#and the whole thing ended with 1 of the security coming in to the shop to watch us remake the bowl without the egg

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 I, CARRION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: the day of the event has arrived and dazai is second guessing everything, but it's too late for him to back out now.{wordcount: 12k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART FOUR wow guys we're really getting into the meat of the fic now. HAHAH this is the chapter i had to split into two parts, initially it was going to be one big one but then it would've been a whopping 23k words and that's a bit much even for me. i didn't want to cross the 20k realm HAHAHH. anyway, this chapter really was a pleasure to write, the second scene was my favorite but the ending was SOOOO close to usurping it

GENERAL WARNINGS: again, i'll just leave this warning on every chapter - dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“Gin-chan, I’m so nervous.” 

You pace around Dazai’s penthouse anxiously, twisting your fingers in front of your body. The event is taking place tomorrow night. You still don’t have an outfit for it—Dazai told you not to worry about it, you’re still worrying about it because what does that even mean? You don’t know what to expect from the event, and Gin is evasive when you ask her about what will happen, just keeps telling you that it’ll be fine as long as you stay with Dazai.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Gin says, as she always does, still tapping away at her laptop. Glasses hang off the bridge of her nose and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. You feel a bit ashamed about constantly going on about your nerves when you know damn well she, Dazai and all of the other executives of his company have been working nonstop the past few days trying to finish preparations. “Dazai-san will be with you the whole time, and if he has to talk business, someone will sit with you until he can get back so you’re not feeling awkward.”

Somehow, you think that might be even more awkward because you doubt a random person is going to want to babysit you while Dazai is busy, but you don’t voice your thoughts, instead just withering as you circle the large room for the sixth time in the past five minutes. 

You’ve hardly seen Dazai all week. You don’t really mind, you know he’s swamped with work and you’ve been keeping yourself busy going out cafe hopping and shopping. Gin comes with you when she can, but it’s usually Nakajima Atsushi or Tachihara Michizo that joins you—Gin had introduced you to the two security guards a week ago when she’d been too busy to come with you to a cafe downtown. You don’t mind the company but you can’t help but wonder why Dazai is so insistent that someone comes with you.

Well. You can’t help but wonder about a lot of things, really. You’re pretty certain that Dazai is still hiding something major from you. You don’t know a lot about business, and you especially don’t know anything about his business, but something isn’t right. You’re not stupid and everyone is not as slick as they think themselves to be, you see how tense and anxious people get when you mention him to them, more so than the average worker would be at the mere mention of their boss, and everyone in the entire damn building is armed, even though they clearly try to hide it whenever you’re in the area. 

You and your friends have joked about the uber wealthy before, and how no one above a certain tax bracket obtains their wealth without some sort of blood money; you’re about 99% sure that’s what’s taking place here too, and it would certainly explain all of the secrecy. More so than trade secrets at least, you feel a bit dumb for that to have even been an explanation in your mind. You just don’t know the specifics. You don’t know if you want to know the specifics, you think you’d prefer to remain ignorant because 1) you definitely don’t want to have any sort of culpability, not when you’re on path to graduate school and hopefully a very prestigious job with the government, and 2) … you don’t want to face the reality of what that would mean. 

You like Dazai. More than like him. You’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that you really, truly care for him, and if you end up learning the… specifics of his job, then you’re going to be forced into making a decision you don’t want to make: preserving your future and morals or risking them for him. And you’re not going to sit around and claim to be some upstanding, virtuous person. You’re not. But you are ambitious, and you’ve had your mind set on your future since you learned how to pick up a pen and write. You’ve worked your entire life to get where you are now, slaved your way through a prestigious undergraduate school in Japan and spent months preparing for the entrance exams for graduate school, only to what? Throw it all away for some man?

God, you almost feel sick. Distantly, you wonder how awful of a person you must be for the threat to your future success to be the main reason why you’re questioning yourself, and not the fact that it’s very likely that Dazai and his conglomerate have some sort of business with Japan’s underground, maybe even direct dealings with the mafia itself. 

You pause from where you’re pacing around the room, eyes widening a bit as another realization hits you. You had thought it was odd that Dazai and Gin and all of the executives of the conglomerate have been so stressed and anxious over an event that they’re not even hosting, but what if… Your throat spasms a bit as you swallow, wondering if Dazai is about to bring you not to an event hosted by their rival, but to an event hosted by the mafia. You don’t think he would put you in danger like that, you don’t want to think he would put you in danger like that and you wonder if you’re just sending yourself down a spiral of unnecessary paranoia. 

