#who knows maybe ill regret not having given it a chance earlier

[penguinpunz]

ok fine maybe ill watch the sonic movies

[whumpzone]

(masterpost)

(I wrote a very nsfw flashback from Col’s past, which can be read here. Heed the warnings and have fun)

As the days went by, Pet quickly realised that Master’s cat was a little… imperfect. He could tell from the way she sometimes bumped her head into doorframes, or table legs, that her vision wasn’t the best. She was old, by the looks of it. Old and slow, and Master clearly loved her very much.

“Hello my little Jaffa,” he murmured, scooping her up, running his fingers through her thick fur. Her eyelids sank down until she looked like she was fast asleep.

It made Pet’s chest ache. Why was Master making him watch this? Did he enjoy being cruel? Pet already knew he wasn’t here to receive affection like that, and the reminders hurt. Especially knowing Master could love his pet even if it wasn’t in perfect shape.

He still hadn’t been given any clear orders, and Pet was starting to think Master was giving him time to heal. Getting him as robust as possible before breaking him down again. The waiting was tough, and not knowing what was to come was worse. But Pet couldn’t speculate, he just couldn’t, or else he’d skirt too close to the memories he kept shut out- the ones he kept hidden, even from himself.

Master’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “Hey, Col, want to come and sit up here with me? I have some biscuits here you might like.”

. . .

Col nodded in that quick, nervous-rabbit way of his, and stood up. He liked kneeling on the carpet, Linden had noticed. He kneaded his balled hands through it like a cat. Kneeling was fine, Linden told himself, as long as he didn’t crawl. And to the boy’s credit, he was doing very well with that.

He walked over now, at about to same speed Jaffa often walked at, trying to mitigate the impact of her frequent head bumps. Linden set her down and slowly grabbed his mug of herbal tea and the packet of biscuits, while Col watched him. Waiting for permission. Linden was starting to wonder if the boy was even able to speak, or if something in his past had rendered him mute. His past had clearly rendered him a lot of things- it was figuring out what could be healed that mattered.

“Come, you can sit here,” Linden patted the wooden chair. “If you want to. You can just get a biscuit and go back to the carpet, if you’d prefer.”

It was as if Col almost started to consider it, then thought better and forced himself into the chair, curling one foot underneath him.

“Comfortable?” Another quick nod. “Okay, good.”

Linden noticed how Col seemed to relax a little at that. Baby steps, he reminded himself. It’s okay to tell him he’s good, if that’s what he needs right now.

He sat along from him, close but hopefully not too close. He tore open the packet and handed it to Col. “Here. They taste nice. You can take one and eat it.”

He peered at it, like he expected it to bite. Then, constantly checking Linden’s face as he did so, he reached in and picked one up. Linden waited patiently, then took one for himself. As he bit into it, so did Col. Okay. This was going alright.

. . .

Master was eating one too, so they weren’t poisoned. Or maybe he had just built up a resistance. Or maybe they weren’t harmful to humans, only dogs?

None of that mattered, of course. Master had ordered him to eat. His orders were odd, they weren’t barked at him like Pet’s first owner, but that didn’t make them any less unavoidable.

It did taste good. It was sweet, nothing like the sour dog food that had sustained him for years.

Pet noticed he had dropped a small crumb onto the table and quickly licked it up gratefully. He wouldn’t dare waste food given to him. It was still weird, not eating from Master’s hand.

“You don’t- it’s okay, it’s just a crumb,” Master scolded him, and Pet ducked his head at the reprimand. Maybe it was funny watching him act like a human- Master was probably laughing at the way he wobbled on the chair, and held the biscuit in his disused hands, and fed himself. He was sure any moment now Master was going to smile and tell him how stupid he looked, what a dumb dog he was.

Pet drifted back to reality at the smell of something even sweeter than his treat. It was coming from the mug in Master’s hands, held securely between his fingers, each one with a painted black nail. Master noticed him staring before Pet could look away, and he cringed. Messing up as usual.

“You want a sip? It’s herbal tea. It’s hot, mind.”

Another order. Pet nodded obediently.

. . .

It was an easy mistake, and one Linden should’ve seen coming, given how out of practice Col was with his hands. Linden let go of the mug before Col had properly gripped it. Right over Linden’s lap.

Linden was aware of the burning against his thighs before he had even seen the mug drop. He jerked up, the chair clattering to the floor behind him, and Col gasped in pure horror.

“Shit, ow, ow, ow!” he cursed automatically.

Sounds beside him. Looking over, Col was already knelt with his face to the floor, trembling all over, and Linden’s thighs were burning and he really had to do something about that first-

“Woah, no, it’s okay, it’s just an accident, I have to get these trousers off, ow…” he muttered, quickly pulling his belt out and, suddenly realising he shouldn’t be getting undressed in front of Colton, scrambling upstairs.

. . .

Pet wasn’t sure if Master was still here- he had heard noises, he thought, going upstairs, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen, every instinct telling him to stay and take his punishment like a good dog.

He had hurt Master. He couldn’t stop trembling. His mouth quivered, his breaths coming out in whines. Fat heavy tears dribbled down his cheeks and onto the floorboards.

He was so bad, such a stupid insolent mutt, and bad dogs got punished, didn’t they, bad pets who can’t behave got belted and burned. Bad pets got taken upstairs to be restrained and, and-

Pet whimpered, a full-body sob that was so close to speaking he almost vomited from fear, and ground his face against the floor, trying to make the thoughts stop. That was his old life and he had a new Master now and this one might be different, he might be worse, but he couldn’t cry before it had even started and he had burned Master’s legs, burns hurt so badly and he was so, so useless that he just wanted the pain to start right now, so he could show he was sorry.

He could feel the cartilage in his nose jostling as he rolled his head. His heartbeat was pounding into his ears. He was in so much trouble, and he was so so sorry but it wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t be allowed to use his hands ever again.

A bump, at the top of the stairs. Footsteps. Coming towards him.

His thoughts went into overdrive. Master was coming and Pet had hurt him and now Master was angry. He had never seen him light up like that before, suddenly so quick and sharp and fierce. Pet’s hands skittered by his shoulders. He could feel every joint. Would they all be broken, perhaps? Burned? It would make sense to burn them. He deserved to have them burnt, even though that made him cry harder. Or maybe Master would concentrate on his thighs. Pour boiling water on them, then make him walk. Perhaps he’d peel the burning skin off and press knives to the raw flesh and make him scream. Or maybe he’d pin Pet’s hands down and bludgeon them until they didn’t even resemble hands anymore

You braindead animal. He’s not going to pick one or the other, you fucking idiot. He’s going to do them both and you’re going to thank him.

Master was stood over him, now. Looking at his unworthy dog, grovelling before him.

. . .

Linden couldn’t imagine how he would look threatening to anyone right now, in the only pair of shorts he could find, his thighs coated in cream. He’d had to roll the shorts up past his burns, and safety pinned them there.

But he knew, he knew, that didn’t matter. He knew Col wouldn’t look up from where he was cowering on his knees, sobbing audibly, and crack a smile.

The tall person in his care looked very, very small right now. He was knelt exactly where he’d dropped to the floor. No running, no backing away. Just like he’d been trained to. It made Linden feel ill. He had to take this slowly.

“Okay, okay, I’m here,” he started, keeping his voice slow and calm, knowing that his presence was Col’s worst nightmare right now. He had lost his cool earlier and he wished he could take it back, even though it was useless blaming himself. It was a shock, and a painful one. Anyone would’ve sworn. But he still felt a twist of guilt when he saw Col lock up, frozen in fear save for his persistent trembling. Linden could tell he was trying to stop himself from crying.

“Okay, you’re allowed to cry, crying is normal. Can you look up at me?”

Col did as he was told. His mouth was wobbling downwards, his nose red from being pressed against the floor. His hands were fully curled up.

Linden didn’t have a chance to say anything more before Col’s wild, terrified eyes found Linden’s belt on the table and he whimpered, holding his hands out eerily quickly, palms up, ready and unresisting.

Linden knew that if he took the belt and slashed Col’s hands with it, the boy wouldn’t fight back at all. He’d cry and moan, but he wouldn’t fight.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I’m not. I wouldn’t hurt you, ever.”

He thought about putting his hands in Col’s, gently lowering them and rubbing soft circles with his thumbs, but he shook the thought away. Who knows what he might interpret that as.

Instead, he picked up the belt, feeling Col’s eyes on him while his back was turned, and threw it upstairs.

“No belt,” he said, “I won’t belt you, I won’t hurt you at all. Your hands are safe. I’m not angry with you. It was an accident. Can you look at me?”

He complied, of course he did. His eyes were burning with regret and fear.

“See my thighs? I’ve put some cream on them, to help with the burns. It’ll make them better.”

After a few seconds, Col nodded.

“You will know that burns hurt a lot,” Col whimpered, but Linden tried not to rush his words out. “That’s why I snapped. I was surprised, but not angry. I’m not angry. You can see in my face and hear in my voice that I’m calm and I won’t hurt you. Just because you spilled some tea on me, doesn’t mean you have to hurt too. It was just an accident. And I can tell you’re sorry.”

This was the magic word, it seemed. Col nodded desperately, eyes wide, as he blinked fresh tears down his face.

“Thank you. Apology accepted. It’s okay, it’s all okay. You’re safe and I won’t hurt you. In fact-“

. . .

“…And I can tell you’re sorry.”

Pet could have fainted with relief. His body was still prickling with fear, waiting for the punishment, and Pet couldn’t yet believe Master when he said he wouldn’t hurt him. But he could definitely show he was sorry.

He nodded, trying to get it just right, trying to look eager but not careless, guilty but not too pitiful.

I am so sorry, Master. Your stupid lowly animal is so sorry, your pathetic dog is sorry and won’t ever do it again, thank you for showing your slave pet mercy.

He was definitely being prepped for something, but Pet pushed it from his mind. Master was giving him a chance and he had to show his gratitude.

“Thank you. Apology accepted. It’s okay, it’s all okay. You’re safe and I won’t hurt you. In fact-“

Master walked somewhere behind him, returning a few seconds later with Jaffa in his arms, setting her down beside him.

“Jaffa always makes me feel better,” he said. Pet had no idea what he was talking about, but he nodded anyway, then leant down to kiss Master’s feet, thanking him with his body in the way that didn’t scare him. He only managed one kiss before Master stepped away, and Pet hoped it had been enough to show that he knew his place, and he was sorry, and he would do anything to please Master. It was a lot to show in a single gesture.

“I’ll be upstairs, if you need me. You’re safe, you’re okay, I’m not angry. If you want, you can cuddle Jaffa for a bit. Okay? Okay. See you in a bit, Col.”

Pet watched Master leave, his wiry legs climbing the stairs until they vanished entirely. Jaffa rubbed her cheek along Pet’s folded legs, and he nervously reached out a hand, sinking it into her fur. His hands, that he still had. Pet felt like he was starting to understand what Master was keeping him for, but he didn’t want to accept it. Instead, he stroked Jaffa and dried his eyes, the taste of biscuit still in his mouth.

(tagging: @newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @temporary-whump-sideblog @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow  @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @whumpwillow @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread @vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whumps @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate @littlespacecastle @haro-whumps @extrabitterbrain @briars7)

[upthenorthmountain]

Where the World is in the Making - Chapter 13

I wrote this for the Summer 2021 Frozine, huge thank you to @punkpoemprose​ for putting that together! And to @karis-the-fangirl​ as always. Here we go

Previous Chapters

Chapter 13

The Solheims had been good people. Still were, Kristoff was sure. It was Mrs Inga Solheim who had nursed his mother through her last illness, who had said to Kristoff, after - Well, get your things together. Don’t you want to see what it’s like out West? And he had - not that he had anything else to do or anywhere else to go - so he’d pulled together the few things that he was sure were his and joined them in the back of their covered wagon. They’d inched their way across the country, along with the other two wagons of Solheims (all three were brothers, and each had a wife, and between them six children when they set out and seven when they arrived, not counting Kristoff), and he’d been quiet and anxious, desperate to prove he could be useful, that he was worth taking all that way. He’d worked hard for them and learnt a lot, and until the day he died he’d be overwhelmingly grateful for the chance they’d given him.

And now, for something else.

There was an interesting item in the newspaper last week, Mrs Solheim had written. An article about how there aren’t enough women out West. Good men with good farms who can’t find a wife. And some have apparently been placing advertisements in the newspaper to find one! What an idea! But it seems some have been successful. You should try it, Kristoff! I’m sure you must be lonely.

What an idea, indeed. He’d rolled his eyes and ignored it, but she’d mentioned it again, and again, and eventually he’d done it just so she’d stop. He’d never in a million years thought he’d actually get an applicant. He hadn’t thought he’d wanted one.

Anna was weeding the vegetable garden. The plants were all full-grown now, tall and green, and she was kneeling - she never had much regard for her skirts - between them as she worked.

With her help, he’d been able to repair the fields after the storm, and lost far less than he’d feared. With her help, the chickens were happy and gave plenty of eggs; the cow was happy and gave plenty of milk (and the goat was happy, too, though his high spirits were not usually a cause for celebration). With her help, the garden had flourished, and was producing enough that she and Elsa had already spent a day with Marta Ogg preserving and canning and would have plenty more to put up before the season was over.

Anna suddenly jumped back onto her heels with an “Ouch!” and Kristoff hurried over.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh - yes - thank you -” she peered at her finger. “A little bit of something just ran under my fingernail. But it’s not bleeding so I guess it didn’t go too far. Is it nearly dinner?”

“I’ve been out in the fields, you tell me.”

 “Elsa’s cooking. I keep thinking I smell something but I can’t work out what.” She waved her hands at him until he backed up, then shuffled along on her knees to the next section of the vegetable bed. “I like it when she cooks. She’s a much better cook than I am.”

Kristoff opened his mouth and then closed it again, choosing to kneel next to her rather than speak. Anna laughed. “Thank you.”

“I don’t mean - the two of you have different talents.”

“Okay.”

“You complement each other.”

“Well, maybe that’s true.”

“She wouldn’t have much to cook without you here, doing this.”

Anna sat back and hugged her knees. “Sometimes I still can’t believe I’m here,” she said. “Sometimes everything before seems like a dream.”

She looked at him, and no matter how muddy her skirts or how much of the dirt had found its way to her face, her eyes were always that same perfect clear blue. 

“And I’m glad,” she said. “I’m glad I’m not there any more.”

“Glad to be out of the city? Away from - people that were unkind?”

“No, you don’t understand. Before…” Anna sighed. “I didn’t do anything. I mean. I called on people, and I went out and danced and talked to more people, and I embroidered and I looked pretty and none of it had any point. Nothing I did made anyone’s life better, or easier. I was just - passing the time. My whole life. Looking pretty and passing time.”

Anna sighed again, then reached over and plucked another weed from the soil.

“There you go,” she said. “I pulled up one weed, and I’ve already been more useful than I would have been in a whole week back in the city.”

“You like to be useful.”

“I don’t like to be useless. Or pointless.”

They both sat there, among the green plants, beneath the endless sky. Kristoff could feel it, building, and he was leaning in towards her ever so slightly when Anna said abruptly, “I want to mean something,” and turned her eyes to his again, blue as the ocean and clear as the running stream.

It’s slow, sometimes, but it wears away bit by bit - or comes crashing through all at once - and nothing is the same after.

He leant towards her again, just as Elsa called them to the house for dinner.

-----

The narrow bed in the tiny room was familiar enough now. It almost felt cosy. Before coming here Anna had had her own bedroom for years, but it had never been quiet - there was always noise on the streets outside, or people passing in the corridors. Out here, being alone would have been deathly silent without the sound of Elsa’s breathing.

It wasn’t silent outside tonight, though. She could hear someone singing.

Or rather, not ‘someone’. It was a man’s voice, and there was only one man within miles, so it must be Kristoff singing. Anna couldn’t make out any words. She’d heard him whistling before, around the farm, but never singing.

She wriggled out of the bed. Elsa stirred and opened her eyes.

“I just need to, um,” Anna said, knowing that Elsa would assume she was going to the outhouse; sure enough, her sister gave a little nod and closed her eyes again.

The summer air was warm and Anna barely regretted not picking up a shawl. As she pushed the barn door open she felt a brief pang, remembering another night that she’d come out to the barn in her nightdress - but that quickly disappeared, replaced by the sight in front of her. Kristoff was sitting against the far wall, with his straw hat upside down in his lap, and the hat was full of kittens; and he was singing to them in the warm glow of a lantern.

Anna stood there for one long, breathless moment. She didn’t know the song. She didn’t even know what language it was in, although she could guess that it was Norwegian. It was a soft song; a lullaby. The kittens seemed to be appreciating it, cuddling up together in the hat, and for a second Anna thought she was going to cry. Then Kristoff finished his verse, looked up and saw her.

“Anna,” he said, and cleared his throat, sitting up straighter to a chorus of irritated meows.

“I heard you singing,” she said, walking all the way into the barn and closing the door behind her. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you -”

“You didn’t. What song is that?” she said, sitting down next to him and tucking her feet beneath her.

Kristoff looked at his hands for a moment. “My mother used to sing it,” he said.

“When you were little?” 

He smiled. “Yes.” He hesitated again, then said “I don’t want to forget it.”

Sometimes Anna got so caught up in the everyday that she forgot all kinds of things. Like, for example, the fact that they were both orphans. She knew Kristoff’s childhood had been very different to her own. If she tried, Anna could remember her mother tucking her into bed with a soft lullaby, but she could more often remember a nursemaid putting her to bed and blowing out the candle. A goodnight from her mother was usually a brief kiss; a goodnight from her father was a nod. And every day it grew fainter and her memories rearranged themselves to match the handful of photographs in the bottom of her and Elsa’s trunk.

It was better to think about the present and the future than the past. She knew that. And her mind obligingly presented her with an image - Kristoff singing that lullaby to a baby. Or maybe to an older child, as he tucked the blankets around them, and then he’d look at his wife and smile -

Anna turned her face away - she knew she was blushing. Now she remembered long ago asking a nursemaid where babies came from, and being given a confusing story about storks and cabbage patches and parcels sent directly from Heaven by God Himself. Now she was here in the warm soft lantern glow with her husband, and when she looked up he was watching her. He’d nearly kissed her in the vegetable patch earlier, she was sure. Not too far from the cabbages. The thought made her laugh and she swallowed it in a yawn.

“You should go back to bed,” Kristoff said. He’d put his hat down, and the kittens had escaped; one was sitting on his foot.

“I’m not tired,” Anna said, sitting up straighter. “I couldn’t sleep, actually.”

“Really? I thought I was working you hard enough. Obviously not.”

“I’m surprised you can sleep out here at all.”

“I’m used to it.”

“It’s not fair. You work hard too.”

“I’m a man.”

“You’re a person.”

He smiled at her indignance. “Well, if we have a good harvest, maybe I can get some lumber.”

“Mr. Ogg said they’d help!”

“I can manage. I did the rest myself.”

“Mmhmm. Like you darned your own socks. A person can be too self-reliant.”

“What’s wrong with my house?”

“Nothing! Except -” Except we don’t have our own bedroom. No, she would never be bold enough to say that out loud, and now she was blushing again.

If he kisses me now, Anna thought, there’s no one to stop us. Every other person and animal within miles is sleeping. The thought made her heart thump in her chest, and she couldn’t think of anything to say to cover her embarrassment so instead she turned away, pretending she was watching one of the kittens.

She looked up when Kristoff put his hand on her left shoulder. “Anna,” he said, and ran his hand down her arm, stopping at her hand, raising it so that her ring shone in the light of the lantern. There was an ache in her chest when she met his gaze, and everything before this moment felt like a dream. The only thing that was real was right here and now, where all her choices had led her, to the perfect moment -

He kissed her. Anna knelt up, eager, and her slipper fell off and she caught her knee in her nightdress but Kristoff wrapped an arm round her waist and kissed her again. She still stumbled a little, and steadied herself with her arm on the floor; and then it only required Kristoff to make the smallest movement and they were lying on the blanket, side by side.

For a second they blinked at each other, his arm still round her waist, her hand on his shoulder. Then Anna pressed forward again, pulling herself towards him, kissing him with her whole body against his. She half-expected him to draw back, but he didn’t; instead he ran his hand up her back to her shoulders, holding her in place.

She felt giddy. There was no one to stop them and she didn’t want them to. Alright, maybe there was only a rough blanket over a dirt floor and whatever was in that sack Kristoff used as a pillow, maybe this wasn’t exactly how she’d pictured this, but -

But there was someone to stop them, and that was them. Kristoff pulled his lips from hers and rolled onto his back, exhaling deeply. He closed his eyes for a long second, then opened them and held out his arm. Anna hesitated.

“Come here,” he said. “You didn’t - do anything wrong. It’s just…”

Not like this, was what she knew he meant. As her heartbeat slowed back to normal, Anna realised she had a piece of straw poking her through the back of her nightdress, a kitten trying to climb her braid and a draught through a gap in the boards going places she wouldn’t care to mention. Much as she wished right now that her husband was slightly less considerate, he did have a point. She wriggled over to Kristoff and lay down with her head on his shoulder, smiling a little as she felt him pull the pointy straw off her back and throw it away.

He put his arm around her, his hand on her waist. Anna could hear his heart beating, feel his chest rise and fall with his breathing. It was so comfortable. 

She opened her eyes when Kristoff said “Hey. Anna. You don’t want to fall asleep out here.”

