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes Sir," you managed to whisper, your gaze flickering up to meet his.

He watched you, his gaze steady and patient. "Good girl," he praised, the words sending a jolt of electricity between your legs. You felt a rush of warmth at his words, a sense of pride that made you eager to please him further.

"Now," he said, his voice taking a more serious tone, "I want you to take off your shirt. Slowly."

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you did as you were told, slowly unbuttoning your shirt and sliding off your shoulders, leaving yourself exposed to him, your eyes locked with his.

He walked around you, his gaze taking in your bare upper body, burning into your skin, the anticipation making you shiver. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but there was something exhilarating about it, too. You were baring yourself to him, not just physically, but emotionally as well.

"Stay still," he instructed, his voice low and soft. You felt the tip of his wand touch your back, and you braced yourself for what was to come.

With slow, deliberate movements, he traced a pattern on your skin. It felt like a soft burn, not painful but intense. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound, your body tense.

The mark he left was intricate and beautiful. It resembled the moon in its various phases, starting from a full moon at the top of your spine, gradually waning to a crescent at the small of your back, only to wax back into a full moon. The lines were smooth and seamless, glowing faintly against your skin.

"Beautiful," he murmured, tracing the mark with his fingers. His touch was feather-light, but it was enough to make you shiver. "You've done well, taking the marking so bravely. Good girl."

Another rush of warmth spread through your chest at his words, at the pride in his voice. Your heart was racing, your skin tingling under his touch, but you felt more alive than you had in a long time.

"Remember," he said, his voice serious, "this mark is a symbol of our bond, of the trust between us. It's a reminder of the rules, the consequences, and the promise we've made to each other."

"Yes, Sir," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked at you, his eyes searching your face. "Now, it's important for you to be able to express your desires openly and honestly," he said, his voice firm. "I want you to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you. Use your words, and keep your eyes on me."

You felt your cheeks burn, your heart race. It was one thing to think about your fantasies, to imagine them in the privacy of your own mind, but to say them out loud, to admit them to him…was terrifying.

You tried to look at him, to meet his gaze, but your eyes kept darting away, unable to hold his steady stare. "Eyes on me," he reminded you, and you forced yourself to look back at him.

It took a few moments to find your voice, to gather the courage to say the words out loud. "I… I want you to… to take control, to… to make me submit to you."

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Go on," he urged, his voice soft but insistent.

You took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to continue. "I want you to… to touch me, Sir. To push me to my limits, to make me… beg for your touch. To spank me until I can't speak anymore."

He leaned in slightly, his eyes locked with yours. "What else?" he asked.

You swallowed hard, feeling your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I want you to… to tie me up, Sir. To bind me, to keep me helpless under your control."

He took a moment, studying your face, your eyes, looking for any signs of hesitation, fear, or uncertainty. Finding none, he nodded, his expression serious yet gentle.

"Stand up," he instructed firmly. "I want you to trust me. Let me guide you."

You stood, your legs a little shaky but your resolve strong.

"Good," he murmured, a note of approval in his voice. "Now, I want you to put your hands behind your back."

As you did as he instructed, he conjured a piece of silk rope, long and soft. Your heart pounded in your chest as he approached you, the rope in his hands.

He saw the look in your eyes and gave you a reassuring smile. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, Sir," you managed to whisper, your throat dry.

"Good," he said softly, before he started to tie your hands behind your back. His touch was gentle, the knots firm but not too tight, allowing enough room for your skin to breathe.

"Now, let's see about that spanking you asked for," he said as he sat back in his chair, guiding you over his lap, your hands still bound behind your back. His touch was firm yet gentle, making sure you were comfortable. He lifted up your skirt, making it pool around your waist, and slowly pulled down your panties, revealing your bare skin.

The first smack landed on your backside without warning, a sting that made you gasp. It wasn't painful, just surprising.

"Good girl," he praised. "You're doing well."

He continued, each smack making your body jolt, your skin tingle. You could feel the heat spreading between your legs. You were wet, the mix of pain and pleasure that was so intense, so arousing. You bit your lip and breathed deeply. It was all you could do to keep yourself from squirming. You could feel a bulge insistently pressing against your lower abdomen, a sign you were not the only one finding this arousing.

He would pause every now and then, his hand gently rubbing your ass, soothing the sting. His touch was comforting, grounding, a reminder that he was there, that he was in control, but that he was also taking care of you.

When he finally stopped, you were panting, your skin hot, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, helping you sit in his lap. His eyes were soft, his voice full of praise. He placed his hands on your bare thighs, his hard length now pressing against your abused ass through his trousers.

He untied your hands, his touch gentle as he rubbed your wrists, soothing the slight sting from the ropes. He scanned your body for any signs of discomfort. Finding none, he stood from his chair, guiding you up to your feet. "On your knees," he ordered in a calm, steady voice.

You did as you were told, slowly sinking to the floor until your knees hit the soft rug beneath you, your eyes perfectly levelled with the evident arousal straining against the fabric of his trousers. Your heart pounded in your chest as he approached you, his steps slow and measured. His hand found its way into your hair, threading through the strands and closing into a firm grip. He tugged lightly, tilting your head upwards, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were serious, dark with desire.

Your cheeks heated up as he tightened his grip on your hair, pulling your head closer to him, a silent command that made your heart race.

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry as a knot of anxiety formed in your stomach. "Sir… I… I've never…" you started, your voice shaky.

He paused at your confession, his gaze softening. "It's alright," he said, his voice calm and reassuring. "I will guide you. But I will not ask you to do anything you're not comfortable with. Are you willing to proceed?"

"Yes, Sir," you replied, the knot in your stomach loosening slightly at his words.

His free hand reached down, unbuttoning his trousers and pulling them down just enough to free his hard length. He glanced down at you, his eyes locking with yours. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice soft but firm.

You nodded, whispering, "Yes, Sir."

"Good girl," he murmured. He positioned you properly, your hands resting on his thighs as he guided you forward. "I want you to start by kissing and licking the length of me, getting a feel for it."

Tentatively, you followed his instructions, placing soft, hesitant kisses along his length before using your tongue to explore his contours. He continued to hold your hair, guiding your movements as needed.

"Good girl," he praised again. "Now, take the head into your mouth, and slowly work your way down."

You did as he instructed, the intimacy of the act causing your heart to race. He guided your head with gentle pressure, his fingers still tangled in your hair. "Relax your throat and breathe through your nose," he advised, his voice never faltering.

As you continued, you found yourself getting lost in the sensation of him filling your mouth. You tried to be careful, to keep your teeth out of the way, to pleasure him. He was big, making your jaw hurt in a delightful way.

After giving you time to adjust to the new sensation, he took more control over the movements, his hand in your hair holding you in place as he slowly thrusted in and out of your mouth. "Keep your eyes on me," he commanded when you momentarily looked away, and you quickly refocused your gaze on his. "Take your time," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "You're doing well. Just breathe."

You tried your best to follow his advice, to relax and just breathe, but you couldn't help but tense up as he pushed further, the unfamiliar sensation making you choke slightly. He paused immediately, pulling back a bit and giving you time to adjust.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

You nodded, taking a deep breath. "Yes, Sir," you managed to say, your voice muffled around his cock stuffing your mouth.

He began to move again, his eyes never leaving yours as he thrusted slowly and deliberately, hitting the back of your throat every time, making you gag.

"Relax your throat for me," he instructed, ensuring that you pleasured him as he desired. "That's it…just like that," he commanded, his voice low and gruff, thick with desire.

His breath hitched as you took him deeper, causing him to let out a low growl of approval. The sight of you on your knees, teary eyed, with your swollen lips stretched around him drove him closer to the edge. He could feel his release building, the familiar coil in his lower abdomen tightening with every passing second. But he didn't want this to end, not just yet. He wanted to savor this moment, to draw out this sweet torture for as long as he could.

"Good girl…you're doing so well," he praised, his voice barely above a whisper. The praise made you feel warm, a sense of accomplishment washing over you.

You focused on your breathing, on his voice, on the sensation of him in your mouth. The taste of him on your tongue, his hand tightly gripping your hair, the sound of his growl every time he hit the back of your throat…it was intoxicating, it was enough to make you come right then and there. But this was not about you, it was about his pleasure, about him dominating you in the most intimate way. You couldn't help but close your eyes at the thought, your hands gripping his thighs in an attempt to ground yourself.

"Keep your eyes on me," he growled, his grip on her hair tightening. "Don't look away." And as you complied, your gaze locking with his, he felt a sense of possessiveness wash over him.

His thrusts became more urgent and forceful, and you struggled to keep up, your jaw growing tired and your eyes watering. But you were determined not to disappoint him, so you pushed through the discomfort.

His grip on your hair tightened, his breaths becoming ragged. "I'm close," he warned, his voice strained.

His words sent a jolt of anticipation through you, your heart pounding in your chest. He was trusting you with this, with his pleasure, his release.

He looked down at you, his gaze intense. "Swallow for me," he commanded, his voice low and hoarse.

The command was a shock and made your heart pound in your chest, a flush creeping up your cheeks. But you nodded, ready to obey, ready to please him.

In one final deep thrust, he groaned, his release washing over him as he spilled himself in your mouth. "Swallow," he commanded, his voice a low growl.

You could feel his cock pulse on your tongue, the warm salty liquid filling your mouth. You struggled, the sensation and taste overwhelming. But his grip on your hair remained firm, holding you there as he watched you swallow down his seed, some of it dribbling down your chin.

When he finally pulled away, there was a moment of silence, a pause filled with heavy breaths and the pounding of your heart. He looked down at you with a gentle but intense gaze, his thumb wiping away the salty remnants of his release. He brought it up to your lips, and without hesitation, you opened your mouth to suck it clean, looking up at him with wide innocent eyes. The sight was sinful enough to make his cock twitch once more.

After a moment, he helped you to your feet. His touch was soft, caring as he helped you put your shirt back on. The fabric was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat still emanating from the mark he had left on your back.

He stepped back, studying you for a moment. Then, he reached out, his hand coming up to cup your chin. "I have a new rule for you," he said, his voice low and serious.

You looked up at him, waiting for him to continue.

"You are not to touch yourself without my explicit permission," he stated, his gaze never leaving yours. "Do you understand?"

You nodded, a rush of excitement coursing through you, although you couldn't deny the disappointment. You weren't sure how you would be able to hold out once you were on your own with your filthy mind, replaying tonight's encounter. "Yes, Sir."

"Good," he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Then, he moved to your neck, his lips pressing against the soft skin. You could feel the pressure build, a sharp sting as he sucked a deep red mark onto your skin. The sensation was both pleasurable and painful, a reminder of your submission to him.

His voice was a whisper against your skin as he spoke next. "Tomorrow," he began, pulling away to look at you, "I want you to wear no panties for our next session."

You swallowed hard, nodding in understanding. "Yes, Sir."

He smiled at you, his expression soft. "Now, off you go. I expect you to complete your homework and go to bed early. Rest up; you'll need your energy for our next session."

You looked into his eyes, feeling a mix of excitement, anticipation, and gratitude. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

With a final, lingering touch to your cheek, he sent you on your way, his gaze following you as you left his quarters. The night air was cool against your heated skin as you made your way back to your dormitory, your mind racing with thoughts of what had transpired, and what was to come.

As you lay in bed that night, the red mark on your neck throbbing gently, your skin tingling with an afterglow that made your knees weak. You couldn't shake off the memory of his touch, his voice, his gaze - it was all too much, too overwhelming, and you were desperate to touch yourself.

Every nerve in your body was screaming for his touch, his command. You wanted to feel his hand threading through your hair again, his fingers gripping firmly. You wanted to hear his low, firm voice, instructing you, guiding you, praising you. You craved the sense of surrender, the thrill of obedience, the intoxicating rush of relinquishing control.

Another part of you hated feeling so submissive, so weak, so desperate. You hated the fact that you needed him, that you wanted him. It was confusing, conflicting. And yet, there was something about him – something that drew you in, something that made you want to submit, to surrender. His gentle yet firm demeanor, his patient understanding, his stern but caring guidance – it all made you feel seen, heard, valued.

Your fingers traced the red mark on your neck - a constant reminder of your submission, of your surrender. Your throat was sore from being used. Your scalp was sensitive from having your hair pulled. You could still feel his hand on your backside. He was everywhere. On your skin, in your mouth, in your stomach. And it was perfect. And you wanted more, needed more, craved more.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Afternoon delight

This is not the first time that I am writing this pairing for @lycheesodas, but it might well be the first time that I make it spicy...

Another NSFW one for Week 2 - Please be advised!

Thank you @lycheesodas for your faith...I hope this is okay...

Words: 1133

Characters: Beleg x Mablung

Prompt: Picnics & Multiple Orgasms

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, nipple play, oral sex, anal sex

"You're so beautiful," Beleg whispered, awe-struck at the sight of Mablung's naked body, seated politely on the forest floor.

Letting out a strangled noise, somewhere between a scoff and a moan, Mablung merely shook his head and reached for the basket full of wild strawberries he had carried gingerly all the way from Menegroth for his lover's delight.

Every once in a while, they managed to have these secret picnics in secluded spots deep within the forest that seemed to be only known to them, and they cherished those stolen moments of blissful togetherness.

Mablung knew the voracious expression in Beleg's eyes only too well and his treacherous body reacted instinctively—hence why the fruit he judiciously cradled in his lap now was but a flimsy defence against the inevitable onslaught of torturous tenderness his insatiable lover seemed to be plotting.

"So steadfast," Beleg went on crooning, falling to his knees and advancing slowly towards his visitor, "so very generous. Let me make it up to you."

"Are you going to hunt us dinner then?" Mablung asked, suppressing the tell-tale quiver in his voice—his throat was burning with the effort and his fingers tightened around the rim of the basket fitfully.

Upon arriving, Mablung had immediately been relieved of both his gifts and the better part of his garments and pressed against the rough bark of an ancient tree to have his mouth captured savagely while Beleg's clever fingers slipped between his thighs, awakening Mablung's desire as easily as he drew a bow.

Even after so many years—oft far apart in body but inseparable in thought—Mablung could hardly fathom how this bright-eyed, ever-smiling wood sprite of old could have him panting and shivering in the throes of maddening passion within mere moments.

As much as he questioned that strange spell he was under, he could not deny that he had relished the way Beleg seemed to drink his every hoarse cry and desperate whimper from his very lips while pressing against him mercilessly.

By rights and experience, they should have been long past the phase of unbridled, desperate rutting against one another until they spilt over their joined hands, but—at times—the long separation and the burning longing would not countenance any delay.

Thus, their reunion had started with a clash of heated bodies writhing in symphony and messy kisses spread haphazardly across heated skin before they had suffered the humiliating ordeal of washing their soiled clothes in the nearby river.

Sated, they had then stretched out on the soft carpet of wild grasses and green moss to exchange stories and news while letting the sun, filtering delicately through the canopy overhead, dapple their skin with specks of dancing gold.

"I have missed you so," Beleg admitted, settling his palms high upon Mablung's thighs and bending down to pluck a single strawberry out of the basket with his mouth.

With a groan of renewed excitement—would Beleg ever stop having this devastating effect on him?—Mablung shifted self-consciously.

"So delicious," Beleg went on playfully and pressed his sticky lips against the taut stomach of his rigid colleague and paramour.

For a while, Mablung could but watch and witness as Beleg ate his way to the bottom of the basket—he could feel his warm breath through the weaving and the awareness of the proximity of those strawberry-stained lips to his by now undeniable arousal made a thin sheen of sweat break out on his shivering skin.

Suddenly, Beleg sucked his teeth in disapproval and twisted around to reach for his pouch, granting Mablung a breathtaking view of his elegant spine.

"Even when it's hot," the renowned archer remonstrated, "you must not neglect proper padding during training."

Frowning, Mablung looked down at his ever so slightly chafed nipples and rolled his eyes.

"You exaggerate," he tried to assuage the other's worries, but before he could protest further, Beleg had whipped back and was kissing him breathless.

"When I am not there," he said insistently, his eyes flickering with a feverish gleam, "you must take the very best care of yourself!"

He smelled like a meadow in bloom and tasted like wild strawberries, Mablung thought dazedly as he was pushed flat on his back.

An acquiescent hum passed his lips as he stared at the dancing leaves above their heads—the fresh aroma of ground herbs progressively pervaded and saturated the air, and he had but a moment to wonder before Beleg's mouth returned to his skin.

Laving his sore nipples with a tongue coated in a paste of healing plants and saliva, Beleg painted a kaleidoscope of coloured marks across Mablung's chest.

This was healing, care, a claim, and an earnest attempt to dissimulate the shining beauty of Mablung's complexion by making it blend in with their surroundings.

"Don't stop there," Mablung whispered, tossing the basket aside and laying bare his reawakened need to the curious, flashing eyes of the one he loved so deeply.

Yes, they were indeed beyond torturous friction, foiled by breeches and tunics—as those warm, tender lips closed around the tip of his cock teasingly, Mablung was sure of it.

In time with the swaying branches Mablung was still gazing at distractedly, Beleg's mouth ebbed and flowed against him like the river lapping against unmoving stones.

Just as the forest seemed to melt and dissolve around him, Mablung shot up. It would have been too easy to allow Beleg to bring him to completion thus, while he lay there in criminal indolence and inactivity.

"I have brought something for you as well," he purred and produced a vial filled with a clear, viscous liquid.

Pouring it over his hands and Beleg's seductively perky behind liberally, Mablung set to work to grant as much pleasure as he had received.

"Do you begrudge the forest your seed then?" Beleg teased over his shoulder with a wink.

Grunting his acquiescence, Mablung lined up and pushed into the unseen realm he called "home" with tender determination.

Encircling Beleg's hips with his arms—confident that he would not pull away—Mablung closed his slick hands around the sceptre and jewels of a king without a throne.

The airy sigh, melting into the unintelligible whispering of the wood, escaping Beleg at that contact drove Mablung to distraction faster and more violently than either one of them had expected.

All inhibitions and good resolutions of restraint fell from him like heavy chains cast off—he surged freely into the welcoming, tight heat of his beloved without ever letting go of his agonizingly swollen cock.

The forest, the air, the nearby river and those two lovers became one, breathless and relentless, until they collapsed into a deafening silence in which their little part of the world was torn apart and made anew unheeded.

@fellowshipofthefics Here's another outrageously spicy one!

Lots of love from me!

[vollzz]

1.What is your character's biggest fear, and how does it affect their actions and relationships? 4. What are your character's quirks or eccentricities that make them stand out from others? 9. What is your character's moral compass? What principles or values do they hold dear? For Eves

hey thank you for asking!! I will take every excuse to talk about eves :)

1- I’m going to say two fears because they’re pretty intertwined: they’re terrified of abandonment and no longer feeling loved. It’s not completely the reason Eves is the way they are, but those fears have warped them significantly over time. It’s absolutely why they are the only deity that has physical/emotional relationships with their followers. Eves also “relieves” Lovers of their service after a while partially as a defense mechanism - they can’t be abandoned if they do the abandoning first. A big part of Calliope’s struggles in their relationship is Eves’ extreme jealousy, to the point that they’ve killed someone she tried to befriend in the past out of fear that she might leave them for someone else.

They seem to be drawn to people with similar issues (although for wholly different reasons), though I can’t say they’ve done enough introspection to realize that! Calliope is no different, which is why she latches on to them so quickly/easily.

These deep-seated issues are very much related to why they despise Greylin, the lord of deities, so much, and is also why they have an estranged relationship with [???] 👀

4- First with the obvious: Eves ALWAYS stands out in any setting because they’re effectively the hottest being on the planet, and they generally let some degree of their alluring powers transcend the area around them. We see this really early on when Calliope and Eves are walking through a town and despite Eves having their hood up, practically everyone is craning their necks to look at them (they know Cal is annoyed by this, but see answer above - they NEED to know that people are interested in them at all times).

I think the other thing though is that Eves likes to express themselves through their makeup and clothing, I’d say both consciously and unconsciously. Their most precious belonging is a raven-feathered cloak of mysterious origin, and they are almost always seen wearing it EXCEPT when they plan to do/expect something gruesome. As if they don’t want to taint the cloak, almost. Makeup-wise they always wear some amount of eyeshadow/eyeliner and it often correlates with their mood. There’s a couple scenes later on in Blackflame that really show this: in one, they appear very disheveled and have smears of black makeup under their eyes as if they’d rubbed them while forgetting they wore mascara, and in another they line their eyes with a bright red shadow that mimics their fiery temper in the way that it clashes with the gold of their irises.