But it doesn’t make sense. Dazai is enamored by you, and you don’t think you’re being conceited by saying that because he has made it abundantly clear. There’s no way he would ever put you in danger like that. Not unless… you feel a bit green remembering his reaction to you saying that you’d go out on your own and stay with your friend the weekend of the event. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him for a split second before he asked you to come with him. You also remember how he always makes sure someone is with you when you go out, and god, you swear you’re not a conspiracy theorist but nothing is making sense when you look at it through your rose-tinted lenses but looking at it through these lenses. The lenses of a man who is obviously smitten with you, and who might have dealings with the mafia—of course he wouldn’t want you to go out on your own because he’d be scared that you might be targeted as a means to get to him.

Oh, you feel dizzy. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Are you okay?” Gin is looking up at you, brows furrowed in concern. “You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound pathetic even to your own ears and you know Gin doesn’t believe you from the way she tilts her head to the side to study you.

Luckily, you’re saved by the bell. Literally. 

Your head snaps to the side as the elevator dings, and ordinarily, you would be ecstatic because who else would be coming up to the penthouse besides Dazai and while you’ve certainly missed him over the past week with how busy he’s been, you’re not sure if you’re ready to see him right now with the way your thoughts have just spiraled, because you think you might blurt something out that you can’t take back.

But, for better or for worse, it is not Dazai that enters the penthouse.

“Good morning, ladies,” a familiar voice croons as the elevator doors slide open. Your eyes light up as you whip around, eyes falling upon a face you haven’t seen in almost two weeks. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Albatross!” you say, excited, a smile splitting your face, because yes, even knowing about the possible affiliation with the mafia, you’re still excited to see the blonde—he’s never been anything but sweet to you, and he’s really the only one besides Gin and Chuuya who doesn’t treat you weirdly because of your relationship with Dazai. 

“D’aw, look at it, Lippmann, told you the doll would still remember me,” Albatross grins, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he tosses you a wink and then looks back toward the elevator.

Your gaze follows his, and your eyes fall upon a vaguely familiar person stepping out of the elevator and into the penthouse, carrying a few boxes. Pale hair cut into a bob, a pretty, androgynous face, dressed to the nines in a light purple waistcoat and matching pants—where have you seen him before? Wait-

“You’re-!” you begin, eyes wide and lips parting in shock.

“Walter Lippmann,” the man greets you with a kind smile and soft eyes, you feel a bit flustered, you can hardly meet his gaze. “Everybody just calls me Lippmann though.”

You try to speak, but you’re a bit starstruck—the last thing you’d expected was for a movie star to step into the penthouse. You’re looking between Albatross and Gin and then hesitantly back at Lippmann as you try to figure out what’s going on. 

Albatross cackles. “Looks like she’s gotta crush, Lippmann. Better not let the boss find out, he’ll get jealous.”

“Albatross,” you complain, hands flying to cover your hot face. “Not true, I’m just surprised. Am I allowed to be surprised?”

“Yeah, sure, doll, that’s it,” Albatross says, clearly not believing you at all as he throws himself onto the couch next to Gin, looking up at you. “The boss asked us to pick up a dress for you. Go try it on, I’m going to raid his liquor cabinet while you do—if he asks, you better take the blame.”

You see Gin roll her eyes. “You will not raid his liquor cabinet, Albatross,” she says firmly, but the man only winks at her.

You turn your attention back to Lippmann, who’s carrying the dress in a garment bag, a shoe box tucked under his other arm. He gives you a small smile and then motions for you to follow him; you’re still starstruck as you follow him into Dazai’s bedroom, pointedly ignoring the way Albatross snickers. 

You watch as Lippmann hangs the garment bag up on the closet, placing the shoebox down on the bed. He turns toward you after and says, “Try it on and make sure it fits properly. And make sure you like it.”

You nod, lips parting to speak but no words leave your lips. You look up at the garment bag, down to the shoes, and back to Lippmann and then you ask, “How do you… how do you know Dazai?” 

Lippmann gives you another gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You notice, a bit curiously, that he seems to take a moment before he speaks, as if choosing his words carefully. 

“I knew Dazai’s father,” he says after a few seconds. “I work with the Mori Corporation sometimes regarding press and political matters. Like a spokesperson when Dazai is unable to.”

Hm, you think to yourself before nodding, a movie star as a spokesperson for a corporation, that’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

Your brows furrow slightly as you try to fit the new knowledge in with all of the rest you’ve put together over the past few weeks but it’s just another jagged puzzle piece that’s not fitting in anywhere.

“I’m a huge fan of your movies,” you finally tell him, rubbing the back of your neck as you toss him a sheepish smile. “Like, no joke, almost cried when you had your discussion panel for The Good Society three months ago because it was two days before my entrance exam to grad school so I couldn’t go.”