Maybe she did. “I‘m good.”

He opened his arm to release her. “Go to bed. It’s late.”

“You don’t want me to stay?”

He looked pained. “I want you to go to bed.”

So she left and went inside. But when she got into her bed, it somehow felt at once  both too small and too empty.

[britt-writes]

hi lovely i have a request for you because youre work is absolutely amazing aHH ! could you maybe so some headcanons/oneshot on lucas making his gf cry cause he's getting all pissed with his computer n is getting angry and then accidentally takes it out on his gf?? there's no pressure at all, I really do love your work and I'm so happy you write for Lucas <33

Thank you so so much, I really appreciate it, and I'm happy to do this request for you! I went for a little drabble with this one. Hopefully, I didn't make you wait too long for it. 💕 (I added a cut since it was getting a bit long and, and I don't want to invade people's dashes.)

Prompt: Lucas making his girlfriend cry

Drabble title: Poor Choice of Words

Word Count: 2008

With the semester coming to a close, you found yourself balls deep in what felt like never-ending exams to study for and detailed research papers to type. Needless to say that the hefty accumulation of college work had been piling up on you, leaving you stressed and fatigued, ultimately leaving you with no motivation or desire to get work done; just this huge blank whenever you stared at your books.

Barely able to hold yourself together with this massive headache from the free-for-all death match your thoughts were having up there, you were in desperate need of some quiet and rest. You were sure that you’d eventually break down if you didn’t.

Lucas was nice enough to let you get that quiet you needed, letting you take over his bed to nap and rest your head and eyes while he tapped away on his computer. He kept it down, which you appreciated. He’d always been the strong, silent type of guy. The only noises you could hear were the clicking of his keyboard and his foot tapping at the ground—a little tic of his, being rather fidgety.

You hadn’t quite fallen asleep, being quite restless, but you did occasionally lull in and out of consciousness. Maybe it was the damn heat wave that hit Dulvey that kept you up, or maybe it was your headache, but nonetheless, it felt nice to lie down and do nothing, worrying about nothing.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you had decided to lie down in your lover’s bed, but as the seconds ticked by, you could hear Lucas’ foot tapping becoming faster, seemingly aggressive. His fingers had also joined in, just tapping at the desk.

You didn’t think much of it at first, brushing it off as Lucas simply being his regular, fidgety self; he’d probably stop in a minute or so. But then you heard a low growl from him, followed by a series of curses muttered underneath his breath.

“C'mon, ya slow piece o’ shit,” you heard him say.

Shifting around, you faced him, opening your eyes. Lucas was having some issues with his computer, and one quick glance showed that his programs and even cursor were running at abysmally sluggish speeds. You weren’t sure how you hadn’t heard it at first, but his computer’s fans were loud as hell, probably working their asses off. When was the last time Lucas cleaned them? The poor old box computer sounded like it was suffering.

“Motherfucker!” Lucas suddenly yelled out, nearly jolting you out of your skin.

You flinched as he began smacking the computer, making you sit up on the bed as you stared at Lucas while his patience ran thinner with every passing second. You remained still and quiet, worried about his state of anger, but also unsure if you should intervene in an attempt to get him to simmer down. Truth be told, you hated watching people get angry, even if the anger wasn’t directed at you; it put you in a state of anxiety, wanting nothing more to keep the situation from escalating further.

“Aw, what the hell?! What now?!” He yelled as his screen seemed to freeze.

“Um, hey, babe?” You intervened, sounding very meek.

He didn’t reply, continuing to aggressively fumble with his computer, still spewing insults and curses at the device. Maybe that should have been your cue to leave Lucas be, but you didn’t take it, wanting to help him.

“Babe?” You said again, a little louder this time in case he hadn’t heard you the first time over the sound of his own voice.

“What?” Lucas said rather sharply.

“Do you want me to help or something? How about you turn it off and try cleaning the fans to start off? Then, maybe-”

Lucas whirled around to face you, the annoyed look on his face immediately shutting you up.

“What the fuck would yer dumbass know? Shit’s already fucked, so I don’t need it worsenin’. I don’t need yer fuckin’ help, so mind yer goddamn business,” he said before going back to his computer, not paying you any further mind.

You had never been on the receiving end of Lucas’ outbursts until now. Maybe you were being too sensitive, but you couldn’t help the tears threatening to fall. Sure, you and Lucas have insulted each other plenty of times in the past, but it was all obvious playful banter and teasing between the two of you with no ill intentions. This time around, he held this dead serious expression and tone, making you feel like he actually thought that of you.

Lucas was short-tempered, prone to outbursts at the slightest inconvenience, and you knew that he ran his mouth faster than his brain during those moments. He often did or said things that he didn’t truly mean, letting his anger get the best of him. He probably hadn’t even realized what he said, but that still didn’t mean that you didn’t feel as if your heart shattered in millions of pieces at his poor choice of words.