9- This one’s interesting, because I feel like a traditional moral compass doesn’t necessarily apply to immortal beings. My thoughts are that morality can often come from a place of wanting to make a difference, wanting to be remembered for good and help people etc, but in writing these deities I wondered what kind of morals someone would have if they knew they would ALWAYS exist. Like, if you do something horrifically awful, does it really matter when everyone who will remember you for it will be dead in 100 years? At what point do you become existentially bored and start doing random chaotic bullshit just to feel alive, you know?

So with that said, at this point in time Eves, and all of the deities, err on the side of generally neutral and self-serving, though some of them are more benevolent that others. Eves really only does things that make them feel loved and wanted, and will also do anything to get under Greylin’s skin (whether that thing is morally “good” or not). They don’t really find anything wrong with using their Lovers to satiate their needs for love and companionship, and even thinks of it as doing them a great service - in their eyes, spending time with them is a privilege that people would die for!

There is one thing, however, that they are very, very touchy about. Eves is very outspoken that their powers don’t create desire where it doesn’t exist, so if someone genuinely weren’t attracted to Eves they wouldn’t feel the pull of their alluring power. We see this when they interact with followers of other deities - their hearts/souls are taken by their vows and so they can’t feel Eves’ power anymore. So Eves has never, and will never, sleep with someone who doesn’t want to, and will absolutely murder anyone who suggests otherwise.

—

This was really fun to answer! Thanks anon :)

[babysharl]

Hope I'm not too late for the WIP ask game. What about #1 and #3? Also is there really going to be a continuation of the Christmas one shot you wrote?

You were not late for the WIP ask game !! But I definitely am, sorry it's taken me a couple days to answer 🙏 Thank you for the ask, love!

You have all the answers under the cut so I don't make an annoyingly lenghthy post ^^

Okay, so #1, Lest is my 2022 season fic. It has like 25k words written, but it's mostly dialogue except for a few fully formed scenes, and it spans literally the entire season. I wrote it as it went on (it's divided into 28 chapters), but it's too gargantuan of a WIP to work through :S Maybe I'll reconceptualise it into a oneshot, cause I like the character arcs in it and there's scenes I love a lot. Max is poly in this and in a serious relationship with Kelly, and at the start Charles is with Charlotte too. Charles and Max start developing a closer friendship, and then ✨feelings✨ start to appear. They go back and forth without addressing said feelings for a long while.

Here's an excerpt of a scene post Singapore qualifying:

"Hey." He said quietly, debating with himself for all of two seconds before he took a seat next to Max, self-consciously still leaving a gap between them. When he finally settled down, it seemed like Max came out of whatever revery he had been in. 

"Sorry we're up here." He muttered, his voice cracking up in the middle before he cleared his throat, still looking ahead to the skyline that was visible. "Kelly was asleep already." 

Charles hummed, but didn't really know how to answer that. There was a weird feeling hanging between them, and Charles would be lying if he said on his part it had nothing to do with having met Kelly the day before, or Max mentioning her being in their room and bed right now. It made him feel awful, too. But he doubted anything going on between them had anything to do with Max reaching out so late and when they should've been closing the curtains in their rooms and getting to bed. It was nearing midnight in Monaco's time. Way past their bedtimes. 

"Are you okay?" He braved, waiting with bated breath to see if Max would lash out. Charles still didn't know what to expect with him. He was better at reading Max now that he had ever thought he would be, but Max still seemed so out of reach sometimes.

The other man only let out a long sigh, though, stretching his legs and letting them rest against the pavement of the roof. 

"I lost it." Charles frowned, confused, but then Max kept talking and he suddenly knew what about. "Such a small issue, completely and understandably something that can happen –not that it should, but I know it can happen, and I shouldn't complain because the team ever so rarely makes mistakes–, and I…. completely lost it."

Charles took a deep breath, then let it out slowly before admitting in a quiet voice, "I heard." He doubted there was anyone in the paddock who hadn’t. And the press… not their most forgiving day when it came to Max. Charles was selfishly glad that he usually had the press on his side, that he didn’t have to know what was being on the other end of it, being labelled as the villain time and again.

It was the middle of the night, and Charles’ phone told him it should’ve been at least a bit colder than it was during the day, but the heat remained even as high up as they were, his t-shirt clinking to his skin in a way that not even the humidity in Monaco managed to accomplish. Singapore was beautiful, but Charles had never liked how sticky it made his skin. 

#3 F1TV -> this one started as a 5+1 and I'd really like to finish it. I have 3 and a half out of 6 written, so odds are I may actually do finish it. Premise is Max keeps analysing Charles' onboards to "study the enemy" (full suspension of disbelief cause they have both said they never watch other onboards and just focus on their own hahahah). Here you have a little excerpt from it:

After that second time, it becomes a thing. Max keeps asking G.P. for the race onboards, he makes a habit of watching them either on the plane back home or once he's home, so he can watch on a screen bigger than his phone. Sometimes if he’s told it’s a particularly good race, he sets up the video on the screen of his simulator, and analyses it while replicating every movement Leclerc does with his own hands on his steering wheel. He can't find a way to explain this weird obsession other than he's trying to find cracks in Leclerc's driving. Because about halfway through last year's summer, Leclerc signed to Sauber. And even though Max shouldn't be concerning himself with someone driving such a backmarker car as a Sauber, he knows Leclerc from his own karting days, and he has seen enough onboards from him by now to know he's not going to be driving a midfield car in Formula 1 for long. He'll step up sooner or later. And Max needs to be prepared.

And finally, as for a continuation of As Long As I Get To Keep You, it's not so much a continuation as me tying loose ends for my own peace of mind. I don't know if it'll ever see the light of day, but here you have the conversation that made me create that WIP:

It was only later in the day, when they were both once again cuddling in Max's bed, that Charles remembered something. 

"What did…" He started, but for some reason the words got lost along the way as his finger slid up and down Max's chest, taking in the way it rose and fell with each breath.

Max indulged him, but he still whispered, "Hm?"

Charles had to make a conscious effort to tear his eyes away from the skin he had littered with hickies. It made something stupid and primitive go nuts inside him, Max being all marked up by his lips. But the curiosity about this particular part of their day in that world itched his brain. It probably wasn't even that important. Charles still couldn't help it. 

"When Jules called." Max takes a deep breath, as if he felt this conversation was going to go down a route Charles wasn't intending it to, so Charles rushed to finish his thought. "When he called, and you took the phone." 

"Yeah?" 

Charles turned a bit in Max's hold to be able to look at him properly. 

"What did he want to talk to you about?" He finally asked, meeting Max's eyes and seeing confusion in them, then something else entirely.

Thank you again for the ask! 💙

[denimbex1986]

'Andrew Haigh’s latest film is a prime example of filmmaking as a form of therapy. “All of Us Strangers” follows Adam (Andrew Scott), a solitary screenwriter who quite literally visits the home of his childhood, reconnecting with the ghosts of his long-dead parents in the process. Between these visits, he forms an intimate romance with Harry (Paul Mescal), a fellow inhabitant of his seemingly desolate London apartment building. The film is both deeply sensitive and strangely distant, struggling to balance its protagonist’s cathartic time travel journey with the deftly-realized romance at its center.

The film is based in part on Taichi Yamada’s 1987 novel, “Strangers,” which follows a similar encounter with a writer’s deceased parents. The film retains a certain literary patience, allowing dialogue-forward scenes to unfold in long takes. Jamie D. Ramsay’s shallow-focus, richly colored cinematography lends the whole production a dreamy feeling, as if the world stops beyond the set of each scene.

The greatest strengths of “All of Us Strangers” are what you might expect from a Haigh film, whose previous credits include the remarkably authentic gay romance “Weekend” and the Oscar-nominated septuagenarian marriage drama “45 Years.” In each project, he excels at bringing forward hyper-specific details of emotional intimacy, both romantic and familial.

The moments shared between Adam and Harry are truly stunning to watch. From their first awkward meeting, in which Harry is drunk, you can detect nearly every aspect of the relationship that will build throughout the film. Scott’s measured performance wavers between undeniable physical attraction and serious discomfort with Harry’s state. Mescal plays both the swaggering confidence and the subliminal self-consciousness that will go on to define the rest of their time together.

The same eye for performance can be seen in the scenes with Adam’s parents, played by Claire Foy and Jamie Bell. With each reunion they greet their son — now older than they ever were — with open arms, wanting to know about his life as if he had only been gone for a couple of months. Foy’s performance upon hearing Adam’s coming out is almost unbearably realistic. In her eyes and body language is a world of conflict, attempting to balance her love for him with a deep-seated discomfort with his sexuality. It’s a heartbreaking setup, giving Adam the opportunity to divulge everything he could not say to them before they were killed in a car accident. Where “All of Us Strangers” falls short is its purely theoretical approach to these conversations.

Each time Adam visits his parents, he brings up something left behind from his childhood. It is a logical approach to this story, as queer adults are often tasked with unpacking the traumas of their childhood, effectively “healing your inner child.” Unfortunately, it makes these segments of the film feel more like a therapy session for a character we only vaguely know, and less like an engaging drama with fully developed characters.

The film’s most effective moments are the ones shared between Adam and Harry. As in “Weekend,” Haigh shoots Adam and Harry’s multiple sex scenes with the precision of any other dialogue scene, tracking the journey from foreign desire to total physical familiarity with confidence. With an influx of apprehension toward sex scenes among younger film fans, “All of Us Strangers” shows how much a sex scene can tell us about a character, and even more so how one can demonstrate an advancement in the relationship between two characters.

Haigh’s decision to include deliberately explicit details of gay sex also beautifully reflects the film’s larger theme of accepting all aspects of one’s queerness and one’s self as a whole. In these scenes, there is no shame for either character’s proclivities, as there is nothing to be ashamed of.

“All of Us Strangers” is a frustrating watch. In theory, it is a stroke of genius to marry the ghost story to a queer person’s search for inner peace. Great ghost stories like “The Ghost and Mrs. Muir” and “The Innocents” interrogate how the lost loves and unexamined scars of the past inform our current identity. Queer identity often has a basis in trauma, forcing those affected to face it head-on to live a confident life. Haigh also called a ghost story a way to explore the lives of those lost during the AIDS crisis during the 1980s and 90s. Unfortunately, the final film doesn’t quite draw the two stories together enough to live up to the concept.'

[theindiareview]

Buddhism: A Refreshing Perspective Albeit Twenty-Five Centuries Old

Buddha’s concept of karma offered common people a way to improve moral life. He revolutionised ethics. We no longer could blame any external force like god for our decisions. We were entirely responsible for our own moral conditions. The buck stops with us. ‘’Be your own lamp, seek no other refuge’’ he said ‘’You don’t have to be a victim but master of your own fate’’ – (excerpt from Hughes, Bettany 2015, ‘Genius of the Ancient World Buddha’, BBC) Religion has no fixed definition however it may be construed as a unified system of beliefs and practices involving omnipotent god, prophet(s), a holy book, central dogma, church, sacred language etc. Abrahamic faiths are codified and are religions by the books. This may not be the case with Hinduism. It’s not codified. There is no single faith nor a single fixed holy book nor any fixed dogma. Apparently, Hindus are not believers; they are seekers of moksha or liberation from Sansara, the endless repeating cycle of birth, life, death and rebirth. They seek solution to the problem of Sansara. Every living creature has an Atma, an indestructible permanent soul which changes body after every death and undergoes endless cycle of births and deaths. Each life an individual has to face sufferings. Quest is to seek a path to liberate oneself from the cycle of rebirths. In Hinduism the path to liberation is directly experiencing the permanent self and merging Atma the individual soul with Parmatma the universal soul. After renouncing family and throne, Buddha in his early days as seeker of truth, tried this to seek solution to Sansara but the transformative experience eluded him. Even the extreme self-denying penances did not help him achieve liberation. Hence, he gave up both approaches – neither self-indulgence nor extreme self-mortification instead he adopted the middle path. Moderation became his new approach in pursuit of liberation. He meditated and examined realities of internal and external worlds. He found everything in the worlds are constantly changing and are in perpetual flux – physical material form, character, mind, sensation, our consciousness all are fleeting. There is not a single point that is not changing. Something like Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle in quantum mechanics. This realisation that nothing is fixed or permanent led Buddha to conclude that the concept of permanent or independent soul atma is invalid. Buddha denied existence of intrinsically independent entity. (So, no concept of creation in Buddhism. We all just manifest). He further said, the idea of permanent soul is the root cause of problem because it made people selfish and self-centred. It created cravings and enslaved people to fleeting earthly concerns thus keeping people trapped in Sansara. According to Buddha, the first thing in the path of liberation is to get rid of deep-seated delusion of permanent soul. ‘’I’’, ‘’me’’ or ‘’mine’ are fundamental causes of suffering (which is not just illness or old age but the persistent disappointments and insecurities of life) arisen out of delusion of permanent self. Getting rid of this delusion by rediscovering one’s non-self nature is the key to overcoming suffering. He said ‘’If we could extinguish the delusion of self we will see things they truly are and our suffering will end. We have the capacity to take control of our lives’’. He argued for permanently rooting out craving, ignorance and delusion thus breaking free from samsara. This is the way to attain liberation of mind or Nirvana which is experienced directly from within. Buddha’s Nirvana or liberation was open to all in theory but many found it difficult to afford time so he offered a hope to such people by reformulating Hindu concept of Karma. Karma referred to significant action which improve the quality of life in next life. Traditionally, it was synonymous with rituals and actions performed by priests on behalf of higher castes. Lowest caste people had little prospects of improving their next lives through this ritual form of karma. Buddha changed karma from ritual action to the thought and intent of the action. The people now had a choice of doing good. The intent of the action was more important than the action itself. If you thought well and your intention was good this could change your destiny. He took the karma from the hands of priests who were practicing and gave in the hands of common people. Caste, class and gender were irrelevant. Everybody had the choice and freedom to improve and become a good person. His concept of karma was liberating. Everyone stuck in the cycle of samsara had a chance to improve the quality of their rebirth. Buddha’s concept of karma offered common people a way to improve moral life. He revolutionised ethics. We no longer could blame any external force like god for our decisions. We were entirely responsible for our own moral conditions. The buck stops with us. ‘’Be your own lamp, seek no other refuge’’ he said ‘’You don’t have to be a victim but master of your own fate’’. No sacred language, no dogma, no priest required, even god is not necessary, Buddhism sought truth and challenged religious orthodoxy. This led to rationality overriding superstition and belief. Buddha insisted on absolute value of compassion but his biggest contribution to humanity is in his reformulation of karma. Now it became possible for people to take good actions without necessarily endorsing or agreeing on a religious world view. He explained how to behave no matter there is god or not. This is something extraordinarily relevant for a modern world ridden with conflicts and violence. *** Source: Hughes, Bettany 2015, ‘Genius of the Ancient World Buddha’, BBC, Retrieved from https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6vkklx Read the full article

[genshin-utopia]

xiao | memories

note | thank you for the 1000+ followers. I don't deserve it with the lack of updates and motivation. Half a year and I finally decided to write again. This is similar to the "Moments with you" headcanons I do. I hope you like this new series I will be starting with each/most/some characters. Also big thank you to @arthurhastingpoems for betaing! This was suppose to end with smut but lol what happened.

Tags: Established relationship, extremely corny/cheesy lol, hurt/comfort, a tiny bit of violence, fluff, bittersweet if you squint

You never expected to fall deep in love with the man beside you, who’s seldom rough and cold. But also, so soft towards you, as if you were something precious to him. A collection of stories shared between the two of you.

i.

It was rather unexpected when you first discovered you had a peculiar interest in Xiao’s arms or more specifically, his strength. You love how easy it was for Xiao to pick you up, as if you weighed nothing – that raw power that’s contained within. The first time you consciously discovered this fact was when you were playfully wrestling him due to playful banter.

You were both on the sofa, a soft comforter that left you unintentionally drowsy as you sink deeper into a comfortable state. On the other hand, Xiao was seated upright on the other end with a book in his hands. These were rare peaceful days that you both couldn’t afford frequently as duties kept you two occupied and most importantly, separated. As sleep started to overtake your senses, you started poking him lightly with your feet to draw his attention.

The slight twitch in response did not go unnoticed, however his gaze continued to be fixated on the literature in front of him. You, of course, did not mind as much but continued your ministrations to escape your drowsy state.

As time went by, you rose from your laying position and snuggled closer to him, laying your head softly onto his shoulders. You peered over curiously at the pages in front of you. Almost immediately, the words, “Rex Lapis,” neatly printed on the paper caught your eyes. Slightly irked at the fact that Xiao was paying more attention to Zhongli even in this situation, you started slowly tracing his arms with your fingers.

“Stop,” he commanded softly, not sparing a glance at your direction.

You ignored his words, your hands trailing further down to his chest before swiping the book from his hands quickly.

Chuckling to yourself in triumph, you edge yourself towards the other end of the couch, away from him.  However, you can’t escape from Xiao. Within seconds, your back is on the sofa with him hovering above you.

Not wanting to admit defeat, you attempted to stretch your arm, with the book in your hands, up to where Xiao couldn’t reach. That attempt was proven to be futile as his body presses you down with his larger one, ceasing all movement. You continued to squirm away from his grip until suddenly Xiao traps both your wrists above your head with one hand, the book slipping away in the process.

Xiao’s free arm cages your head, not allowing you to look away. He slowly lowers himself to your ear, whispering, “Where are you going?”

Hues of pink flushed your cheeks at his husky voice that was so close to you. Suddenly realizing the precarious position you were in, you shifted your eyes away from his gaze and onto his arms. Despite the initial embarrassment, you loved how he cages you with his arms. Ironically, you felt protected and safe.

Not liking that your gaze was averting from his, he gently lifts your chin with his free fingers, “Look at me.”

You quickly followed his command only to meet his darkening gaze. Hypnotized by his eyes, you squirmed once more but this time to get closer to the source of heat above you. “X-xiao, kiss me.”

He obliged quickly, closing the gap between you and swallowing your whimper. His tongue delves between your lips, unhurried and tender. Xiao has one hand up your shirt, stroking the soft skin of your chest as he steals your oxygen. The slow and soft touches were torturous, you started bucking your hips up impatiently. However, before you can get the friction you so desire, he anchors himself up slightly. His arms are still caging your body, but this time he leaves a small space between the both of you. A small smirk etches onto his face as he looks at your needy expression, wanting more of his touch.

You love his strength and his arms caging you.

But he loves your docile self as a result.

ii.

Xiao is very much like the element he holds.

Like the storm, the wind can be very turbulent.

Yet it can also be soft, gently caressing your cheeks as you walk.

He also has a quirk of disappearing and appearing before your eyes randomly.

Much like right now.

You are currently taking a break on the hilltop after a long commission you just finished. Your back rests on the trunk of the tree perched on top of the hill. Its leaves serve as an umbrella, shielding you from the sun's harsh rays. You close your eyes as the gentle breeze wafts through the air, enjoying a peaceful and tranquil time to yourself.

It has been several days since you’ve last seen Xiao as the both of you are quite busy, especially the latter.

At times like these where you are unoccupied with only your own thoughts accompanying you, you find yourself missing Xiao the most.

You close your eyes, his silhouette forming inside your mind as you start to reminiscence the times you’ve shared with each other.

“Xiao...” You whispered unconsciously.

For the next few seconds, only the leaves soft rustling could be heard.

Just then you sensed a presence in front of you. Your instincts kicked in and you hurriedly open your eyes and unsheathed your weapon.

However, it wasn’t a lone hilichurl in front of you like you expected, but the person you longed for the most.

You quickly sheathed back your sword and stood on your feet, a bright smile adorning your face at the sight of Xiao appearing before you. You ran to his awaiting arms, wrapping your arms around him, and leaning your head on his broad chest. He reciprocated the hug, enclosing your body with his arms. It felt like time halted for the both of you, like nothing existed except you two.

You were snapped out of your trance when you felt a slight weight behind your ears. Curiously, you withdrew from his loving arms and directed your attention to his hands.