Lippman laughs, pale cheeks flushing as he looks down at the ground before back up at you. “Honestly, you didn’t miss out. The whole panel was a mess, and the AC broke twenty minutes before, so it was ridiculously hot.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, cursing the fact that you are 1) still half dazed on top of 2) already being naturally awkward, but Walter Lippmann is Walter Lippmann, so of course he knows just what to say and do.

He nods to the dress that he hung up on the closet. “Try it on and then give us a show,” he says, winking at you before he makes his way out of Dazai’s bedroom back into the other room with Albatross and Gin.

You sigh when you’re alone again, tilting your head up to look at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what your life has become before you make your way over to the dress. You unzip the garment bag, curious to see what Dazai had picked for you, and your eyes shoot open when you see the red gown within the bag. Smooth and silky, off-the-shoulder, it’s probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon; you feel like you shouldn’t even touch it, much less put it on. 

But Lippmann and Albatross and Gin are out there waiting, you can hear them talking through the door, so you force yourself to gingerly pull it off of the hanger, careful to not be too rough with the material. It doesn’t take you too long to get your clothes off and the dress on, but when you do, you can hardly bring yourself to move away from the mirror. 

You look beautiful. You do. The dress is a perfect fit, it compliments your skin, it compliments your hair. You look beautiful, but you feel like a fraud, like a clown in a ball gown, hoping that the beauty of the dress would draw attention from the fact that it’s not meant for someone like you. 

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at your reflection. Too long, evidently, because you hear a sharp knock at the door and Lippman’s concerned voice asking if you’ve gotten the dress on.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m dressed.”

You hear the door to Dazai’s bedroom creak open but you don’t turn to look.

“I think this costs more than my student loans,” you breathe out, staring at yourself in the mirror. You smooth your hands over the silky material, eyes catching the way it clings to you perfectly. “God, where the hell did he get something like this? It’s like it was made for me.”

“Probably was,” Lippmann says from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked up into a half smile as he tosses you another wink. “Perks of dating one of the richest men in Japan.”

You let out a noise caught between a whimper and a laugh, suddenly feeling very, very out of place.

Lippmann clearly catches your sudden change in attitude and his brows furrow. “Do you not like it?” he asks curiously. “There’s plenty of time for him to send for something else.”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, voice catching. Although you’re unsure how twenty-hour hours constitutes ‘plenty of time’, but you digress. “It’s perfect. It is.”

“What’s the issue then?”

“I just…” you trail off, eyes lingering in the mirror. “I feel silly, I guess. How obvious is it that I’ve never worn anything like this before?” 

“Silly?” Lippmann asks, amused, peeling off the doorframe to make his way over to you. You swallow thickly as he straightens your posture and then uses two fingers to make you raise your chin. “You look stunning. Like a woman who belongs on the arm of the most influential man in Japan… Like a woman who doesn’t need to be on the arm of any man.”

Your face feels a bit hot as you let out a puff of laughter. “Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I certainly am not,” Lippmann says firmly, taking a step back. “You’re only getting in your head. From what Chuuya has told me about you, you’re more than suited to outwit and outclass anyone in attendance at that event.”

Your face feels hotter now, smiling as you roll your eyes. “Flatterer,” you say, but you feel a bit better, chest lighter as your gaze turns back to look at the mirror. “... Do you-”

A sharp whistle from the door draws your attention from Lippmann; there’s a lecherous smile on Albatross’s face as he leans against the frame and looks at you, glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. “Damn, if you weren’t the boss’s girl…”

Gin slaps him hard on the back of his head, glaring at him before turning a small smile to you. “You look beautiful,” she says softly. “He’ll be speechless when he sees you tomorrow.”

Your throat feels tight as your lashes flutter, a smile on your lips as you look down at the ground. Even though the concerns of your realizations from before still weigh heavily in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel a bit giddy at the thought of seeing Dazai tomorrow.

The giddiness is long gone.

You still haven’t gotten dressed.

You’re sitting at the edge of Dazai’s bed in your bra and panties, staring at the wall with your knees pulled to your chest. Your dress is hanging on the closet on the far side of the room, heels sitting on the floor beneath it. You’ve done your makeup and you put your earrings on already—pretty, dangly diamonds that are the most expensive thing you own, the last thing your brother gifted you before he cut you off entirely. You need to be getting dressed, Dazai will be up here any second to pick you up to leave for the event, but you just can’t bring yourself to put the dress on, anxiety eating away at you.

It’s not even because of the realization you’d come to yesterday, it’s because you think you’re about to make a fool out of yourself. Even if you’re wrong about the theory that you might be heading into an event hosted by the mafia and their associates, you’re still heading into an event that’s going to be attended by people who are much wealthier than you, and you already feel out of place and you’re not even there. 