Wordlessly, you lied back down, facing the wall as you curled up underneath the blankets. A few tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried your best to keep quiet, not wanting to make a scene. You just hoped that Lucas would soon enough calm down on his own accord.

~~~~~~

He’d say that a little over half an hour had passed since his computer started acting up, but Lucas had since abandoned the device to fool around on his phone, feet propped atop his desk. At least he was distancing himself from the source of his anger.

Maybe about a year ago, Lucas would still be fuming and smashing things around his room, but ever since you came into his life, he’s been getting better at taking breaks, not fixating on whatever was irritating him in order to cool down a bit. You were there to comfort him, listen to his venting and clear his head.

Overall, a model lover with the patience of a saint to deal with him— Lucas himself would be the first to say it.

So, why the fuck did he yell at you the way he did earlier? He absolutely hated any asshole who dared make you upset; Lucas always promised to make quick work of anybody who hurt you, and all you had to do was say the word.

But now, Lucas was the one to feel like the biggest shithead ever.

Earlier feelings of fury were slowly being replaced by regret, which was an odd feeling. It was a first for him; he’s never really given a shit enough to feel regret or shame for his actions, even when he knew that he was in the wrong. But it felt different when it involved you. Maybe he still felt anger, anger at himself for treating you like shit when all you wanted to do was help him because you cared.

You were already stressed enough in the first place with all the work you had to do, and Lucas wasn’t helping by taking out his anger on you. It was an accident; he really regretted it.

Looking back at you, Lucas saw that you were still curled on his bed. You hadn’t said anything in the last half hour, so he wondered if you had fallen asleep, though you may just be ignoring him after the things he said. He didn’t like that thought, but he knew he deserved it.

He could feel panic settling in his chest— what if he fucked up for good? What if you drew the line there? What if this was the moment you realized you could do better than him? What if you walked out on him?

Those ‘what if’ questions made him nauseated. Lucas was shit at showing it, but you were his entire world. This relationship was his only motivation to even bother trying in life. Without you, he was sure that he’d either end up thrown into the streets or in jail— just some loser with no chance in hell to make it.

He had to calm the fuck down, he thought. He knew damn well that having an internal breakdown over something that was his fault in the first place wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

He stood up from his chair, cautiously approaching his bed, almost unsure of what he should do. It was like he was second-guessing himself— maybe he should let you sleep it off.

But Lucas ultimately decided to join you in bed, slowly scooting against you and draping his arm over your waist. He already felt like shit, but the feeling only worsened when he felt you flinch, and after an uncomfortable minute of silence, Lucas finally found it in himself to say something.

“Are ya mad at me?” He asked.

And he wanted nothing more than to ram his head against drywall, not impressed with the way he chose to open up.

“Are you mad at me?” You countered in a shaky tone that split his heart in two.

“Wasn’t mad at ya… jus’ the computer,” he said.

“Do you really think I’m dumb?” You asked, voice nearly inaudible.

“C'mon baby, y'know I don’t,” he said.

The silence on your end was goddamn unnerving, absolutely stressing him out. As the seconds ticked by, Lucas could feel his breathing become ragged and heavy, the atmosphere making him increasingly more anxious.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, realizing that he should have said that in the first place.

Lucas didn’t remember the last time he apologized to someone. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if he ever did in his lifetime.

“I just wanted to help,” you said, voice quivering. “But you just yelled at me instead.”

And then the sobs came; Lucas could feel your body shake against him. Oh, God. He made you cry. Lucas didn’t think it was possible for him to feel any shittier at the moment, but here he was.

“No-no-no-no— don’t cry,” Lucas shushed, holding you tighter and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby,” he apologized again. “I know ya just wanted to help, 'cause yer just the sweetest thing out there.”

“You looked so serious… like you really meant it,” you managed to say through choked up cries. “I feel like I’m the stupidest bother to you.”

“Didn’t mean a goddamn word of it. I know it ain’t no excuse, but I wasn’t thinkin’ right. Aw, shit— I’m the stupid piece o’ crap here. Yer hella smart, darlin’; there ain’t one part o’ ya that’s dumb,” he said. “Y'know I love ya, right?”

You were taking your sweet time to respond, making Lucas all the more anxious. He thought that he had royally fucked up beyond repair.

“Do you… d'ya still love me?” He asked, finding himself ridiculously pathetic for asking such a thing; the shakiness in his tone didn’t help either.

“Of course I do,” you said.

Lucas found some relief in the swift response at his question— no stuttering, no vague answers, no skipped beat. Your crying had also started to die down.

“So, you ain’t gonna, ya know, leave or somethin’?” He asked.

“No. I wouldn’t break up with you over something like this. It’s not worth our entire relationship,” you said. “I’m just a little sad over it. It’s… not really fun getting yelled at by someone you love, you know?”

Lucas nodded. “Yeah.”

Of course nobody liked getting into fights with their loved ones. He sure as hell knew that he’d blow a fuse if you yelled and insulted him the way he had.

“I have anger issues…” he mumbled.

“I know,” you said. “But you’re not as bad as you used to be.”

Lucas could only promise to get better going forward, and with your encouragement, he was sure that he’d be able to do it. But he’d have to try hard, and he knew it.

“Y'ave been hella stressed lately. Want me to help you study later, or somethin’?” He offered.

“If you have time, that’d motivate me.”

“Yeah, I got time. Don’t got much to do in the first place.”

You turned around to face him, wiping the remainder of your tears and offering a small smile before pressing your lips against his in a soft, sweet kiss. You then nuzzled Lucas’ chest as he cradled you protectively against him.

Apology accepted.

[blitzturtles]

Title: It Starts Like This, Ch. 7

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): BruAbba

Summary: Trish freezes in the doorway, mid-stride, but she doesn’t turn around. Her shoulders are tense, and she looks prepared to bolt at the slightest hint of trouble. It adds weight to his ongoing theory that she’s been steering clear of him, and now it’s time to confirm whether or not he knows why.

Notes: Turns out being dead has a bit of a long term effect. Who would have thought?

This fic got away from me, so I'm breaking it down by character interaction (sort of). This is Trish's chapter, which should be the second to last! I'll still write in this universe in the future, though they'll likely be one-shots going forward.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

-

Bucciarati steps into the kitchen, expecting it to be empty. As far as he knew, the only three people at home were Narancia, Leone, and himself. The former is busy doing his homework in the library, while Bruno’s just left Leone’s presence to explore the contents of the pantry. Alone. Or so he’d thought.

A blur of pink nearly startles Bucciarati as badly as he must scare Trish, considering the way she nearly jumps out of her seat at the dining room table. Rather than sit back down, she’s scrambling up to weave past him. “Oh! Bucciarati! I’m sorry, I can- I can go,” she says, moving almost too quickly for Bucciarati to recover in time to catch her, much less speak.

“Wait, Trish.”

Trish freezes in the doorway, mid-stride, but she doesn’t turn around. Her shoulders are tense, and she looks prepared to bolt at the slightest hint of trouble. It adds weight to his ongoing theory that she’s been steering clear of him, and now it’s time to confirm whether or not he knows why.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Bucciarati says, speaking the words slowly. Carefully. He doesn’t want to chase her off before they have a chance to talk.

Trish sucks in a breath, but she doesn’t find the right words to reply despite the frantic look in her eyes.

Bucciarati decides that’s his cue to continue. “Since the day in Giorno’s office, you won’t stay in any room that I am in alone.” He picks his words as carefully as he can. He’s not offended, but he doesn’t know how to emphasize that to her while still getting down to the root of the problem. “Something’s bothering you.”

“I’ve just been busy,” Trish manages to squeak out.

Bucciarati doesn’t need to brush up on his interrogation skills to know that she’s lying. She isn’t particularly good at it, either. At least not when she’s trying to lie to him. Someone else, maybe, but he sees right through the brave face she attempts.

“Trish.”

“It’s nothing! Really!” She grabs the doorframe, as if he might drag her back into the kitchen when she makes a run for it.

“If I may be so bold,” Bucciarati starts, still careful, “You’re feeling guilty. You have been for a while.” He doesn’t need all of his life experience to know that. The look on her face screams it.

Trish wavers in place. Her hand drops from the doorframe, but only so she can wrap her arms around her middle. She hugs herself tightly, as if she can ward away the onslaught of reality. It makes Bucciarati feel guilt of his own for pushing the subject. Maybe she isn’t ready, but he doesn’t want her pain to continue over this. He thinks she’s done more than enough self-loathing, and the punishment is unjust. She’s committed no crime.

Blood once meant everything to Bucciarati. He killed for his blood, traded his life away to the mafia for a few short and illness-riddled years for his blood, but he would never assign the sins of the father to that of the child. Trish is not-- and never has been-- her father. She isn’t capable of doing half of the things Diavolo did in his life.

Trish’s breathing hitches, and it’s all the encouragement that Bucciarati needs. He carefully moves toward her, stepping around her turned back so that they’re facing one another. He brushes his fingers through her hair and tucks some of it away from her face. The first tear falls then, and it breaks his heart.

“Trish,” he repeats, hoping she’ll look at him, but he knows she won’t. All she does is tuck her chin into her shoulder in shame. If she can’t run, then she might as well try hiding. “This isn’t your fault.”

“I know,” she says. Lies.

Bucciarati sighs, though immediately regrets it when Trish flinches away from him. For lack of a better idea, he pulls Trish against his chest and smooths a hand over her hair. “You didn’t do this.”

“But you did it for me!”

Ah. There it is.

“And I would do it again,” Bucciarati reassures. “I didn’t expect our path to involve you, but Giorno and I had intended on taking down your father before we met you. You didn’t change that.” Though she had given him a renewed purpose. A reason to fight even beyond death.

“It doesn’t matter,” Trish insists with a voice that breaks halfway through.

Bucciarati can feel the wetness of her tears against his-- or, rather, Abbacchio’s-- shirt beginning to build as more fall. He continues to brush his fingers through her mass of pink curls. “You didn’t hurt me, Trish.”

“But he did, and he did it because you were trying to protect me!”

“Losing you wasn’t an option,” Bucciarati answers with a gentle squeeze. He lets his chin rest on top of her head and takes a moment to calm his own thoughts.

“Why?” She asks when the silence stretches on between them.

Bucciarati doesn’t think that’s the question that she really wants to ask. And he knows that she doesn’t want-- and won’t accept-- the answer, anyway. Because you deserve to live, he would tell her, if it would mean anything to her right now. He knows what she’ll say in response. Knows she’ll tell him the same, and that his life wasn’t worth her’s.

“You didn’t choose this life,” it’s a gentle reminder, but one that she apparently needs. Her situation is a result of her birth. There’s nothing she did to warrant any of this. “None of this is your fault.”

“Like you did?” Trish snaps the words at him, all sharp edges and surprisingly painful. “Why do you think you deserve this?” She’s demanding now, despite the snuffle in her voice. She’s more anger than unending melancholy, and it’s throwing him off, but not as much the words himself. He doesn’t have an answer to give. Not this time.

She deflates after a moment of receiving no reply and tries to pull away, but he won’t let her. He knows she regrets the words, but he understands why they hang in the air. Why she had to say them. It’s not as if she’s wrong, but that doesn’t mean he knows what to do with them.

“You save everyone around you, and- and for what?” Her hand slams against his chest, open palmed and far from painful. “Was it really worth it?” Her voice is no more than a whisper now.

“Yes,” Bucciarati answers; this time without hesitation, because this is an answer that he does have. A truth that he knows with absolute certainty.

Trish chokes on a sob, and Bucciarati pulls her against him once more.

“Why?” She repeats her earlier question.

Grief is a miserable thing, and he finds that question at the center of it so often. He remembers asking himself that on a loop for years on end without ever finding an answer that satisfied him after all the suffering.

Silence stretches over them once more, and he lets Trish cry with the question hanging between them. It doesn’t matter anymore. The important part is that he’s pushed past the worst of it. He’s confident now that she won’t continue to avoid him. At least not to the same degree. The healing will take time, but he hopes that she’ll allow him to take part in it. That’s all he could truly ask of her anyway. He wants to be there for the people he cares about when they need it, regardless of whatever’s happening in his own head.

“I’m sorry,” Trish says when her sobs slow, and she’s hiccupping more than gasping. She tries to wipe at the tears with frantic hands, but he interrupts her to offer the handkerchief from his pocket.

“Don’t be.”

After taking a moment to wipe at her face, she looks at him again and her expression shifts to mild horror as she takes in the mixture of snot and tears staining the front of his shirt. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

Bucciarati can’t help barking out a short laugh. He squeezes her shoulder gently. “Ah, no harm done. It’s one of Leone’s, anyway.” The dismissiveness is only a joke. He’ll replace the shirt before Leone notices it’s gone, but he gets his intended effect when she lets out a startled laugh that has him smiling warmly at her in response.

“Oh, you were coming in here. Are you hungry?” Trish asks, suddenly remembering how their entire conversation started. She shifts her eyes to the table, clearly not ready to part ways now that they’ve worked through some of what’s been bothering her.

Bucciarati is more than happy to take the invitation. He goes a step further and turns it around on her, “Actually, I was thinking about having some gelato. Care to join me?”

“Depends,” Trish says with false hesitance. She’s teasing him now, and it makes him smile even wider in response, “What kind?”

“Stracciatella?”

Trish tries not to beam, and Bucciarati bites back an endeared laugh. She seems lighter now. Less restrained. She’s not trying to hide from him or avoid letting him see her emotions. There’s a weight off of her shoulders, and he’s glad that he could alleviate some of her misplaced blame.

“Can we eat in the living room?”

“I don’t see why not,” Bucciarati says with a shrug. It’s not as though they haven’t all broken that rule time and time again.

“You’re the best!” Trish calls as she bounces out of the room, presumably to find something for them to watch.

Bucciarati takes a moment to compose a text to Leone. A quick, barely legible update to the ‘Trish situation’, as they’d affectionately been calling it. Leone sends his response before Bucciarati’s phone touches the counter, and he bites back a fond smile, knowing that Leone must have been waiting for an update after so long. He’s doing his best to avoid being overbearing, but it’s not always easy.

Trish pokes her head back through the doorway before Bucciarati can set his phone back down, though she doesn’t give it a second glance before asking, “Are cartoons okay?”

“Depends,” Bucciarati says, reaching for the bowls. “Are they the ones Mista likes?”

“God no.”

“Then yes.”

[anotherimaginethatblog]

Family Gatherings

Meet the parents.

Pairing: Kenny x reader

Warnings: small mention of something cheeky ... maybe more in part 2

Summary: you finally make the trip to meet Kenny’s family.

so i finally found the time to sit and write a little and this ended up being a lil longer than expected bit ive enjoyed writing this one, probably be a part two (possibly 3) so let me know what you think x 

hope you like it 

You were nervous, you had been since the day Kenny booked your airline ticket to Winnipeg so you could finally meet his family. You had heard all the stories about them, and they sounded lovely, but you were still, naturally nervous. Constant thoughts had flown through your head since the day you packed, what if they didn’t like you? Didn’t approve of you? you took another sip of your drink hoping the soothing flavour would relax you.

An hour later the pilot informed the plane full of weary passengers that the flight would be making its late arrival at the airport shortly, you began to gather your things up and pack them back into your designer backpack Kenny had bought you as a gift but couldn’t help thinking you’d made a mistake by bringing it, what if they thought you were showing off? Too gaudy? “breathe” you told yourself “it’ll be fine, they’ll love you” you said trying to boost your self-confidence.

“sorry mam, but would you mind stowing your bag? Were going to land soon that’s all” asked the kind stewardess who had given you that extra miniature off the drinks trolly earlier, probably due to the anxiety she saw on your face after striking up a conversation about why you’d be visiting Winnipeg in November.

“sure, sorry” you smiled back.

 Finally, After the stress of the queue at passport control, your bag coming off the plane last and trying to find your way out of the baggage hall altogether you were here. You grabbed your phone out of your bag to see a text from Kenny already, “waiting in the arrivals hall, ring me when your out” it read. You dialled his number and he picked up immediately, so quick he must have been waiting for you thought. “finally, you here yet?” he laughed.

“yeah, just got through, been a nightmare” you replied, “where you at?” you asked him.

“just at the coffee shop with my dad, well wait here for you. You’ll see it if you walk to the end”.

“okay babes see you in a sec” you replied before hanging up, instantly feeling nervous. His dad. You were going to meet his dad for the first time in an airport after hours of travel. Fantastic.

You saw Kenny straight away, those two-tone curls where recognisable anywhere. He looked relaxed and rested whilst he sat chatting to his dad unbeknown to you about how nervous he was for you to see his home and family. “what if she thinks I’m a huge loser once she’s seen I’m just a weird kid from Canada?” he asked his dad. His anxiety spiking in anticipation.

“she won’t, she sounds a great girl and clearly likes you so stop worrying.” His dad replied smiling at his son.

So deep in conversation they hadn’t seen you approach, “hey ken” you said, smiling from ear to ear at finally being reunited.

“babe, you look amazing, I missed you so much” said Kenny, words spilling out with a huge smile in his face as he looked you up and down, clearly appreciating the effort you had made. “this is my dad, (y/n)” he said stepping to the side to introduce the older gentleman who looked very much like his son.

“hi, I’m (y/n), I’m so happy to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you Kenny always talks about you” you replied any nerves melting away at how normal and nice he seemed, internally laughing at why you were so nervous in the first place.

“nice to meet you too, we’ve heard everything about you I’m so glad you managed to make it out. Big freeze on the way” he said. “let’s get home, before it’s too dark and your mother kills us for being late.” He laughed.

Kenny grabbed your bags and you both followed to the car as soon as you left the terminal you regretted your choice of coat. The leather jacket though warm was not enough to keep your heat against the cold Canadian weather “I told you to get a good coat (y/n)” said Kenny shaking his head at you.

“okay, I just thought you where exaggerating” you replied shivering.

“your so cute, its not far to walk” he said.

After realising Kenny’s definition of short walk was not the same as yours you reached the car and were incredibly grateful when his dad opened it for you so you could jump straight in. “thankyou” you told him while he cranked the heat up for you.

“no problem, its not a far drive either so well have you home and warm in a little while” he told you smiling at your lack of appreciation for the Canada winters.

 After a 40-minute drive you were at Kenny’s childhood home, it was just what you had imagined after hearing all of the stories from him about living in the suburbs as a kid. It was your classic suburban home with a lawn out front and a porch to sit on. It was actually really cute, you where excited to see inside. Kenny’s dad got out and left you two to make your way in, all of a sudden you where back to the nervous girl on the plane with the millions of questions about whether you where enough flooding your brain. All of a sudden Kenny planted his lips on yours and you snapped out of whatever you where thinking of immediately “they’re gonna love you, because I love you” he said. It was like he could read your mind and you kissed him back, you’d missed him so much in the time you’d been apart and if it wasn’t for being in his dads car outside his parents house you’d have climbed over and had him right there in the car. The moment was perfect for it … but the location was severely lacking. “we better get in the house before my mom sends my dad back out to get us” he smirked pulling away, clearly thinking the same thoughts you had been a few minutes prior.

“okay” you smiled back “lets go”.

 Once inside the house you felt relaxed all of a sudden, it felt like a home and all the stress you had had about the visit faded away. You took your coat and shoes off and followed Kenny into the kitchen where a beautiful blonde lady stood at the counter. “Tyson, and this must be (y/n). your so pretty” she said patting her son on the shoulder in an approving manor.

“thanks mom, I’m glas you two finally get to spend some time together. It’ll be nice to have the family all under one roof again.” He replied, with his mum giving you the once over.

“I’m so glad you’ve finally brought us a girl home, I thought you’d never setlle down to be honest” she said teasing her only son.

“mom” he said laughing back “I’m gonna take our stuff up, my room yeah?” he asked

“mhmm, and (y/n) across the hall” she said trying to gauge her sons reaction.

“your joking, I’m a grown man mom” said Kenny laughing trying to cover for the fact he’d been wanting to get you into bed since he’d seen you in the airport in those skin tight pants he loved so much.

“Its fine” you interjected not wanting to upset Kenny’s mum and to stop a fight over a room before you’d even settled in. “its fine, I totally respect that. We respect that don’t we ken” you said looking at him with pleading eyes to drop it.

“fine, its fine” he said turning to walk upstairs leaving His mum feeling guilty, though she would never admit it. Honestly she had no problem with the two of you sharing a room but who wants to hear the inevitable through thin walls on the first weekend of meeting your sons possible future wife.

“thankyou” she mouthed quietly to you smiling at how gracious and kind you had been at trying to avoid an awkward situation on your first meeting. You smiled back and followed Kenny upstairs to your room for the next few days. It was a gorgeous guest room, you dropped your bags off and crossed the hall to see Kenny in his childhood room. It was painted blue and like you expected there where wrestling and hockey pictures and posters all over the walls. “cute,” you said smiling at him

“its changed a little but not much” he said smiling back “my mom painted but put all my pictures back up” he laughed.

“that’s sweet, she probably wanted it to be the same for when you got back” you said.

“not that I ever got the chance much” Kenny sadly replied.

“she understood why though” you mentioned reassuringly with your arm on his back.

“you know, I never thought id get a hot girl in my room” he said laughing

“you still wont” you said getting up to go downstairs “come on lets go hang out” you laughed Kenny following reluctantly.

 you spent the rest of the evening chilling out in the kitchen, drinking wine with his mum while him and his dad watched sports on tv. “I’m glad I got to meet you” his mum said to you smiling

“me too, I’m so glad to finally meet everyone and happy for Kenny to spend some family time at home, he’s always on the road I’ve told him he needs to make more of an effort” his mum appreciating your words.

“yeah but he’s busy doing what he loves, I would never tear him away from that” she said laughing at him and his dad.

A few hours later it was time to head to bed, his mum and dad had called it a night a few hours earlier but you and Kenny had stayed up to chill and watch a little tv together. “I’m heading up babe” you said pecking him on the cheek

“okay babe me too then” he said getting up to turn everything off  before following you upstairs

You waited for him at the top of the stairs, pulling him into a hug “guess ill see you in the morning” you teased

“unless you wanna sneak over in a little bit” he teased

“Kenny … no, I don’t want to disrespect your mom” you said back shrugging.

“okay okay, can I at least get a hand job in the bathroom” he laughed  

“goodnight Kenny” you said turning to walk away.

After completing your evening routine you settled down for the night, it was hard to drift off knowing your man was just over the hall, who you had been dying to touch since before the last time you had said goodbye all those weeks ago. Eventually your eyes began to feel heavy and just as you where settling in for the night your phone began to buzz, straight away you knew who it was. – im lonely- it read, you rolled your eyes, it was gonna be along night.

[sleepylostboy]

So for the flower asks, I see that you've answered some already, but I wouldn't mind hearing about all of them if you want to share? You can message me about it if you want, so that other people can still have the chance to ask about the ones they want to.

I can answer the rest for you xD

daffodil - which colour suits you best?

I like red, purple, and black. But if this is talking about clothes then red and black probably look best on me

peony - do you put more value in honour or truth?

Definitely truth. Honor is vague and mostly just seems to be whatever a given society deems to be “honorable”.

iris - favorite 90s song?

*looks through library* Probably Adam’s Song by blink-182, but that was 1999 lol. An earlier song would probably be Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana, or something else. I have a hard time picking a favorite anything lol

sunflower - sun or moon?

Moon!

freesia - are you still friends with the person you considered your best friend two years ago?

I didn’t really consider anyone my best friend two years ago. But I’m still friends with the person that was closest to being that yeah

gypsophila - do you prefer many distant friends, or a few close friends?

Few close friends 1000%

gerbera - neon or pastel?

Neon. I’m absolutely a sucker for neon aesthetics

alstroemeria - dream vacation?

Idk. Honestly with my mental health issues I didn’t even really enjoy the last couple vacations I went on. A healthier me would probably say New Zealand though

anemone - were you ever interested in greek mythology?

I was interested in it, but I didn’t go as far down the rabbit hole as some people did xD

cymbidium - sexuality?

Mostly straight in the sense that I like women and don’t really like men. With enbys it of course just depends on the person, but obviously I skew towards fem(me) people

rhododendron - what’s your biggest fear?

Oh boy I have so many 🙃 uhh, probably waking up at 80 having lived a life full of regret, having let my mental illnesses and insecurities control me, and having never truly found love.

tulip - lucky number?

I like 5, 11, and 13

gladiolus - who do you look up to most?

I’m not sure I really look up to anyone. Maybe my older sister.

heather - what’s your favourite musical?

I haven’t seen many musicals outside of Disney movies tbh. I’d probably say Mulan as long as that counts.

delphinium - what’s your star sign - does it suit you?

Cancer. I don’t know if it suits me because I don’t believe in that stuff (no hate to people that do though)

ginger - least favourite food?

I don’t know. Nothing immediately pops into mind. So I’ll change it to most overrated food, and that would be steak. I’ve never had lobster so maybe that’s even more overrated, but I just don’t see the appeal of steak.

[quinn-tessence]

Nocturne for a Clown

Part 1

In this frightening, destabilizing global pandemic, we all seek comfort. I found mine in Arthur, and I know many of you did too. This community has given me so much, I cannot express my gratitude enough. So here's something I can give back. A Nocturne for our beloved Clown, who still inspires us to this day, and will probably never stop. 🤡🖤

Summary: you stumble into an intriguing neighbor, a tragic, beautiful party clown named Carnival with jade eyes and cocoa hair. His meekness around you gets under your skin enough to lead you unconsciously into his path by accident.

Length: 3.5k

Warnings: mentions of mental illness, alcohol use, nudity, playful flirting and light fluff. Pre smut intro, this is going places… 🤭🤡❤

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You should have taken more bags, you could barely hold all these groceries as you opened the door to let yourself inside your block of flats. You greeted granny Mabel picking up her mail but swiftly turned your attention to the closing door of the elevator.

‘Wait, hold the lift, please!’

In your haste to catch the ride, a foot was lodged on the door, sliding it back open to let you in. Careful not to spill all the veggies on the floor, your attention fell onto the man sharing the ride with you only as he asked what floor you were going to.

‘5th please, thank you for holding the door'

‘Sure'

The lift shook in its slow ascent, your heart would have skipped a beat had it not been a part of your daily routine to feel that bump in your bones. His hair is really nice, the length and the curls around the edges. Hm. You couldn't help looking at him, he was all of your visual field after all, so you scrutinized, as you’d often do. He’d politely turned sideways, avoiding to keep his back to you, but you couldn't see his face clearly in the dim yellow light. He wasn't much taller than you, his complexion quite slim and fragile looking, his back slouched as if carrying the heaviest weight on his shoulders. Gotham made that easy, grey and gloomy by day even during good weather, a pile of construction and buildings with no defined identity, enough to fit all from the scourge to the wealthy.

‘This building's awful, isn't it?’ an uncharacteristic curiosity made you try out some small talk in the hopes you'd get a better glimpse.

You knew too few people in this building, and you were far from chatty in elevators with strangers. Usually. He looked so old fashioned wearing that shirt and the linen vest, but the ochre of his jacket heightened the cocoa brown of his hair, yellow light reflecting off the edges delicately. He was cute, in an oddly endearing sort of way. A pair of basil green eyes turned to your as he bit the bait, the sly grin cutting through his cheek a stark contradiction to everything else about him, the scar on his upper lip a peculiarity that only furthered your intrigue. There was a deep well of sadness in his eyes, overbearing, bone chilling. It prickled your skin as you noticed it, but the gaze under his eyelids was piercing. That unnerving feeling the striking contrast brought, you couldn't shake it off.

The joy ride on strings stopped just as your cheeks started to fluster. You bid him good night as you walked out, your awareness over your morning overuse of perfume now as acute as ever.

‘Hey!’ he shouted in a shy, husky voice as you stepped out.

You turned to him one last time to see him mimicking a gun shot to the head as a rather late comical attempt to reply to your earlier remark. Unconventional, yes, but not a sort of humor you didn't enjoy. The fact that you just couldn't make him out drew a puzzled smile on your face as the elevator door closed.

Hm. What was that? you wandered as you had one foot in stirring curiosity, the other guiding you to your door as if by reflex. You'd lived here for months already, yet you hadn't seen him before. He was quite handsome in an outlandish sort of way, you would not have let that go unnoticed had you seen him before.

Months had passed, yet you still had storing boxes around your living room. Your stay should have just been temporary, yet you'd started decorating it with your own sketches and it had suddenly become your home, your sanctuary, your oasis to recharge you after long days at the office close by. You'd stumbled into this place by accident while looking for a cozy place to stay, but you found no reason to leave it behind. Your own art gallery, with bright lights flooding the windows throughout the day that allowed you to paint during weekends without your eyes squinting, your safe space.

Not today though, your feet were sore and your arms hurt from carrying those groceries. All you wanted was a glass of white wine and an excessive bag of popcorn while you watched the Murray show, but you picked up Dostoyevsky to delve again into the question of the perfect murder while you waited. This book you could never grow tired of, and it rattled you to devour chapter after chapter, accompanying a tormented soul on a journey of falling into madness, its universe a silent revolt and escape from the reality of Gotham you'd craved deep down without ever voicing.

‘We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, that begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken.' Hm. Go figure.

The deafening silence in the room would soon be filled by your own comments at the starting show, Murray’s humor making you roll your eyes at his lack of self awareness, quite versed he was in ridiculing one person or another. A comedy show, yes, but sometimes he would take it a bit too far even for your inappropriate taste in humor.

A few hours and half a bottle of wine later, the sweet taste of the wine still lingered on your lips, flooding your murky mind to a familiar place of solitary self indulgence. Not long after shutting your eyes, a recent memory took shape at the back of your eyelids, and you felt an irrational urge to trace a sketch of him. You were too tired to start drawing at this hour. Your fingers would be of much better use tracing those lines you were curious to feel off his own fingertips. You hadn't indulged yourself in a while, but the thought of this bewitching man flashing in the most vulgar parts of your mind soon changed that. Maybe you were blatantly objectifying your neighbor… but only a little… You'd been so busy with the new job, the long hours exhausting, the absence of a soul to keep you company a nuisance you'd learned to bury in piles of work. But the urges only amplified the more you'd stifle and ignore them, demanding to be satiated. So you gave into yourself, into him, into the sweet, intoxicating effect of your favorite wine, into the memory of the piercing green eyes that had you whimper in silence.

Something about him was out of place. You’d seen him from afar and he looked defenseless. But as you came closer, you could feel yourself swallow hard as you waited for his gaze to look to your direction. Odd, wasn't it? He hadn't said much, but the tension in the elevator had penetrated your bones to late night reminiscence. Something was not right about him, an 'I should be afraid, instead it turns me on' vibe to him had taken you right to the edge.

The next day you bumped into him after work at the corner store, he was buying cigarettes and a chocolate bar. With that level of nutrition, no wonder he was so feeble, yet there was something about him that had kept you up at night. You'd already developed a weakness for him, but that stifled your reaction instead of filling you with courage. He smiled shyly and walked out the door, his eyes counting his slouched steps. Shit. Next time.

One particular evening you noticed two blue diamonds peering meticulously through the store shelves, the greasepaint on the man's face rendering him almost unrecognizable lest for his unmistakable skinny complexion and beautiful cocoa hair. Your freight of clowns had shaped your life since childhood, yet that terror had somehow melted instantly at the sight of his jade eyes underneath the white blue makeup. He'd shied away as you noticed him, stealing a smile that got your feet walking into an opposite reaction, trying to hide your pleasant surprise at his creepy, endearing stares. You wondered if that was his job, it would be absurd to just walk around in a clown costume, stalking women. Not to mention, horrifying and nightmare inducing, as even you would have felt until a moment ago if it hadn't been him wearing the clown costume.

Fumbling around the store, shying behind the counters as you paid for your groceries, you couldn't resist glancing at him one more time. You'd missed your chance before and you regretted it. All it took was to reach for one item from the isle he was hiding in, even if you had no use for it. Startling him was the last of your intentions, so you mimicked his behavior peering at him through the shelves, perhaps that would open him up to you. As you both walked in the same direction towards the corridor, he stopped shy in his tracks, eyes now as big as the clown shoes on his feet, scanning the floors, anxiously facing the inevitable.

‘Hi there. I've seen you around, haven't I?'

You'd planned on being more casual in your approach, yet the tone of your voice evoked a warm intimacy built over nights of having him wander purposefully in the depths of your fantasies. The clown costume should have helped alienate that feeling, instead it only burned deeper. The youthful innocence draped across his face contrasted strikingly with the furrows in his forehead betraying his age. He couldn't be younger than 35 at least, yet the spark of his almond shaped eyes took 15 years off his complexion. He cleared his throat before being able to speak.

‘Hi! Yes, we met in the elevator last week. I didn't think you'd recognize me in my work outfit.’

‘I thought that was you. You could frighten ladies if you keep peering at them while wearing a clown costume, you know? Not a lot of good press on them in the past years’

A nervous chuckle escaped his throat, he couldn't have missed that connection himself but he seemed caught red handed.

‘Well I haven't even pulled my gun yet. I was waiting for the store to clear out a bit before I robbed the place and kidnapped you'

There was that dark humor, but damn him for making you smile like a teenager.

‘A clown with a gun and a plan, not at all frightening. You're funny! Pass me that pasta sauce, would you?’

He quickly reached for the item on his counter and reached over it to hand it to you. The gawkiness in his hasty moves was proof enough he wasn't used to being approached by women, you were sure his cheeks were as flaming red under the white makeup as the flower pinned to his colorful checkered blazer. You shook your head and pointed at the end of the counter, your feet moving in the direction where you wanted him. He followed shyly, dragging his oversized clown shoes.

As he handed you the item, you thanked him kindly and immediately put it back up on the shelf. His gaze fell to his feet again, surely flustered by the subtext of your action. Yet within a split of a second, his eyes pierced back at yours and you'd forgotten all words.

‘Why don't I walk you home instead? I'll keep the gun and kidnapping for another occasion. Let me help you with those' he reached for your groceries, his proximity to you feeding the fire. You gladly agreed and walked the couple blocks with him, curious of his day job and adoring the purr of his soothing voice, it tore you up every time you heard it falter. His suit and makeup should have kept you a mile away, yet he seemed to be the most welcome companion to comfort you through your biggest irrational fear. As you reached the apartment complex sooner than you'd wished, he stopped and let out a complicit chuckle.

‘I… seem to have forgotten to do my own groceries, I’ll have to go back now, somehow I got distracted…’

‘And I thought you were there just to kidnap me.’ You just couldn't help continuing his apropos, hoping deep down he'd actually do it. ‘Thank you for walking me home, that was sweet of you'

‘You're very welcome. I'm Arthur, by the way, or Carnival if you prefer the party clown'

‘Nice to meet you, Arthur. I'm Y/N.’

‘Y/N…’ the sound of your name off his lips jolted you shamelessly to the point where you needed to take that step back, and yet you didn't. ‘I'll see you around?’

The smile on his painted face a ray of sunshine in an otherwise wretched day. Carnival, you cheekily thought to yourself, never had you wanted to experience one as badly as you did seeing him light up a cigarette and inhale it wantonly almost halfway through, walking back a few steps, then turning and making his way back to the store.

Days at work had flown by rapidly in your constant distraction with a lingering image of a colorful clown. Not even the new guy everyone was talking about could catch your attention, even if your girlfriends kept mentioning a stunning pair of black eyes and a charming swagger. Had he been a smoker, you'd perhaps get a glimpse of him during your breaks, at least. The Fridays hardly ever felt like the weekend, and this one made you want to smash some bones, your own sorrows bubbling up inside you, like a mint candy in a bottle of Cola. You were more of an indoors cat, but your really couldn't pass on a 3rd invitation for a night out, your buddies would think you were willfully ditching them. Fine I'll go! Just one drink though.

Mixing gin and tequila hadn't been up there among your smartest choices. You should have stopped after the 3rd shot, but you hadn't had so much fun in months. Hah! I feel dizzy. But this feels good, your thoughts pieces of a puzzle you were too drunk to make out. As your feet moved out of the taxi and into the cold early morning air, you were finally back home. You must have remembered to pay the fare otherwise the cabby would have chased you down. You drifted in your scrambled thoughts as your feet walked out of reflex, your mind miles away, preoccupied with a certain pair of turquoise eyes. Perhaps you had a propensity for dark hues, but those had always just been mere dust in front of green shades. I’m not in my own mind anymore… I’m in someone else's... And I’m touching myself, I’m licking my lips, the tip of my tongue grazes over the scar on my upper lip, the heat of my breath comes from within a boiling body, my skin sizzles. I hum and I moan and I... hah, fuck, I think I just broke my heel, I’m so fekkin drunk. You dragged yourself to the elevator, your mind desperately hoping you were managing to keep yourself composed so the sweet old doorman wouldn't judge you as a drunken failure in life.

Why did you do this to yourself? And can you just not redirect all your remaining fluids to where they're not required before you're at least in your bed? Fuck, I can't... you'd been pushing the elevator button for a minute before you growled a tad too loud at the drunken realization you’d have to climb all 5 storeys in this wretched state you'd put yourself into.

Fine, just get your sorry ass up before you make a fool of yourself clowning around. Just one more and you're there. Fumbling for your keys in your bag, you leaned on the door and, to your surprise and annoyance, it opened. What the fuck, was I drunk before I left my apartment? How could I have forgotten to lock the damn door?

You felt sick to your stomach, you couldn't walk to the bed. You hadn't drunk so much for over a year, you’d forgotten how useless you were in this state. The couch would do for tonight. You almost dropped yourself to the floor, the couch not in the same position as you'd left it, but who cared. I'm never drinking again, you thought as you coiled around the pillow, a shoe dropping on the floor while the other hung half way. It smelled of cigarettes, most probably from your clothes.

A familiar enticing aftertaste of alcohol clawed its way out once again, you should have known this was coming. You wished he'd be there so you could release yourself to him, as frail as he was he'd surely handle you gently, and mmm wouldn't that feel sweet. The alcohol had just been a low end substitute to bury your frustrations and aches. Hah, even if he was here, you'd be useless. But that didn't stop you from dozing off to the thought of his gentle fingers strolling down your neck to your breasts, drawing circles on your waist before goin... down lo...

There was too much light in the room, as drunk as you’d been you’d forgotten to draw the curtains. You couldn't open your eyes, the headache was throbbing, so you rubbed your temples and turned your led limbs from the aching position you'd landed on as the most shameful drunk in this city.

Your mind thought you could take opening your eyes, and as you did you felt the alcohol pressuring your Adam's apple, a deep breath a flimsy stronghold to keep everything down. A deep breath that turned swiftly to a high pitched shriek at the sight of this man walking towards you dripping water off his naked body, a towel being rubbed onto his hair with both hands. You shrieked as you fell to the floor, hitting yourself against an unfamiliar coffee table, flagons of pills spilling all over it.

Oh shit, you heard him say as he hid behind the wall, peering at you but quieting his anxiety the more he looked.

'What are you... Y/N, you're in the wrong apartment! Shit, I need to put something on'

Oh god what had you done?? A sous chef could have mistaken you for a lobster and thrown you in a bucket of boiling water, you’d surely been simmering in that since the realization of how much of an idiot you were at walking into his apartment, of all damn places.

‘Oh my god, I am SO SORRY, I had a few too many drinks with my friends and I must have... I surely have climbed too many storeys to my place. I'll be out of your hair, I am so sorry!!!’ He'd been hopping throughout your dreams for the past weeks, you'd seen him naked so many times before, but not once in the flesh. You were flustered at the brazen realization of how far off you'd been as you fantasized about him bare before you. It was nerve wrecking, you wished you could just disintegrate into a million atoms and let the ground swallow you whole.

He chuckled as he returned in a half clothed state, clearly having shortened the process just to catch you before you shut the door behind you.

‘Yeah, the elevator was out of order yesterday. Hey, it's ok. You just really scared me, I wasn't expecting to find you on my couch, you know? You're... welcome to... stay a bit longer if you want. You look like you've had a rough night, I could whip out some breakfast and get you back on your feet. If you wish…’

He'd whipped out more than you'd thought he would a couple minutes ago, thank you very much for the extra sleepless nights.

‘Oh my god, no, I couldn't take advantage of you like that, I just slept on your couch uninvited, I am so horrible. Please excuse me, and thank you for not calling the cops on me.’

He'd smiled at you in the elevator before your heels had started flaming for him a few weeks back, but this was different. His whole face had lit up, his eyes sparkling as if emerald and jade had caught a reflection of the sun, his crooked tooth a tantalizing new discovery, especially as the scar on his lip etched itself deeper into your psyche. You were in his house, after all, where else would he feel most comfortable if not in his private, intimate home, one that you'd shamefully invaded and found him completely naked and wet.

‘They're on their way actually, I’m just stalling before they show up to escort you from my property.’

You chuckled as you held your temple, you must have been a disgusting mess, your makeup all smudged, on your face a decrepit layer of last nights overindulgence, and yet he made you laugh.

‘You're funny, Arthur... I'll take care of that myself, tell them it was a false alarm...’

As you opened the door to remove yourself from this torrent of shame, his voice stopped you in the doorstep.

‘Hey, you wanna… grab a coffee later tonight? It might help with that hangover’

‘You really want to go out after all this?’

‘Yeah!’ his eyebrow twitched in reflex, startling you at its sudden air of impertinence. You couldn't tell if your limbs had mellowed from alcohol, or his facial expressivity had been the melting catalyst. ‘Pajama night, I'll take you to the best Donut diner in town. 9 PM?’

You really wished you could process everything clearly, but he wasn't making it easier at all. ‘Alright then, pajama night it is!’

‘Great! Are you sure I can't help you to your place?’

‘Sorry to ask, what floor is this?’

‘6th.’

‘Oh, I’m right downstairs, maybe going down a flight of stairs will shake off this horrid hangover. Thanks again for... hosting me I guess, nice to see you again, Arthur. I'll see you later!’

You waved at him more in a futile attempt to cover your face as you stepped back out of that bubble of shame, feeling soaked to the bone. The droplets on his skin, he'd just gotten out of the shower, that routine gesture to slick back his hair, that wide morning gaze were mere special mentions as you went down the stairs, one other morning factor keeping your mind fully flustered as you unlocked your own front door this time.

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Thank you for reading this far! 🤡🖤

A special thank you to a few wonderful people who inspire me daily ❤❤❤

@littlebird92 @life-or-something-like-lt @ralugraphics @jokers-puddin-pop @arthurfleckownsmysoul @bustafatclownnut @jokers-doll @rommies @bananabreaddough @paperorigami @ransomguest49 @daydreamhustler @arthurjokersgirl @lesbianearrings @arthurflecc @iartsometimes @arthurflecksgirl @forever-fleck @sweet-nothings04 @wuika @mollyxlyla-rosex @impulsiveclown @jokerlicious @jokergirl10491 @jokeconic @ajokeformur-ray @shaw-2000 @softyash @arthurflecc

[misteria247]

Forgotten

Chapter Five

If looks could kill then Casey had a sneaking suspicion that he'd be dead where he currently sat. The vigilante suppressed a shiver as he felt the dark blue eyed gaze bore into him like an ant under a magnifying glass. Sitting across from him tied up by zip ties was the once believed dead Leonardo Hamato, the turtle glaring at him. From the moment him and April had brought him back to her apartment and he'd woken up, Leo had been glaring nonstop at the man. His gaze held nothing but distrust as he kept his gaze on Casey at all times. It was unnerving to have someone who was a friend look at him like that, to have him look at him like he was an enemy. Casey couldn't help but flick his eyes towards Leo, only to regret it instantly. Leo's stare held no friendly affection, no recognition, only barely concealed anger.

Casey had only seen this look a few times before. It was a look of someone who wouldn't hesitate to try and possibly hurt him if given half the chance to. It was a look that was often times directed at Leonardo's enemies, the look of a furious warrior who would show no mercy. Casey swallowed hard trying not to lose his cool. It made his stomach sink at seeing this nasty look being directed at him. Leo the kind and wise eldest son of his best friend was looking at him like he was a threat and it made him feel ill especially when he recalled what April had told him earlier in the van.

'Casey when he attacked me it.....it was like he didn't know who I was.....almost like he....he doesn't remember who we are....'

The man bit the inside of his cheek and clenched his fists in frustration. Now he understood what she'd been talking about. Casey had to bite back a frustrated groan as the gravity of the situation hit him. If Leo didn't know who they were then it'd make things difficult, especially if he didn't know who his family was.

'Oh god if that's the case.....Raph and the others are going to be crushed.'

Casey thought somewhat bitterly. After finally finding their friend they'd still in a way possibly lost him. The vigilante was taken out of his thoughts by April's shout.

"Wait Master Splinter I need to tell you-"

April stopped mid sentence before letting out a loud noise. Casey gave Leo a look over to make sure he wouldn't move from his position, which was met with an even nastier stare from said turtle before he made his way towards the kitchen where April was. Poking his head through the doorway he took in the roughed up look of April who was clutching her phone staring at it in a conflicted way.

"Ape....?"

Casey called out to her making her look up at him.

"I told him. He was.....shaken to put it bluntly. But I wasn't able to tell him about the uh....situation. Master Splinter hung up on me saying that he'd be here soon."

April mumbled running a hand through her hair. Casey bit back a swear realizing just how bad this was. With Leo being all murderous distrustful ninja mode, the meeting with his father and brothers could end very, very badly.

"What are we gonna do red?"

Casey asked keeping his voice low as to not get their guest even more riled up. April gave a small look, eyes conflicted before she answered him.

"We'll just....have to hope for the best and hope that things don't go straight to hell."

She responded her eyes flickering towards the living room where Leo was held in custody. She could barely make out the turtle from where she was sitting but she could see enough to notice that he was as strung up as a rubber band just waiting to snap at the tiniest amount of pressure.

'Please don't let this end badly.....'