“Crystalflies for you,” he stated as his right hand were filled with numerous crystalflies, “I caught more than I intended. I hope you don’t mind.”

Happiness surged through your body; your previous loneliness long forgotten as you took the batch of crystalflies from his hands gratefully.

A small smile carved its way to his face, his gaze softening at your ecstatic self. He combed your hair softly with his right hand, “As I thought you look very nice.”

He leaves a quick kiss to your forehead before disintegrating with the wind.

“If you wish to seek me, call out my name.”

iii.

The sharp arrow plunges into your stomach, halting your movements and loosening your grip on your sword. You felt as if your insides were ripped to shreds by a mere arrow due to your carelessness. You were fulfilling a commission which entails you emptying a hilichurl camp. What was thought to be a simple task became a nightmare as you let your guard down when reinforcements came unexpectedly. You scoffed to yourself at your idiocy for ever letting your guard down in a fight.

A sense of dread overcame your senses, your vision blurring momentarily, and you lose footing for a split second.

Flashes of images depicting your moments with Xiao crossed your mind.

You wonder how he was doing at the moment. Probably also fighting demons like he always did.

You wished to see him right now.

With that thought in mind, you gripped your sword firmly with more determination.

A blue magic circle formulates beneath your feet as you send ice shards at the hilichurl sharpshooters hidden within the trees. You ignore the sharp pain of your stomach at your sudden movement, and instead you diverted your attention at the several Mitachurls with axes surrounding you.

“Come at me you assholes.”

The area immediately became colder as shards of ice flew everywhere. Your stamina is decreasing at an alarming rate as you quickly cleared the area with your sword and magic.

You shoved your sword into the last mitachurl when you heard a distant horn in the distance, signifying to you that there were more to come.

You could no longer ignore the pain of your new wounds all over your body and kneeled slightly while clutching at your stomach.

Were you going to die?

No, you couldn’t.

Just then when all hope was lost, the clear blue sky darkens into a gray hue as the wind around you started to pick up ominously.

Could it be?

“Block it."

Reflexively, at the sound of a very familiar voice, you immediately surround yourself with thick shards of ice and braced yourself.

A turbulent force plunged down from the sky, the surrounding area immediately getting hit by explosive wind, rendering all enemies powerless and dead within seconds. The shards of ice protecting you cracked, before crumbling away. You peered up and met the eyes of Xiao, his normally impassive face deforming into one of pure anger.

“Why?” He gritted out, “Why didn’t you call for me?”

“Because I’m strong,” you managed to mutter out. As if to prove your point, you staggered to get on your feet to demonstrate you didn’t need his help despite the pain consuming your senses.

“No, you humans are weak,” he stated harshly, voice icy cold.

You shook your head, ready to retort. However, whether it was the relief of seeing Xiao again or the fact that you survived the whole ordeal, you couldn’t fight the pain of your wounds. You braced yourself for a harsh drop, but instead something soft embraced you.

You couldn’t figure out what it was before you faded into a deep slumber.

iv.

Drifting in and out of consciousness resulted in your inability to depict what was real and what was fake.

Your wounds from that day were proximately fatal and you spent the majority of the day and nights recuperating.

You would dream of getting impaled by several arrows.

Sometimes you would dream of horrific images of ways you could’ve died that day, like you are right now.

However, before the nightmare could get any further, a green butterfly would always spreads its wings, painting the canvas with new colors instead of the dreadful gray and red images.

The nightmare would disintegrate slowly into shards that would evanesce into a better scenario.

You would open your eyes only to be greeted with golden orbs who covered your vision, “Hurry and go back to sleep.”

Those nights you would dream of a green butterfly accompanying you and circumventing you with warmth.

V.

You have come to a startling conclusion that Xiao was ignoring you for weeks.

Xiao often wanders and if he wasn’t at home or wouldn’t appear out of thin air at your call, you couldn’t pinpoint where he is.

Rummaging through your head, you couldn’t come up with a decisive moment where it led to this.

Clutching onto your soft blanket, you pulled it closer to you for warmth. The spot on the bed adjacent to you felt even more emptier than before.

For weeks you endeavored to dissuade yourself from coming up with the revelation that he doesn’t want to see you. You continued your everyday obligations, diverting yourself with dispiriting thoughts that plagued your mind. Unfortunately, you were at your breaking point, the rain pitter-pattered against your windows made the atmosphere even more dejecting.

Tears formulated at the corner of your eyes and leaks reluctantly down your cheeks.

“Xiao,” you called out softly.

Just then, familiar hands caress your cheeks, wiping away the tears that eluded, “Why are you crying?”

The person you wanted to see the most was now in front of you yet simultaneously was the last person you wanted.

You chuckled monotonously, “Is this a dream?”

Xiao shook his head slightly, hands never once leaving your cheeks. Slight anger submerged within you at his nonchalant attitude as you push his hands away from you. “Why are you here?”

Silence emerged with only the sounds of the rain reverberating around the room. No one moved an inch. You were still sitting up on your bed, clutching onto the white blanket whereas Xiao was standing next to the bedside unnervingly.

You half anticipate him to disintegrate into thin air once more, but what you didn’t expect was him to sit next to you on the bed. He grasps your hands with his, holding it carefully as if you were a porcelain doll ready to shatter at any given moment.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Thousands of rebuttals were ready to be hurled at him, but you waited patiently instead for him to continue. After weeks, you were finally getting some answers.

“One day I might be contaminated with evil itself. These hands...” He trailed off, hands withdrawing from yours.

Your eyes trails from his hands to his face. The moonlight reflecting through the window, illuminates his beautiful face. Now that you gotten a closer look, you realize that he looks tired, worn down from years of torment.

The anger subsided, leaving nothing but love for the man in front of you.

You reach out for his face, lifting him out of his thoughts. Your eyes never left his, hoping to convey your adoration towards the man. You reach out for his rough hands littered with callouses that developed over the years.

You bring his hands to your cheeks, resting on them before leaving a soft kiss onto one of them. “These hands have brought so much happiness. The crystalflies you gathered that day, the soft hands that would comfort me during a nightmare...You’ve done so much.” You crawled onto his lap, resting your forehead on his, hands never once leaving his.

“No matter what, I want to be with you.” With that you closed the gap between the two of you, pressing your lips onto his. Compacted In that kiss was the sweetness of passion, thousands of loving thoughts condensed into this kiss. Your heartbeats resonated in each other’s ears, and you could only focus on how soft he felt against your mouth, how addictively he invaded all your senses. You continue to place soft kisses to convey how much you love him, before slowly, detaching yourself from his embrace and resting your forehead against his, “Even if my time is short...”

The two of you remain in the comfort of each other's arms, with only the wind reverberating against the window in this long night. Instead of an everlasting adepti and an ordinary human, it was just Xiao and you, hearts connected. The sand in the hourglass can’t be stopped until it reaches its end, but for now you will enjoy the flow with the person you love most.

[curlsofsagesmoke]

TMNT (2012) characters as dysfunctional family roles

here I go again analyzing a kids show that ended four years ago. anyway, I saw a tiktok by user doinbigthink where they gave a quick overview of the six kinds of dysfunctional family roles, and I immediately thought of tmnt bc it’s my current hyperfixation. so I spent almost an hour doing research and writing up this analysis, as one does.

as a preface: dysfunction in a family can be caused by anything from someone struggling with addiction to a parent being abusive or unavailable/neglectful to someone having narcissistic personality disorder (npd) etc. etc. Usually there is one person who is the root cause of this (very deep seated) dysfunction and the others in the family (often the kids) fall into these roles in order to cope.

Leo: The Hero

The Hero is often the oldest child. They cope with the dysfunction in the family by being high achievers or perfectionists, and they need a sense of control in order to feel safe within the family. They are seen as very well-adjusted, balanced, and high-functional and are often used as an example of how well the family as a whole is doing. They may allow this misconception to continue (whether consciously or unconsciously) in order to hide the family’s problems. They may be parentified as children (that is, forced to take on a parental role for their younger siblings) and usually feel a lot of pressure to solve the family’s issues. With Leo in particular, you see these two behaviors in the way he approaches leading his brothers as well as the way he obsessed over bringing Karai into the family for Splinter’s sake after discovering her true identity. As an adult, the Hero is often drawn toward romantic partners who are emotionally unavailable (again, see Leo’s crush on Karai) and tend to throw themselves into their work (Leo’s obsession with ninjutsu)

Leo: The Golden Child

The Golden Child is not a dysfunctional family role but instead describes a relationship that develops between a parent/guardian with npd and one of the children in the family. In these cases, the parent tends to favor the Golden Child because the Golden Child exhibits all the traits the parent loves in themselves. In Splinter and Leo’s case, these characteristics are their devotion to ninjutsu, their general temperaments, and their more spiritual/mystic natures. There are MANY examples of this favoritism in TMNT canon; for example, Splinter teaching Leo his reiki technique (the healing hands) in “the deadly venom” because everyone things Leo is the most capable of learning such an advanced technique (in the episode, Donnie says that he doesn’t think anyone else on the team could’ve done what Leo did, i.e. using the healing hands on himself and saving the others from karai). The parent has a volatile relationship with the Golden Child and often their love is conditional (that is, the parent will favor the Golden Child as long as the Golden Child continues to act like the parent). Because of this, the Golden Child often has trouble establishing an independent identity (see: Raph calling Leo “Splinter Jr.”, though I can’t remember if this happens in 2012 or just in the 2003 version). The Golden Child may also participate in the narcissistic parent’s abuse against the other children in order to protect themself (this is less explicit in canon, but I think that Leo’s leadership style fits this bill)

Raph: The Scapegoat

The Scapegoat is often the second child. As the name suggests, they are often blamed for things that go wrong in the family regardless of whether it was actually their fault or not. Scapegoats are often very aware of their position in the family and as a result they may feel rejected, isolated, and unlovable. I think a good example of Raph feeling like this is the fact that, early in the show, he only openly expresses his emotions to Spike. Scapegoats learn that negative attention is better than no attention (especially from a parent/guardian) and they often engage in high risk behaviors such as sex, drugs, etc. (in Raph’s case, his reckless fighting style and the way he seeks out fights, and this also explains his temper and overall angry demeanor). Because of this, they tend to get into a lot of trouble and are often singled out as the child who needs individual help (aka therapy) even though the root problems lie with the family as a unit. In cases where the parent has npd the Scapegoat is often pitted against the Golden Child. This is called splitting and it is another way to distract from the family’s deeper issues. I feel like I don’t need to explain the way that Leo and Raph are pitted against each other.

Donnie: The Lost Child

The Lost Child, as the name implies, often fades into the background. Usually this is on purpose in an effort to keep themself safe, as they might be scared to draw attention to themself or rock the boat, especially in an abusive household. They may often feel ignored or neglected and are often described as loners who have difficulty developing social skills or self-esteem. Like the Hero, the Lost Child is often used as an example of the family’s stability and success because they aren’t causing trouble. They tend to struggle when forming friendships/romantic relationships, and they are usually praised for not needing a lot of attention/being independent. Because of this, they feel safer when they’re by themselves. Although Donnie does cause trouble sometimes (see: all the times he’s blown some shit up in the lab, the Mutagen man thing, etc.), he’s not seen as the troublemaker. Raph (and Mikey, to a certain extent) definitely takes that title. Donnie is often alone in his lab---working, admittedly, but he still tends to isolate himself, and he is often seen as the most socially awkward of the brothers (see: his relationship with April). There’s also this very interesting exchange from the episode “Enemy of My Enemy” when they’re in the Shellraiser and Leo is about to take the stealth bike to help Karai:

Raph: Hey, the stealth bike’s my thing. Leo: Now your thing is sucking it up. Donnie: Hey! That’s my thing!

Mikey: The Mascot

The Mascot is often the youngest child. They use humor and goofiness to diffuse tension and distract the family from their issues, though when this works, they feel increased pressure to continue to step in when things become tense or volatile. The Mascot acts from a place of anxiety and trauma, and they may have bouts of depression. They also tend to feel as though they cannot express their negative emotions (because they often see themselves as responsible for their family’s happiness). They tend to bend over backwards for people with little regard for their own safety/comfort, and they are drawn to intense and dysfunctional relationships (whether romantic or platonic) where they will be called upon to diffuse tension. This can be seen in the way Mikey approached his friendships with both Bradford (pre-mutation) and Leatherhead. Mikey is also very rarely shown as being sad, angry, or depressed the way that the other three are, and it’s only in times of extreme emotional distress (like the season two finale) where he drops his humor. Even in the midst of tough battles or tough situations, Mikey tends to insert himself into the middle of the tension and is almost constantly cracking jokes or trying to keep things lighthearted. When he does show more negative emotions, it’s in (mostly) one of two ways. One, giving comfort or seeking comfort, usually from Raph (again see the season two finale, where he hugs Raph to calm him down after Splinter “dies” and seeks comfort from Raph in the Party Wagon as they’re driving away from the city). Two, acting combative with Donnie.

Note: Mikey and Donnie acting combative

This second one in particular is really interesting to me because both Donnie and Mikey exhibit a level of comfort/feeling safe with each other that they don’t display with the other two. Mikey only ever gets physical with Donnie (their little slap fight in “Turtle Temper” or attacking him at the end of “The Creeping Doom”), while Donnie only ever purposefully antagonizes Mikey to get a reaction (slapping him in “Turtle Temper”, which prompts the slap fight, or teasingly insulting him at the end of “The Creeping Doom”, which prompts Mikey to attack him). Mikey likes to get under Raph’s skin, but he never retaliates when Raph gets physical with him. Donnie does occasionally argue with Raph and Leo, but usually backs down after Raph threatens him with violence (see “New Girl in Town”), and with Leo it never escalates past a verbal fight (see the season two finale, “the fourfold trap”). Actually, it seems that in Mikey’s and Donnie’s relationship, they take on the roles that you usually see in Raph’s and Mikey’s relationship. Mikey antagonizes Raph and Raph retaliates; similarly, Donnie antagonizes Mikey and Mikey retaliates, but neither of them would act this way toward their other two brothers.

Splinter: The Root of the Dysfunction

I’ve made a lot of allusions by now to Splinter having npd, or at least some narcissistic tendencies. There are many times where he shows favoritism toward Leo or acts in a very stubborn or even self-absorbed manner. In the season one finale, for example, he refuses to help the turtles fight and only leaves the lair after april is kidnapped by the shredder. In “the pulverizer returns”, he makes the turtles switch weapons (for literally no good reason), they almost die in a fight and switch back, and as punishment, he takes their weapons away entirely; this isn’t addressed in the episode, but i do believe that if they’d had their weapons, they could’ve prevented timothy from being mutated in this episode. (Admittedly there are times when he apologizes, admits he’s wrong, and changes his mind, which is why I hesitate to say he exhibits fully narcissistic behaviors). There’s also the physical aspect of their relationship. He’s teaching the turtles ninjutsu, so you can expect a very physical relationship in the form of training, but there are times when he causes the turtles pain for the sake of pain as punishment (e.g. randori, which we see a few times, or when he goes for their pressure points, or when he trips mikey in the episode “monkey brains”, or when he stabs raph with his cane in the episode “turtle temper”, and these are just the examples i can think of off the top of my head). There has been discourse in the fandom about whether these characters (splinter and raph in particular) are abusive, and i don’t want to get into that. However, i think it’s undeniable that splinter raised his kids with the intent to turn them into child soldiers, and also i fully believe that this (plus his parenting style) is the root of the dysfunction in the hamato family.

[myriadimagines]

Chips and Orange Soda

Brooklyn Nine-Nine One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Jake Peralta

Other Characters: Raymond Holt, Rosa Diaz

Warnings: theft

Summary: When a series of bodegas are robbed, Holt assigns Jake and Rosa on the case. You, a cashier, become a suspect, but Jake has a gut feeling that you’re not a suspect at all. In fact, he thinks you’re the key to solving the case. 

Part Two: Chips and Orange Soda (part ii)

Word Count: 2,697

A/N: my submission for @locke-writes​​‘ writing challenge! i know everyone wanted me to post the whole fic at once but then it ended up being 5k+ words i made the executive decision that it was probably best for everyones sanity to split it up into 2 parts. think of it as a commercial break in the episode <3 i’m gonna disclaimer this by saying that i’m not a cop or in law enforcement. idk how this shit works. i tried my best but this isn’t legally accurate. anyway! based on the prompt: “You come here often?” “Well, I work here. So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.” 

reblog/feedback/comments are very much appreciated!!!

“Not late! I’m not late!” Jake announces, rushing into the briefing room with his bag still slung over his shoulder. He ignores the eye rolls from Amy and Terry, and plops down in the seat Charles has saved for him. He leans back, dumping his bag on the floor as he tries to catch his breath, before noticing Holt’s disapproving stare. “I’m not! Look, I’m right on time!”

Jake points over at the clock hanging on the wall, and Holt glances over his shoulder before turning back to Jake. “You’re fifteen minutes late, Peralta. That clock broke down two days ago.”

Jake takes a proper look at the clock, which, sure enough, is frozen at three minutes past two o’clock. 

“Okay, well…” Jake cringes. “I had a flat tire?” 

“As I was saying,” Holt ignores Jake’s excuse, reorganizing the case files on the podium as the squad quickly focuses. Pulling up a few pictures on the television, Holt curtly explains, “Two bodegas were robbed last night, and we suspect it may be the same person, or group or people, who robbed the three bodegas last week. Thankfully, no one was injured, but we need to crack down on this case before it happens again.” 

The squad nods in agreement, and Amy taps her pen against the desk as she takes notes. Gesturing towards Rosa, Holt asks, “Diaz, you were investigating last week’s robberies. Where are you in solving the case?”

“Nowhere, sir.” Rosa begrudgingly admits, folding her arms across her chest as she shakes her head. “Forensics dusted the place for prints but found nothing, and the security footage was crap. Couldn’t pull any good images because it was so old. All I know is that it looks like at least two individuals are involved.” 

Holt slowly nods, pressing his lips together as he deliberates this. Pointing at Jake, he orders, “Conduct some interviews around the block, see if anyone saw anything. Perhaps you’ll have more luck this time. And take Peralta with you, you’ll be able to cover more ground. Everyone, you’re dismissed.” 

Jake looks over his shoulder to exchange a nod with Rosa before everyone gets to their feet. Holt closes up his file, and quickly stops Jake before he can leave the room, “Oh, and Jake?”

Jake pauses in the doorway. “Yes, sir?” 

“While you’re out, you can get some new batteries for the clock.” Holt points back at the defunct clock. Raising an eyebrow, Holt continues, “So next time, you can actually take a look at how late you are.” 

Beside him, Amy can’t help but snort at Jake’s expense, and he resists the urge to roll his eyes. 

—

Jake jogs over to the bodega, a cup of coffee in hand from the nearby food cart. He ducks under the police tape bordering the store, and he gingerly steps around the shattered glass scattered on the pavement. He can already see Rosa inside, taking off her sunglasses and hooking them on the collar of her shirt, and he can see that the forensics team have already marked up the scene. Rosa looks up as Jake approaches, and she informs him, “This one’s different from the others; they actually broke in instead of picking the lock. Otherwise, they took all the cash, and it doesn’t look like anything from the inventory was taken.” 

“Which is kinda weird, considering this place has pretty cool chip flavors and orange soda.” Jake points to a nearby shelf, and Rosa shoots him a look. Shrugging, Jake looks at the rest of the shelves and the fridge as he mumbles to himself, “I’m just saying.” 

“Security footage from this whole week is missing too.” Rosa continues. She groans, shaking her head as she takes another glance around the scene. “I don’t know how we’re going to get anywhere with this.”

The two of them make their way back outside, where a small crowd is now lingering outside the store, curiously trying to peek inside as the cops try to corral everyone. Pointing at them, Rosa suggests, “Maybe we can find a witness.” 

Jake follows her gaze, quickly sweeping over the individuals before his gaze lands on you. Your eyes momentarily meet, but you quickly look away and turn your attention back to the smashed glass. You’re cute, Jake thinks to himself with a grin, all bundled up in a denim jacket that, and when you turn to look at something over your shoulder, he can’t help but notice has a cool design of some planets stitched on the back. Rolling back his shoulders, Jake holds out his cup of coffee, and he says, “Allow me to handle this, Rosa,” 

Rosa rolls her eyes at the annoyingly confident tone Jake quickly adopts, and pointedly refuses to hold Jake’s coffee for him.