The dress is beautiful, but you think you’ll look like a clown in it, everyone will know that you’re not from the same sector of life as them with a single glance. Lippmann’s words from yesterday are in one ear out the other now that you’re closer to the actual time of the event.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear the bing of the elevator arriving at the penthouse, and you don’t notice Dazai until he pushes open the cracked door to step into the bedroom. And you feel like you should be embarrassed sitting half naked on his bed, rather than being dressed and waiting for him, but you can’t muster it, eyes dragging up from the wall to land on his concerned expression. 

And he’s a sight, you think. He’s so handsome. Absently, you think he might be more handsome than the last time you saw him but you think that’s a bit ridiculous because he hasn’t changed at all. He’s wearing the same long black coat and burgundy scarf, but the sleek, dark suit he wears beneath it is different, more expensive than all of the others that he’s donned the past few months you’ve known him. 

His lips are turned downward as he approaches you, placing a blue box down on his dresser, dark eye soft with concern, and you also can’t help but notice that he still wears the bandages around the upper left side of his face, covering his eye. You want to know what’s beneath them desperately, but you can’t bring yourself to ask, hoping that he’ll show you on his own terms.

He stands in front of you, and you rest your chin on your knees as you stare forward, staring at his abdomen instead of looking up at his face. But he doesn’t let your gaze linger there, bringing his right hand to cup your cheek so he can gently lift your face upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can feel the rough edges of his bandages scraping against your skin, and you instinctively lean into his touch. You try to remind yourself of all of the realizations you’d come to yesterday, tell yourself to not be as at ease with him, at least have some semblance of your guard up, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you softly, letting you lean into his touch as he brings his other hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

And you feel selfish, you realize, as you try to figure out what to tell him. You can’t even fathom the amount of money he spent on your dress and the shoes, and here you are being a baby because you’re self conscious. You don’t even want to reply to him, so you try to turn your face away but he doesn’t let you.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. “I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

“It’s silly,” you finally breathe out, averting your gaze to the ground as you let your eyes flutter shut, turning your face in his hand to kiss his palm before leaning back into it. “I’m being a baby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not silly if it has you upset,” Dazai tells you, and he kneels down in front of you to catch your gaze again and briefly, you think it’s absurd that you have such a powerful man at your whims like this, kneeling before you, willing to do anything to make sure that you’re content and happy. It makes your throat swell a bit, those inferior feelings rising back to your chest with a vengeance, because what the hell did you do to deserve this? There’s nothing special about you. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help.”

“I just don’t understand.” 

Oh my god, your voice cracks, you can feel your eyes go a bit misty, and instantly, Dazai’s concerned gaze is narrowing, as if trying to calculate what exactly is the source of your distress so he can remove it, and it only makes you want to cry more because what did you do to deserve all of this? 

If you’re right about all of the assumptions you made the other day, and Dazai is bringing you to this event even though by all means he should not because there’s likely going to be a lot of shady business occurring that could incriminate him and all of the other people at this event, then why? Why would he risk that just for a girl he met a few months ago? You can’t fathom it.

God, you know better than anyone the effects imposter syndrome can have on a person in school, but the last thing you expected was to be dealing with it in love too.

Love, the word makes your stomach churn because you do love him, you realize, as he stares up at you desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong so he can fix it. And how scary is that, considering only twenty-four hours ago you came to the realization that he’s very likely involved in the underground, in some way or another, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you’d have to choose between your future and a man. But he’s not just a man, he’s a man that you love in spite of everything you’ve put together.

A tear spills over your cheek and Dazai’s gaze becomes alarmed as he instantly wipes it away with his thumb before caressing your cheek gently. 

“What don’t you understand?” he presses quietly. “Talk to me.”

Where do you fucking start?

You want to cry even more but you force yourself not to, you can’t afford to let your makeup get anymore messed up than it already is. Instead you sniffle a bit and try to blink away the tears. 

“This,” you finally say, and your voice cracks again, you take a wet breath. Dazai’s lips part a bit, as if he wants to speak but he’s not sure what to say, brows furrowing. “There’s nothing special about me, Dazai, and I don’t understand why you’ve gone to the lengths that you have for me. Meeting me at that club every Friday as if you’re not always swamped with work, indulging me whenever I want to do things. You gave me a place to stay after only knowing me for a few weeks, gave up your own room, your own bed, so I could be comfortable while you slept at your desk. You’ve made sure people are always with me so I never get bored or lonely. You’ve given me literally everything I could possibly ask for and I’ve just been freeloading off of you for two and a half weeks now. Now, I’m going to go with you to this event and end up embarrassing you because I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else there. They’ll know I don’t belong there and I just-”

You cut yourself off, and you want to avert your gaze from Dazai’s but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you watch as something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. He takes one of your hands into his and brings it up to his lips, eye sliding shut for a moment as he kisses your knuckles. You let out a shaky puff of air as his lips linger for a moment before he looks up at you again through his lashes.