~~~~~

'Leonardo's alive.'

The sentence rang through his head like a record, refusing to stop. Splinter stared at the phone that he'd just hung up, gripping his counter to keep himself from falling over from the shock and various other emotions that slammed into him. His son....was alive. After four years of grief and suffering Splinter was given a miracle. The old rat couldn't stop the sudden tears of joy from spilling over and he let out a choked sob. Leonardo was alive, his son was okay. Another choked noise came from him as he tried to get himself under control. It was surreal for him.

"Master Splinter....?"

A voice spoke up from the entryway of the kitchen. Splinter jumped at the voice being caught off guard for the first time in a long time. Turning towards the doorway his dark eyes met the twin hues of baby blue that belonged to his youngest son, Michelangelo. The turtle stiffened his eyes widened in concern as he saw the tears that stained his father's face.

"Dad-! What's wrong?"

Mikey said panicking as he made his way to him quickly looking the old rat over for any possible injuries. Splinter couldn't help but smile a watery smile at his son's concern and placed a hand on his cheek.

"I am okay my son. In fact I'm better than okay. I have been told the most wonderful news my son."

Splinter said in a somewhat choked tone. Mikey's eyes filled with confusion and he tilted his head a bit like a puppy.

"News? What kind of news Master Splinter?"

The turtle teen asked curious and somewhat cautious. The old master felt his heart twist at the cautious undertone in his child's voice. There was once a time when Mikey would only have curiousity in his voice, but when the tragedy happened his son had become more cautious with receiving news.

'Hopefully it'll be better once we bring him back home.'

Splinter thought warily before smiling at him.

"Go get your brothers and met me in the living room. This is something that they need to know as well."

Splinter answered vaguely, not wanting to say anything till all of his family was in the same room. Mikey gave him a small concerned look before nodding silently and going to do what his father had told him. Splinter watched his son leave the kitchen, letting out a sigh as he mentally prepared himself for the conversation that was to come. Leaving the kitchen as well he made his way towards the living room to wait for his family to be gathered.

~~~~~

Mikey woke up his brothers, his nerves on edge as he led them to the living room trying to ignore their questioning gazes. The youngest son had no idea what was going on but he couldn't help but feel uneasy. Something was going to change, big time. Something that would shake his family up all over again.

'I can't do this again. I can't do another strike.'

His heart cried out. While his father had said it was good news it still didn't help him feel at ease. He always felt like that these days, ever since the death of his older brother.

'Leo.....'

Mikey swallowed the sudden lump in his throat as he thought of Leo. Never in any circumstances did he dare to imagine not having any of his brothers in his life. They were his family, his role models and his protectors. Mikey loved his older brothers more than anything in this world and when he'd lost Leo it was as if someone had come and cut his heart out of his chest. It still haunted him even after four years.

Raphael coming home bloody and bruised.

The two broken swords that were lain in front of Master Splinter's feet.

The broken sobs that his older brother let loose and the sentence that ruined everything.

'He's gone....The Shredder he.....he killed him.....'

At that moment his worst fears had come to life in the most horrifying way possible. He could still hear the broken wails of Donnie, could still see the absolute devastation on his father's face as he broke, could still feel the sudden agonizing pain that overwhelmed him as he joined Donnie's sobbing. Mikey shook his head not wanting to burst into tears again over the memories that would forever haunt him. He needed to keep it together, especially for his family. He needed to be strong like Leo had been before he was cruelly ripped away from them. The turtle took a shaky breath, and nearly jumped when he felt a hand on his shell.

"You okay Mikey?"

Donnie asked softly, his reddish brown eyes knowing. The teen swallowed the sob that wanted to come out and gave Donnie a small smile.

"I'm good Donnie. Just wondering what the news is about."

Mikey answered, earning a huff like noise from Raph.

"Maybe that bastard finally got what was coming to him."

Raphael growled lowly making Michelangelo and Donatello look at him, their own expressions mirroring his. The two knew exactly what their older brother was referring to.

The Shredder.

"If that's it I'd throw a celebration party."

Mikey said simply though the barely concealed anger was heard in his voice. Donnie nodded stiffly, his mouth formed into a tight grimace. The three brothers all felt the ungodly hatred for their worst enemy, as soon as he had taken Leo away from them the trio had let their anger fester somewhat, especially Raph who was dying to get a crack at The Shredder.

"I'll help you decorate."

Raph said with a somewhat smirk. Donnie huffed slightly in somewhat exasperation while Mikey shot him a somewhat smile.

"Awesome dude."

He said. The trio found themselves in the living room shortly after, the sight of their master standing in front of the couch and recliner greeting them. The ninja master gestured towards the seats and the boys quickly sat down before waiting for their father to speak.

"I received a call tonight from April."

Splinter said eyes gazing at them. The brothers stiffened slightly surprised. Splinter continued.

"She has found something. Something important to us. She and Casey found him. They found Leonardo. He's alive my sons."

Splinter said simply, his tone soft. The room fell into a stunned silence, three pairs of eyes burning into their master with disbelief. It didn't last long however when Raph broke it, his voice booming somewhat.

"Leo....! He's alive?!? Then where the hell has he been????"

Raphael shouted his green eyes wide and filled to the brim with conflicting emotions. Donatello sat back in his seat, his eyes wide and frozen in shock as he tried to process this. Michelangelo on the other hand felt his eyes sting as he was overcome with emotion. Splinter gave Raph a small unreadable look.

"I do not know where he has been Raphael. I am hoping that he will explain to us when we go to see him."

Splinter answered soothing Raph's anger for the time being.

"We're....we're gonna go see him? Right now....?"

Mikey asked his voice thick and small. Splinter gave the youngest a smile his eyes alight with warmth.

"Yes we are my son."

He said softly. That was all that was needed before the three boys were out of their seats and going to grab their things.

"I've got to go get my medical kit, Leo's probably got some injuries knowing him."

Donatello rambled under his breath already rushing towards his lab to grab his things. Raphael and Michelangelo were also going towards their own destinations.

"When I see him I'm gonna sock him so hard, that absolute bastard-"

Raphael growled though it was clear to see that he was beaming with unbridled joy as he went to go get the shell raiser warmed up.

"I'm gonna have to make him his favorite dish as a welcome home surprise when we get him home!"

Michelangelo chirped sounding much like he used to be. Splinter smiled warmly as he watched his sons do their thing, feeling his chest well up with hope and happiness.

'Soon he'll be home. Just wait a little longer my son.'

~~~~~

He had no idea how long he'd been sitting there, tied up and being watched constantly by the two humans who had captured him. All he knew was that his wrists and head hurt and that he was scared and angry. He was angry at his thoughtless decision when he'd jumped them from the trees to protect his semi permanent home, he was angry that his mission to be undiscovered had backfired so horribly, he was angry that he was in this mess because of those strangers in his old home that forced him to run. But the thing that made him the angriest was the woman who made him hesitant for that split second. The way she had looked at him, like she couldn't believe what she was seeing, like she felt scared and betrayed by him. It had messed with him badly, making him pause for that precious moment. Not to mention the name that she had called him, the name that had been haunting him since that night when his world went to hell.

Leo.

She'd called him Leo.

The same name that those people who raided his old home had been searching for. It confused him and put him on edge, that he was being mistaken for this Leo person. He had no name, he was just a turtle who lived in the forest before he was forced to flee. He could hear the two humans whispering in the one room voices soft and frantic.

"So how are we gonna explain this April? Master Splinter and the guys are gonna be here soon and he's still looking at us like he wants to gut us!"

The masculine voice, Casey whispered harshly making him narrow his eyes even more in that direction. This human was really pushing his luck with him, after hitting him with that baseball bat and then tying him up like a pig to the slaughter.

"I don't know Casey, I'm hoping that maybe if he sees them....."

The feminine voice, April trailed off quietly.

"That it might jog something?"

Casey finished for her.

"Yeah."

April said softly. He bit back the urge to sigh as he leaned his head on the couch, trying to figure a way out of his predicament. He needed to get out of his bounds so he could escape. He didn't know what these humans wanted nor who this Master Splinter was but he wasn't going to stick around to find out.

'I've gotta get out of here, fast.'

He hissed as he struggled somewhat. He wished he still had his knife but that Casey guy took it from him. The turtle teen continued to struggle with the zip ties, becoming a bit more panicked when they wouldn't budge. He was going to be sold or killed or experimented on at this rate. He hissed as he felt the plastic cut into his wrists and he couldn't help but curse.

'This is it, I'm going to die aren't I?'

The thought made his stomach sink in horror as he realized that he couldn't get out. He felt the fear build up inside him as he tried not to hyperventilate. He should have stayed in his shack, he should have stayed in his forest. Coming to the city had been a terrible mistake and now he was paying the price for it. He was so lost in his turmoil he didn't realize that the front door had opened up and a voice rough and accented filled the air.

"Where is he??"

The voice nearly barked making him flinch in slight panic.

"Nice to see you too Raph. We'll show you in a moment but me and April gotta tell you something-"

Casey's voice answered the one before another voice called out, this one childish and desperate.

"Where's Leo??? You said he'd be here???? Why hasn't he come to greet us???"

The voice questioned before the sound of footsteps could be heard storming into the apartment.

"Mikey wait-!!"

April's voice called out somewhat rushed as the footsteps drew closer to the living room followed by several others. He stiffened, desperately wanting to disappear. He was going to die and there was nothing he could do about it. The turtle teen bit his lip hard the taste of copper filling his mouth as he braced himself for the inevitable humans. Instead what he got left him winded. The footsteps stopped in the doorway of the living room before a small gasp was heard. He looked up at the noise and felt the breath leave his lungs. Standing by the doorway was another turtle.

Just like him.

The turtle was frozen in the doorway, his baby blue eyes wide and stunned. Unshed tears were gathered in the corners of them and he wore a bright orange cloth around his eyes. Light green skin covered in freckles and twin weapons hung from his hips.

'Nunchucks.'

His brain supplied making him pause for a moment before the turtle in front of him was joined by others. His dark blue eyes went wide as two other turtles and a giant rat filled the room, their stares the same as the orange turtle. April and Casey were the last ones to join them. He sat there unable to process everything.

There was more of him.

He wasn't the only one.

"L-Leo....?"

He was snapped out of his thoughts by the orange turtle, who looked at him with a somewhat confused and broken look. A sudden swear made him snap his head away from him towards the other turtle.

"What the shell happened to him?!? Casey did you do this to him???"

The accented voice came out of the other turtle. This one was dark green in his skin, and had bright green eyes filled with confusion and anger. A red cloth was around his eyes and he too had weapons on his hips.

'Sais.'

His brain again supplied for him.

"Oh God Leo....! He's bleeding what the hell happened?!?"

The last turtle finally spoke up, his voice smooth yet high strung with barely concealed horror and anger. The last turtle had light green skin and was somewhat taller than the other two. He had reddish brown eyes and a purple cloth that surrounded them. His weapon however was on his back.

'Bo Staff.'

He felt himself getting annoyed with his brain supplying him with this knowledge that he didn't know before another voice this one soft and soothing spoke out.

"My son....what happened to you, who did this to you?"

He looked to the last figure in the room. The rat was older than the turtles and wore a dark colored rob and held a staff in his hand that he somewhat leaned on. His fur was a mixture of browns, whites and blacks and his eyes, a dark brown were looking at him with such a tender look that it made him flinch. The orange turtle moved towards him, a hand reaching out for him somewhat hesitantly.

"Bro.....?"

He asked softly his voice wavering as he went to touch him. The captive turtle looked at the group of unfamiliar faces, his eyes that were once full of panic narrowing into a threatening look when he noticed the orange one trying to touch him. A sudden silence filled the room as the air grew thick with sudden tension.

"I don't know who this Leo is but if you touch me so help me I will end you."

He spat out coldly, his eyes hard and indifferent. The orange turtle flinched harshly like he'd just been slapped. The other two turtles and the old rat froze, their expressions stunned for a moment. He continued to glare in a nasty manner refusing to show how afraid he truly was. April bit her lip and Casey swore. The swear caught the red turtle's attention, the once stunned expression turning into barely contained anger.

"You'd better start explaining Jones."

He snarled his green hues poisonous. Casey looked at the faces that were now staring at him and April before letting out a small exhausted sigh.

"Ya may want to sit down for this one Raph, cause it's a long story."

*Well then things took a rather upsetting turn didn't they? (I'm so sorry Mikey I didn't mean to hurt you baby boy-). Anyways we've finally gotten the fam reunited but it's unfortunately far from the happy reunion they were picturing sgdgdhfh. And our poor boy Leo is lowkey freaking out. Now for this story I want to make clear that it's not really set in a main universe. It's basically a little bit of all the Tmnt franchises I've seen. So while the boys have their 2012 versions looks they also have some of their other versions personalities like from 2003 to 1990 to 2018. Ya get the point, it's basically freeform and up to the reader to decide which one they wanna go with. I'm sorry I wasn't go at explaining that in the last chapter it was late when I'd posted it and I was tired lol. Anyways if any y'all read this I hope you enjoyed it!!!*

[cherishsims]

Sharing some thoughts

Hey, I wrote this a couple of nights ago and wanted to share it here, just some things that have been on my mind lately that I should probably have spoken about in the past. I want to be more open here about my previous stories and characters and not glorify the past, so here goes!