“Alright then,” Jake awkwardly takes his coffee back, and he gulps down the rest, fanning his tongue as it burns his mouth. Tossing it aside into a nearby trash can, Jake quickly composes himself, readjusting his jacket before approaching you. He offers you his hand, and you hesitate before shaking it, and Jake introduces, “Hey, I’m Detective Peralta. Cool jacket, by the way.”

“y/n.” you introduce yourself with a small smile, shaking his hand before you pull away to self consciously tug at the sleeves of your jacket. “And thanks. My friend made it for me as a birthday gift.”

“Nice,” Jake grins at you, before gesturing over his shoulder. “You come here often? It’s a pretty awesome bodega.”

“Uh, well, I work here.” you slowly respond, and you can see something in Jake’s expression falter as his cheeks get red. You bite back a smile as you continue, “So I think I’d have to say ‘yes’.”

“Cool, cool, cool, cool,” Jake nods, fumbling to come up with a response. His palms suddenly feel sweaty, and he scrambles to think of his next question. 

“I’ll let our owner know, by the way.” you pipe up, and Jake blinks at you. Nervously chuckling, you add, “That you think the bodega is awesome. He’ll appreciate it.” 

“Oh!” Jake laughs, and you can’t help but smile. Gesturing to the store, Jake continues, “I’ve gotta say, your snack selection is the best I’ve ever seen. I mean, you’ve got every flavor of everything in there! Also, any place that carries orange soda is automatically awesome in my book.” 

“Well of course,” you respond with a smile. “It’s the best flavor!” 

“Right?!” Jake perks up, and the both of you dissolve into laughter before Jake looks over his shoulder and notices Rosa glaring at him. Quickly clamming up, Jake attempts to focus himself, and his eyes widen as he remembers the fact that you work here. “Are you the cashier or something?”

“Yep.” you nod, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jacket. “I just worked yesterday, too. I can’t believe someone robbed it last night.” 

“What time were you here until?” Jake asks. 

“The shop closes around midnight, and I was the one who locked up.” you answer, shifting your weight from one foot to another. Jake can’t help but notice as you momentarily break his gaze, and you glance at the store before back at him. “Usually our owner, Gabriel, closes up, but he’s been sick this past week, so I’ve been helping out.”

“Got it,” Jake nods, mentally taking note of all this information. The both of you look up as Rosa joins in on the conversation, and Jake continues, “And I’m assuming you didn’t see any sign of suspicious activity before you left?”

You shake your head, uneasily glancing over at Rosa as she looks at you. “Sorry, Detective.” 

“No, you’ve actually been super helpful.” Jake reassures you, and he offers you a friendly smile that puts you at ease. You relax, and Jake continues, “It helps us roughly estimate when the crime took place. Do you know anything about your security footage, by the way? This is my partner, Detective Diaz, and she noticed the footage was somehow erased.” 

Something in your expression shifts, and Jake can’t quite read the look on your face. Rosa narrows her eyes at you, and after a pause, you respond, “I think our cameras have been down.” 

Jake and Rosa exchange an uncertain glance, and you can feel your stomach twisting into knots as you know they don’t look convinced. The atmosphere becomes intense, especially as you feel yourself under Rosa’s stern gaze, and Jake quickly tries to lighten the mood as he tells you, “I think that’s it. Thanks for answering our questions, y/n.”

You nod, and Jake’s eyebrows furrow as your gaze lingers on him, your lips moving as if you want to tell him more. But you stop yourself, taking in a deep breath, before responding, “If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.” 

You turn on your heel, and Jake watches as you head down the block. He looks over to see Rosa studying you, before she shakes her head. “I don’t like it, Jake. They seemed suspicious to me.”

“They were just nervous.” Jake finds himself defending you. “And probably a little frazzled, too. They were the last one in the shop, if they had stayed any longer, they could’ve been in danger.” 

“Or they could have something to do with the crime.” Rosa counteracts, and Jake lets out a sigh. Leaning towards him, Rosa continues, “I know we don’t have solid evidence, but I just have a feeling something’s up, Jake. Plus, it doesn’t help that you were flirting.” 

Jake gapes at her. “I was not flirting!” 

“Look, we need to solve this before Holt gets on my case about it.” Rosa insists. Jake lets out a sigh, before glancing down the direction you walked, and he can just barely see your figure heading into the subway station. 

“I’ll be right back.” Jake tells her, and before Rosa can stop him, he jogs after you. By the time he’s entered the station, he’s terribly out of breath, and he manages to catch you before you enter through the turnstile. “y/n!”

You look up upon hearing your name and you pause as Jake stops in front of you. He bends over, trying to catch his breath, and you patiently wait for him. Through heavy breaths, Jake manages to puff out, “Yeah, sorry, super unfit. The chips and the orange soda clearly don’t help.” 

Jake tries his best not to cringe at what he feels like is the lamest joke he’s ever made, but to his surprise, you laugh. A genuine laugh, not a cruel, teasing one, but one with a wide smile that makes Jake feel like he’s on top of the world. Tilting your head, you manage to say in between chuckles, “You’re pretty funny, Detective.” 

“Call me Jake.” Jake insists, finally regaining his breath, and you grin at him. “Hey, any chance I could get your number? For professional reasons of course, in case we need to contact you again. Or I could just give you my number if you feel better doing it that way.”

You seem hesitant, but you nod. He fumbles through his pocket, pulling out an old receipt and a pen that barely has enough ink in it, and you scribble out your number before handing it back to him, “I work every day but Tuesdays, too, so you’ll be able to catch me at work if you need me.” 

“Got it.” Jake nods, tucking the receipt into his pocket. “Thanks for your help, y/n.”

The expression that Jake can’t decipher crosses your face again, a look of pensiveness, of hesitation. But you shake it off, quickly plastering on a smile, and you nod, “Have a good day, Jake. And… good luck.” 

—

Jake and Rosa sit in the break room, a laptop open between them as they flip through countless CCTV videos from the blocks nearby the bodega. Rosa becomes increasingly aggressive with the keyboard with each video she clicks through, and Jake impatiently shakes his head. He groans, rubbing his fingers up against his temple as he complains, “This is killing me. If I have to look at one more minute of another grainy video, I’m going to lose it.”

Rosa rolls her eyes, leaning back in her chair as she folds her arms across her chest. She kicks Jake’s chair with her boot, and she points out, “This is all we have, Jake.”

Jake sighs, but nods. Rosa had interviewed some people in the neighboring apartments, some of which reported hearing smashed glass around three in the morning, but hadn’t called it in on the assumption it was a clumsy accident from a downstairs neighbor. It at least gave them a time of the crime, but as Rosa unfortunately pointed out, it didn’t give them much else. The CCTV didn’t seem to pick up on anything interesting, no speeding cars, and a brief moment of footage that might’ve captured the suspects only showed their retreating backs. The forensics team had also swept over all the evidence from the bodega, but had yet to find anything incriminating, not even a single fingerprint which could help lead the investigation somewhere. 

“These guys clearly know what they were doing.” Rosa grumbles, jabbing her finger into the screen. “They know to avoid all the camera spots.” 

“I hate smart criminals. Why can’t they all be dumb and just make it easier for us?” Jake whines, and Rosa rolls her eyes. 

“Have you talked to y/n lately?” Rosa asks, and Jake shakes his head, hoping Rosa doesn’t notice the faint blush that lights up his cheeks at the mere mention of your name.

“No, Rosa, who do you think I am? That’s way too forward.” Jake scoffs, before his expression turns serious. It’s been a little over a week since your interaction, and he looks at Rosa before continuing, “Unless you don’t think it’s too forward. Should I text them?”

Rosa resists the urge to punch Jake’s arm, and she deadpans, “Talked to them about the case, Jake, not for a date.” 

“Right.” Jake nods, clearly flustered, and Rosa rolls her eyes again. Wiping his slightly sweaty palms on his jeans, Jake corrects himself, “No, I haven’t talked to y/n.”

Rosa leans her elbows forward on the desk. “I think we should call them in again. You know, see if there’s anything we can get out of them. Kind it seems like they’re the only lead we have.”

“You don’t still suspect them, do you?” Jake asks, eyebrows furrowing, and he lets out a sigh as Rosa shrugs. Shaking his head, Jake insists, “I really don’t think it’s them, Rosa.” 

“Jake…” Rosa starts, shooting him a look, and Jake quickly waves his hand, brushing her off as he already knows what’s coming next. 

“Alright, I’ll reach out to them, see if there’s anything more they can tell us.” Jake reluctantly says, and Rosa nods. Pointing back at the computer, Jake asks, “Does this mean I can stop watching these boring videos?”

“Fine.” Rosa grumbles, angling the laptop towards herself as Jake grins. He grabs his jacket hanging off the back of his chair, and he sneaks one last glance at the grainy video before darting out the room. He pauses, his eyes narrowing, and he points at the screen. 

“Wait, what’s that?” Jake points at the corner of the video, where a figure rushes down the street. Rosa squints, and she pauses the video for Jake to get a better look. His eyes widen, and his expression pales slightly, and he asks, “What time was this footage from?”

“Five in the morning.” Rosa replies, checking the timestamp. Looking up at Jake, she asks, “Why? What is it?”

“Nothing.” Jake hurriedly remarks, and Rosa frowns. Before she can demand an answer from Jake, he’s already rushed out of the break room, swiftly exiting the bullpen as he dodges Terry on his way out.

It’s not nothing, but Jake knows he can’t tell Rosa that. Not when the figure in the video was wearing a distinctive denim jacket with planets stitched on the back.

tag list: @myfriendmagislit​​ / @thedamagedcne / @real-fbi​​ / @writinqss​​ / @thisismysecrethappyplace​​ / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @dontjudgemepeepswrites​​ / @hauntedpocdreamer / @locke-writes​​ / @lgbtonystarks​​ / @fangirlsarah16​​ / @kittensanddarkclouds​​ / @randomfandomimagine​​ / @ofthedewthesunlight​​ / @bravelittlesunflower​​

[bittermuire]

A (long) analysis of Azriel,

+ a bit of discussion about Gwynriel vs. Elriel at the end.

Lately I’ve seen much discussion surrounding Azriel, and there seems to be a lot of hazy gray area. We know he has a terrible past, carries a lot of trauma, is both mentally and physically scarred, and has disturbingly possessive habits. But why? That’s the question.

I think most of Azriel’s character can be filtered into three sections: his anger, his possessiveness, and his self-loathing. Altogether I believe these form his crippling sense of emotional immaturity, which ultimately shines through most every action he makes in the books.

So yes, I firmly believe Az is a child in the body of a 500 year old Fae. But is he treated as such? No. No, he is not. In fact, he’s treated as the exact opposite, and that can’t be doing wonders for his mental health (which is already in shambles. Off to a cheery start.)

Let’s take a look at his past. He was both mentally and physically abused for the majority of his childhood. Then he was thrown into an unforgiving culture that both mentally and physically abused him as well. Then he was essentially bullied by Cassian and Rhysand for quite a while... until they randomly decided to like him, which is a choice he didn’t seem to play a hand in. And then he became a professional torturer. All the while falling madly in love and becoming obsessed with a female who can’t love him back. Not to mention he’s been ostracized his entire life.

(One big thing though, that I’m going to reference frequently, is Azriel’s constant chase of “happiness.” Kind of like my friends with ADHD. We squeeze all the serotonin we can get out of one thing and then fall into a listless, depressed haze until we find another. I honestly think Azriel does the same thing with people--he latches onto them and lets his mood swings rely on how much attention they do or do not pay him, and whether it is positive or negative.)

So I’m going to go through his relationships with pivotal characters and try to explain what I think is really going on with Azriel.

Regarding Mor:

He was obsessed with her for most of his life. He was incredibly possessive of her and fell instantly in love upon seeing her. Do I think it was love? No. But does Azriel think it was love? Yes, and that is so important. It shows how desperate he was for human connection.

This “love” spiraled into centuries-long obsession that we’ve all seen play out throughout the series. But why is it obsession, and not love? Well, I’m going to go ahead and say that Azriel doesn’t know how to love. He’s never been shown genuine love and so he doesn’t know how to show it to others in the way he intends. He’s basically a baby.

But right after he falls head over heels, Mor sleeps with Cassian, and then Cassian plays the role of the buffer between the two of them all the way up until the events of ACOSF. This is where I think Azriel’s anger comes into play. He can’t get to Mor. His best friend, his brother, is blocking him from her. He can’t touch her, love her, feel her, and he’s so desperate to. But he literally has no way to communicate it because he doesn’t know how, and so he responds in the one way he’s able: anger. And jealousy. And intense protectiveness that eventually begins to translate as possessiveness.

Again, he lets his happiness rely on Mor because he can’t make himself happy, and so his lack of emotional maturity ends up revealing him as desperate and unable to communicate his feelings of inadequacy and frustration. I’m not trying to justify his behavior, not at all. But I think this could be a decent explanation.

Regarding Cassian and Rhysand:

I mean... I kind of hate the way these two have treated Azriel. They all have their fair share of trauma, but Cassian and Rhys also bullied him and ostracized him, and then basically said, “Oh, we like you now.” Which completely leaves Azriel in the dark as to where he stands with them, and strips him of awareness regarding how his friendships with them will operate.

And then he becomes the head of espionage for the Night Court, which involves lots and lots of torture. What kind of message does that send? You’ve seen dirty things, Az, so you don’t mind doing the rest of the dirty things for us, right? That’s the only real message I can get from this. Which then plants the message in Azriel’s head of: Not only do I do dirty things, I myself am a dirty, disgusting thing. Thus, furthering his already deep-seated sense of self-loathing.

Plus, the IC generally operates with a pack-like mindset. One person’s method of healing is everyone’s method of healing. It worked for one person, so it worked for everyone. It’s a very naive mindset, and very toxic as well, so it’s not surprising that literally everyone in the IC is colossally messed up despite preaching themselves as having overcome their demons.

So Azriel never really gets to understand himself and mature as a person. He’s stuck pretending to be perfectly fine underneath Rhysand’s oh-so-benevolent and compassionate hand. Rhysand and Cassian recognize Az as being a little... odd, by seeming to think things like “he’s the quiet one” and “he’s the serious, scary one.” But do they attempt to understand him? No. They leave him to his own devices and let him figure it out himself.

That’s the issue. He’s not ever going to figure it out himself, so long as he’s surrounded by the people who’ve been unwittingly suffocating him for most of his life.

Regarding Elain:

Azriel’s infatuation with Elain, in my opinion, comes as a direct result of his detachment from Mor. Just like one hyperfixation fades quickly from an all-consuming thing to a passing thought, Azriel has shifted from one obsession to the next, in order to keep his spirits on a high.

But I think his feelings for Elain reveal a lot of what Mor did not. Why does he view Elain as so holy compared to him? Why is he so hesitant to touch her? Why does he put her on such a pedestal? That’s his self-loathing coming through again. He hates himself so much that he has to place her above him.

He wants to touch her and love her, just as he did with Mor, but again he is unable. It's a repeating pattern that he can’t get himself out of.

Let’s also look at the way Elain and Azriel’s friendship/relationship began. He had to take care of her, and treat her with utmost respect. She looked at his scars or his siphons, both monstrous looking things, and called them beautiful. Let’s remember that he’s basically a child who’s rarely known genuine love. The minute he gets a glimpse of it, he’s going to grab it by the neck and crush it to his chest. Plus, the fact that she’s the last sister left unattached and he’s the last brother left unattached is probably even more convincing for him that he and Elain are meant for each other. When he’s denied this love that’s come nearly close enough to grab, he responds in the only way he’s able: anger. And jealousy. Just like he did with Mor.

But moving on, that glimpse of potential love comes from Elain. That’s why he’s able to let go of Mor; a relationship with Elain suddenly becomes possible. He’s terrified of ruining this potential love and is incredibly drawn to her all the same. Best of all? She wants him too.

BUT. Azriel knows how fragile Elain is, so he walks on glass around her, coddling her, putting her first like he’s put everyone else first since being a part of the IC. I think he wants to save her from becoming like him. He essentially plays the role of her white knight, entirely losing his sense of self-preservation (not that he ever had one), and thus loses any chance of letting Elain help him mature in return.

Regarding Gwyn:

Now, Gwyn is a different story.

We know Azriel likes her. Maybe not in a consciously romantic way, but he likes her. She makes him smile and laugh, and he finds her amusing. He doesn’t have to walk on eggshells around her.

The big thing, I think, is that he doesn’t have to take care of her. At least, I think that’s what makes him so comfortable around her. With Gwyn, he can relax, and he doesn’t have to watch every move he makes. She treats him like a regular person and he treats her similarly.

Now, is it a bad thing that he doesn’t put her on a saint-like pedestal like he does Elain? No. Definitely not. I think this ordinary friendship signals a much healthier relationship than his festering obsession with Elain. Gwyn simply being his friend and not someone that he feels he has to be perfect for is a good foundation for Azriel growing as a person.

Gwynriel vs. Elriel (the necklace):

Honestly, I’m scared for whatever SJM decides to do, because Azriel has a shitload of trauma to move past and years worth of emotional growth needed before he can be a steady partner in a relationship. Both Gwyn and Elain’s character arcs are definitely not finished and so I think that no matter which way his narrative goes, it’s going to be disappointing in some aspect or another, unfortunately. I don’t think that either one of the females’ arcs really fit well with Azriel’s.

But I’m going to take a closer look at the necklace, because I think it’s a telling narrative point.

For Azriel, the necklace for Elain and Gwyn herself, are both “thing[s] of secret, lovely beauty” to him.

By describing the necklace for Elain as such (instead of Elain herself), Azriel unconsciously reveals his more idealistic view of Elain rather than his love for Elain herself. I kind of get the sense of Azriel giving offerings to a goddess, or something like that. He seems to be more preoccupied with appeasing Elain than actually loving her.

Now, this probably comes from, again, his self-loathing and his emotional immaturity. I’m just repeating myself at this point. He doesn’t know how to love himself and he doesn’t know how to love anyone else.

But then he describes Gwyn as such. Gwyn, the person. In my opinion, this demonstrates a potentially much healthier relationship than what he has with Elain. Azriel, instead of wanting to be perfect for Gwyn and wanting to appease her, is simply made happy by the thought of her. It is Gwyn whom he is taken with, not the idea of Gwyn loving him. And so that takes off so much pressure for him, and introduces the hope that he might be able to mature as a person in a friendship or romantic relationship with Gwyn.

Closing thoughts:

Azriel is a blundering, hormonal child desperate for love with no idea of how to get it, in a 500 year old Fae’s body. He’s also surrounded by people who refuse to address his clear issues... his future’s pretty dim, and I think he realizes it. Which is why whoever SJM chooses to be his romantic interest is going to be very important.

In short, I’m scared for what’s to come. But fingers crossed that his incredibly complex character is done justice.

[demonslayedher]

Dream Analysis of Mugen Ressha

Spoilers for the movie, while it does not depart from the plot of the manga, they made adaptational choices which I may refer to within.

While Enmu has control over what kind of dream his victims see, ultimately, he would have no way of knowing all of the details of his victims' lives, so we can assume that he is prompting his victims to fill in a lot of the details themselves. These are the worlds they surround themselves with consciously, but their untouchable unconscious spaces say just as much.

I've said some of this before, but these dream sequences give us so much to say about Inosuke, Zenitsu, Kyojuro, and Tanjiro.

Into the dream: Did that "Rengoku-aniki" thing really happen???? It's animated like a fever dream (or drawn like a typical Gotouge-being-Gotouge panel), but both the movie and the manga leave this inconclusive. It can be interpreted two ways: 1. The two other demons were there all along as decoys, set to appear only when Enmu's blood technique slowly started to take effect so that they'd let their guard down. In this way, we'd know that the boys had a true way of witnessing Kyojuro's prowess and a true bonding moment, thereby making his death hit all the harder later. This would also mean that one of the cars was totally unusable for passengers, and many of the passengers were already thoroughly spooked before falling into sleep. It would also imply that they were all super excited, thoroughly relieved, returned to their seats, and then just passed out.