“Let me help you get dressed,” he murmurs, and you look down at the ground now as you nod, letting him help you to your feet and lead you over to where the dress is hanging up on the closet door.

He pulls it off the hanger and guides you into it, pulling it up and adjusting it so that it covers you properly. He steps behind you, and you realize that he also has you standing in front of the floor length mirror set up on his closet door. You sniffle a bit again as you look at yourself in the mirror. 

Your makeup looks a bit smudged beneath your eye from the tears gathering at your lash line, but somehow, you still look beautiful. You think it’s only because of the dress, the way it clings to your body so nicely and brightens all of your features. You take in another shuddered gulp of air when you feel Dazai begin to zip up the back of your dress slowly, each brush of his fingers against your skin lights your nerves on fire, and once he finally has it zipped to the top, he kisses the nape of your neck, hands falling to your hips to caress them gently. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean back against him, his comforting hold settling your turbulent emotions.

“I met you at the club every Friday because you were the only relief I had from reality,” he finally says, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds you. “I indulged your requests because I was indulging in you myself. Every moment I spent with you, I allowed myself to be Dazai Osamu, the person, and not the… Not what I’ve had to become to keep this organization running.”

Your breath catches, lips parting at his words but no sound escapes them. He kisses the nape of your neck one last time before he moves to stand in front of you, kneeling down again as he grabs one of your heels and undos the buckle. You watch with bated breath as he lifts your left foot from the ground to kiss your ankle before sliding the heel on, deft fingers fasting the clasp. 

“I gave you a place to stay because I was selfish and I wanted you around more,” he sighs, resting his forehead against your knee now as he lingers there for a moment before moving on to repeat the process with your other foot, kissing your ankle and slipping the heel on. He continues, “Likewise, I have kept you surrounded by people because I have been desperately afraid that you’re going to get bored and want to leave because work leaves me little time to be around. Unfortunately, I’m not the generous person you’re making me out to be, I’m horribly self-serving and greedy, especially when it comes to you.”

He looks up at you now from where he’s kneeling in front of you, gaze searching your face. You want to reach out and cup his cheek, so you do, and immediately, he’s turning his face to kiss your palm just as you’d done to him before letting his eye slide shut as he leans into your touch, as if basking in it.

“I would give you anything you want,” he admits softly, keeping his gaze shut as he holds your palm against his face. “Anything. And if it was something outside of my reach, I would make it in my reach. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no lengths I wouldn’t go to and no lines I wouldn’t cross.”

You think your lungs might be burning, you don’t think you can breathe as you stare down at him, heart thudding in your swelling chest, tears building in your eyes again but this time not out of insecurity. Dazai finally rises to his feet after placing one last kiss upon your knuckles, and he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over to the dresser where he’d placed the blue box. 

You don’t move, watching as he opens it and pulls something out before making his way back over to you, standing behind you. He looks at you through the mirror as he lifts his hands to place a glittering diamond necklace upon your collarbone. You can’t breathe again, you realize, it’s cool against your skin and you think it might be the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon, dozens upon dozens of white diamonds shimmering in the mirror in front of you. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he clasps it onto you. 

“You are beautiful,” he says, voice so raw that you almost shiver at the intensity of it. His fingers brush your hips as if he’s afraid to touch you. “You are beautiful, and intelligent, and everything I have ever wanted. You deserve so much more than me, more than you’ll ever be able to understand, and I’m sorry that I’m not a good enough man to do what’s right and let you go. The last thing you should ever be doubting is this.”

His eye slides shut again as he lets out a soft puff of air, the warmth fans across the back of your neck and you think you could spend forever in this moment with him, wishing that you could freeze time. 

“You said that you thought it was fate that brought us together,” he finally finishes, voice quiet as he references what you told him the first time you met. “Don’t ever doubt your place with me. Wherever I am, you belong, whether it’s a club, or an apartment, or an event.”

“I thought you hate the idea of fate,” you say, voice a bit choked as you try to force the tears back again.

“I do,” he affirms, “but if fate brought us together, then far be it from me to deny the one thing in this world that has ever made me happy.”

You love him.

You feel sick to your stomach—be it from butterflies or the implications of the realization. The words threaten to burst from your lips but you swallow them, instead, another tear trails down your face and he sees it through the mirror, lifting his hand to wipe it away before leaning a bit over your shoulder to press his lips to your jaw.