I used to write some...horrible stories, to put it mildly. Like, not even cringy or badly written, just... terrible in general. Like, I was an angsty teenager, we're all guilty of writing bad stories when we're young (god knows I definitely did, pretty much every generation I had a sim die in some kind of car accident for shock value). By far, though, the worst one was a story where I glorified depression and running away from your problems and it honestly set such a bad example to readers. Set a bad example to myself, even... the self projection in this story and on the character involved (Mia) was reeeeaaaall. It involved just the biggest angst from Mia about literally every aspect of her life, she was horrid and pushed away those who cared about her and it ended a long-running legacy in the shittiest way by her running away from home, that part was romanticised and dragged out beyond belief, and it was just the worst writing and characterisation.

Anyway, it was worse because back then I had a following that really paid attention to my posts and stories, and looking back, they could have really been influenced by this stuff. Like, mental illness was portrayed so horribly in this story and even romanticised to a degree, and I'd tease and encourage the readers with giving the character a 'happy ending' then taking it away from her, basically just trying to get as many comments and reactions as I could. It wasn't okay, and as I said earlier, was just teaching readers (some of whom may have been younger and more impressionable) that this stuff was okay. I really regret this stuff so much and how it may have impacted readers, and it’s really not what I want to be remembered for. This original story was actually deleted from my old blog a few years ago now, but I never actually spoke about deleting it at the time nor why it was so harmful or just the fact that this stuff was no longer canon for god knows what reason. 

Then, we come to the sim involved - Mia. She had the most wooden personality going, yet I kept beating a dead horse and bringing her back over again, yet each time it just wasn't working for her no matter what. I don't know why I kept trying with her, she wasn't that special... I kept trying to convince myself that it was worth it because she had 'potential' and a cute face or whatever, but she just kept bringing back these connotations over and over deep down and was given more chances at redemption than she deserved. Subconsciously, though, even though I thought I was past all this encouraging and stuff, I'd still talk about giving Mia a 'happy ending' and that it was great to see her smiling again, even years later when I should have just moved on. Mia should have been left in the past a long time ago. It’s a bit awkward considering that only a few weeks ago I posted her in a ship with melien’s sim, and we both thought that maybe the negative connotations with Mia would go away with this, but they definitely didn’t, haha. The reminders of the original story were just too strong, and it just came across as if being in a relationship was the key to ending all of Mia’s problems when it definitely wasn’t.

Idk how to round this off, closings have never been my forte haha, but... yeah, I just wanted to get this stuff out my chest and going forward I want to be more transparent. I’m not sure to what extent how many people actually remember this stuff now, five years on, but some of my older followers may and this just isn’t the stuff that I want to be remembered for as a blog and a writer.

[lady-divine-writes]

Good Omens - Addiction (Rated NC17)

Summary: Aziraphale is addicted to affection. Addicted to touch. But being an addict, he can't seem to manage to find a healthy relationship, nor make any relationship last. After his latest break up, he decides to forgo the emotion and go straight for physical satisfaction.

... He just wants to find someone who needs his body. He's not particularly picky as to who - or what - that entails. (5792 words)

Notes: A major re-working of another piece I wrote. If you guys like this one, I will complete the scene that should come after it ;) Let me know. Vampire Crowley. Warnings for mention of blood and blood sucking. Sexual content.

Read on AO3.

Aziraphale walks slowly around the perimeter of his bed, eyeballing the outfits he’d laid out earlier, scathingly critical of every item he chose even though, had you asked him two hours ago, he would have claimed each as tied for favorite. He’s 90% dressed already - cream colored trousers and a matching long-sleeved button down, a pale blue waistcoat (one he’s been told matches his eyes perfectly), tartan socks, and his best cocoa brown Derbys. All he needs now is a bowtie.

Does he need a bowtie? He doesn’t know exactly what the protocol is regarding neckwear where he’s going. He definitely prefers to wear a bowtie. Would not wearing one send some sort of message? Aziraphale assumes forgoing a bowtie might make him appear more casual. At ease. But in the context of the place he’s headed, might it also mean that he’s easy?

He sighs. He’s thinking too hard about this. This place he’s going - he’s paying to be there! What the Hell does the possible hidden innuendo of wearing or not wearing a bowtie matter under those circumstances? He hasn’t left the house without a bowtie on in over four decades!

He’s wearing the bowtie.

His gaze slides over his bed, the ties in the running lined up side by side on his comforter. He reaches for one, fingers hovering just above before he changes his mind and goes for the one beside it, picking it up between pinched fingers and holding it to his neck. He turns to his full length mirror and takes a peek.

“This one?” he asks no one, appraising the plain, gray fabric. “No. No, that won’t do.” He tosses it back on the bed and grabs another one - a tartan tie that matches his socks.

Heaven’s Dress Tartan. His family’s tartan. It’s pretty much the tie he wears for every occasion.

Naively, it makes him feel protected.

“This one?” he muses, already nodding his head. “Yes, this one.” Aziraphale slips the narrow strip of fabric about his neck and ties it. He looks himself over in the mirror, chest puffed with pride, but it doesn’t last long.

What is he doing?

He’s too old for this.

Maybe he should pack it in, wrap up his libido and call it quits. He’s had a good run, hasn’t he? He doesn’t need the physical. No more hugs, no more kisses, no more sex - that wouldn’t be the end of the world.

Aziraphale’s eyes drop from his smart outfit to his feet.

Except it would.

It would for Aziraphale.

He can’t give up touch. He’s never done well without some speck of it in his life.

Deep down inside, he knows he can’t survive without it.

It’s not as simple as feeling lonely or unfulfilled. His need for affection goes beyond that. And it’s stronger - so much stronger - than him.

Being an addict is no small burden. Aziraphale knows that firsthand. He’s seen what addiction can do to people. He’s seen how it can devastate families.

He sat around for years and watched, powerless, as it destroyed his own.

Addiction tore his father apart – his need for money, a lust for more, more, more that he valued over his wife and child, turning him from parental figure into perfect stranger well before Aziraphale’s formative years, then into an enemy when Aziraphale decided against going into medicine, law, or business (the big three that would ensure the family fortune would multiply and thrive long after his father was gone) and instead majored in linguistics and literature.

His father’s addiction led to his mother’s. She’d hit the bottle to numb the pain of watching her husband, the man she’d loved since secondary school, drift away, drinking herself stupid until she couldn’t remember what day it was, where she lived … or that she had a son.

But addiction isn’t only cause and effect. It can be hereditary. It spread through the Fell family like wildfire, jumping from generation to generation. It started with Aziraphale’s great-great-great-great-grandfather on his father’s side and trickled down. Since Aziraphale is the last living Fell, his family’s vices have caught up to him, pooled around his ankles with nowhere else to flow to.

Threatening to drag him under.

Aziraphale has an addiction, too. Anyone who talks to him for about five minutes would say that his drug of choice is books, and indeed there are a good many reasons to believe that. Aziraphale loves books. He’s amassed such a collection that he even became an antique book dealer, but mostly as an excuse to find a place big enough to house his vast collection.

No, Aziraphale gets addicted to people. To affection. To whatever feels like love at the time. And he can’t live without it. He’ll take it from anyone willing to give even a smidgen of it, usually finding himself in relationships that dry up before they fully blossom with people who weren’t worth his time to begin with. Not that these relationships would have gone anywhere if given the chance. That’s part of the problem. Aziraphale tries so hard to find the tenderness stolen from him at too early an age, he doesn’t necessarily look for substance. He plants the seeds of his affection in ground long wrung out, spots where rain won’t ever find them, away from the sun’s nurturing rays.

Tonight, walking alone through the city streets at a truly ill-advised hour, he’s suffering the aftershocks of one such break-up. But this time, Aziraphale was prepared … somewhat. Which is to say he saw the signs. He knew the end was coming, even if he couldn’t stop it. But instead of doing the adult thing and cutting ties painlessly, he let it play itself out, sucking from it every drop he could. And afterwards, when he’d brought home his obligatory box of random stuff from his ex���s apartment – toothbrush, shaving cream, CDs, a few shirts, underwear, the possessions that he’d used to stake his claim - he knew where he would go.

He arrives at the obscure establishment before ten o’clock, having fooled himself that he’s ready to move on even before his ex’s side of the bed is cold. He’s doing right by himself. No more leaping into empty relationships just to have his mind messed with and his heart broken.

He’s skipping straight to the physical.

This is the way to go.

But there is also the chance that he’s being phenomenally stupid.

Aziraphale has paid money for questionable things before, things that he’s looked back on and regretted, shoving them as far behind him as he could so as not to think about them ever again.

But paying to feed his addiction - he’s never done that.

The place he’s gone to, with its ornate wooden door set into the face of an everyday brick wall, looks like a day spa if anything – a rather foreboding day spa. In a way, Aziraphale had expected it to look that way. That or a bar. Where else did these kinds of transactions take place? A bordello, perhaps? He’d heard about one that operates out of a hotel downtown, but this one got far better reviews from people in the know.

Let it never be said that Aziraphale didn’t do his research.

From what he’d heard, this place isn’t only the most exclusive of its kind in London, it’s the most discreet.

Silent as the grave, he’d been told.

There is no buzzer, no knocker, not even a door knob. No indication at all that anyone is allowed in but Aziraphale knows better. He sends a text to a number he paid a hefty sum for, along with a selfie that takes longer than he’d care to admit to take, but that’s not entirely his fault. There are strict requirements for this photograph - angle, background, head tilt, etc. The phone number is one-time use. After he hits send, he won’t be able to follow up with another message, so his picture needs to be up to spec.

Each selfie he takes, he despises immediately. The first one … well, the first one always bites, doesn’t it? In the second one, his face is too fat. Chubby chipmunk cheeks and puckered lips? He looks like a frickin’ cherub! The third one … ugh! Where was he even looking? The fourth one - definite serial killer with that awkward, thin-lipped grin.

He can’t keep doing this. He has to pick one! He’s running out of time! Ten o’clock sharp the message had said! If he’s going to do this, he can’t afford to be even a minute late!

He decides that his next picture will be his absolute last. Whatever comes out of this shot, he can’t take another one. He holds his phone up at the pre-determined angle, holds his breath, plasters on his most sincere smile … and prays to God.

Just then, the unthinkable happens.

He fumbles his phone.

He’d been holding so hard to it and his smile that his fingers had begun to sweat. He loses traction, the traitorous thing sliding out of his grasp. The shutter clicks, the flash fires, and his phone makes a lyrical trill of affirmation.

Aziraphale’s stomach drops like a lead balloon straight to his feet.

That noise - that skipping of high-pitched notes that he chose at random because they reminded him of Rites of Spring - indicates that the picture sent without Aziraphale having a chance to double check it first.

“Oh … Hell!” he curses. He should have taken the damned thing at home! The glow from his reading lantern would have given his skin a soft, golden cast; made him look younger; mysterious; but he forgot that a picture would be required. In every photo he’s taken in this doorway, illuminated only by a chemical bulb above his head, he looks anemic, harsh shadows thrown by the overly bright flash elongating his nose, hollowing his cheeks, sinking his eyes into their sockets. But this one, snapped off while his phone was negotiating gravity, is likely to be the worst one yet! Instead of a solid face, he’ll look like a blur.

A middle-aged blur with absolutely no relationship prospects. Not even a cat.

Aziraphale scrolls frantically through his gallery to try and find the picture, see what disaster he’s unleashed, but he can’t locate it.

“Where are you, you little …?” he mumbles, heart thrumming so hard it’s beginning to make him nauseous. The picture isn’t in his saved file. Not on his SD card. It’s not in his sent messages. So where the frick is it!? Aziraphale has to see it, has to know what he’s done, has to know if he’s failed. Has to know if it’s worth waiting out here, or if he should turn tail and head for his bookshop. Somewhere in between bribing his phone and threatening to smash the screen to bits, the door pops open with a click.

Aziraphale’s blood runs cold, his head shooting up like a prairie dog’s on its guard.

The door.

The door is open.

He mustn’t have sent a horrifying photograph after all!

But it may not stay open for long so he’d better move his arse!

He pushes the door further and steps inside. It closes behind him the moment he’s through. He turns quickly to see who shut it since he didn’t notice a doorman when he entered.

But there’s no one.

He’s in the foyer of this large, imposing place completely alone.

As far as he can tell.

He has the distinct feeling he’s being watched.

Of course he’s being watched! he scolds himself. They probably have security cameras everywhere in a place like this! There’s nothing sinister about that! Why, he went to a thrift store not too long ago that had a security camera installed over every aisle, and the most notable item they had for sale was a velvet painting of Margaret Thatcher! Pull yourself together, Aziraphale, for Heaven’s sake!

Now that he’s inside, the place reminds him more of a bank than a spa: long stretches of empty hallway decorated in shows of old school wealth - leather chairs, ornate mirrors, glossy wood drawing tables, a long Persian runner leading him to his destination with chandeliers marking the path every ten feet or so. There’s been more money invested in this one hall than Aziraphale’s father could afford to put into their entire house, even with his lofty inheritance.

He can’t help thinking it would make the old man pea green with envy if he were alive to see it.

Little does Aziraphale know that there are two other hallways ahead of him just like this one.

Aziraphale walks through a total of three locked doors to get to what could be deemed ‘the main lobby’. He’s not escorted, but he does need to be buzzed through, the same melancholy voice asking him to repeat his name through an intercom at every checkpoint. Aziraphale marvels at the embassy-level security but he can’t help but wonder: is this a common practice at these places? No one mentioned anything about this.

What sort of trouble are they trying to prevent?

Aziraphale imagines most people might turn around at this point, go back the way they came and forget all about this place, but not him. As he approaches the final door there is no going back for him now. Not when he’s so close to what he wants.

He goes through the procedure one last time – name and then buzz. But this door is heavier, takes a bit more strength to push open. Black lighting overhead engulfs the room, creates a void that makes everything within indefinable. A few feet in, a wraparound counter fluoresces purple. Aziraphale sees only a single occupant in this room - a man sitting behind the counter who looks, from the outset, like a regular human being.

Of course, Aziraphale has never met a vampire before. He has no idea what one should look like.

He walks up to the counter, the door behind him swinging close and shutting with the same poignant click as the rest. But once this door seals, it takes the light with it, plunging Aziraphale momentarily into near complete black.

The man doesn’t look up at Aziraphale’s arrival. Aziraphale clears his throat to get his attention.

“E-excuse me?” he says nervously, his stomach flipping somersaults from his pelvis up to his neck. His voice sounds thin and disappointing to his own ears. Then again, he barely speaks to anyone from day to day. Maybe it sounds exactly the way it should.

The man sitting behind the counter – dark-skinned but with an ashy paler - blatantly ignores Aziraphale, who’d be standing practically on top of him if not for the counter between them. He flips exaggeratedly through the pages of his magazine (Aziraphale can’t tell which one in the unhelpful light), but doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Excuse me?” Aziraphale repeats, louder but still weak.

The man sniffs the air. He shifts only his eyes to address Aziraphale, looks him over, then returns to his magazine. “Wot do you want?”

“I … uh … I have an appointment. F-for a session.” Session. Is that the right word for it? No one Aziraphale talked to about this gave him the in on the lingo. “With a man by the name of Crowley.”

The disinterested man flips another page. “An appointment, huh?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale’s eyes dart around, looking for anyone else who might be willing to help him. For as popular as this place sounded, it’s surprisingly deserted. Aziraphale can’t see a single other soul anywhere. Of course, aside from the glowing furniture, it’s so dark in there – a darkness his eyes refuse to get accustomed to – someone could be standing right beside him and he might not know it. “I’m … uh … sort of new at this.” His statement is met with a silence as thick as a brick wall. He chuckles, anxiety starting to get the better of him.

He feels vaguely like he might be in danger.

If he backed out now, walked out the door, would the man behind the counter even notice?

Then Aziraphale realizes fuck! He’d probably need to be buzzed out the same way he was buzzed in. And the man behind the counter might have to be the one to do it. He has the same dry, unenthusiastic tone in his voice as the one that greeted Aziraphale at every door.

The man glances Aziraphale’s way, then blows out a breath, obviously annoyed he’s still there. “I’ll tell him you’re here Mr. …”

“Fell. Aziraphale Fell.”

“Aziraphale Fell,” the man repeats but doesn’t reach for a phone or make a move to inform anyone that Aziraphale has arrived. He gives the air another disdainful sniff and scrunches his nose, raising his magazine to cover it. “Did you have sushi for lunch, Mr. Fell?”

“Uh …” Aziraphale clamps his lips together tight, self-conscious of what he must smell like to a creature with super-sensitive olfactory organs. He did have sushi, but that was days ago. There’s no way he could still smell like it, especially with the amount of Listermint he uses daily.

“Was it refrigerated properly? Or do you buy your food from the day-old section of your local market?”

Aziraphale’s hackles rise. He disregards the feeling that he’s in danger in defense of his favorite restaurant. “I really don’t think that Hot Stone would stoop to selling day-old sushi!”

“Did you even remember where you were going when you left your house today?” the man scolds without listening to him. “I mean, have some respect, for Satan’s sake!”

“That’s enough, Ligur.” A new voice, amused but stern, says from the shadows. “If you don’t stop badgering the customers, we won’t have any, and then how will you afford your flat? Hmm?”

“Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir,” Ligur replies, barely bringing himself to care.

Inconceivably quick, their new guest goes from standing in the light to standing before Aziraphale. Ligur snickers at the move, like he’s seen it too many times before, but Aziraphale doesn’t pay him any mind. Ligur might not be impressed, but Aziraphale can’t. stop. staring.

Aziraphale has never seen such a man.

He’s never imagined a man like him could exist. He’s sure he could spend his entire life trying to think him up and still never come up with him. He captivates Aziraphale in a matter of seconds, mystifies him without lifting a finger. He’s tall, slim, and fair. He reminds Aziraphale of a prince from an old world fairy tale. In fact, Aziraphale knows just the book he’d find it in. He intends on searching for it the moment he returns to his shop (he thinks hopefully). The man’s eyes, even in the absence of light, are piercing, simmering in their depths with a light all their own.

The man doesn’t walk up to Aziraphale. He stalks. And the way he carries himself leads Aziraphale to believe he can take anything he wants with a snap of his fingers. At the moment, he’s stolen Aziraphale’s voice, his breath, practically every thought in his head.

Aziraphale’s entire focus becomes this man.

The man moves a step forward. Aziraphale takes a subconscious step back.

“I believe that you are my ten o’clock,” the man says.

Aziraphale nods, not sure if he’s expected to speak ... or if he’s allowed. “Are … are you … Mr. Crowley?”

“In the flesh. And you must be Aziraphale.” Crowley’s tongue curls around his words, the hint of an accent making an appearance. Several accents, actually. At his root, the man sounds English, but not born. But his accent is acquired, not practiced, bred from immersion. There are other touches here and there - a dash of Birmingham, a little cockney perhaps, an Irish brogue, peppered upon a foundation that sounds firmly Scottish. Lilts and rolls add flavor to Aziraphale’s name so that he feels he’s hearing it spoken out loud for the first time. Even lost in that dialect soup, Aziraphale doesn’t think it’ll ever sound more perfect than it does rolling off Crowley’s tongue. It tickles his eardrums, silently begs Crowley to say it again.

“I am,” Aziraphale says. “Aziraphale Fell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“It will be soon.” Crowley winks. “Follow me, Mr. Fell.” He smiles, teeth impeccably straight and disarmingly white. It could be a trick of the black lights, but those teeth … that smile … make him look predatory, and Aziraphale considers again if coming here was the smartest idea, especially since he did so impulsively, took no precautions. He was so distracted by his break-up, so wrapped up in shoulds and shouldn’ts, what people would think of him if they ever found out, that he didn’t tell anyone where he was going.

What if he simply disappears?

No one in his life would dream of looking for him here, and he left absolutely no clues to point them in this direction.

Regardless of the warning bells tolling in his head, new ones firing off with each pound of his heart, Aziraphale follows Crowley down several vacant hallways. The place was dark to begin with, but this section is nearly pitch black with the exception of a red light bulb here, a green light bulb there, their faint illuminations doing nothing more than throwing shadows on the walls – shadows deep enough to disappear in. Crowley walks swiftly. Aziraphale almost loses him twice, but he slows in a hall lined on both sides with doors. Aziraphale hears moans come from behind several of the doors and his heart speeds in his chest.

It slams to a stop when he hears a man scream – strained and blood curdling.

Aziraphale can’t tell if the man is screaming in pleasure or in pain.

Aziraphale points to the door. “Um … is he going to be alri---?”

“Right this way, Mr. Fell,” Crowley interrupts, opening the last door on the left. “This is my private office. No one will dare disturb us in here.” Aziraphale hesitates but decides to go inside, not because he feels any more comfortable with this than he did a moment ago, but because if he doesn’t, he might run the other way. Crowley waits patiently till Aziraphale steps in, then shuts, and locks, the door. “Now … what can I help you with today?”

Aziraphale paces the room, examining its violet walls with their black-and-white photographs mounted in minimalist glass frames. It isn’t much brighter in here than in the lobby, but it’s more inviting - the sort of space created specifically for people to spend time in together, get to know one another. A round, wooden table in the center of the room holds a pair of crystal flutes and a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket of ice. Candles cover every level surface - some thick white pillars, some long white tapers, in holders of brushed gold, and scent the air with the sweet fragrance of vanilla. Their dancing flames reflect off the glass, the constant flickering making the room appear to sway. It’s disorienting. It gets Aziraphale’s adrenaline pumping and his heart racing, which Aziraphale assumes is the desired effect.