2. The moment the tickets were clipped, Enmu's very, very, very realistic dreams took immediate effect, but he still needed time before it took effect enough that their guards would go down. If this is the case, then it implies the following: 1. Enmu's illusions can be shared 2. Everyone syncs extremely well together to have all been sucked in by the same illusion (it's possible it was only Tanjiro's, but since we get in everyone's heads a little in this part, I believe they all experienced the same thing). Reacting in ways so true to how they would in waking like, they learned as much about each other as truthfully as they would have if they were fighting while awake. 3. The "Rengoku-aniki" thing is the moment they're falling into a deeper stage of sleep, when any bizarre thing will make sense. They've lost any sense of holding back and are embracing the emotions as they hit them. Even if that was all a dream, the bond formed was very real. But then, as they fall deep, they fall into their own headspaces. Inosuke: I love how bombastic this dream is. It moves at a very fast pace, and everything revolves around Inosuke. He is physically much larger than Ponjiro, Chuuitsu, and Pyonko, who clearly follow him as their leader, the most powerful person in this cave exploring world full of wonder and excitement. True to life, these underlings can at times be frustrating or stupid, but there is no one else Inosuke would rather have at his side to take on a hugely impressive foe. It's a relatively simplistic world, what Inosuke really cares about is his place in it, and who is there.

Taking it a step deeper, he should not be able to manifest in his self-conscious space, but Gotouge attributes his and Zenitsu's ability to do this and protect their cores from intruders to their strong senses of self. What's telling is that his subconscious space is practically identical to his conscious dream space; like there is no breakage between one stage of reality and the next. In its Zen-like simplicity Inosuke's mind is never at odds with itself, its interpretation of reality is fluid and seamless. However, being at this deeper state brings us to a deeper state of self actualization, with Inosuke manifesting closer to the ideal beast he views himself as.

Now, with Inosuke being so fully invested in what he sees as reality, he's still got a carry-over effect from dream after waking up, which one could interpret as not having fully shaken the effects of Enmu's blood technique. After all, Zenitsu simply never broke out of it, Tanjiro had to kill himself in his dreams each time to fully snap out of it, and Kyojuro was the only one powerful enough to have broken through its effects through his own willpower. When Tanjiro says the train is a demon, he buzzes with "I was right!" (a conviction that only got stronger in his dream), and Inosuke's declarations of being the boss and Tanjiro being his underling are indignantly plentiful and he fully believes what he is saying every time he brings it up, even if he's aware that he's no longer in the cave exploring dream. But, given that Inosuke is so at peace with his own version of reality, it's also just as likely that his conviction of being The Boss was also only compounded by the dream, and all that dream did was give him a more fun setting in which to play around in. But, what was so fun about the dream, what made him sleep-giggle with pleasure, was that everyone else was finally getting with the program and recognizing him as the boss, as they should. Finally. It's so frustrating in real life that he has to keep reminding them to get it right. Get it, Santaro?? GOOD. Zenitsu: What I love here is the contrast between subconscious and conscious space. Both of them have the same theme melody, but played in very, very different ways. They also both play with the same core desire in very different ways as well. Is it so much to ask that he can just spend some time alone with the girl he loves?? If we jump straight to the pitch black unconscious space, he specifies to the intruder that only Nezuko is allowed there. Not just girls in general, not a close friend like Tanjiro, only the one girl he loves, and even then, you'd have to love someone a lot to invite them into the deepest, darkest corners of your soul. And it is a very, very, very, very dark corner. Zenitsu's spent most of his life building that dark, pessimistic personality, compounded by the treatment he's always received throughout his life and what he believes about himself at his core. He's ugly and depraved there, and very defensive. Because he holds himself in such darkness, that makes him desire the bright, happy, completely idealistic world of his conscious dream world. It's rich with detail and warm and he knows it well, that places is the first place he ever felt someone have hope for him; it's Jiichan's home, that sunny place with delicious peaches and full of clovers and lush greenery and a charming stream. Of course he'd want to show it all to Nezuko, she deserves to see such a happy, pretty place! And, while the world is idealized and happy, Nezuko is e-x-t-r-e-m-e-l-y cute and actually wants to hang out with him too. She's willing no hold his hand, none of the girls who dated (read: used) Zenitsu in the past were ever willing to hold his hand. He even gets to show her that he can be cool, and she likes it!! She looks him in the eyes and is totally honest about enjoying his company!!

He just wants someone to want him back. He wants to belong in the sunshine too. So, even if he had it in him to wake up from Enmu's blood technique, who can blame him for staying there? (You know, besides Tanjiro, who has been desperately screaming for them all to wake up and help him protect the passengers. Zzzzz, five more minutes, Tanjiro, zzzzzzz----) Kyojuro: This... isn't really a happy dream. Kyojuro has accepted a lot of sad parts of his reality so wholeheartedly that he doesn't seek the comfort of a dream in which his mother is still alive, or a dream in which his father is proud of him. Instead, what Kyojuro was looking for was the chance to go back and say more to Senjuro. This implies that on the real day he knelt in that room, while his father faced away and read the book* while Kyojuro told him all about how he defeated Lower Moon Two and became a Pillar, and was met with his father's heartbreakingly unenthusiastic reply, he later went outside and...

...didn't say any words of comfort to Senjuro.

This regret, that he didn't do more for his brother whom he knew was hurting in his own silent ways this whole time, was what sat most bothersomely in Kyojuro's otherwise peacefully self-assured psyche (or fired-up psyche, if you go by his subconscious space) . It makes sense that in his dying wishes, the first thing he requests is that Tanjiro do this in his stead. *Speaking of that book, Kyojuro had forgotten about it until his memories pulled together to create the details of the dream, which was why he thought to mention it to Tanjiro later. This shows that Enmu is not an architect of people's dreams, he only sets them in motion. How believable they are depends on each victim. (Totally unrelated, I love the design of the Rengoku estate's garden??? It's primarily evergreen and unflowering trees, meaning it stays relatively steadfast throughout the year, a garden designed in samurai villa taste. Plus the details of the house also fit really well, I think??? Would need to review research of buke-yashiki architecture to say more.) Tanjiro: ...*deep breath* This boy really, really wants to go home. Like, the climax of the movie is amazing and all, but it's the scenes with Tanjiro's family that make me cry. Ugh, where do I start. Enmu probably just grabs on to whatever thread of a desire a person has, and then he just tugs on it and says "this way, let's go really far in this direction, show me where it goes, hmm, okay, nice, lovely. Have fun here, I've now seen enough to write my own angsty version for later." So... so I'm just going to work backwards a moment. Enmu screwed up here, thinking he could really read the depth of Tanjiro's family and his feelings for them. He thought he could make a convincing version of these "characters" cry and shove Tanjiro around and speak meanly to him and make him feel shame. And the cut to that dream, OH MY GOSH, truly horrific sound and color change. But Tanjiro's sees through it so fast that he wakes up immediately and uses that anger at how Enmu wrote them to cut off his "head." You screwed up, Enmu, you blew it, maybe other people would very so blown down by the shock that they wouldn't question how unreal that dream sequence is, but Tanjiro has honed his fighting spirit so much that it's been nagging him even throughout his happy dream. And he really, really, really wants to stay in that happy dream. Like, even though he's on guard at the beginning, so much so that he only focuses on the familiar feeling of a demon being around and does not notice the familiar landscape AT ALL. But the moment Hanako and Shigeru step in, convincingly made from Tanjiro's memories and unedited by Enmu, Tanjiro throws that all away in an instant. As he says when he's trying, after trying and trying and trying to rip himself away from the dream, he was never even supposed to had left this world. He was never supposed to had touched anything like a sword, they were all supposed to stay there together, living their simple life. If things hadn't gone wrong that one night. Tanjiro cares deeply about his mission, he's adopted his training deeply, he has serious desire to improve, which is why his subconsciously keeps trying to call himself back to reality, but it's so hard, because this is where he wants to be, and it's even harder because it feels so real. It's a little peeve of mine when families with lots of little siblings are written to be too angelic and idealistic, and there is some of that with the "let's make sembei, yaaaay" scene, but... but that's actually pretty true. I'm giving myself away with how close this hits to home, but it's a dynamic in a lot of large families, especially large families pretty happy to stay to themselves and people who live the same sort of conservative, traditional lifestyle, to foster in the older siblings some pride in taking care of the little ones and helping create that happy world for them, even if taking care of little kids can be rough. It's not to say that things are always happy and fluffy, they're not, and that's not to say even

happy kids don't resent being in a large family sometimes. But there's plenty of moments in daily life, especially in the presence of small children, that you get swept up into a sillier, happy, caretaker side of yourself, and since you all grow up with these silly moments together, you're going to naturally fall into into some silly, scripted-feeling moments of "then I'll be in charge of eating the sembei!" "no faaaaair!". So, I'll give the sembei scene a pass because that IS a moment that happens in years of moments with the same posse of kiddos around you all the time. But it's also so striking to me how each of Tanjiro's siblings, however idealized, has their own personality. The traits are so subtle but consistent and Tanjiro knows all of them. They pick up on things about each other, they grow realistically annoyed and surprised and concerned and scared like they would if they were real instead of only Tanjiro's memories of them. Those kids feel so real to me, even if they are annoyingly overidealized in some parts as Tanjiro is letting himself get swept away. And just when he's managing to part from it to go face reality, Enmu makes more attack: he brings in Nezuko, trying to make it feel like there's no point in Tanjiro running at all. She's fine. There's nothing left for him to fight for. Everything's fine. And all over again, Tanjiro just stops. He KNOWS it's not real, but he's hurting so much to hear her voice again that he just sto-o-o-o-ps. And his desire to stay with the others catches up to him all over again, and he's tempted all over again to stay, EVEN KNOWING IT'S NOT REAL and there are very, very, very pressing matters to attend to. Even if it was all a little happy and idealized, more than anything, it felt like life always did. It's telling that when Tanjiro finally, FINALLY pulls away from that that time, he doesn't look back, and the family stops chasing him. This is Tanjiro accepting reality, however much it hurts. He's already had a couple years to accept this, but it was all overwhelming to get such a vivid taste of it again.

Tanjiro wants to do well to his organization and honor Urokodaki's training and avenge the fallen and prevent anyone else from being hurt and see an end to Kibutsuji Muzan and make Nezuko human again, but more than anything, he wants that simple life. And it's so, so heartwarming that at the end of the manga, he gets it.

It's not the same. It'll never be the same.

He never wanted a life with a sword, but he's been working so hard at it anyway.

[script-nef]

So why won’t you realise it '^' | Gojou Satoru

Category: fluff

1.9k words; Movie date [2/6]

Spoilers of Howl’s Moving Castle!! Beware!!

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“Eh, Shouko! What do you mean you can’t make it?”

“I mean, another person is about to come in and they need me to heal them. By the time I’m done the movie will be finished.” Shouko’s voice over the phone is laced with annoyance and sadness coupled with lethargy. You don’t know how she pulls off such a unique combination of emotions but she somehow accomplishes it every time. “And I was looking forward to it…”

This would have been the first time you had a break with her since the trip to France. And while she enjoyed it a lot, the same couldn’t be said for the two males. Which was weird since Gojou is infatuated with sweets and Ken-chan agreed to come. So it was kind of weird when there was a tense atmosphere between them. You know your brother and Gojou are nearly polar opposites, but their animosity wasn’t usually that strong. 

They brushed it off as nothing when you asked if something was wrong, which was sort of dubious since you could kind of see the black cloud looming over the both of them, but you let it go. If it was something important, they would be able to handle it themselves or report it to you. You couldn’t sense any cursed spirits nearby so you guessed that they were just in a bad mood for some reason.

Still, you had a wonderful time and found some new snacks that everyone enjoyed. So a day well spent, all in all. 

And Ken-chan told you to tell him if Gojou ever offers overseas trips or anything similar, so he must have enjoyed it. Maybe you can ask Gojou to take all of you to Denmark one day.

“Ah… my dear Howl. Life and curses separate us again.” Her voice is full of sadness now, no doubt mourning over her chance of watching her favourite character on a huge screen with surround sound disappearing. 

“It’s okay! I’ll bring you the figurine and we can watch it again here in about… uh…”

“Ten years?” She sounds like she’s about to drop dead.

“Uh… yes… But maybe five years? Hopefully? You know, I shouldn’t watch it without you. I’ll come back to school.” 

“No, no. Watch the movie. At least you’ll get to see it. Ah, they’re coming now so I have to go.”

“Ah, okay. Bye, Shouko! Stay positive!”

A non-committal sigh accompanies a small “Bye” before the call clicks off. A frown takes over your face at the lost opportunity for her. She was looking forward to this for a long time and you leapt at the chance for another girls’ day out. Being able to watch a childhood favourite is an added bonus. But now you’re standing in the movie theatre, the ticket desk just across the room and an extra on your hand. 

It’s a shame because it cost quite a lot. Shouko is definitely going to mope about this when you get back and maybe start smoking again. She always has a pack on her even if she said she quit, and smokes one if she’s stressed or angry. You should call someone and make sure somebody takes it away from her.

You should probably hold onto the ticket and give it back. Or maybe that would make it worse for her, serving as a reminder of this day. Conflict rages inside your head. There’s a high possibility of either decision breaking her heart. Again. A buzz from your phone saves you the trouble of deciding.

Shouko: I sent someone as my replacement. 

A tap on the shoulder makes you turn as you type in a reply and you come face to face with a black jacket. Gojou’s head pops down.

“Hey there. I think you called for a replacement!” He seems to be in a ridiculously good mood, even more so than usual. Maybe his students successfully finished another mission. Which is great. It also means more paperwork for you. Which is not so great.

“How did you com—ah. Teleportation.”

“Ding ding ding! Correct!” He's been using the skill more frequently lately, popping in and out of places like one of those Whac-A-Mole games. . It gives you heart attacks all the time and you’re sure he gets a kick out of it. You saw how his smiles widen when you flinch or react. Thankfully it’s when you’re alone so other people never see you jump what feels like a metre into the air.

“Do you want popcorn?” He breaks you out of your thoughts. “I think they have the new caramel flavour. Apparently it’s way too sweet.” So perfect for Gojou. Even though he’s asking if you want it, there’s a spring in his step which definitely means he’s getting some. Probably the biggest option they have.

And you’re proven right because he comes back with two huge buckets which look impossible to finish. When you try to object, he cuts off with “I’ve eaten three buckets before. Alone.” With the smile he’s giving you, it really doesn’t sound like he’s joking. You try to take one to lighten the load but he says it’s alright. 

He signals the way to the theatre rooms with his head, walking beside you as you find your way.

“So what’s the movie?” Your head snaps to him in confusion.

“You don’t know?” A shake and a shrug. “It’s Howl’s Moving Castle. This was Shouko’s idea since she loves it and this year is Studio Ghibli’s 40 year anniversary. The cinema is having an exclusive showing of their movies this month. Only one session per movie, for some reason. Surely they would make more money if they played it over multiple days, but. I dunno. Executives make weird decisions.” A light scoff from him to tell he knows exactly what that’s like. His hatred for the higher-ups runs deep. You don’t push it.

“So she wanted to come but got held back at the last minute?”

“Yeah. Ah, here are our seats.”

You’re placed in the very middle of the room and you both make yourselves comfortable. Shouko went all out for this movie, upgrading the seats and making it a recliner. Your poor back, abused after sitting in chairs and hunched over computers for so long, practically melts into the plush cushion. It’s so comfortable that you might fall asleep in it if it isn’t Howl that’s about to start. 

Feet dangling in the air, you look over to Gojou to see him on his phone. It looks like he’s in a chatroom and you catch the words ‘Shouko’ and ‘favour’ before looking away. You didn’t mean to peek, but it’s not like you can consciously not read something. It was in your line of sight and you averted your eyes as soon as you realised what you were reading. Your brother brought you up better than to pry into other people’s businesses, even if it’s really, really tempting.

“Phones need to be placed on silent, you know.” The ads are coming on the screen. He smiles at you, slipping it into his pocket.

“Just talking to Shouko. She says she hasn’t even started properly.”

Disappointment fills you. Gojou is a good friend to watch this with but you hoped Shouko would somehow miraculously finish in time. She would be devastated.

“I’ll have to make this up to her when we get back. Give her the figurine and keep her hap—ah! I forgot! Gojou, I was supposed to ask someone to take her ciga—” He cuts you off with a light pat on your hand.  

“Don’t worry, I did it already. All of them are safe out of her reach and I gave her packets of hot chocolate instead. When we get back, she’ll have drunk at least half of them and be in a good mood.” What a Gojou-like replacement. He smiles like a child wanting pats on the head for a job well done. You just barely catch yourself from moving. 

Gojou gets a rep for being aloof and neglectful, but he does take care of the people he holds dear to him. His friends, members of the school, his students. You hope you’re included in the list. 

Actually, the more you think about it, the more you realise he’s different from initial perceptions. You learn more and more about him as time goes on, in the most delightful sense. He’s somewhat like an onion, new characteristics being revealed every time a layer is peeled. A snicker escapes at the thought of Gojou dressed up like an onion, just waddling around. He shoots you a questioning head tilt which you wave off.

In the years that you’ve known him, he made himself into a trustworthy friend. One full of laughs and ridiculousness. Maybe it’s his childishness that puts you at ease, but he’s incredibly comfortable and easy to relax around. Thoughts trail and the words fly out of your mouth before you even think.

“You know, I think you would make a wonderful boyfriend.”

He freezes completely, like somebody’s zapped him in place. You stare at him, wondering what’s wrong, but the lights dim and by the time he gathers coherence, your concentration is on the opening sequence.

“Ah, that was so good! Ugh, I love Howl. Isn’t he so cool?” You skip out of the room, remembering to take the figurines provided at the exit, with Gojou trailing behind you. “You know how she asks him to wait for her in the past? The first thing he says to her in the movie is ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ He searched for her the entire time! This is modern poetry. This.” 

“Do you think Howl would be a good boyfriend?” The question stops you. It’s different than usual for some reason, the voice asking the question and the intensity of it. He’s still his aloof self, all smiles and grins, but there’s something you can’t quite place that’s wrong. It’s unnerving, but you diligently answer his question.

“Um, I mean, yeah? Look at how cute he is with Sophie. See?” The figurine is a frozen shot of Howl and Sophie dancing in the rain with an umbrella that’s not being useful at all. They’re both incredibly detailed, so much so that you can see their clothes and skin drenching wet. Wow, this is actually a phenomenal job. Shouko will be so happy. It makes your heart lighter knowing that at least something might light up her day. 

“Why is he cool?” Gojou seems to be invested in Howl. It confuses you since he just watched the movie with you and he saw how awesome Howl is. 

“Hm, well for one he can do magic.” He opens his mouth but you shush him with a finger to his lips. “Yeah, I know, what we have is kind of like magic too. But theirs is just… different. He just makes it seem kind of elegant. And he overcame his fear just for Sophie. Remember the scene with Sulliman and in the cluttered bedroom? He still found the strength to protect her even though he was so scared before. It’s admirable. I guess I like strong guys.”

“Hmm~” His tone is contemplative. “You know I’m stronger than him, right?”

A question mark forms over your head. He’s being really weird today. “Yeah? You’re the strongest in the universe, silly. What’s up with you?” Gojou just chuckles and ruffles your head.

“Nothing, nothing. Just making sure you know.” He slings his arm around your shoulder, the intensity gone and the light spring in his step back. “Who else do you think is strong?”

Next chapter →

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

Falling from grace for you.

(this wasn’t requested, and I should probably be catching up on those XD)

|Dazai x Female Reader|

This is a darker (that’s an understatement…) and longer (very long) piece than what is typically written on my account. It’s taken from one of my current ongoing fics.

Warnings: Dazai’s typical antics (his jokes of suicide, making light of suicide, disturbing thoughts) depictions of severe gore/violence. Mentions of darker themes: torture, implied abuse. Some slight out-of-character actions. A large amount of insanity, questionable thoughts, and in the end suicide. Seriously, I warned you this piece is dark as hell

Heavy angst without a happy ending. (starts getting very dark/disturbing/unsettling under the cut.)