“I’m ruining my makeup,” you rasp, letting out another shaky breath.

He smiles against your skin.

“You’ll be beautiful still,” he murmurs before pulling back, admiring you for a moment before he asks: “Are you ready to go?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say, a bit breathless. “I’m ready.”

“Everyone is staring at us.”

You’re not wrong, exactly. As soon as the two of you had entered the room, all attention was sent your way, and though the music was loud enough to drown out most chatter (intentional, of course, so unsavory ears can’t overhear even more unsavory dealings), Dazai couldn’t help but notice the hush that spread through the room at the sight of you. The boss of the Port Mafia with a date on his arm was certainly a sight to behold to all of the rest of the occupants of the event hall,.

“Can you blame them? You look beautiful,” he says, voice laced with a teasing edge that is certainly not matched in his expression. Dazai knew people would be looking at you if he brought you here. Still, he wants to gouge their eyes out. 

His arm tightens around you as he tucks you into his side, cold gaze sweeping across the massive event hall. At least two hundred people are attending Nabokov’s event—an even mixture of pharmaceutical tycoons, technology barons, politicians and mafiosos. 

At first glance, he recognizes four different mafias in attendance. 

Mishima Yukio of the Sun and Steel stands by one of his associates, the president of Mitsubishi Chemical Group; the man’s dark eyes card over Dazai with lazy interest, before his head tilts to the side as he studies you.

Dazai thinks that the Sun and Steel might be the Port Mafia’s only allies in attendance, and even then, allies might be taking it too far. The extent of Dazai’s dealing with Mishima was a general agreement to not encroach the Sun and Steel’s monopoly over the narcotics industry—which Dazai never intended on doing anyway because the industry is far more trouble than it's worth—and an unspoken promise to protect Japan’s underground from foreign mafias. 

Dazai wonders if that unspoken promise still holds or if the Russians have cut a deal with him. 

Nabokov’s Pale Flame, obviously, is in attendance, along with the remnants of Leo Tolstoy’s Three Deaths. Tolstoy himself is sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand as he leans back on the stool, gaze focused on you. Nabokov is off to the left, making his way across the room to greet Dazai, a curious expression on his face. Dazai recognizes Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber sitting near Kitazawa Michihiro of Fuji Electric, one of the Port Mafia’s closest associates; and Dazai thinks that might be a bit foreboding, both because of the presence of the Chinese and the company he’s keeping.

Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead is nowhere to be seen, but Dazai knows that they’re here. Somewhere. He just has to find him—and he will.

More eyes are on you than him, and although that was to be expected, Dazai can’t fight the doubt that suddenly swirls in his chest, wondering if he’d made the right decision. If you hadn’t been on people’s radar already, you definitely are now, and the thought makes him a bit sick to his stomach. He tries to console himself with the fact that this was the lesser of two evils—the mere chance of you being on the radar of any of the mafias in this room, no matter how slim it might be, was not something he could gamble with. There was no way he could let you go out alone and unprotected. People like them, people like him, would jump on the chance to take advantage of the weakness and he couldn’t let that happen. 

But is this really any better? 

He’s thrown you into a pit of snakes, and you’re ignorant to all of the threats around you. His gaze drifts back down to you, catching the way your brows are knit together slightly, the way your lips are pressed in a thin line. There’s an indecipherable look in your eyes as your gaze shifts over the room, and Dazai wonders if you know more than you’re letting on. That’s another scary thought, but he can at least find comfort in it for now because it’ll have you keeping your guard up around these people. He’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.

He dips his head down to your ear, speaking quietly before Nabokov finally reaches him: “Just follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

The look you shoot at him is nothing short of withering, and Dazai can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of his lips as he lifts his head back up to subtly brush his lips against your temple. He catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye and any softness that might’ve been visible in his expression washes away instantly.

“Dazai,” Nabokov greets, beady eyes flickering between you and Dazai, partially curious about you and partially nervous about Dazai. Dazai tilts his head to the side, becoming increasingly more unamused the longer Nabokov’s gaze lingers on you. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to apologize for not being able to attend our planned meeting a few months ago.”

“So I heard.” Dazai’s voice is short and distant, more focused on the feeling of you tucked into his side than the conversation at hand. He has to force himself to keep his gaze steady on Nabokov, wanting to look down at you, but he contents himself with letting his hand slide down to your hip, rubbing absent circles against the silky material of your dress. 