He’d heard that a speeding human heart can be a powerful aphrodisiac for a vampire.

They apparently get off on it.

Against a far wall sits a plush, red sofa, and against another, a four-poster bed.

Aziraphale bypasses the bed (it isn’t his gut decision, just the safest seeming one) and heads for the sofa. “I … I have a problem. An addiction.”

“Go on.” Crowley strolls over to join him, each step he takes deliberate, noiseless, as if his feet don’t make contact with the ground at all, gliding on the air right above. Aziraphale watches Crowley settle onto the far end of the sofa, sitting catty-corner to keep his amber eyes on him. That predatory expression he wears moves from his smile to his eyes, which track Aziraphale’s movements with unnerving precision. “Well, I … I’m addicted to affection, a-and everything that comes with it - touching, holding, kissing, sex, from anyone who wants me, really. And I fall irrationally in love with the wrong people over and over because of it.”

“A-ha.” Crowley crosses his legs. He draws it out, diverting Aziraphale’s attention purposefully to them. “So tell me why you think I can help you.”

Aziraphale swallows hard, mesmerized by the way Crowley moves, the fluidity of limbs that would look spindly on a human but not on him. Not in the slightest. “Because even though I need companionship, nobody seems to need me. But from the things I hear, you gentlemen … do.”

“We’re not desperate, Mr. Fell,” Crowley groans, rolling his head back on his neck, his eyes following along.

“Oh, no! No, no, no! That’s not what I …!”

“We service a distinguished clientele. We have certain expectations.”

“I understand that.”

Crowley gives Aziraphale a thorough once over with eyes that burn through him, every move Aziraphale makes telling Crowley more than his words.

“What do you do for a living, Mr. Fell?” Something about the way Crowley repeatedly calls Aziraphale ‘Mr. Fell’ shoots right to his stomach and lower, twisting everything up inside him, making him feel compliant, confused ...

“I’m an antique book dealer,” Aziraphale replies.

Crowley chuckles. “Ah. So you hawk old, worn-out romance novels to elderly women wanting a tingle in their lady gardens?”

“Uh … no,” Aziraphale says with a chuckle himself because, he has to admit, he’s gotten one or two of those in his lifetime. “Mostly literature, first editions, rare texts, misprinted Bibles, that sort of thing.”

“And you make a living from that?”

“I do,” Aziraphale says, a tad uncomfortable with this line of questioning. “Not that I need to. I live mainly off the interest of a generous inheritance. I get to do whatever I want mostly.”

“I see.” Crowley’s tone shifts, as if Aziraphale passed some sort of test. “And where do you currently live?” With a flick of Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale’s hand crawls up his own shirt, reaching for his bowtie. He grabs a tail and pulls it, unties it, then goes after the top button. He toys with it, undoes it, feeling constricted, uncomfortable while it’s fastened.

“I live over my store front in Soho.”

Crowley slides an inch closer. “With a roommate or …?”

“A-alone.” Aziraphale moves on to the second button. “I live … I live alone.”

“Impressive. And your blood type is AB negative?”

“As far as I know.”

“Interesting.” Crowley moves another inch closer. “Alright. Let’s give you a shot.”

“A-and how do you do that … exactly?”

“Give me your arm so I can take a taste. Then I’ll know if we can use you.”

Crowley holds out his hand, long fingers with black painted nails motioning for Aziraphale’s, but Aziraphale doesn’t take it. He has a second of doubt, of Are you nuts!? that stays him. But it’s been so long since Aziraphale has felt truly wanted. And this man … or this creature … wants what he has to offer. Aziraphale can see it in his eyes. It’s cut and dry. No muss, no fuss, no emotions involved. Giving in should be easy. This is what he came for.

“If you’re nervous, I could always …” Crowley makes a gesture toward Aziraphale’s neck and smiles an alluring, toothy grin – charismatic, hard to resist. But Aziraphale might not be ready for what Crowley’s proposing. It seems a little too intimate.

“O-oh no.” Aziraphale rolls up his sleeve. “It’s not that. I was just … uh … thinking.”

“Oh.” That single syllable sounds tragically disappointed. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, of course. But just so you know, it’s always an option.”

Aziraphale gets a sudden image in his head of Crowley lying on top of him, licking down his neck, his fingers undoing the rest of his buttons and reaching beneath his shirt, nails scratching lightly down his skin. He envisions Crowley removing his clothes one piece at a time, marking his flesh with kisses, with bites, taking small sips as he paves a trail to his trousers. Sharp fangs slice through the threads that keep the button sewn on and he pulls down the zip with his teeth. There’s a mouth on Aziraphale’s cock, sucking, hands massaging his chest, the gentle brush of silky hair against his thighs, the occasional sting of a cut opening, a tongue collecting, and Aziraphale writhing with the sweet agony of it. He doesn’t picture himself cumming quickly, but sees himself sliding along the beveled edge, getting to that point, hanging from the crest of it, just to be sent back to the beginning, to start the process over again.

It feels planted, a suggestion. Aziraphale isn’t sure how. He’s not savvy to the abilities of vampires beside the blood sucking thing. It’s not real. Aziraphale knows he’s still dressed, can feel the fabric of his shirt sleeve balled in his fist, but he starts to sweat at the thought of it. His cock aches because of it. That’s what he wants – the give and the take.  

It changes his mind, stops him rolling up his sleeve.

“You know,” Aziraphale says, gaze fixed to Crowley’s seductive eyes, “that does sound like it could be … nice.”

Crowley grins. It’s almost too easy. “Oh, it will be,” he purrs. “I promise.”

Aziraphale scoots closer until they’re sitting beside one another, knees touching. Crowley wastes no time kissing Aziraphale’s neck, cool lips pressing against hot, sensitive skin. Aziraphale moans. God, it’s been so long. And whatever Crowley is doing with his tongue, circling the same spot, nibbling with just enough pressure to make it tingle, feels so intense, it overshadows the hand on Aziraphale’s thigh, creeping up steadily to his crotch, squeezing along the way as the excitement of kissing builds.

As Aziraphale’s heart beats faster and faster, until individual thumps are no longer distinguishable from the whole.

Crowley wraps an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, fangs lengthening as he searches for a place to sink in and drink. He finds the perfect spot and bites. Aziraphale’s eyes go wide.

“Oh … God.” He becomes rigid as the sensation of smooth and sharp assails his skin, but he succumbs to the sublime numbness and melts into Crowley’s arms. “Oh … oh God …”

Crowley retracts his fangs, licking them clean. “This isn’t really the place to be praying,” he says, inhaling Aziraphale’s scent – fresh, rich, healthy, untainted blood. The blood all vampires crave - not from unconscious drunks in the alley behind a night club or filled with preservatives like the bagged gunge they have the option to buy down at NHS Blood and Transport. But whole, pure, and willingly given.

Oh, yes – Aziraphale is an exquisite delight. A rare treat. He’ll make Crowley rich … if he can bear to share him.

Crowley might just decide to keep Aziraphale to himself.

It’s not just Aziraphale’s blood that tempts him. There’s something else, something sizzling beneath his skin that Crowley suspects Aziraphale doesn’t even know about himself. But it sends sparks through Crowley’s skin with every touch, a white light that nearly burns too hot to hold but fuck it all! The second Crowley moves his hand away and it’s gone, it makes Crowley want him more.

“I’m … I’m sorry,” Aziraphale mumbles, following Crowley’s mouth, whining like a kicked puppy when it seems he won’t be returning to the task of biting his neck. But it’s not that. Crowley has every intention of taking his time with Aziraphale. Savoring him. He wants to hear Aziraphale beg for it, beg for Crowley’s teeth buried deep into his neck, beg for the euphoria that comes with being fed upon.

“Do you like that, angel?” Crowley murmurs into Aziraphale’s skin. He punctuates his question with a nip around Aziraphale’s jugular, carefully so as not to prick it.

“Yes,” Aziraphale whimpers, his shaking hand grabbing Crowley’s knee and squeezing. “Yes, please.”

Crowley hums, lips pressed to Aziraphale’s neck so the vibrations travel down his skin. He licks over the pinprick marks, exploring with his tongue for a spot to take another bite. “You know, I think we might be able to help each other out.”

“You … you do?” Aziraphale rises from the sofa in a trance, following Crowley when he moves their soiree to the bed, preparing to make Aziraphale his own private nightcap.

“Oh yes.” Crowley lays Aziraphale out on the mattress and crawls over him, like in the vision. His fingertips creep up Aziraphale’s neck, up his cheeks, the pads coming to rest against his temples. A blue spark, an arc of static electricity, and Aziraphale’s brain fills with images that cloud his vision over so that Crowley’s eyes disappear, replaced by what promises to be a long night in this room, and all the methods of pleasure Crowley plans on using to distract him while he feeds. Skin against skin, Crowley’s hands covering his as Crowley enters him, his body possessing his. Aziraphale can already feel how hard Crowley would claim him, how sore he would be after, and Aziraphale wants it. Wants it more than life itself.

And he’s willing to pay with every drop to have it.

The vision rolls on. With every fantasized thrust of Crowley’s hips, it monopolizes all five of Aziraphale’s senses - his own moans in his ears with Crowley’s voice dripping honey underneath, the pungent smell of sweat and sex around them, the coppery taste of Crowley’s mouth, the slide of a flesh against his so smooth it feels like marble, and Crowley’s eyes - those snake-like eyes with pupils razor blade thin - watching unblinkingly as Aziraphale comes apart beneath him.

Trapped beneath Crowley’s body on the bed with Crowley’s fingertips rubbing circles against his skin, Aziraphale watches this fantasy in awe - open-mouthed and without an inch of fear. He shudders when he sees himself coming, the memory of similar sensations igniting every nerve in his body, turning fantasy into reality. Crowley absorbs every tremor, the way Aziraphale thrums beneath him, his hips bucking up in search of friction. Crowley smiles, reaches between them to start unbuttoning his own uncomfortable trousers.

And let the feasting begin.

“Oh yes,” he whispers, nose nuzzling against Aziraphale’s neck, following the pounding rhythm of his heart for a place to tuck in. “I could become very addicted to you, Aziraphale Fell. Very addicted.”

[parchmentedscrolls]

Perhaps the Biggest Illusion (is reality itself)

Fandom: Persona 5 (Royal) Characters: Akira Kurusu, Goro Akechi, Takuto Maruki Pairings: Goro Akechi/Akira Kurusu Words: 3,480

Read on AO3

“A detective and a phantom thief. Despite being enemies, your relationship isn’t based on hatred or ill will . . .” Maruki muses, leaning towards Ren.

We’re rivals, not enemies—the words were already forming on Akira’s lips when Maruki cut him off.

“That’s why I found it so tragic when I learned what happened in Shido’s Palace,” he said, eyes full of pity, and Akira’s mouth froze. How . . . how can he even know about that?

There had been no one—not even Sae knew what had happened in Shido’s Palace, and there was absolutely no way Maruki had been in the Palace at the time. The only ones present had been The Phantom Thieves and Akechi himself. What had transpired that day had been a carefully guarded secret from the public, which could only mean—

He must have found out from . . . the collective unconscious? Akira frowned—that wouldn’t have made sense, because all of the Phantom Thieves had Personas, and couldn’t mingle with the Shadows or whispers of Mementos. None of them would tell Maruki about it so openly either. They wouldn’t even have had the chance to do so. So how did Maruki—

It clicked. He didn’t find out from one of the others. Akira’s throat tightened uncomfortably. He must have found out . . . from me.

It made all too much sense—Akira was the wildcard of the group, he took in and let out Personas and Shadows with ease, gained them access to his mind in exchange for their trust and their power. Hell, he’d done it in Maruki’s Palace.

And . . . what had happened in the boiler room of Shido’s ship wasn’t something small—to Akira, at least. The memories were too vivid, each moment ingrained almost permanently into Akira’s eyes.

The cocking of a gun, venomous words spit from the cognitive Akechi’s lips; the worst words Akechi could possibly have heard in that situation—“you bastard”—as if to sum up what Akechi believed of his existence within a single word.

“So, my final enemy is a puppet version of myself . . .” was all he’d heard the real Akechi say through gritted teeth, as though condemning himself to his fate. Then, denying that choice, “I . . . !”

The sounds of gunshots echoed loudly, followed by a sickening silence.

Akira barely managed to keep himself from flinching. He could still remember the scene as it played out from behind a metal door where he was left helpless to leave Akechi to his fate, to the unfair, cruel world that he was never really given an opportunity to truly fight back against.

It was no wonder Maruki had picked up on it, in retrospect. Is he . . . going to use this against me? By making a reality in which Shido never went that far, in which Akechi was never made to target Wakaba and Okumura in the first place . . .

Akira’s suspicions were all but confirmed with Maruki’s next words: “Say, Kurusu-kun . . . didn’t you regret how things ended with him?”

Akira’s breath hitched in his throat.

Either Maruki didn’t notice, or he didn’t care. “You two came to a deep understanding of one another . . . yet you had no choice but to leave Akechi-kun to his fate.”

At this point, Maruki didn’t even bother feigning sympathy. The fact that there was only eagerness in his expression made Akira’s stomach twist with regret.

He really, really wished he had never opened up to Maruki.

Or maybe he wished he had never given Maruki the option to fidget with the metacognitive world at all. Maybe he could’ve helped Maruki with his assumptions about Rumi, or could have changed his heart earlier.

He could have helped him instead of . . . this happening.

Because really—it was Akira’s fault and Akira’s fault alone for letting Maruki get this far, for giving him the idea to mess with the collective unconscious in the first place.

A chill ran down Akira’s spine. He did his best to suppress it.

“That’s why I created a reality where you two could have a fresh start together,” Maruki finished, looking for all the world like a puppy expecting to be praised and not a tentacle-wielding manipulator of reality.

Not like he could make all of Akira’s real history with Akechi disappear with the snap of a finger.

Not like that was exactly what he had done.

Akira felt queasy.

“I’ll hold onto your glove.”

A gasp, then a chuckle. “After all this, that’s what you have to say? Seriously, you really are . . .”

That was the last thing he’d heard Akechi say to him in Shido’s Palace.

Morgana gasped. “That would mean the Akechi in the real world is . . .”

Is what? . . . Dead? No, that can’t be . . . Maruki doesn’t know that, he doesn’t know that Akechi turned himself in for me on Christmas Eve, he can’t possibly know about that—

“Get what I’m saying?” Maruki asked, all but confirming Morgana’s assumption. His expression still didn’t change when he continued, “I genuinely didn’t want to tell you like this. I didn’t want to make it seem like I’m holding him hostage.

“But no matter what you may think of me, I just want you to accept this reality and move on with your happy lives.”

Can you even . . . really call it reality?

For a moment, he wants to be selfish—if Maruki had in fact brought Akechi back to life, that would mean that the wish he granted it from was undoubtedly Akira’s.

Even if the other Phantom Thieves hadn’t clearly had different wishes that were granted in their own ways, none of them would have wished for Akechi back. None of them had ever really seen him the way Akira did.

No one ever saw Akechi the way Akira did. No one else cared for him enough to want him back.

Not even Akechi himself.

Akira’s thoughts were proven when Akechi takes this moment to speak: “And that matters how, exactly?” Akira looks at him, breath bated as he continues, “Don’t tell me you think dangling my life before us is going to have any impact on our decision.”

From the way he spoke . . . “So . . . you knew?” You knew all the time that you were, what—dead?—and you never said anything, even to me? Akira wished he could be angry, be upset, even hurt.

But he understood exactly why Akechi hadn’t said it—he’d known that Akira would probably jump at the opportunity to save him. He’d known that, and had kept it from Akira . . . because he didn’t want to be saved if he wasn’t the one choosing it.

“Well,” Akechi said, raising his left hand to his chin (a pose Akira had noted that he still made even after dropping the Detective Prince act), “I lacked conclusive evidence.” He turned directly to face Akira and Morgana, before continuing, “But after I fought against you all, I had a gap in my memory that ended with meeting up with Akira again.”

He must be referring to last month, when he came to Leblanc, but . . . then, what about Christmas?

Unfettered, Akechi doesn’t bring that up at all. “There were also the cases of Wakaba Isshiki and President Okumura . . . of course I’d find all of that suspicious.” His tone conveyed that it would have been stupid for Maruki to think that Akechi of all people could have been duped by the false reality.

“I see,” Maruki nodded diplomatically, then, “I had a feeling the truth of the matter still wouldn’t dissuade you, Akechi-kun . . .” A pause. “But how about you, Kurusu-kun?”

“Is that . . . why you came to Leblanc when you would have assumed I was alone?” Akira asked quietly. “To ask me to make a decision . . . all on my own after revealing this to me?”

He knew exactly what Maruki was trying to get him to do by doing it—coming alone, for what he’d expected would be a one-on-one conversation in which he could use Akechi as bait for Akira.

Maruki ignored the question. “‘You think dangling my life before us going to have any impact on our decision?’ That’s what Akechi-kun said a moment ago. If that’s how you see it at this point, I’m fine with it . . .” Maruki sighed. “But I’m still going to ask you, one last time: Will you accept the reality I create for you?”

Maruki wasn’t stupid. He was a psychologist, for crying out loud. He knew what he was doing, he knew that holding Akechi against him—the one person he couldn’t save—would do numbers on Akira.

And the scariest part, perhaps, was that Maruki knew just how hard it was for Akira to refuse.

“You were the guiding light to my research. You showed me the way so I could make my dream into reality. I have nothing but gratitude for you—not a single ounce of ill will. That’s why I wanted you of all people to understand . . .”

Akira hunched into himself a little, unable to meet Maruki’s eyes. If I had never done anything about Maruki’s research in the first place . . . I wouldn’t have to choose whether Akechi lives or dies . . .

Maruki, finally sensing his discomfort, stood up. “Perhaps I shouldn’t ask you for an answer on the spot like that. I’ll be going now.”

Akira’s mind was still churning, bitter and hurt by the consequences of his own actions unto Maruki and Akechi. Still, he reached into his pocket. “You forgot something,” he said dully, sliding the calling card Yusuke and Akechi had prepared together across the table.

Maruki smiled, picking it up. “Ah, that’s right. I’ve heard your calling.” Akira could sense a slight shift in the atmosphere the moment Maruki turned his back to him. “And, about my question—let’s do this: I’ll be waiting in the Palace tomorrow, just as I promised. If you still haven’t changed your mind by then, we’ll meet there. But if you don’t show, I’ll take that to mean you’ve accepted my reality.” This time, Maruki looked at Akechi before leaving. “See you.”

The closing chime of Leblanc’s bell echoed a little too loudly.

Morgana shuffled in his seat. “What are you gonna do?” he looked at Akira, concern palpable in his gaze.

Akira bit his lip, patting Morgana on the head lightly. Of course Morgana would ask; Morgana was the only one who could come close to understanding just how much Akechi meant to Akira.

Before he could answer, Akechi interrupted. “I’d like to speak with Akira,” he said, pointedly requesting Morgana to leave.

“Akechi . . .” Morgana mumbled, “Gotcha.” The cat nodded, and Akira could have sworn there was a flicker of relief across Akechi’s face—but it was gone as soon as it had come. “I’ll leave the decision up to you, Akira—let me know when you’ve reached an answer.” He didn’t wait another moment before slipping out of Leblanc, probably to the Sakura house.

And then it was just Akira alone with Goro.

Akira stood up next to the counter—next to Goro.

Goro doesn’t look at him. “I will carve my own path for myself.” His words were calm, weighted carefully. “I refuse to accept a reality concocted by someone else, stuck under their control for the rest of my days.”

Akira understood. After the hell of the life he was sure that Goro had had, he couldn’t deny the importance of freedom to him, just when he’d finally gotten it.

He also didn’t miss the hint of wistfulness in Goro’s voice. But if what Maruki had said was really true . . . “Are you sure?” Akira asks, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Goro scoffed. “Why wouldn’t I be?” A pause. “Don’t ask such stupid questions after all this time.”

After all this time, Akira parroted in his head. The same thing he said when—

The sound of a metal wall slamming down echoed too loudly in his head.

Goro relented a little, nodding. “All you have to do is stick to your guns and challenge Maruki.” His eyes narrowed a little, and Akira braced himself for what he knew would be a challenge to follow up on it. “Or are you really so spineless that you’d fold over some bullshit, trivial threat on my life?”

Something—anger, probably, with some indignation—bubbled deeply within Akira, forcing itself out of his mouth. “This isn’t trivial!” he shouted, his hands moving to grab Goro’s collar.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realised he couldn’t the last time he got this worked up over something.

Goro narrowed his eyes in a piercing glare. “It is,” he hissed, and that was the pushing point for Akira.

“No, it’s not!” he shouted—when was the last time he’d shouted?—and pulled Goro closer, leaving barely a few centimetres space between them. Somewhere, it registered in Akira’s mind Goro still has about an inch of height on him, highlighted by the way he glanced downwards to meet Akira’s eyes.

Suddenly, it felt like too much, all at once. Even though Akira was the one to initiate this contact, this closeness, he hadn’t been fully prepared for it. Goro’s silence; the tension between them; the newfound lack of pretenses and metaphors and mind games and double entendre—

It was all too direct. Akira wasn’t a straightforward person. He preferred to make concise but unassuming statements to let the person he was talking to draw their own conclusions. He stayed in the background, blending in with the shadows.