~You have been warned, enjoy the angst love~

Words-5,081

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Hiding behind clouds, scarlet red glared down in shimmering beams. The night was given a red hue, a contrast to the normal silver peeking past the darkness. A male, in his early twenties, fiddled with the edges of his coat. Its tan folds, keeping his body from feeling the frigid atmosphere. His finger lightly traced the white, slightly dirtied fabric of the cotton wrapped around his arms. As unusual as it was, most of the agency had stayed past its usual hours of operation. A feeble sigh remained stuck in the man's throat, a sigh that could tell the others he was troubled. He was a man of many mysteries and unsolvable puzzles. The empty hue of his coffee-stained eyes closed the door to what he felt. That was if this man was capable of truly feeling much at all.

Taking a seat on the couch, his mind trailed to the thoughts of a woman. If he dared to admit the wrongs of his life, maybe the situation they were all in would be… different. Maybe, just maybe, this case would have been solved in seconds. It seemed even Ranpo had met his match here. Of course, the only reason he had met a roadblock, was for the same reason nobody had claimed the pool of money placed on his past occupation. His name was Dazai, Osamu Dazai. Sure, by now, the people around him knew what dangerous job he had in the past. Ranpo had probably finally deduced he was somewhere up in the ranks. He doubted they knew just who he had been, doubted they knew the full extent of the crimes he had committed. If they knew surely Ranpo would have said something or given signs of distrust. If Kunikida knew there would have been insults thrown and judgments made. He’d probably be in jail if they truly knew the details about him.

His eyes self-consciously looked up to the clock, his eyes flicking with the smallest flame of confusion. His fingers ran to his pocket, pulling out a phone that wasn’t used for work. The way he rushed to check for a missed message caught the attention of several co-workers. They were all used to his slacking off, even when he was working, he appeared to be relaxing. For instance, this entire time, from the moments spent staring at the window, to the second leading to his hands gripping his phone, were all moments that involved his mind. A plan carefully piecing together. He happened to be the only one who could solve this case. After all, he knew you. The details of this case, the ones that had no evidence, nothing to deduct anything from. By now, he was sure Ranpo knew that too. The only reason he hadn’t been questioned was the uncertainty of how he was involved.

There had never been a day when you missed sending the nightly text. Now, he always received a text no later than 9 PM and no earlier than 8:45 PM. Every day for 6 years, he received the same question. You would ask him when he’d be home, what he’d like for dinner. No matter what the message was, you never sent a text shorter than 2 words. Never screwed the grammar up, nor did you ever leave a text unfinished. Not only was it 9:05, but the text was also missing. He was almost tempted to call you, feeling a panic settling in his stomach. The two of you had so many unspoken feelings between you. He knew you were not really missing, you had run away just over six months ago, after all, you had wanted freedom from the chains of your prison. That home, which had never truly been home. He restarted the phone over and over again, maybe he didn’t have enough service, maybe he was overthinking things? As much as he wanted to believe you were completely fine, he knew something had truly happened to you.

It was his fault, in the past, he had been such a bastard, there were people all over wishing to find a spot in his inhuman mind that would cause him to bend down like a dog; he hated dogs. If somebody ever found that he and you had more than just a business relationship, there would be hell to pay. Having known each other since his mafioso days, you were always a danger to be caught around with. He still remembered the way you had met, the only woman who had not given in to his womanizer ways. The only person on this planet who understood his mind. Your ability, as long as he didn't touch you, told you everything that his mind was reeling under. The pressure of his deepest regrets, the dying, screaming agony that wrapped his heart. So, it was only natural that in his new world of light, he had come to see you differently. This woman who had impacted his life just as much as his dead friend never ceased to surprise him. The way she stayed silent about her own troubles, the way she revealed only what she could with him. The way she remains smiling, like him, despite sharing the same pains that crushed him. He had asked her once, a few years back, to join him in a double suicide. It had been a joke, but the laughing, smiling expression that you wore as a mask had fallen. Those eyes he came to adore fell to replicate his own expression. So used to the word no, his heart nearly shattered when you chuckled darkly and ran a finger over the sleeves of your shirt. The way it acted like it traced scars broke him. The simple sure that whispered from your lips led him to stand shocked. Few people in this world managed to surprise him, so seeing you turn his thoughts into scrambled letters in a scrabble game had him panicked.

Just as he was about to start panicking over your lack of a text, a simple ding echoed in the silent room. The breaths of every agency member halted, it seemed even Kunikida paused to see what this man was up to. For what felt like the first time in his life, that unsettling pit of despair that laid deep within his gut overtook his consciousness rationally. His fingers expertly unlocked his phone, dragging the notification bar down to click on the text that came from your number. That pit that he had been feeling since he left the apartment today rose to consume his mask. Pure, discernible fear placed itself within his irises. The dilation of his pupils, followed by the sweat that fell from his forehead, gathered a panic within every member. Laying on his screen a simple message that he’d never wanted to see; a simple help. The time was now 9:15, Dazai’s hands shook as he tried to remain calm, keep that personality of his from rising past the new him. There was nothing he wanted more than to slip into the darkness of his alter-ego, the original him.

When things that belong to him, things that he deeply connects to are hurt or taken from him, he can’t help but become a monster to protect such things.

Another text followed as he tried to keep himself together. If you want to see her alive, find us within the hour demon prodigy. To send such a thing from his belladonna’s phone created another crack in his expression. Unfiltered rage poured from his eyes in fiery streams. His hands nearly cracked the delicate glass of his phone. Clicking the phone off, he set it down. Walking to his desk, he slammed open every drawer. Nobody spoke, they only watched this man rummage around his desk. His stoic eyes were now full of dreadful emotions. The aura this man was giving off dragged the somber room into a dark state of horror. It was as if a serial killer had walked into the home of its unsuspecting victims. The only thoughts with their heads were of concern for the coworker, whose laid-back attitude had disappeared in seconds. Was this how he was in the mafia? That question suddenly popped into some of the heads turned towards him. One girl sat next to an older boy. The teenage child tilted her head at the recognition of the room's mood. The mood resembled the still air that she’d experienced in the mafia. When she was nothing but a worthless assassin, she had seen this happen before. Whenever a high-ranking mafioso walked into a room, one known for their bloodlust and demonic ways, such as Akutagawa, the room felt heavy and sticky with fear and worry. While this was different, it had that same tingle.

Dazai pulled out a pistol, why he still had this was a question even he couldn’t answer. It had been the one he used in the mafia. Slamming it on the desk, his hand traveled for other items. Grabbing a container of pins, he set that down along with pens in both black and red ink, a notepad about the size of his palm, a file, and lastly, the girl's photo. He grabbed his phone again, this time walking to a computer and downloading information from it. It was easy to get the location of which the texts were sent. If the GPS was correct, her phone was currently several blocks from the house, after moving within the three minutes, it took him to search the drawers. The text had been sent from inside their apartment. Popping the pen lid off using his teeth, he rushed to a map. His mind had blocked all consciousness of the world around him out. The unadulterated need to find you and save you from harm, or in the worst case, death, controlling him. Never in his life had he felt this way for anybody. No subordinate, no friend, no co-worker, no enemy had ever filled his body with so much emotion at once. A man normally dragged on by only logic, a man who discarded his heart for his mind now laid within the opposite. His emotions controlling his thoughts, his heart pumping within the hundreds as he raced against the clock. Marking every move possible in his head, he scanned over the map once, twice, and even a third time. His lips curled into a nasty snarl as he realized how you had been caught.

On your way back from working that bar, you had been followed into the apartment, heard the noises, and texted him a quick plea. You're meant for it to be longer, but hardly had time to send help. No capitalization, no punctuation, and help had been misspelled. A simple typo only your terrified fingers could manage. Then when they realize your phone is unlocked and laying on the floor after knocking you out, the attacker had sent him the warning. With that scenario, he became completely encased in displeased anger. His eyes scanned the map with frustration, trying to narrow the possible routes down. He used the black pen to mark the important events with times. He marked everything from his leave to the current second. Using the red pen, he sketched a draft of the route being used. The phone had been carried as a distraction. Any person of his mind would instantly disregard that route. But without Ranpo needing to point out which route was most likely, he tapped it with his finger. Crossing out certain marks as he intertwined all three routes to come across the place he’d met you. An amused, almost ironic snicker parted his lips as he tugged his jacket tighter around his body. His hand using the small notepad to jot down the location. Not for himself, but for the others in case they decided to follow him.

Walking to his desk, he grabbed the pistol, its weight nearly disgusting him. A conflict parted through him, his promise to Oda, then your life. Looking towards the ceiling, he sighed. He’d visit his grave later to apologize for breaking his promise. He had all intention to kill, whether it’s called for or not. “Dazai, what is going on.” Kunikida's cold voice cut through the heavy atmosphere.

Snapping back as if only now realizing the other existed, he fell to look at Kunikida. The look he gave was full of nothing but emotionless despair. With a simple response, he walked over and dropped the file on the desk. “Taking care of this case… alone.” The last word was spoken with an emphasis as if to warn them. This case was tied to his past actions.

Making a full 180, he dramatically raised his hands and spoke with nothing but a childish facade. “If I’m not back before midnight, my dreams have come true!” he hummed before walking out of sight.

Now that he was alone, that facade dissipated, and he sighed walking briskly down the streets. It didn’t take him too long to arrive at the building. An abandoned shipping room that provided a perfect height for suicide. He smiled slightly at the thought. Yes, that would be so much more relaxing than this. Simply taking your hand as the two of you fell gracefully in each other's arms. Then with no pain, the two of you would part from this meaningless life and find peace. His hand touched the door, pushing them open, the red glimmers of light, provided by the blood moon, filtering in through the now open doors. He whistled to signal he was there, and as his feet stepped inside, the doors closed and latched behind him. A trap well fit for him, but he already predicted such. “You really did go all out to catch me off-guard. It’s too bad this really isn’t much~.” he purred the words calling out to whoever laid within the shadows of the building. Tracing steps of the two men behind him, he ducked before grabbing two fists of hair and slamming their heads together. “Now, I suggest you give her back.” His voice became cold as he held himself straight, brushing his hands against the tan fabric.

Instead of a vocal response made of words, there was only a light laugh. With a sudden glare that nearly blinded him, the light turned on in only one specific spot. The middle of the room glowed with vibrant white light. Revealed by the sudden change was a body. Slumped against a chair with the smallest rising and falling of the chest. A piece of cloth wrapped around both your eyes and your mouth, successfully gagging and blinding you. Around your waist lay a thick rope that was most likely tied in the back, and was coated in duct tape to keep you secured to the chair. He assumed your wrists were bound behind the chair, judging that they were not loosely hung by your sides. The rope around your ankles was wrapped around several times. Already your body was showing forms of bruises. Blood trickled from your nose and your head. Your clothing was in tatters, the white lace of your bra showing in parts. It was as if your attacker had tried inflicting as much pain as he could. Perhaps you had woken up from the pain before passing out. He could see the wet stains on your cheek, probably from the feeling of pain. He went to take a step forward and pull out his gun, but before he could make much movement, a gun aimed itself at you. His eyes flared, and he looked to the man who had taken you. The time was now 10:05 PM. He had arrived exactly at 10 PM. within the hour the text had said, so logically speaking he had 10 minutes until an hour from when the text was sent to now.

So where had he gone wrong? Why did that gun fire at your stomach? It missed anything vital, in fact, it was a spot he knew well. Fyodor had once had a sniper shoot him in that exact spot. He knew it wasn’t lethal, but the blood loss could kill you. That death would be slow and painful. It was pure luck that you had been shot there, that gun was meant to put you to death.

Never in his life had he lost to his emotions. Even in his moments of insanity, he had never acted rashly. Even when he shot a dead body over and over, he had not been completely lost. He had relished in the enemy’s pain, but he was not lost. He understood his surroundings. Even as his lips parted and cusses left his lips and insane demonic laughter parted his lips, he tried keeping his mind together. His left hand covered his eye, the eye he had once kept bandaged for no particular reason. His right hand fumbled for his gun, before snapping his eyes back to the enemy. “You really shouldn’t have done that~” he hummed taking steps closer. “Were you expecting me to fall and weep? If this is revenge over something I did in the past, I hate to tell you… I don't remember a single one of my past victims. I mean that would be a ton of people to remember. Between the murders and the blackmail along with all the other crimes I’ve committed, I would never remember anybody who held no importance.”

With the room's descent into a hellish atmosphere, your attacker tripped falling down. Dazai walked to you and brushed a finger over your cheek. “It’s alright, I’ll save you.” Maybe this possessive protectiveness this event had induced could be classified as slightly yandere? He would never lose you, your happiness was of course important, but this feeling was beyond normal rage. He walked up to the cowering form of your attacker. He guaranteed the man's death would be painful. He normally wasn’t this violent, even in the mafia he carried out his assignments and assassinations quickly. He hated pain himself, so it was natural to show some pity when it came to physical pain.

All that went forgotten as he approached the shaking male. He fiddled with the trigger of his pistol, before shooting both of your attacker's hands. Watching as crimson carefully spill and the shriek of horror, that twisted Dazai’s heart with pleasure, echo within the walls, he smiled. The smile was created from pure insanity. Without a shred of remorse, he glanced at you before his foot lifted to slam against the male's jaw. He did it once, twice, and thrice. When his foot shoved the man's skull down to the cement flooring, he laughed trying to keep control. His emotions were slowly wrapping dark webs around his reason. He knew that was enough, that he should stop and lay down a final blow. He knew he should do the right thing, which would be to slam some cuffs on this man's wrists. Yet, in the back of his head lay a voice telling him this man deserved a punishment far worse than a jail cell he’d likely be out of in a few years. This man deserved death for hurting you. There was only one light in his life, that light was you. Losing that light would break him. There was one fear for this man, that fear was losing all hope. Plummeting into true pain, a life without you would be empty. It would be too much to go on. He’d toss away his ideal death to escape the chains of this mortal world. He’d accept death, whether there was an after-life or not. As the thoughts ran rampant inside his head, his decision was made. No, this decision had been made the moment his slender fingers touched the metal of this discarded pistol.

Kneeling down, he got into the man's personal space, his hands clasped behind his back as if this were one of his many interrogations. “Tell me, when you laid the first blow on my belladonna, what were you expecting would happen? Was it A, you thought you would manage to bring me to my knees? Or maybe B, you thought your actions would have no consequences because the feared demon prodigy was now an ex-demon prodigy? You thought you would be able to act out revenge by taking the one thing he clings to. People are easy to read, when they are terrified for their lives their life story is portrayed through their eyes. I wonder, would you beg for mercy if I gauged them out?” the sadistic curl of his lips leading to the crack of his fingers echoed in the room. The only other sound to challenge such a disturbing noise lay the whimpers and shaking chatter of the enemy. “If you want forgiveness, then beg for it.” Dazai's lips quickly fell to a snarl as his finger ran from the man's cheek up to the base of his eye socket. Already pushing with pressure, he waited. Just before his finger could start any damage, the man's words leaped.

“I’m sorry, spare me!” he would shout more and more pleading for his life. Dazai merely laughed, running his other hand over the man's lip before dragging it down over the man's neck, imagining the sight if he were to take a pin and drag it along the skin.

“Did she plead for you to stop? How many times did she beg you not to hurt her? Did you do more than simply hit her?” he knew the answer to that already, which is why even if this man pleaded and begged and swore his life to Dazai, he’d never make it out alive. “If you're honest, I may… be gentle.” A lie, a believable cunning lie all for you. He was doing this for you, all to take revenge for you.

“No!” the man screamed for only a moment before Dazai dug his finger into the socket, letting blood soak the tan of his coat. Flinging his hand to the side, the excess blood splattered.

“Too bad, I knew you'd lie to me anyways. Humans are truly despicable creatures, aren't we? Was it fun? Listening to her beg for you to stop? Did she ask you to just kill her already? Did you keep her conscious just to traumatize her? Tell me, did you think I'd let you go?” lifting his foot, he slammed it against the man's chin, sending him into the wall. Watching the stone crack and small pebbles fall, he walked over with nothing in his eyes.

His thoughts were blank.

His expression is blank.

His mind blank.

His heart… full of anger and merciless vengeance.

His hands, despite lacking the same strength as some of his opponents in the past, snapped bone after bone. He tore through the skin until the floor was coated in blood. The game continued until the man bled to death. When Dazai noted there was nothing left, he stared and watched in satisfaction. That was until a groan made its way into his ears. Slowly, he turned around to look at you. Your head had shifted slightly, but small drops of crimson were now dripping down from your abdomen. Pulling the bloodied knife from the corpse, he rushed over to cut you free. Letting your body collapse into his he hummed. His mind was still gripped in insanity. He slid down to the ground, running his blood-stained hands through your hair. “I came for you.” A half-hearted smile lifted his lips, but your voice did not respond. Your eyes still remained closed as he laid you on a clean spot of cement. He lifted the tatters of your shirt just enough to view the wound.

With a hesitant movement, he grabbed your wrist. The pulse was seeming to slow down. “Fuck…” he cursed the word under his breath as he came back to his senses. As if coming from a trance, his eyes scanned around. A single drop of water left his eyes before more came crashing down. He grabbed your body and pulled it towards him. Cradling you as he whispered an apology.

It seemed as if an eternity had passed, but in reality, the time was 10:35. Hardly half an hour had passed since he arrived. You would last another twenty minutes before that tiny wound became a problem, and you died. He knew this fact, and so he searched his pockets for his phone. He’d disappear before anybody got there. He’d sound as if he were running. He’d stage something to hide what he had just done. Everything he’d worked for could be unraveled soon. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, hoping you'd wake up, so he could tell you what he wanted to say. Even as he gripped the phone and dialed his co-workers, all he wanted was to look into your eyes. The eyes that reflected himself. Before he could hit the dial button and start the call, those metal doors which had been sealed shut opened. Light filtered in from the moon and flashlights. The click of guns pointed at the two of you.

Dazai glanced to the side before hiding you behind him, still protective over you. Until he heard the sound of a familiar blonde's voice, he would not let you be exposed to danger. “Stand down, he’s… one of ours.” Kunikida yelled, before storming in with the other members behind him. They had all seen him rush out, the state he was in… it was only recommended by Ranpo they call in some officers just to surround the building. “Dazai...” Why was it so hard for the blonde to speak? Had he truly believed there was a shed of moral sense within his work partner? “Hands above your head… step away from the girl.'' It was a plea more than an order.

Hesitation wasn’t something he normally dealt with. Dazai looked back to you before realizing the smallest movement of your fingers. Immediately he grabbed your hand. A warning shot echoed missing his head by mere centimeters. It wasn’t like he cared though, a bullet could kill him right away. There would be no pain, so what if it wasn’t suicide. At this point, he was fed up with living in a world like this. He was tired of not having a purpose. The only purpose he had was to protect you. He’d managed to fail that too. So without any emotion, he waved dismissively. “If you shoot me, you know I won’t care right?” There was silence as a gurgled noise escaped your lips.

It was relatively fast, your eyes shooting open as your hands reached to grab your abdomen. Nearly screaming out in pain until your eyes adjusted and noticed Dazai. Relief flooded into you as your body weakly reached for him. He let out a relieved choked noise, similar in sound to a sob. He cupped your cheek with that feeling in his chest before another warning shot fired. This time missing him by even less and cutting it close to your hands. Terrified your body reeled back.

Dazai put your safety first before comfort. So despite wanting to kiss you and finally express the feeling he knew you were aware of, he stood up and raised his hands above his head. Walking towards the lights, he kneeled and hung his head. He was rather surprised with how gentle he was pushed to the floor. The feeling of metal clasping his wrists wasn’t new. He’d been caught many times before this. Of course, he always escaped, returning to you. If he tried that now, he knew he risked your safety. Yet your shrieks passed the air as you were grabbed by two officers. Watching from the sidelines with solemn looks stood the rest of his co-workers. Atsushi, a young male orphan, Dazai, had been saved from starvation and death, couldn't understand what was going on. “Why… Dazai, why?” he whispered far too soft to be heard.

As Dazai was pulled to his feet and led away, you were left to scream and ignore the pain of blood gathering in your throat. No matter how much splattered from your lips you screamed for him. You struggled weakly against the arms of the officers. The blonde who had cuffed Dazai walked to you. Kneeling to your level, your eyes moved to read him. Using your ability to see his emotions, personality, and troubles. He was a good man, one who had strong morals. Only at that did you react and calm down. Letting a woman who shared his presence and whose aura you trusted heal you. “This is… my fault,” you whispered, finally feeling warmth fall down the soft skin of your cheeks. As a brunette looked over the crime scene with anger and disgust, he deducted everything within minutes. It was done by Dazai, and there were things he didn’t understand, but he knew enough to locate why this had happened.