Nabokov fumbles over Dazai’s clipped response, a bead of sweat gathering at the corner of his forehead. He wishes he could peer into your head and see what you’re thinking, about him, about this, about everything. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get through the night without you realizing who he is, what he is, and that thought scares him because he thinks that maybe he should have been the one to explain it to you, so he could at least try to paint himself in a better light. Although, he’s not sure what sort of light would make anything about him look better.

“Who is this?” Nabokov finally asks, turning his attention toward you. Dazai doesn’t like the way he looks at you, eyes raking over you like you’re a piece of meat.

“My partner.” To Dazai’s credit, his voice is much smoother than the turbulent emotions in his chest would suggest. “Where is your wife, Nabokov?” 

Nabokov doesn’t even respond to the question, laughing loudly. “Never thought I’d see the day you found yourself a lover, Dazai,” he chuckles and then holds his hand out to you. “Vladimir Nabokov.”

You shift a bit to take his hand, but Dazai is faster, lithe fingers wrapping around Nabokov’s wrist in an agonizingly tight grip. Nabokov winces, Dazai’s face is cold as he stares down at the man.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns, keeping his voice low. 

Vladimir Nabokov. Invitation to a Beheading. An ability that grants its user to draw a target into an interdimensional space through physical touch—Dazai isn’t sure what the space entails because no one has ever left it alive.

Nabokov tries to laugh it off, weaker this time as he takes his hand back and shakes out his wrist. “My, Dazai, possessive, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Dazai agrees idly. “Be sure to remember that.”

Nabokov gives him another wavering smile, and Dazai can’t help but wonder how Dostoevsky could have possibly thought anyone would believe the man could head the tripartite alliance of the Pale Flame, Three Deaths, and the House of the Dead. Anyone with half of a brain would know that Dostoevsky is behind their union. Maybe that’s what he wanted, Dazai notes absently as he watches Nabokov’s gaze flicker to the upper left corner of the room. Dazai follows it to where a camera is positioned, encompassing most of the event hall. 

The smile on his lips is nearly as chilly as the air-conditioned room around him.

There you are. 

Dazai’s gaze cuts back to Kouyou, who’s standing a few feet behind you and Dazai with Chuuya, Ace and Piano Man. The woman inclines her head in recognition of his silent order as she fans her face lightly, taking a step away to make a call to Hirotsu, who should be stationed around the building with the rest of the Black Lizards by now, prepared to move in at the first sign of danger.

Nabokov looks as if he’s going to speak again, which inclines Dazai to believe that he’s seeking something out in particular for Dostoevsky, and from the way he keeps glancing at you, Dazai assumes it has to do with you. So as the man's lips waver, eyes darting as he tries to formulate another conversation opener, Dazai speaks before he can get the words out.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, voice cold and clipped as he all but dismisses Nabokov, who flushes a bit, nodding and apologizing before stepping away. 

Dazai realizes that he probably has not prepped you enough for this event, but in his defense, he’s been swamped with his own preparations and how is he supposed to prepare you when he can’t even fully explain all of the dangers? But now, it’s making him anxious, because at some point tonight he’s going to have to step away from you to meet with Nabokov in one of the backrooms, likely with Tolstoy, Cao, and Mishima. Dazai’s executives will have to be there with him, and Tachihara is supposed to slip from the shadows to join you while you wait for his return, but there’s likely going to be at least a good two to three minutes where you’ll be alone until Tachihara can get to you. That’s assuming he doesn’t get caught up on the way over.

He needs to talk to you, at least warn you about the ability users attending the event so you don’t accidentally stumble into a potentially lethal situation without him around.

If he goes to the bar, Tolstoy will take advantage to try to sweep you into a conversation, picking up right where Nabokov left off. If he goes off to the left side of the room, Cao will make his way over to interrupt. If he goes off to the right side of the room, Mishima is there. The only place… Dazai inhales as his gaze focuses on the massive dance floor of the event hall, dozens of couples are spinning around already, and it will be loud enough there for the music to drown out his conversation with you from unwelcome listeners. 

He turns his attention to you, holding his palm up and tucking one arm behind his back as he asks lightly, “May I have this dance?” 

Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, seemingly hyper aware of all of the hungry, curious glances of the other attendants directed your way, but he’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes glitter beneath the chandelier’s lights, and the way your dress clings to your body, and the way a soft smile tugs at your lips. He thinks that even if you hadn’t entered the event on his arm, all of the room’s attention would be on you still, because you’re beautiful, and captivating, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he managed to pull you in one lifetime, much less all of them. 

You place your hand in his and Dazai guides you across the floor, intent on finding the perfect space. It’s hardly obvious the way that the other people on the dance floor would inch away as the two of you passed by, intent on staying out of Dazai’s way and letting him have whatever space he wants, but you pick up on it, he thinks, seeing the curious look in your eyes as your gaze sweeps around the people around you. He bites back a sigh, because he’s sure that you’re tallying everything up in your head trying to put it all together, and once you get that final puzzle piece, everything will be over.