Akechi wasn’t a straightforward person either. He was more the type to say exactly what he meant under a layer of barely decipherable comparisons, making subtle but clearly pointed gestures towards his goals. This was something so wholly new to both of them, Akira was sure.

He also didn’t know how to handle Goro’s sharp gaze searing into his eyes, even through the thick lenses of his glasses. The urge to retreat, to hide away behind another mask was almost overwhelming.

Akira wasn’t used to being seen like this, like himself at his rawest at all.

Something only Goro could see, apparently.

Instead of hiding, Akira buried his face into Goro’s scarf, tears welling up in his eyes that he didn’t want to show.

“Akira—”

“Why can’t you understand,” Akira said quietly into the scarf, “just how important you are to me?” The last words were barely a hoarse whisper, but he knew Goro had heard them nonetheless.

And for once, Goro Akechi had no comeback.

Akira raised his head again, seeing clear conflict in Goro’s eyes. Not hesitation, not rejection, but . . . something akin to surprise.

“I never told Maruki my wish,” Akira admitted. “I think he found it on its own, through Mementos. I didn’t know this was my wish until now.”

“Me not being dead?” Goro was clearly trying to be sharp, but there was no bite in his voice.

Akira shook his head. “No,” he said quietly, one hand reaching up to touch Goro’s hair lightly as the other boy’s breath caught. “A chance for us to meet again with nothing keeping you away. It . . . was selfish.”

“All wishes are.” Goro’s eyes were distant, but Akira couldn’t help but feel like this was perhaps the closest Goro had ever really been.

“Akechi,” Akira said, voice barely even audible to his own ears, “what do you think . . . you would have wished for?”

Goro bit his lip. “Nothing Maruki could have granted.” He didn’t elaborate. If only we had met a few years earlier, Akira recalled, wondering if that would have been it.

More importantly . . . his hand was still on Goro’s face.

In a split-second decision, Akira lifted his other hand to tuck a lock of hair behind Goro’s ear, then used it to cup his cheek and look him in the eyes. “I . . . I’m glad you’re here now, you know?”

Goro shuddered slightly in Akira’s hands, leaning into the touch. Akira briefly wondered when the last time Goro had felt this kind of affection was.

“If I’m really here at all,” Goro whispered.

Akira shook his head slightly, moving close enough to Goro that he could feel his breath on his nose.

“I’m a bit offended you think so little of yourself that you expected me to believe you’re dead,” Akira murmured, parroting Goro’s own words from a month prior.

Goro almost shook with disbelief. “You . . . you really are . . .”

Akira, admittedly, wasn’t paying too much attention to Goro’s shock. Instead, he found himself tracing a line over Goro’s cheekbone with his thumb, reveling in the way that each touch made Goro shudder.

“Akira, this isn’t . . .”

“Please, Goro,” Akira whispered in a way that he hadn’t ever before, his voice low and desperate, wanting nothing more than to just stay in this moment forever. “Just let me have this, for now.”

“I need your own answer first,” Goro hummed softly, clearly appreciating the touch but still refusing to give into it. “I need to hear you say it.” Because saying it would make it real in a world where nothing else was.

It was one of the things Akira truly loved about Goro: how no matter what, he would not waver, under any pressure, under any temptation.

And it was because of that that he found himself saying without hesitation, “We’re stopping Maruki,” and Akira could feel tension leave Goro’s body, could see his eyes soften.

This close, Akira could see Goro’s eyes so clearly—the layers upon layers of deep russet, almost honey-coloured in Leblanc’s warm lamplight Eyes that still burned with a furious flame of determination that only cemented in Akira’s head that Goro was alive; that this, at least, could be real; that Maruki was lying.

There were barely a couple of centimetres between them now, and Akira didn’t know who moved first, but in the next moment, Akira’s lips were on Goro’s in the softest, sweetest of kisses.

Akira didn’t quite know how to describe the kiss—it was gentle, to a degree, tender and careful (dare he say, loving?), but that tenderness stoked the flames of impatience, of heavy desire., and tension melted away after so long of being apart.

It was like two halves being reunited into a single, proper whole.

It felt right, and Akira knew for sure now that Goro was alive, because no dead man could express the same amount of passion as Goro Akechi, his sworn rival, his other half, the only person who could really see him when no one else could.

Not even Maruki could fake something like that.

“Akira,” Goro whispered, finally pulling away, “this isn’t . . .”

Akira shook his head. “It’s real here, you’re real, I’m real, and I’m not giving up on you.”

Goro didn’t say anything.

“Goro,” Akira continued, “you know, Morgana said something when we defeated that false god. He told us that the whole world is a product of cognition. There’s no such thing as a ‘real world’, but what each person sees and feels is what shapes reality. That’s . . . what Maruki made use of.”

Akira took a deep breath, lifting Goro’s left gloved hand and placing it on his chest, right over his heart, which felt like it was beating at a million miles an hour. “This is real. Something that can’t be changed. Mona . . . he was alive because we believed him to be. That’s how he came back, even after the Metaverse disappeared.”

“I wondered,” Goro admitted quietly.

“So that’s why I’m so sure that after all this . . . things will go back to the way they should be.” Akira looked down, not quite able to meet Goro’s eyes, before continuing, “And besides . . . the thought of losing you again— scares me.”

Goro slowly removed his hand from Akira’s chest, drawing it upwards, lifting Akira’s face to look him in the eye. “That’s why,” he said, and Akira could feel the determination in Goro’s voice, “I will never accept this form of reality. I’m done being manipulated. If I live or die, I want it to be on my own terms.”

Akira could feel his eyes stinging as he nodded.

Goro’s gaze softened slightly. “Let’s go back . . . to our true reality.”

[icantbraintoday-tryagainlater]

You are Expendable

You are a hard working individual Pride yourself on your work You show up early and stay late You never miss a meeting or an email “We are lucky to have you, You are such a great asset to the team. With everything you do, to show our gratitude We will fire you without question.” You work hard every day Put your heart and soul into the job You encourage your coworkers, teammates Take that overtime and bust your ass You don’t sleep, you think of what You can do better tomorrow Yet you are expendable. Your job does not need you You will be replaced by the end of the day. Your job does not value you, You are a commodity that can be replaced. Your skill is teachable, Your knowledge is common. The truth is you are expendable And they’ll replace you for their financial gain.

~*~*~*~*~*~

I should have known from the 1st day of training my job as a claim associate for a Big Name National Insurance Company that I would regret my decision to apply.

I should have known when within two days of training I was pulled to the side and written up. For my neighbor talking to me.

I should have known.

So this is all on me, I know, but I thought that this company would treat me right and it was only these two bitter old employees who were about to retire.

I was wrong. I was so wrong.

the first year was amazing! I met new friends, I was great at my job, I had the best manager in the world! I was surprised that I could like working in Insurance. I was being talked to about advancement, different areas of the company I would excel at, and the right path to follow to achieve my goals.

Then She came along. Covid hit, we were all sent home, and a brand new manager took over my team. I didn’t think much of it, because honestly? She seemed fine. She was new to managing, but not new to the job. My biggest critique then had just been how much time she seemed to take off. She was NEVER there. Every other day she was taking a partial day. She took long weekends, took weeks off at a time. It was weird to say the least. 

But then the snippy emails came. The bitchy remarks.

My team suffered GREATLY. We went from being one of the top performing teams to suddenly being at the bottom. And all of these Outliers Reports that we had never heard of started becoming this huge deal.

Literally never heard of these reports, and then one week we were all on them. And it was a BIG DEAL (TM). Then we were getting in trouble for being in the wrong call states (the call states we have been told to be in for specific situations since we were trained were suddenly the wrong call states).

All of this I was willing to just deal with. But then...

Then my mom got sick. I got a call from my father at around 1 or 2PM Thursday, November 19, 2020. My mom was going to the ER because they thought she was having a stroke. I told my boss I couldn’t be at work and left for the day. Found out that it was a tumor, possibly cancer. Within 2 weeks she was in surgery to remove the mass and we found out it was Glioblastoma. The worst brain cancer.

And my friends and family kept asking “Is your work understanding? Being accommodating?” And I couldn’t say they were. They were the complete opposite of understanding.

I fought for a while to make them understand and to just ask for simple accommodations only to be met with “If you can’t do your job then go home.”

Below is a letter I wrote to HR.

“To whom it may concern,

My name is ______, and I work as a claims representative in the Auto Property Claims, Express. I am writing to you today to bring up some issues I have recently run into with the way Express is run, and I would like to discuss these with you and hopefully find a solution so if someone else is ever in my position, they are treated better.

Specifically, I would like to discuss how I was treated when I found out my mother was diagnosed with brain cancer.

I received a call on my first break on Thursday, November 19th, from my father. He told me that my mother was on her way to the ER. I immediately IM’d my manager, *blacked out*, and requested to leave, as my father cannot take care of my mother alone since he is blind. She simply said that she logged me out, and I did not think anything of her short reply.

I came back to work on Monday, November 23rd, because I had no more PTO, despite still waiting for my mother’s MRIs to come back with the official diagnosis. She was diagnosed with a cancerous tumor on her brain.  I could not afford to take time off (and also welcomed a distraction), but knew I would not be much help on phones, so I asked for tasks and waited 40 minutes for a response.  However, She simply stated that it wasn't possible for me to do other tasks - that either I could answer calls and talk to customers while in crisis and crying or miss work and not get paid.

I understand there are rules and managers cannot change our schedules on a whim; however, it felt crass that she would not even discuss an alternative. In the past I know that myself and others have been given courtesy during extreme circumstances, so I had spoken with another team manager about it, and he told me he would speak with Jessica for me.

Right before close, however, I received a very snippy IM from Her stating the following: “Just so you know, I had spoken with my boss, *blocked*, about this. And she said we couldn’t do that. And you were logged out for 40 minutes earlier today so I took the liberty of changing your T2 for that as an Unscheduled PTO.”

Those 40 minutes were while I was waiting for her response and trying to get myself together after learning horribly devastating news. I also felt very attacked and that if I were to do anything that she did not like from now on that she would retaliate against me. I still feel as though she will retaliate against me just because I went to another manager with an issue that she did not appear to care about at all. 

She has also consistently been lacking in manager experience, as well. The most prominent example of this is that she will not (or possibly does not know how to) help with personal development, either within the company nor in my current job position. When she brings up any areas where I could do better, she simply tells me “do better,” and when I ask for advice on how to go about doing so because I feel as though I am doing all I can she simply tells me again “do better." I can provide examples if you would like.

I attempted to speak about this with HR, but they simply asked why I was upset that my manager was asking me to do my job. I felt isolated afterwards, and felt as though Big National Insurance Company in general does not care about their employees in the least. Our motto is Remarkable. But my experience during this tragic time of learning that my mother might not just have brain cancer, but may never regain control or strength of her left side (her dominant side) ever again, coupled with the fact that my father only went blind 3 years ago so I now have 2 disabled parents whom I may need to start taking care of on a regular basis, has been anything but remarkable

I was told to get CIGNA to look into ADA accommodations. However, I needed the accommodation immediately, and CIGNA can take weeks, if not months, to get established. In that moment I needed to know that I could do my job while also helping my family through this horribly difficult time, and I was told to jump through hoops like a circus animal and maybe I would still have a job after, but probably would not be paid for the time off. I could apply for the Employee Grant, but that’s not a guarantee, and I have to apply for it after I’ve already lost the pay. As I’m living paycheck to paycheck right now, that would mean I would probably be facing eviction by the time I would receive any assistance. 

Accommodations were simply thrown out the window and when my friends ask how I’m doing and if my job is being understanding, I cannot say that they are. Between the points system, which punishes you for being ill or having to care for family, and my boss’s cold, indifferent, and unsympathetic attitude towards me, I feel as though I am literally just a number, an expendable employee who is simply there to be a robot. 

As I stated at the beginning of this email, I would love the chance to discuss this with you to find a solution. So if anyone else is ever put in this position, they are treated with dignity, respect, and sympathy, rather than cold, unfeeling retaliation and robotic responses. So future employees do not have to jump through hoops in order to have simple and understandable accommodations made as they work on getting the rest lined up.

You can reach me at this email, my personal email *blocked*, or through text or calls at my cell number *blocked*. 

Thank you for your time and I hope to hear from you soon.

Sincerely,

*my name*

We had a lovely conversation with my boss, her boss, and a new HR rep. But did anything change? No. If anything, I started getting micromanaged even more.

There is so much more to the story than this, but I - I just don’t have the time or energy to type it up.

Maybe I will another day.

But in conclusion - I should have known. Shame on me for allowing myself to be fooled.

[seyaryminamoto]

"and now, more than ever, I regret… a lot of things that happened while I was there" What exactly is he regretting From my understanding he didn't have a chance to chose anything in Hui Yi? And another question: "Had he been supposed to share all about his intimate encounters with her before they became intimate too? .. and she would have never given him a chance to be with her?" WTF?! Did he not tell her because of that? This was a big shock because I never saw Sokka thinking this way0_0

Do excuse my lack of patience but... are you serious, Anon?

Alright, let’s try and get creative to answer that first question: imagine someone is forcing you to shoot a terminally ill person. The terminally ill person isn’t the one asking you to do it, but they say “it’s fine, I’m gonna die anyways”. This evil, diabolical villain is cackling behind you while clasping your hand in theirs, using your finger to pull the trigger and shoot this terminally ill person!

... Are you going to shrug this situation off in the future, once the terminally ill person is dead, and say “Meh, I have no regrets because I didn’t WANT to pull the trigger so it’s not my fault they died since they were gonna die in the future anyhow”? Can you seriously be stuck in a situation like this one, where you, indeed, have NO CHOICE, and feel zero regrets over the fact that you couldn’t find any solutions, any way to fight back, not even the courage to rebel even if it meant you’d pay for it with your life? :’D

... If you seriously wouldn’t have any regrets in a situation where you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, just for some sicko’s entertainment, and no matter what you choose to do, you’ll feel like shit afterwards, I... I don’t know what to tell you, Anon. I literally wrote Hui Yi as the ugliest, darkest face of the Fire Nation: their entire source of entertainment is to be found in breaking slaves. And, up to the point where Sokka says he regrets what happened while he was there, he hasn’t been able to do ANYTHING to put a stop to the horrors in Hui Yi. So... why shouldn’t he regret that he was forced to do awful things? Why wouldn’t he? Seriously... I don’t know what you want from me. Or from Sokka. I really don’t see how it would be any better if he didn’t regret it, if that’s what you think? Do you really expect it would be easy to rationalize this as “I didn’t do it because I wanted to, someone else made me”, and forget about it forever? Trauma, I’m afraid, doesn’t work that way. You can’t rationalize it away. And yes, I would say, bluntly, that what Sokka experienced in Hui Yi qualifies 100% as trauma. Blunt, simple logic doesn’t apply to the emotions he feels about it.

So, if you really don’t understand what he regrets? It’s ALL of it. Every single time he couldn’t make his own choices, every moment spent doing someone’s bidding, every time his soul broke while waiting to die because that was the only possible chance at freedom he would ever be given. He regrets not being strong enough to fight back, to escape that fate, to turn things around and fix things for everyone else in situations similar to his own. And I’d think that’s perfectly understandable, isn’t it?

As for the second thing... well. I must say it’s just BEAUTIFUL for quotes to be taken out of context, as well as literally removing words of those quotes for the sake of painting Sokka in a worse light than necessary. Let’s see what Sokka ACTUALLY thinks in that scene:

Had he been supposed to share all about his intimate encounters with her before they became intimate too? Probably. But if he had she probably would have been just as indignant as she was now, if not more so, and she would have never given him a chance to be with her at all.

It’s honestly kinda funny: you removed the “Probably” from the ask... when that’s his answer to his own question. He’s acknowledging, despite he’s not thinking too clearly at the moment because he’s angry about their miscomunication problems, that he shouldn’t have gone forward with her until she truly understood what he’d been through and everything he’d done in his past. You could have removed plenty of other words in your ask, if the reason you cut off half the quote was because you were running out of characters, but you deliberately chose to remove Sokka’s acknowledgement of his mistake? That’s some nice cherrypicking on your part, Anon, really nice.

And of course, further proving the fact that this is, without a doubt, cherrypicking: you’re horrified because how could Sokka think something like this?! Yet... he realizes his mistake, right after that line you quoted. I honestly went back to the chapter and checked, because I was sure it couldn’t have been as bad as you were framing it... and it really isn’t :’) what a surprise. LITERALLY the paragraph after what you quoted:

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he should have spoken earlier indeed.

Then, the next one:

The more he thought of this, the more selfish he felt, and the more disgusted he grew with himself. He had never been meant to reach her and he'd always known it. He shouldn't have defied destiny as he had, let alone should he have convinced her that it was a good idea to do so. For, with every new discovery she made about him, the more she realized how broken and messed-up he really was. How was he worthy of her? In what world was he fit for the Princess?

And to finish off the quotes from this chapter, because man, I don’t even know how an entire chapter/arc’s purpose can be misunderstood to such extent, Anon...

he knew well enough that he owed her the full truth. If this was going to end their wonderful run as lovers, she might as well understand the circumstances under which he'd endured what he had. His first two years in the Fire Nation had been a living hell, and he had the feeling she didn't understand just how bad they really had been… 

Sokka realizes this could be the end of their relationship, and he knows that telling Azula the full truth might just accelerate that outcome anyhow. He doesn’t even expect her to take him back anymore. But while thinking this, Sokka decides he has to tell Azula what really happened in Hui Yi. And in the next chapter, he outright tells Azula he understands if his withholding of the truth + his late confession about it all will put an end to their relationship:

"I get it if you decide that I'm just not worth the risk after this," he said, gritting his teeth as he felt his heart churn upon the mere thought of their relationship ending. "It's… it's fine if you do. You have every right to. There's always been too much at stake, and I wasn't completely honest about many things I should have told you about ages ago. So, I won't hold it against you." 

Therefore, dear Anon... please, read the story. The FULL story. Don’t skim it. Don’t skip things. As far as I can tell, Gladiator itself answers your concerns without needing my input to further explain what’s going on. You don’t need to tell me you freaked out about Sokka having foolish thoughts like “If I’d told her she wouldn’t have been with me!” when the very story, about two seconds later, features Sokka realizing that’s no reason to shut up about his past. He feels like crap for not telling her the truth when he should have, he feels like crap for what he was forced to do in Hui Yi too... and yet, correct me if I’m mistaken about your intentions, but it feels like you’re dropping by in my askbox, pointing at these lines as though asking for further punishment for him, maybe? I honestly don’t get it, Anon.

Please... try to have a minimal amount of empathy for him? If just a smidge? Understand where he’s standing, that he’s not a perfect, flawless man who can do no wrong? He’s had to grow a LOT throughout this story, in many ways... and the best way for someone to grow is to learn from their own mistakes. Which he has. Every. Single. Time. Badgering me whenever he does something wrong, only for Sokka himself to acknowledge it’s wrong ten seconds later, and to do his best to fix those mistakes right away, no matter the cost, is honestly a waste of both your time and mine.

So... everything clear yet? Boy, I really hope so.

[living-in-the-state-of-dreaming]

Hi! I recently read your Yandere Chuuya oneshot and loved it! Spot on my dude! Anyway I'd like to request some yandere headcannons for Dazai, Chuuya, Atsushi, and Akutagawa...How would they react to a pregnant s/o attempting to escape captivity? (She hasn't told him she is pregnant and that's why she's trying to escape)

I’m. So. Sorry for the wait with this. x_x I’ve never written something to do with pregnancy before so this was more than a little challenging to write but I sincerely hope that it was worth the wait. 

Also if some of the mentioned people in these requests have longer parts then the others I’m very sorry. x_x I’m not trying to trick you out of anything.

Akutagawa Ryunosuke

Akutagawa is unquestionably merciless and cold when it comes to most things. However, the anger that comes to him when he returns home and finds you trying to escape him will cause him to be enraged. 

He will without a doubt grab you by the collar of whatever you are wearing or a few strands of your hair and drag you back into the room while your cries of pain fall on deaf ears if he’s not wearing his trademark coat. Though if he is wearing his coat then expect to be quickly grabbed by Rashomon, dragged back into the room and pinned to the bed while Ryunosuke simply stares at you with cold eyes that are burning with the silent rage and he will not have Rashomon release you until you explain yourself. 

Though he may appear composed in truth he is absolutely livid that you tried to escape him, and even if he doesn’t say as much it will be in his voice and eyes. Had he not given you everything? Everything that he had done had been for you and yet you try to escape? Perhaps he had been far too lenient with you or maybe he had been simply fooled by how you were behaving that he had allowed you to be unrestrained. After all, he had so far neglected using the chains, the collar, and the handcuffs but if you were going to continue to be stubborn and resist then he would have no choice. 

One of the many punishments was about to come your way since betrayal or things like this were never something that Akutagawa was very forgiving of, especially when it came to you. Losing you was something he would never allow. However, when the words leave your lips with fear twinged and pleading eyes Akutagawa’s thoughts come to a complete stop and for just a moment his eyes widen in stunned skeptic shock. 

Silence. For a long moment that is all, you’re met with. 

Pregnant? You were pregnant with his- His Child? 

Error AkutawaRyunosuke.exe has stopped responding. Please wait a moment as the system tries to restart and reboot.