“Please… don’t lock him away! If I had been stronger... if I had listened to Dazai’s advice none of this would have happened!” Despite being the victim of all of this, you couldn’t help but blame it all on yourself. “We still haven't gotten to try out the method I found.” gripping the sides of your arms, you looked up with the same expression Dazai often wore. The startled expression of his co-workers was expected. “We may have succeeded this time.” You whispered the words softly in your head, before passing out from exhaustion once more.

Dazai never ended up in prison, he’d slipped away the moment he could. All of this had been in your line of expectations. Walking into the apartment to see Dazai reading the suicide book had you running over to express your love in the form of asking him the question he always asked you. “Shall we commit a perfect, flawless double suicide?” you asked before seeing an excited glimmer in his eyes. Taking your hands in his, he nodded.

On that fateful night, two months after your abduction, two bodies were found. Cuddled close together under the sheets. Their bodies cold and pressed closed. A swift easy death within slumber.

[samdeancass]

Time Travel

Requested on Quotev

Pairing: Kevin x Tennyson!reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Characters: Kevin, Y/N, Ben, Gwen

Words: 2367

A/N: Y/N is Bens sister.

Description: When Y/N is kidnapped by a time traveller for revenge, its up to Kevin, Ben and Gwen to save her.

Being the sister of Ben Tennyson wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. You're always getting used as leverage or kidnapped by his enemies and sadly, you were becoming to get used to it. However, things became more complicated when you struck up a relationship with Kevin. Both of them would get into fights together about who would be the one to save you. These fights had become more and more frequent over the past few weeks and you had had enough.

“I’VE HAD IT! You both are acting like children! Fighting over who gets to save me! Has it ever occurred to you that you wouldn’t have to if you bothered to teach me self-defense, eh?” You stood up from the sofa and glared at the both of them before storming towards the front door.

“Where are you going?!” Both Kevin and Ben stood up and began to walk towards you. You glared at the both of them . “Somewhere where the both of you aren’t!” You slammed the door behind you and began walking towards your car. You had no idea where you were going to drive to but you needed to clear your head. Sliding into the drivers seat and turning the ignition, you placed your foot on the accelerator and gently eased onto the road.

You slid into the parking lot of Mr. Smoothie and turned off the ignition. You rested your head against the steering wheel and let out an agitated scream. “Why can’t they just realise that both of them can work together?! They don’t always have to fight each other!” You stayed in your car for a few more minutes before getting out and walking towards the entrance of Mr. Smoothie.

A bright blue light engulfed the parking lot. Confused, you turned around and scoped out your surroundings whilst signalling your location on your plumber’s badge. Footsteps sounded behind you and you whizzed around, hands up in front of you for self-defense. A loud laugh rumbled throughout the air as a man, a little taller than you, walked out of the shadows.

“Really, Y/N? You think doing that is going to save you?” The man towered over you in an attempt of intimidation. You stared up at him, unfazed. “No, but I know that my brother, the wielder of the Omnitrix, his cousin, an anodite and my boyfriend, an osmosian, will travel to the ends of the earth to find me and kick your ass.”

The man let out a growl before grabbing your shirt in his fists and lifting you up to his eye level. “That osmosian is the reason I’m here. A long time ago, he took something….someone dear to me. I’m going to do the same to him.” A loud cackle invaded your ears as the blue light surrounded you once more, engulfing you and whisking you away.

Ben and Kevin were still bickering with each other after you left. They were stood toe to toe with each other, both of their nostrils flaring with frustration. “She’s my sister, Kevin! Of course I’m going to want to save her!” “What about me?! I’m her boyfriend! She relies on me to keep her safe!” Ben opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by his omnitrix flashing. He rolled his eyes and twisted his omnitrix, a green map showing up. “It’s Y/Ns coordinates. Why would she be sending us this?” Ben and Kevin both looked at each other with fear in their eyes. “Tennyson, get in the car now!”

Kevin sped around the streets of Bellwood until he reached your coordinates. He got out of the car immediately and looked around, Ben following his lead. “Y/N!” In the distance, he seen you in the man’s clutches being engulfed into the blue light. Kevin ran as fast as he could, Ben following behind, but he was too late. You disappeared right before his eyes and he was too slow to save you.

He sunk to his knees and punched the concrete beneath him, over and over. “Kevin, stop!” He kept going, anger and frustration striving his punches. Ben pulled him up and slapped him across the face. “Snap out of it, Kevin! You’re not going to be able to help her if your hurt!” Kevin closed his eyes and nodded in understanding.

“Now, we need to figure out who that man was. He seemed to have some sort of travelling powers.” Kevin’s eyes widened in realisation as Ben kept talking about the plan to get you back. “Tennyson, shutup. I know who’s took her.” Ben tapped his foot against the floor as he waited for an explanation. “It was a long time ago, back before I met you guys. I was crazy with power. Somebody set a bounty on this guy so I went after him.”

Ben nodded, signalling Kevin to keep talking. “I went to his house and knocked on the door. As soon as that door opened, I absorbed silver and punched whoever was in front of me. I looked down and saw that I had killed his wife. She was dead instantly.” A small tear ran down his face as he remembered how horrible he used to be. “His name is Larry. He’s a tech genius and he’s been after me for years, but I’ve always been one step ahead of him. Larry built time travel tech so he could find me in any time, anywhere. He’s finally caught up with me.”

Kevin held his head down in shame as Ben walked towards him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You’re not that guy anymore Kevin. You’ve changed. We will find a way to get Y/N back from him, I promise.” Kevin nodded his head in appreciation. “I think that the first port of call should be Gwen. She’s got that big spellbook so maybe There’s one about time travelling.” Ben agreed and they both walked back towards Kevins car.

You groaned as you regained consciousness, a pounding headache attacking you. You tried to hold your head but found that your hands were tied tight to the arms of your chair, the same with your feet. Taking a deep breath to calm your quickening heartbeat, you looked around the room to try and find something that would help you get free.

You seen a large nail sticking out of a pillar across the room and smiled. You began to scrape your chair towards it, relief filling your body, when the door in front of you swung open causing you to scream. “Do you really think you’d be able to escape me, Y/N? We’re not even in the same year anymore. There isn’t anywhere that I wouldn’t find you.” Larry walked behind you and pulled the chair back to its original position.

“What do you mean we’re not in the same year?! How is that possible?!” Panic began to fill your body as his words sunk into you. Your chest began to heave as your breathing became heavy. Larry stepped in front of you, kneeling down to your height. “I’ve developed technology that helps me travel through time. I’ve been trying to catch up to Kevin for years but I’ve never been able to make him suffer, until now. You’re the most important thing in his life, Y/N, and I’m going to take you away from him, just like he did to me.”

Confusion washed over your features. “What do you mean? Who did he take from you?” Larry stood up and took a deep breath. “He came to my house looking for me, and found my wife. He killed her and left her body for me to find. I held her in my arms and vowed to get revenge on the person that murdered her; and that is exactly what I am going to do.”

“No! He’s not like that anymore! He’s changed! He’s a good man! Please don’t do this!” Tears began flowing down your cheeks as he came towards you with a tray of torture tools. A smirk washed over his face as he took a small knife from the tray and lunged towards you.

Ben, Gwen and Kevin had gathered together all of the ingredients from the spell. “Surely with all this time travelling he’s been doing over the years, there’s got to be consequences. He can’t just travel through different years and not expect anything to happen. Time has got to catch up with him sometime, right?” Kevin and Gwen rolled their eyes as Ben rambled on.

“Hey, Gwen. Thank you for doing this. I know it’s going to take a lot out of you and I just want you to know how much I appreciate this. Y/Ns the most important person, and knowing that somebody has her because of me….it breaks me apart inside.” Gwen looked up at him and smiled. “You don’t need to thank me, Kevin. We all love Y/N and we’d do anything for her. We will get her back.”

Kevin leaned down and hugged Gwen. “Now, guys, how in the hell are we supposed to know what year she’s in? I don’t think there’s any sort of map that tells you something like that.” Gwen carried on mixing the ingredients together whilst looking up at Ben. “There isn’t a map, but there is a spell. A very easy one, actually. All I need is something of hers.”

Kevin reached into his pocket and held out your plumbers badge that had fell out of your hands. “Will this work?” Gwen nodded and took the badge, pouring the ingredients over it whilst chanting out the spell. Her eyes began to sparkle pink with her anodite power as the spell progressed. Ben and Kevin stood back against the wall as the room was overcome with power.

In a matter of seconds, Gwen was gone and the room was empty apart from the two boys. “Alright, I think it worked. Now, where would Larry be keeping Y/N?” “His house. It’s the perfect place for him to get his revenge. Me going back to the scene of the crime to make me suffer, it’s got to be there.” Ben headed towards the door. “Then what are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

Both of the boys ran as fast as they could towards Larry’s house with Kevin leading the way. He rounded the last corner and stood in front of a stone house, dark and forgotten. Ben eventually caught up with Kevin and rested his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Are you sure they’re in there? It looks abandoned.” A scream erupted from the house, which they both identified as yours. Kevin was the first to head towards the house, opening the door with one kick and running towards your screams. Ben followed quickly behind, his omnitrix ready for battle.

Your screams became louder as the boys headed deeper into the house. “Hold on, baby, I’m coming.” They stopped when they came to a wooden door underneath the staircase. Kevin and Ben looked at each other before shoulder barging the door open.

Your eyes widened as the door was busted open. However, you let out a breath of relief when you seen Kevin and Ben standing in front of you. Kevin began to move forwards toward you but was stopped in his tracks by Larry holding a small blade to your throat. “Stop right there, Kevin. If you take one more step, well, I suppose you know what will happen next.”

You and Kevin both locked eyes and you could see the worry consuming him. You nodded slightly, signalling you were Ok. “I’m alright, Kevin. Don’t worry.” You winced as the blade was pressed harder against your throat. Kevin tensed up as he seen you in pain. “How does it feel Kevin? Knowing that the person you love is going to die, but there is nothing you can do about it.”Kevin took a step forward. “I wouldn’t know because that’s never going to happen.”

At that moment, Ben lunged at Larry as Kevin ran towards him. The knife was knocked out of Larry’s hands as he hit the floor, leaving him defenceless against the wrath of Kevin and Ben. Larry crawled back until he hit the wall. “Please, don’t hurt me. I don’t want to be in anymore pain. I just wanted you to know what I felt when you took away the woman I love.”

Kevin knelt down in front of Larry, a slight smile on his face. “I’m not going to hurt you, Larry. That’s not who I am anymore. But I am going to leave you with the fact that you could have caused me that pain and you failed.”

Kevin stood up and ran towards you withBen following close behind. He knelt down in front of you and untied your legs whilst Ben untied your arms. You fell into Kevin’s awaiting arms, a small groan of pain escaping your lips. “I’m so sorry this happened to you, Y/N.” You shook your head and gave a small smile. “You don’t have to apologise, Kev. You weren’t to know that he was going to take me.” Kevin brushed a few strands of hair away from your face and brushed his thumb across your cheek.

You could see that there was still worry and shame evident in his eyes, so you leaned up and placed a sweet and gentle kiss on his lips. “You’re not that guy anymore, Kevin. You’ve changed for the better and I am not going to blame you for anything that happened back then because it wasn’t the true you.”

Kevin gave you a beaming smile and kissed you, this time deeper and more passionate. “Erm, guys. Don’t you think we should get home before you start doing any of that?” Both you and Kevin laughed before he lifted you in his arms and carried you out of the door.

“I’m glad you guys were finally able to work together to save me.” Ben and Kevin both looked at each other with small smirks. “Yeah, don’t be expecting it every time, sis. One of us is always going to be more protective of you.”

[wordsnwhiskey]

As It Should Be | Chapter 3: Statesmen & Demons

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x F!Reader x Frankie Morales

Summary: The morning after is filled with misunderstandings and overwhelming feelings. Things just get worse after you, Whiskey, and Frankie debrief with Champ, Ginger, and Pope, and old demons are brought to light.

Rating: M - No Minors

Warnings: Mentions of minor injuries, mentions of non-major character deaths, lots of talk surrounding drugs, a panic attack, angst, alcohol - If I'm missing any just let me know!

A/N: We’ve got misunderstandings and angst in this chapter. We get a peek at Frankie’s prior drug use and he’s not in a good headspace about it. This chapter and the next will deal pretty heavily with these issues. A very special thanks to Agent Capri Sun and @danniburgh for reading over these chapters and giving me the encouragement to get these out there! ~5.9k WC

Chapter 2: All Hell Breaks Loose [AO3]

Consciousness found you as it did most mornings, pinned by a strong, warm arm. You groaned softly while nuzzling back into the warmth, then opened your eyes, surprised to see Whiskey lounging in a chair off to the side of the bed, scrolling on his phone. His eyes met yours with a smile of his own, and then everything that had happened the night before came flooding back. Murmuring in his sleep, Frankie pulled you closer to him and you smiled back at Jack. It felt so right, so natural, you just wished Jack would leave his phone and come back to bed. Whiskey put his phone away and tilted his head, gesturing for you to join him and put his phone away. Carefully, you did your best to extract yourself from Frankie’s warm embrace, wincing as your body ached in protest. You let out a huff once you steadied yourself on your feet only to have Whiskey pull you into his arms.

“Are you alright, Sugar? I found some sweats and a t-shirt that’ll fit you in the closet. Figured you’d want somethin’ a touch more comfortable after last night.”

“You’re a godsend, Jack. I’m good, you boys just really wore me out.”

Jack chuckled softly and you moved to put on the clothes that lay folded on the chair Frankie had been bound to last night. It was normal that the safehouses were stocked with loungewear of a few different sizes in the event an agent needed a quick change. Groaning, you hobbled over to the kitchen, intent on pouring yourself a cup of coffee. He beat you to it though, and you heard him tut in disapproval.

“Uh-uh, you just sit your pretty little behind down and let me get that for you, darlin’.”

You didn’t bother arguing, knowing Whiskey wouldn’t hear it, and frankly, with how sore you were, you didn’t want to. He set a mug down in front of you, then took a seat at the table with his own mug.

“I talked to Ginger earlier. From what it looks like, our pilot was right, they launched one hell of an amorous agent at the gala last night. She sent me some more details, and so far the only casualties were two of the guys from the private security attachment, the people we downed, and a few attendees who had prior heart complications, their hearts gave out from blood pressure spikes.”

You took a sip of your coffee, letting the warmth fill you, then bit the inside of your cheek in contemplation.

“We’re probably safe to assume then that casualties weren’t their goal, and had they known Statesmen agents would be there, they would have made sure to neutralize us first. With all the chatter Ginger was catching wind of though, they’re either new or they were trying to get someone’s attention.”

Whiskey nodded, pursing his lips and staring down at his coffee while his fingers tapped rhythmically on the table.

“Penny for your thoughts, Whiskey?”

Deep, melted chocolate eyes flickered up to meet your gaze and his mouth twisted as if in distaste for the words he was about to say.

“Now, there’s no good way to bring this up other than just saying it, and I told Ginger I’d ask.” He paused, reconsidering again, then sighed. “Did you tell Frankie or Santiago about Statesmen?”

Your brow furrowed and a muscle in your jaw ticked as you clenched your teeth. You had kept Statesmen’s secret all these years, even though it killed you to keep anything from your old squad. They were your family, and you couldn’t stand lying to them. A sharp flare of anger burned in your chest. The need to lie to them had frankly been a major part of why you hadn’t been back to visit since Tom’s funeral.

“No, of course not, Whiskey.”

Your voice was even, deadpan almost but it was clear from your face that your anger was growing. Jack put a hand up in surrender and gently rested his other hand on your forearm.

“Hey, hey, we don’t want to wake him up.”

He let out a sigh and moved his hand down to cradle your fingers in his own.

“I didn’t figure you had, darlin’, I just had to ask. Especially since he apparently already knew we had a safehouse.”

You took in a deep breath then slowly exhaled, glancing over at Frankie who was still sleeping peacefully.

“Yeah, well, if there were two people in the whole world who’d never believe my cover, it’d be Frankie and Santi. They’re smart, and they know me better than almost anyone else.”

Whiskey jerked his hand away from you, feigning hurt for a moment before it gave way to a teasing smile when you swatted his arm.

“How was he? After I fell asleep.”

“Well, his wrists are in a bad way. Shy as could be when I had him sit down so I could bandage him up. As if he hadn’t moaned at deepthroating my fingers just a bit before.”

You nearly choked on your coffee. It was downright sinful the way Jack could say such lewd things with a voice like honey.

“If you’re wondering whether he regretted it, I highly doubt it, sweetheart. I think you were exactly on the money when you thought about him, but… Well, this ain’t exactly the best way for it to all happen.”

You nodded, sighing while you rubbed the back of your hand with your thumb, a self-soothing gesture you seldom did anymore.

“Certainly not the way we had hoped for it to happen. This was hardly dinner and a conversation. I didn’t expect to spring this on him after only just popping back into each other’s lives after five years. I can’t even really count the funeral since… well, we hardly talked.”

Jack squeezed your hand reassuringly.

“Nothing doing worrying about it, darlin’. We’ll sort everything out once he wakes up.”

Just then, your stomach growled and Whiskey chuckled.

“Besides, sounds like I should be worrying about what to make us for breakfast. Champ isn’t expecting us to debrief until 14:00. Which reminds me, I had Ginger get a hold of Santiago. He’s fine, and they’re sending Vermouth to pick him up and bring him to the office for the debrief.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you nod, grateful that Santi was ok after the attack. A small huff of excitement brings your attention back to Whiskey, finding him holding a box of pancake mix triumphantly.

“How about pancakes, darlin’?”

His eyes twinkle at the way yours widen in excitement.

“Pancakes it is then, baby.”

Frankie woke to hushed voices and the smell of pancakes. His stomach growled, and he groaned as he sat up. He felt like he had been hit by a truck.

“Hijo de puta.” [Son of a bitch.]

He muttered to himself, hissing when he bumped his wrist. You turned from your conversation with Jack after hearing Frankie curse, and you couldn’t help but admire how cute he looked in his post-sleep haze. His unruly curls were at all different angles and you fought the urge to walk up to him and sink your fingers in them.

“Morning, sleepyhead!” You paused a moment, looking at the stove clock, “Well, not exactly morning anymore.”

Frankie groaned as he stretched his arms and rolled his aching shoulders, then staggered to the kitchen table, sinking into the open chair and pulling out his phone for the time: noon.

“Fuck, Whiskey, I told you I only needed five hours.”

Whiskey stretched in his seat, waving dismissively at Frankie.

“Clearly you needed more than five hours, Flyboy. You were barely standing when you woke me up this morning. I called our Executive Tech Coordinator, Ginger, to check in. She’s having Santiago picked up, and he’ll meet us at our office. They’re not expecting us until 14:00, we’ve got some time.”

Frankie grumbled under his breath, and you noticed the way Jack’s eyebrow shot up in response to the grumbling. Hiding your smile, you got up and made a plate of pancakes for Frankie, then poured him a cup of coffee.

“Cream or sugar?”

Frankie shakes his head and takes a sip from his coffee, a small hum of pleasure vibrating in his throat.

“Gracias, Halcón.”

Both you and Jack watched him, bemused at the way Frankie shoveled the pancakes into his mouth.

“You should be thanking Whiskey. He’s the one who made them.”

Frankie swallowed then paused, looking over at Whiskey, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“These are delicious, Whiskey, thanks.”

A warm smile lit up Whiskey’s face, and he nodded in appreciation. After a moment, his gaze flickers over to yours, silently seeking your approval to start the conversation you know needs to take place before the debriefing. You refill your coffee, then give Whiskey a nod.

“Before we head out, there are a few things we need to go over, Frankie.”

Whiskey’s drawl floated in Frankie’s ears and tugged at him in a way he hadn’t expected it to without the amorous agent in his system.

“First things first, how did you figure we had a safehouse? Did you already know about Statesmen?”

Frankie blinked and sat back, looking between you and Jack before clearing his throat.