He’s completely taken aback and unsure what to make of this news and even skeptical, as for a moment the thought that you were only saying such things to avoid your impending punishment comes to him, but the look in your eyes tells him otherwise. Both guilt and regret quickly come to him at how harsh he had been with his aforementioned treatment of you while the two words crawl up his throat and to the tip of his tongue.

Along with this guilt and regret that he has comes anxiety of what that entails and this is one that troubles him greatly. The thoughts of whether or not he is ready to be a father come and stay in his mind constantly since while he has experience with looking after Gin, a baby was a completely different matter and one that he isn’t entirely sure that he’s ready for.

After learning this Akutagawa will take time for himself, leading him to leave the room but not before locking it behind him. During this time he will use this time alone to process the news and you will likely not see him for a few hours or more.

When you do see him in the morning Akutagawa’s uncertainty will still be with him but his demeanor towards you will have changed. He will be more careful towards you and more awkward around you and this is something that is very easily seen when he brings you breakfast the next morning and his body language will seem stiffer. It will only be when you give him reassuring words or touches that he will visibly relax, before just sitting there with you for a while.

Sometimes his eyes will just drift to your stomach and his eyes will just stay on your stomach for a while, while his eyes unconsciously and noticeably soften. If you notice this and tease him about it; his cheeks will darken with an embarrassed blush and he’ll quickly look away, and while he won’t deny it he won’t confirm it either.

Akutagawa will undoubtedly grow even more protective and possessive over you the longer this news sets in, this is something that both he and Atsushi have in common. However, while Atsushi is like a tiger protecting its mate from any danger that poses a threat to them; Akutagawa is like a wolf, baring its fangs and viciously tearing apart any who dare try touching his mate. The fangs will come in the form of the glares that will be seen in his eyes if anyone tries anything with you while you are on an outing; whether it be just a walk through the park at night or to a doctors appointment and it goes without saying that whoever's dumb enough to try to lay a hand on you with ill intent; will be met by those vicious claws in the form of Rashomon, as they tear the fool to shreds without hesitation.

This is something the poor doctor who takes your appointments is not exempt from either, especially if this doctor happens to be a male. The entire time that doctor is giving you a checkup and checking the progress and health of the baby Aktuagawa’s eyes will be watching his every move and if his hands linger a little too long for his liking, his eyes will shift into a glare which will make the poor guy noticeably flinch. Honestly just see a female doctor it’s better for everyone that way. 

Atsushi Nakajima

Atsushi’s response to you trying to escape will be a mixture of self-hatred and desperation. This mix is only pushed on by his obsessive desire and need that he feels to protect you. It goes without saying that Atsushi has never felt much self-worth, he knows that you could do far better than him and that he doesn’t deserve you but at the same time he knows how horrible and cruel this world is, but that will not stop the tears from coming to and from his eyes as he begs you to stay; while he only just holds himself back from grabbing you and holding you to him to keep you from leaving him behind. There are so many people outside that could hurt you or worse! People exactly like the port mafia and he only wants to keep you safe! Isn’t it normal to want to protect the one you love?? You love him too so why won’t you let him??

Along with this mixture is confusion. Why? Why are you trying to escape? You were safe with him, he loved you so much and he’d happily give you anything. He’d wait on you hand and foot if you so desired. He’d do anything for the person who had made him feel wanted and loved for the first time in his life.

Silence would come to Atsushi as he sits next to you having locked the front door upon entering it again and this confusion and frustration will push and pull at him to ask and to demand why you tried to leave. 

When the confession comes from your lips Atushi will be stunned into silence like Akutagawa and for a moment he will just look at you with his lips parted in a small o. In that silence he will be trying to read your expression almost to see if you were lying but then again he knows you wouldn’t lie about something so big, he knew you, that wasn’t like you. 

Pregnant? W-With his baby? You were pregnant with his baby? 

Hearing this will cause his confusion to come to him again, first beginning with why would you want to leave if you were pregnant before the other questions came to his head. Was he ready to be a father??? The very thought made his head spin with confusion and concern. The aspect of being someone's father had never been something that Atsuhi had ever considered. What if he messed up? What if he wasn’t good enough as a father to the child? What if-?? All of these questions that spin around in his head will be joined by the most pressing question. What if this child inherited his ability? 

However at the end of all this one thing seems to reassure him and that’s the fierce will he had to protect you except now it isn’t just you who he wants to protect, but the child inside of you too. Even if the aspect of being a father scares him beyond belief and the possibilities that he would be a horrible father makes him incredibly nervous and worried he knows that there is nothing he can do except try. Despite this worry though, there are no words for how happy he is to learn this.

After he learns of your pregnancy Atsushi’s protectiveness of you will only increase. He is a tiger after all and tigers are always protective over their mates, especially when they’re pregnant with their cubs, however, his obsession with you causes him to be a little overbearing at times to the point where it’s close to smothering, even when you both go out for your appointments. 

Chances are that he will call into the Agency a few times from the desire and need he has to be near you and make sure that you are always comfortable, but when he is at work and on the job Atsushi’s thoughts will be on you constantly.

When at home there’s nothing that Atsushi enjoys more than being curled up next to you on the couch while you are snuggled up in a blanket that he had earlier got you while you either watch TV or just a movie that you wanted to watch. At first he was shy and extremely embarrassed to ask if he could rub your stomach; but after asking a few times even after you said yes it will become second nature to Atsushi and when the baby kicks Atsushi will be unable to keep from gazing at your stomach with both love, awe and amazement at the thought of a child made from the two of you is growing inside of you right now.

Don’t be surprised if you both end up falling asleep with his hand still on your stomach, while his free arm which had transformed into that of a tigers is wrapped around you; the action will seem tender and loving but it will also be to keep you from escaping should you even attempt to do so again.

Osamu Dazai

Given just how perceptive Dazai is it’s very bold of you to even assume that you can hide anything from Dazai, much less the fact that you are pregnant with his child. 

Out of the four of them, it’s extremely likely that Dazai would have already picked up on the signs and put the pieces together, leading him to come to the conclusion himself before you even tell him

On one side he’s hurt that you’d feel the need to hide this from him, but the other is also understanding especially since you hadn’t exactly come into this relationship willingly. 

He’ll continue to act oblivious to this fact and play it off as if everything is normal but every so often he’ll ask you while dropping little hints but never coming right out and saying it, which will lead you to guess if he knows constantly to yourself.

While he does this conflict will be occurring in himself as well. Having children had never been something that he had never considered or really thought about after all his wish was to one day leave this mortal coil and the person he desires to do just that with one day was you. Yet now you were pregnant with his child. This makes him feel conflicted as he does not want to leave this child alone to fend for themselves should he follow through with his desires; as he knows just how cruel this world can be, especially if you have to go through that by yourself. 

Maybe this child could be another source of light and warmth for him just like you are to him. A means for him to find some hope in this world that in the past has given him nothing but darkness, one that he still fights within himself and at times comes to the surface, like his obsession with you.

These thoughts continue to go around in his head as he makes his way home after finally being allowed to come home to you, however when he finds the door unlocked and you nowhere in sight one big torrent of emotions go through him beginning from worry, to panic to fear and then a rage that’s followed by the desire to make whoever took you wish they were dead; only to draw out their suffering before ending their miserable lives for daring to even attempt to take you from him. 

However, as he takes more things into account such as the lack of signs of a struggle and the lack of evidence that leads to that, Dazai comes to another realization. One that will fill him with disappointment and hurt but his anger will not fade. You’d left on your own accord, though he isn’t too worried, he’d find you. He’d always find you and the fact that he knew you down the last detail including your thought process and where you’d likely be it doesn’t take long until he does. 

Once he finds you he’ll greet you with a perfectly innocent smile but one look in his eyes lets you know that that’s just a visage and it’s not long after that he informs you that he knew. He knew everything all along. 

As much as he would love to give you one of his very creative punishments he doesn’t want to harm your child in any way and so he lets you off easily and by the look in his eyes when you get home you know to consider yourself lucky.

While he won’t keep you restrained after your little stunt Dazai’s watch over you will become more intense, and every time you go to an appointment, he is always there; playing the role as the perfect and friendly boyfriend to everyone around you, including the doctor. Should you act hesitant to the point where you begin to draw suspicion from the doctor; the look that he’ll send you for just a moment when no one is looking and the dark curl of a smirk that will appear as an all too familiar warning will quickly change your behavior like a switch as you know full well what awaits if you choose to stir Dazai’s temper. 

However, on a lighter note Dazai’s affectionate, tender and loving side will come out more and he’ll feel relieved at no longer having to act oblivious to the fact that his darling is pregnant. He’ll happily call in sick under the notion that you aren’t feeling well that morning and he has to take care of you but he’ll do this just so he can spend more alone time with you.

Your lack of energy due to your pregnancy will be something that he will take complete advantage of and a majority of these moments will be spent wrapped in Dazai’s embrace as he holds you close to him and cuddles you. He’s not the best cook and is usually lazy but if you ask him to cook you up something easy like instant ramen a well as bring you a glass of orange juice he’ll happily do that for you while making himself up a cup of instant ramen himself, before getting back into bed with you and enjoying his ramen there while you both just relax and enjoy tv. After all, since he’s been dosing your food with that sleeping medicine that he plucked off the shelf on the hospital; due to using his skilled hands why wouldn’t he enjoy every moment without worry.

Chuuya Nakahara

Please for the love of cheese give the Bitter lil Espresso kids. He really wants them, especially with his darling.

If there is ever a moment where his darling is around kids and those gentle and warm smiles come to their expression while they interact with them; a warm feeling will settle in his chest and it will only push on this desire to have them with you someday.

However when you begin to be constantly sick this warm feeling that had started in his chest once again as he found himself thinking back on it to himself will quickly change to concern. At first, he’ll think it’s just a stomach virus that’s going around but then he notices how strange your so-called virus was. You were throwing up constantly. 

As the pieces click together the longer this continues he’ll feel like this is way too good to be true, making him skeptical at first. Chuuya will ask you if you were alright in spite of knowing the answer as a means to push and encourage you to tell him but when you choose not to tell him and instead just give him an excuse that you think is believable others he’ll leave it alone for the time being and just wait until you decide to tell him yourself. 

However, while he is at work his thoughts will be all over the place from the prospect of possibly being a father and then shifting to the possibility that he was just overthinking this and blowing it out of proportion. Sure he wanted kids but that didn’t mean that he didn’t have his doubts and worries, having a parent who's in the Port Mafia wasn’t exactly the ideal parent for any child after all. Still, the thought of having a family with you is and has always been something that Chuuya has secretly wished for, but this is something that he will never admit to anyone but you.

After being cooped up inside with meetings and documents all day all Chuuya wanted was to go home and relax with you, in fact, the thought of seeing you made a soft smile grace his expression for just a moment, the smile he would only ever reserve for you. However, he comes home to find you have not only broken the window but were trying to escape out of it his blood runs cold as the smile completely leaves his expression. 

Fucking hell he thought you were over this! Instantly Chuuya will make a b line for you, grabbing ahold of your arm and pulling you back inside while being very careful not to injure you on the glass. Both hurt and seething from anger Chuuya will be seething inside as he’ll look at you with only barely held back anger in his eyes. If you don’t give him an honest answer then and there his anger will flare to the point where his ability will activate all while his grip stays on the wrist that he had pulled you back inside with. He won’t hurt you but he will use it to hold you down if you insist on being stubborn and not tell him the truth. 

When you do and the answer that a part of him already knew comes to his ears Chuuya’s eyes widen for just a moment before his eyes soften, so you were pregnant. He knew it. All the signs had pointed to that after all, but still, if you were pregnant then why the hell were you trying to leave him? He knew that your relationship wasn’t exactly healthy but everything he’d done had been for you, this was all to protect you, he loved you down to his very marrow and yet you still tried escaping? Again? After all this time?

Due to how hurt he feels over this it will lead Chuuya to become cold towards you for the rest of the night, and should you try to earn his trust again he will be a little bit suspicious at first but soon he’ll begin to relax, after all as much as you hurt him by trying to escape, he could never hate or stay mad at you for too long, those smiles and touches that you gave him made it near impossible for him to and soon enough things will return to ‘normal’ as his warm and passionate side will surface once more. 

Gentle kisses on your cheek and forehead while you sit on his lap while he enjoys a glass of wine on the sofa as you watch tv will be like heaven to him, but not quite as much as knowing that you, his queen were pregnant with his child. Even if he is busy at work he will always make time for you, if you want him to pick up something for you be it food, drink or other things he’ll get it for you on his way home or he’ll stop in when he has time for the purpose of giving you what you asked for and if it’s for an appointment to cheek up on the baby Chuuya will always ensure that he is able to make it to them.

[return-of-a-space-cowboy]

CONTROL FREAK

(Yandere Melone X Female Reader)

Every person lives a double life. Some display a different persona around different people, sometimes their persona changed with their work.

Melone may have a life beyond that of an assassin but that never seemed to change his actions. No matter what side of him you met he would always deep down be a sick, depraved and paraphilic individual. It wasn't like he could just change his thought process after the job was done. However he still just managed to live among the rest of society and blend into the crowd.

🍉🍉🍉

You were nothing special. You were just another struggling waitress that was only just above water. You had dreamed of being an actress however you managed to screw up when you performed for a production in middle school. All that you could say was there was a lose board on the stage and a large cluster of arachnid nests... However things had gone a little differently for a close friend from high school Andrew Prince, who was now a costume and prop maker as well as a make up artist for the big Italian movie productions.

Today was just another tiresome day. Bringing plates and glasses back and forth while also juggling complex orders from multiple patrons and with three of your fellow waiters and waitresses off work due to 'illness' didn't make things any better. You let out a sigh of relief as the lunch time chaos had ended and the numbers of customers declined but one of the few that had walked in had caught your attention, you remembered this man's wavy light brown hair, his jet black eyes and you couldn't mistake that Gucci handbag. It was Andrew Prince himself.

"O my God Andrew it's you" you squealed as you pulled him in for a hug.

"(Y/n) I didn't expect to see you!" He stuttered in shock

"What are you doing here?" He asked as he looked at your uniform.

"Oh no don't tell me your working here" he gasped.

"Maybe we could catch up later when I finish my shift" you said as he sat down at one of the nearby tables.

"Sure, so what time do you finish?" He asked.

"5pm" you answered. He looked at his expensive watch before replying.

"Sound good for me, I'll just grab a coffee and some cake while I wait"

"Just wave me over when you make up your mind" you said as you handed him a menu.

"Sure will"

So time went on, he ordered you served him his coffee and cake, everything was normal. You watched the clock tick by.

Four o'clock struck and the place had almost been empty. The bell rang to signal your attention to the door once more.

A tall blonde haired male walked in wearing a pair of black dress pants, a white dress shirt with a loose dark Gray cardigan over it. His long hair flowed in the small amount of breeze that passed the door. His blue eyes locked onto yours for a matter of seconds before he took a seat and looked at the menu. He looked at the menu for not even a minute before placing it down. You walked up to him.

"Good afternoon sir, are you ready to order?" You asked as you gave him a smile, he gave you a small smile in return before replying.

"Yes I have, I just want a Vienna" he responded.

"Ok I'll need right on it" you said before going to the barista and giving them the order.

You walked back to Andrew's table to grab the plate.

"I think that guy likes you" he whispered in a sly tone.

"What? No..." You replied.

"Yes, I see how he's looking at you" he said in a smug tone.

"Come on take a chance, what's the worst that could happen?" He continued.

"Your right..." You mumbled.

"Then go! Get his number!" He stage whispered.

"Fine..."

You got the blonde males drink and brought it to him.

"Here's your Vienna" you said as you placed the cup down.

"Thank you" he said with a smile.

"Umm I know I shouldn't be saying this while working..." You began.

"I don't mind, please continue~" he cooed while giving you a devilish grin, you felt your chest tighten and you whole body heat up.

"I was wondering if I could have your number?" you asked. He grin became even more suductive as he grabbed out a pen.

"But of course my darling (Y/n)" he replied which at first frightened you a little, until you remembered that you were wearing a name badge. He began scribbling down his number on a clean napkin before handing it to you.

"The name's Melone by the way" he stated as he gave you a wink. If looks could kill then this man had just made you have a heat stroke.

🍉🍉🍉

Meeting that man was the biggest regret you had ever made...

It had started of normally, you would occasionally ask if he wanted to catch up and have a coffee. The conversations started of normal. After a while be began to flirt with you, which you didn't mind but then certain comments started to creep you out but the breaking point had been when you had invited him over your house.

You had been sitting on the couch talking to him when all of a sudden he pinned you down.

"Melone" you squeaked in surprise as you felt his tongue glide across your neck.

"Yes" he whispered huskily.

"This is to fast, I don't want to do this" said as you tried to push him off.

"You mean sex" he cooed as he pecked you cheek. You affirmatively nodded.

"Oh (Y/n), how cute" he gushed.

"You don't have to worry about anything, I promise I'll be gentle" he continued as he tried to lift your shirt, you however quickly stopped him.

"I'm not ready to have sex" you stated.

"Everyone says that a one stage but trust me, it's not a bad thing. Why do you think so many businesses make money from it and don't even get me started on all of the health benefits" he rambled as he licked his lips in anticipation. It seemed like he wasn't listening to a word he said. You quickly grabbed onto the decorative breakfast tray that  was on the coffee table and slammed it into his head three times.

"Get out of my house now! I never want to see you ever again!" You screamed as you pushed him on the floor. He complied with your order and left without a trace.

You had thought that had been the end of it until he started calling you.

"(Y/n) please answer me, I'm sorry"

"I acted out of line, please forgive me"

"I promise it'll never happen again"

"Please give me another chance"

Your phone was jam packed with all of these voice mail messages daily. You had gone to the police to file a restraining order against him but the police had shooed you away telling you that he was no threat.

"He may not be a threat now but someday it's going to escalate, so many passion crime start just like this" you pled but they ignored you.

And it escalated quickly, quicker then you realised. It happened so suddenly and you had been in no way prepared.

🍉🍉🍉

"(Y/n)" a voice rang in your unconscious mind. You tossed and turned in your sleep until a hand gripped your shoulder, your eyes opened wide due to the foreign touch.

"Good morning, or should I evening" a familiar voice sung, you turned your head slowly and to your horror Melone was sitting next to you.

"Oh what's with the horrified expression?" he chuckled with a hand over his mouth. You simply couldn't speak, no words could amount to the absolute horror.

"Don't look at me like that, I can explain" he giggled as he tried to close the distance between you two. without a single thought your fist collided with his chest, which caused him to fall off the bed. You quickly jumped out of the bed but as soon as your feet hit the ground a jolt of electricity surged through your body. You body dropped to the ground and you felt something around your neck that you hadn't noticed earlier.

Melone stood up, waving a small controller in his hand.

"I didn't want to use it but you made me..."

"But now since you've given me an example I'll tell you what this is" he said as sat down in front of you.

"This thing wrapped around your Pettit neck is a shock collar" he said as he pointed to your collar.

"And this is the controller" he said as he waved it in front of your face.

"This little knob allows me choose how many Watts it sends into your body and the button below allows me to apply it" he explained as he moved the knob up a fraction before pressing the button. You screamed as your muscles had a momentary seizure.

"Do you understand that?" He asked as he gave you a bright smile.

"Y-yes" you mumbled.

"Excellent! I'm sure that you'll graduate out of the shock collar stage in no time but you must be hungry" he chimed in joy as he stood up and helped you up.

"Lucky for you I prepared us a three course meal" he continued as he dragged you out of the bedroom and into a dinning room, pushing you down into a seemingly normal chair, that was until he strapped you in by the waist and legs.

"I'm not taking my chances of having you try to escape me" he smiled as he gave you that wave of the index finger; which honestly felt more like having someone flip you the bird.

"Why the fuck are you doing this!" You yelled at him.

"Don't give me that foul language unless we are in bed, you hear me?" he scolded as he shocked you again.

"Honestly, image if our future offspring heard that language from you, their mother" he continued. Your eyes widened in shock as he said that.

"And why do you assume that we are going to have kids" you hissed, your voice dripping with venom.

"I'll be honest with you, when we first met I thought you were a strong 7.5. You were above average in most thing I look for in a woman but I felt that you lacked in self confidence and passion however when you attacked me with that tray that's when you proved me wrong and because of that you became a absolute 10 out of 10" he explained.

"What? So you just rank women like we're products!" You spat.

"No no no, you have that all wrong, I don't see any woman as a mere product... I see a woman just like anyone else" he said he placed down the controller before leaving the room.

He came back with two plates, placing one in front of you and another in front of him. You looked at the plate in disgust, it was a salad and not any normal salad. It looked like something that younger you would have never thought and most likely feared of being served to you.

"Oh (Y/n) it's just a kale salad made with pomegranates with a soft camembert cheese and a Vinaigrette dressing" said as he pushed your plate closer. You still refused.

"If you don't eat this then you'll miss out on my salmon carbonara and also the dark chocolate mouse with a raspberry compote that I made for dessert" he spoke to you like a parent trying to encouraging their child to eat.

You folded your arms and refused again. Melone raised an eyebrow before slowly reaching for the controller. Never had your mind changed it's decision so quickly. You grabbed the fork and picked up a small amount of each component of the salad before eating it and to be honest it wasn't as bad as you thought.

"See it wasn't worth all that resistance" he chuckled before taking another bite. The room became deadening silent for a solid minute.

"I think I should lay down the guidelines now that you've calmed down" he said

"I'm sure that you'll adapt to this new lifestyle very soon"