“Pope and I always figured you went into intelligence after the Army, Halcón. Pope doesn’t get called in for small gigs much anymore, and the money Pope pitched the job to me for meant it was high profile. Never believed that story of you being an EA at a distillery for a second. You hate paperwork. Seeing you there meant there might be trouble... Well, you’re always trouble, Halcón.”

He smiled, chuckling a bit to himself.

“Your revolvers and whip, and her pistol in a thigh holster… Well, with everything else, that pretty much confirmed to me that you’re both spooks. That’s why I figured you’d have your own safe houses. I couldn’t guarantee any of Pope’s because of the gas. I didn’t know who had been caught or who had been affected. Just put the pieces together, really.”

Frankie shrugged, and Jack, who had been watching him intently, nodded.

“We’re not on anyone’s radar, Frankie. The distillery is real and helps fund our operations, but not even the President is aware, and we like to keep it that way. So you can understand why there were some concerns when you seemed to have it figured out.”

He nodded, understanding completely the security concerns that came with that kind of secrecy.

“Glad you’re not a jackass CIA agent at least, Halcón.”

You snorted and shook your head.

“No, but Whiskey here is plenty jackass for the both of us.”

Whiskey scoffed and shook his head.

“That’s not the tune you were singing when we first met, darlin’. I seem to remember rescuing you, then stitching you up.”

“I didn’t need rescuing, Whiskey. They grazed me, but I had them!”

Frankie chuckled, a smirk settling on his lips at your indigent retort as he held your gaze. His smirk faltered, however, when he felt your hand rest on his arm. He knew this fleeting moment where things felt oddly right and natural, joking around in the kitchen was just that: fleeting. Now, the other shoe was about to drop.

“All things considered, Fish, you look good… I’m glad.”

Jack sat back, observing the two of you. That simple sentence held more weight than he’d expect it to in a normal conversation. The way Frankie frowned slightly and looked down and away didn’t escape his attention. He watched you fidget for a moment before starting again.

“About last night, Frankie-”

“You two look really good together. Seem to be really great partners, and… and I’m not going to do something dumb like try to get in the way of that or anything. I know we were all affected by the gas, a-and I was available.”

Frankie blurted out. The words felt thick and bitter on his tongue, his heart protesting each syllable, but he so desperately wanted to give you an out from this situation, from him and his baggage. He didn’t want to lose you or your friendship, not when he had just gotten you back in his life. His gaze was actively avoiding yours and Whiskey’s, opting instead to stare down at the floor. You and Jack shared a frown as you took a beat to recover. Whiskey was clearing his throat to try to salvage the conversation, but you could see the gears moving in Frankie’s head as he suddenly stood.

“I need to go prep the helo if we’re going to make it back in time.”

The walls were coming up brick by devastating brick in Frankie’s downcast, coffee-colored eyes. On instinct, you reached out for him, your fingers wrapping around his wrist, only to jerk back just as suddenly as he winced in pain.

“Sorry. Frankie, just wait a second.”

“Yeah, now look here, Flyboy, we didn’t do anything we didn’t want to. Hell, you can be damn sure I enjoyed myself.”

There was an ugly, acrid taste pooling in Frankie’s mouth that he couldn’t stop: jealousy. Of course Whiskey had enjoyed himself. At the end of the day, he still had you. Frankie hated himself all the more for this jealousy. It didn’t even have anything to do with the cowboy, he actually liked him despite his cocky attitude. He caught himself, realizing it had almost everything to do with the self-hatred he still harbored. Three years clean was still more than three years too late. Realizing he hadn’t responded, Frankie nodded, gaze flicking from Whiskey to you.

“Can we all at least grab dinner this Friday and talk about it?”

There’s hope in your voice as you plead with him, and you can see his walls stop rising, at least for the moment.

“Ok, yeah.” There’s another awkward pause before Frankie checks his phone for the time and rocks back on his heels. “I’m going to get the helo ready. We need to head out soon.”

You watched as he quickly dressed himself in the disheveled clothes from the night prior and headed out the door in record speed.

Frankie breathed in the fresh air as he walked over to the helicopter. He needed to clear his head. His emotions were all over the place from the night prior and lack of sleep, and it felt like he was giving himself whiplash. Reaching the helicopter, he set out to pull the tarp off of the aircraft. It was much easier taking the damned thing off than it was putting it on, probably having to do with the fact that he wasn’t moments away from collapsing to try to give himself some relief. Gritting his teeth, he willed the thoughts away and made quick work of folding the tarp, stowing it away in its compartment in the cockpit. Frankie sank into the pilot's seat with a sigh and began taking inventory of everything. The blazer he had carelessly wrenched off was still laying in a heap on the floor. He leaned down to pick it up and dust it off, his eyes meandering to Pope’s pistol laying in the co-pilot’s chair. Thankfully, he hadn’t lost it in the chaos of everything. Throwing his head back against the headrest, Frankie closed his eyes. At least they’d be heading out soon and he could throw himself into whatever came next.

You and Whiskey sat at the table for a moment longer, and it was Whiskey who broke the silence.

“Well… everything considered, sweetheart, that could have been worse. Could have gone better too though.”

You groaned and rolled your eyes at Whiskey.

“It’s probably just… a lot for him. The last time we saw each other wasn’t exactly stellar.”

“It was a funeral, Bourbon. That’s understandable.”

That wasn’t exactly what you’d meant, but you kept silent, nodding. Whiskey stood up, walking around the table until he stood in front of you. He took your hands in his own and hauled you up, holding you tight and kissing the top of your head.

“C’mon, sweetheart, let’s get our things together. Champ’ll be waiting for us.”

You and Whiskey moved quickly to gather your belongings, and you had never been more grateful for the stock slip-on shoes Statesmen provided. You didn’t want to have to go out barefoot. Looking back at the safe house, you almost felt bad with the mess you were leaving behind, but you knew for a fact the Statesmen cleaning service had seen far worse.

Frankie only acknowledged you and Whiskey once your headsets were on.

“Get ready, we’re taking off. Statesmen New York office in 20 minutes. Thankfully, we’ve got plenty of fuel.”

The trip back to the office was awkward but thankfully quiet, and Frankie focused on the calming effect flying had on him. After about 20 minutes, you heard Campari’s voice on the radio.

“Approaching aircraft, state your clearance code.”

Whiskey got up from his seat and stood next to Frankie.

“Campari, this is Whiskey, clearance code Alpha-Whiskey-Niner-Niner-Foxtrot.”

There was a pause on the other end as Campari reviewed the code.

“Confirmed, welcome back, Agents Whiskey and Bourbon. Mr. Morales, you’re cleared to land.”

Frankie expertly navigated the helicopter to the landing pad and Whiskey was the first to hop out once they landed. You followed closely behind, turning to make sure Frankie was following. He certainly was, although a few steps behind, and his gaze was still downcast. Frankie was only vaguely aware of his surroundings, still mostly inside his own head as they walked through giant oak double doors into a conference room. It wasn’t until he heard Santiago’s voice that his gaze snapped up.

“¡Hermano!”

Frankie gave Pope a smile as they clasped arms. Then, the other man grabbed Frankie’s shoulders tightly.

“¡Nunca más me asustes así! ¿Entíendes?” [Never scare me like that again! Got it?/Understand?]

Frankie nodded sheepishly, then went to take a seat across from you and to the left of Whiskey.

“Put those on.”

Whiskey gestured to the orange tinted aviators resting on the conference table, identical to the ones you and Whiskey now wore. You watched Frankie bite his lip in concentration, then smiled at the way his eyes lit up as he put them on to see a hologram of Champ seated at the far end of the table.

“¡Ay!”

Frankie and Santiago shout in surprise. Champ shares a look of amusement with you and Whiskey, then gives the other two men a warm smile.

“Alright everyone, let’s get this show on the road. Name’s Champagne but anyone who knows what’s good for them calls me Champ. The lovely lady on the screen on the wall here is Ginger, and y’all are familiar with Whiskey and Bourbon.”

Frankie and Santiago were still in awe, but they nodded their acknowledgements to Champ and Ginger.

“Now, Ginger has an update for us, but first, I must commend you, Catfish. From what I understand, you identified the threat and moved to get Whiskey and Bourbon out of there, minimizing casualties as well as ensuring two of our best agents weren’t captured. I’m sure it was a tremendous feat to do so and fly yourselves to safety given the… well, the condition y’all were in.”

You, Jack, and Frankie had the decency to blush. Frankie ducked his head at the compliment and did his best to avoid eye contact with Pope. He just knew Santi would have a teasing remark about the three of them being together.

“Ginger was able to confirm that the amorous agent used in last night’s attack is a variant of a new drug being used to torture information out of victims.”

“From what Whiskey and I were reviewing,” You interjected, “I think it’s safe to say casualties weren’t their primary objective. Considering how... incapacitated the attendees were, it would have been easy to take more lives. Instead, the deaths seem to be accidental, the result of the private security team or us. It looks to me like their main objective was humiliation. I doubt they knew who Whiskey and I are, if they even had Statesmen Distillery on their radar since we were last-minute additions.”

Frankie nodded and thrust his chin out to Santiago.

“Pope and I heard about it at a conference for his security firm. The ingredients and refinement process are supposed to be too delicate and expensive for something mass market or on the scale that we saw last night.”

Champ nodded and pursed his lips in thought. A sound came from the TV as Ginger chimed in.

“It appears we may have caught a break with that, actually. Final lab results just came in, and analysis of the Agent Red compound also included trace elements of cocaine. Now, last year we busted the Golden Circle cartel, so this could be the competition sweeping in. They might have the resources and facilities to pull it off.”

The room went quiet. Frankie hadn’t heard anything past “cocaine” and the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. His head turned in stiff, jerky movements as his gaze met Pope’s then yours and you can’t think of a moment you’ve seen him more afraid than he is now. Years of dropping into war zones couldn’t touch his reaction now: the quickening of his breath, the way his brows went up and furrowed slightly, the way his eyes widened and froze or the way his lips were parted, tense from the words that were silently stumbling over each other trying to escape the leash of his tongue. Jack took in the way you blanched and Frankie’s pure terror, and finally the pieces fell into place. The words had finally pulled free from Frankie’s tongue, but it was clear that he was far too panicked to put together much of a sentence.

“N-no! I--this, this c-can’t be… Hawk,” he started, desperate to reassure you he’d been clean, as if this brush with the illicit substance negated everything he had done. But you hadn’t been around to see him get clean, so how could he expect you to believe him after how he was when you had left? Frankie started again, frantically seeking Pope’s gaze, “Pope, you know… you know I’ve been clean for three years. I can’t-no, I can’t lose it! I just...I just got it ba-”

Frankie’s voice was broken, the words were crashing into each other, frantic in between sharp, shaky inhales. He looked physically ill, and Jack could see all of the tell-tale signs of a bad panic attack playing out before him. Without hesitating, he swung his chair to face Frankie.

“Hey, Flyboy, you gotta breathe.”

Frankie squeezed his eyes shut, ears clinging to Whiskey’s Southern drawl, desperate to ground himself to something. The peaceful image of a cabin by a quiet lake that he conjured up during times like these was gone, just out of reach, almost taunting him. He flinched when Jack’s large, warm hand came in contact with his back, but he let the other man gently push him forward until his head was between his knees. Frankie did his best to try to regain his breathing, he was emotionally and physically exhausted, this had just been the final straw. The warmth emanating from Whiskey’s hand spread down his back, and his mind clung to the sensation like a drowning man would a lifeline. Slowly, Frankie’s gulping of air began to shift towards almost normal as the pressure in his chest eased.

Pope shared a look with you, then cleared his throat.

“Fish had...some issues with cocaine a while back, and his pilot’s license was suspended because of it. He’s worked hard to get his license back, and he’s been clean.”

Champ nodded. He held no judgement. Hell, their own Tequila had had his own run-ins with illicit substances. Your gaze flickered to Whiskey, it seemed like his sole concern was Frankie in that moment. His eyes met yours briefly, and the warring emotions in them foreshadowed a later conversation, but then the moment was gone, and his focus was back on Frankie. Champ paused a moment longer, making sure that Frankie looked to be recovering before continuing.

“Not to worry, Catfish, should you have any trouble with a surprise drug test, Statesmen’ll take care of it. After all, it couldn’t have been helped, and we owe you for Whiskey and Bourbon.”

Frankie slowly brought himself to sit upright, nodding stiffly. Ginger felt for Frankie, watching him as he emptily accepted Champ’s promise.

“If it’s any consolation, we found only trace amounts, nothing substantial.” Not enough to get you hooked were the unspoken words accompanying her statement.

A shaky breath of relief found its way out of Frankie’s lungs, but the fear remained in his eyes. What if he slipped up? Champ was running a cigar under his nose pensively.

“For now, Pope, I want you to coordinate with Ginger. See if you can fill in any of our gaps on the attack last night. Whiskey, Bourbon, I want your reports in tonight. I don’t need to explain but anything you two can remember could be helpful for Ginger and Pope. Catfish,” Frankie’s head snapped up, gaze settling on Champ at the sound of his name. He was ready for an assignment, for something, anything to get his mind off of the thoughts swirling around in his head. “Ginger booked you a hotel just a few blocks from the New York office. I want you to go there, relax, and get some sleep. I understand you got some rest this morning, but given the ordeal you’ve been through, I’m having you take the rest of the day.”

Frankie opened his mouth to protest, but Champ quickly shushed him by continuing.

“Now, don’t worry, it’s not just you. As soon as Whiskey and Bourbon are done with their reports, I’m sending them home too.”

Frankie pursed his lips and nodded, already feeling like a burden and that his last foothold was crumbling. The meeting went on for a few more minutes, but Frankie was in his own head, effectively on autopilot. His shoulders were slumped and his gaze was fixed on some unknown far off point. You, Jack, and Pope shared a concerned glance as the meeting ended. Frankie blinked when Santiago walked up to him, putting his hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“Hey, I forgot your go bag, but I grabbed your hat. Figured you’d want it, hermano.”

Standing, Frankie nodded, murmuring his thanks. The doors opened and another agent walked into the conference room.

“Mr. Morales, I’m Agent Vermouth. Please come with me. Ginger asked that I make sure you get to the hotel without any issues.”

You winced at the hurt in Frankie’s eyes that quickly gave way to a hollow nothingness, and your heart clenched for him. There was no way Vermouth could have known the circumstances, what the additional weight his words would have on Frankie. Frowning, Frankie shuffled after Vermouth and disappeared from the room. With a sigh, you turned to Santiago.

“Hey Pope, Whiskey’s just next door, and I’m down the hall. I’m sure Ginger will give you a call in a few minutes. You’ve got the whole conference room to yourself for the rest of the day.”

Pope nodded before you and Whiskey turned to head out.

“My office, Bourbon.”

Whiskey’s voice was low. You had been expecting this, you knew you hadn’t been exactly forthcoming given Whiskey’s past issues. Before you both could make it out of the conference room, Pope’s voice stopped you.

“Hawk?”

Santiago frowned and took a deep breath.

“He really has gotten his shit together. Colombia broke him, and none of us should have been there but I-” Pope sighed and scratched at his beard. “Frankie’s put in the work, he did it, he’s doing it. I know you might have doubts since you weren’t there, but you know I wouldn’t enable him… I just mean that, don’t write him off because of this, Halcón.”

You gave Pope a soft, sad smile and nodded.

“I won’t, Santi.”

There was a beat of silence, Jack quietly observing the two of you. At last, Santiago nodded, and you left the conference room with Jack. He unlocked the door to his office, holding it open for you and you strolled in, making a beeline for the whiskey and two tumblers that sat on the bar cart. You heard him lock the door again as you poured two fingers for each of you. Taking the tumblers in hand, you slid down onto Whiskey’s brown leather couch and handed him the other glass. He was quiet. You both took a sip from your glasses, and then he bit his lip, staring at the swirling amber liquid.

“When were you going to tell me, Bourbon? Were you going to tell me? I mean hell, especially with what we’re considering with him, you gotta tell me shit like this.”

His eyes only met yours at his last word, his face was one of hurt and anger tinged with betrayal.

“I’m sorry, Jack, I really am. I was going to tell you, I was planning on telling you after we went down for the fight. If he was still doing well, then we’d talk about it. If he wasn’t… well, then I was going to tell you anyways. Like Santi said, I don’t have the full story. You’re right though, and I’m really sorry, Jack. I should have told you.”

He held your gaze and nodded almost imperceptibly as you gently reached out to hold his hand and took a sip of your whiskey.

“About three years ago, I reached out to Benny, one of the guys from our unit, to congratulate him on a fight, and we started catching up. He mentioned Frankie was cleaning up his act. The guys-- Pope, Catfish, Benny, Ironhead and Redfly-- went to Colombia on a job, and I don’t have all the details because it wasn’t an official mission, but Redfly, our old Captain, died.”

Whiskey nodded, remembering you were fairly new at the time but already a rising star. He remembered the devastation on your face when you had gotten the news. After all, he had been the one to escort you to Champ’s office when you requested time off for the funeral.

“I remember. You went to his funeral. About 4 years ago now.”

You nodded.

“It was the last time I saw Frankie, and he was not in a good place. Not only because of whatever happened in Colombia, but he got back to find his fiancée had left him, and he had started using again. The guys don’t like to talk about what happened, especially not Pope, as I’m sure you noticed. I called Benny again a year ago. With everything that was happening with Poppy and the Golden Circle, I was worried Frankie had slipped up, but I was also so hopeful that he hadn’t. Benny told me that Frankie was still clean, he’d gotten his license back, and was doing well for himself.”

Whiskey sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“It… it doesn’t make me think less of him, sweetheart. You know I’ve been doing the work in therapy, and I understand he’s not the same as the bastards who took everything from me. I know that’s why you were apprehensive. If this is going to work though, we need to communicate. I can’t have you keepin’ secrets like this.”

You nodded. The understanding between you was solid, and you knew you should have told him sooner. He took your glass and pulled you closer so you could nestle into his side. It had been an exhausting 24 hours, and you both wanted nothing more than to have this moment to just exist with each other. After a few quiet moments, you took your glass from his hand, threw back the rest of your drink, then disentangled yourself from Whiskey.

“I’m going to go get changed then get on that report so I can get the hell out of here. I want to take a bath and unwind a bit first, but do you want to do takeout at your place tonight?”

“Wouldn’t have my night any other way, sweetheart. I’ll text you later?”

You nod and wink, earning you one of his soft smiles, then you head out.

The hotel room was nice, far nicer than any room Frankie would have ever booked for himself. It was swanky and refined, whereas the hotel they had planned for the gala at was gaudy and flashy. Frankie stared at the menus laying on the bed next to him, not really seeing the words printed before him. Agent Vermouth had told him to order room service and not to worry about the cost, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat. He closed his eyes, cradling his head in his hands, trying to shut out the dark thoughts circling around him. This feeling, low in his stomach, twisting knots in him, felt like failure. Like he was a failure. It felt like somehow all of the work he had put into getting clean had been undone in a blink of the eye. He hadn’t even sought it out or consented to it. No, it seemed like no matter what he did, his past… the drugs, they would always catch up to him. Of course it was happening now, when he had a real shot at something better. He wasn’t sure what you were hopeful for when you pleaded with him to do dinner in two days’ time, but at least he could hope for regaining your friendship.

With a sigh, he got up and ambled to the minibar, grabbing a few bottles of whiskey, downing one, then sank back onto the bed. His personal phone suddenly went off. Fumbling around for it in his pocket, he took a deep breath, then unlocked it.

Kevin: I couldn’t find someone to cover for you, I’m letting you go Morales. If you have any personal belongings we’ll have them mailed to you. Your final paycheck will be deposited on Friday.

Frankie felt tears prick at his eyes, and he desperately scrubbed at his face with the heel of his left hand as if his efforts would keep the tears from falling. That was the last thing he needed right now.

What a fucking mess he was.

He was a veteran, a former cocaine addict, and now he could add jobless to his titles. It felt like his world was crumbling all around him.

Fuck.

Frankie squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, desperately wishing this was just one of his nightmares. His hands shook, whether from stress or something else he wasn’t sure. He downed another bottle, staring at the minibar a moment longer, fingers fumbling with the cap of the third.

He was drowning. He needed...something. He needed help.

Soooo, hi...yes...thank you for reading! I've got Chapter 4 in the wings and Chapter 5 knocking around my drafts!

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