His chest sinks at the thought of losing you, but he forces it away. He has to focus on the situation at hand because even a single slip up could be fatal—not only for him, but for you too. As soon as he reaches a suitable spot on the dance floor, he tugs you a bit closer to him, hands sliding down to your waist. Your own arms instantly come up to loop around his neck as you look up at him through your lashes and Dazai suddenly feels breathless, vision tunneling and heartbeat stuttering at the way you look at him.

God, how is he supposed to focus with you around? He can hardly concentrate on anything but you. He’s flying too close to the sun. Has been since the moment he met you. Drawing you into his life and keeping you there, now bringing you here, so many gambles, too many gambles… the heat is scorching, and it’s only a matter of time before his wings burn. If he was smart, he’d let you go so that you don’t burn with him, but his fingers only bite deeper into your waist at the thought.

The music is slow, and the two of you sway in tune to it. The other couples give a wide berth, some casting wary looks at Dazai, ones that he’s sure you’re catching. He doesn’t know where to start, or how to start; what does he tell you that doesn’t condemn him? Luckily, he doesn’t have to start the conversation because you do, for better or for worse.

“Was that man the rival that Gin mentioned?” you ask curiously, and Dazai can’t help but notice there’s a strange look in your eyes as you ask it, one that he can’t place.

He hesitates, but then says, “No. He wasn’t. I haven’t seen him yet.”

You hum lightly, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. But his eyes narrow when he realizes that you don’t look the slightest bit surprised by his answer. 

“You knew that already,” he accuses lightly, and he forces himself to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in his throat because if you figured that out on your own already, what else have you figured out? God, he knew this was risky, you’ve always been ridiculously perceptive—he just needs to get through tonight without you putting everything together, then he’ll be fine.

“I suspected it,” you finally affirm his accusation, gaze searching his face. “He was nervous talking to you. If he was your rival, I’d expect him to be a bit more… assured. And he kept looking up toward a camera, like he knew someone was watching that he’d have to answer to.”

Oh, you did pick up on a lot more than he expected. He doesn’t think that the smile he gives you quite meets his eyes, if the way your brows furrow have anything to say about it, but he distracts you by bringing his hand up from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “That’s my girl, always so smart.”

Your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze, a tell tale sign of you being flustered. His lips quirk up into a more genuine smile, hand dropping back down to your waist. He can do this, he tells himself, he just has to be careful, tell you enough to make sure your guard is up and you know to at least some extent that the people in this room aren’t to be trusted.

“There are a lot of ability users in here,” he finally warns, careful to keep his voice low even with the music covering his words. “Do your best to keep your distance from people. I’ll stay with you as much as I can, but I’m going to get pulled away sooner or later. Chuuya or Piano Man will stay with you when they can, and if they’re pulled away, Tachihara is going to come down to stay with you.”

“... That’s why you didn’t let him shake my hand,” you say, realization flashing through your eyes, another puzzle piece fitting behind your eyes and Dazai has to be careful because it’s only a matter of time before you’re given that final piece and everything comes together. “What’s his ability?” 

“... Nothing good,” he answers after a few moments of silence, but you’re not content with that, brows furrowing. He sighs. “No confirmation on it, we only know it’s lethal. Many are in here.”

Your eyes widen and then you look a bit skeptical. “And you think they would use it here? In public?” you ask slowly.

To Dazai’s horror, it is not skepticism tainting your tone, but rather, you’re fishing for information, trying to put more pieces together, and he doesn’t have much choice but to give you answers because he can’t risk you setting your guard down even for a second.

He chooses his words carefully. “... There is little they wouldn’t do to get ahead in our business.”

“Hm,” is all you say in response, something akin to understanding flashing through your eyes and Dazai dreads to know what his answer has just told you. He feels distinctly like he’s playing chess against an opponent he did not anticipate and he’s at a disadvantage because the opponent is you. He can feel your shoulders slump suddenly, an unfamiliar expression crossing over your face; you look tired, as if you’d aged twenty years in a matter of seconds. “What did you get me involved with, Dazai?” 

You say it so softly that Dazai barely hears it himself, and he knows. He knows that you’ve figured something out, he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t want to know what. He wants to evade it as long as possible, because the moment he has to have this conversation with you, he knows he’ll lose you. He can’t think about that now, it’ll throw him off and this is the last place he can allow himself to be thrown off.

Instead, his grip on your waist tightens again, gaze averting down toward the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. The words weigh heavy on his tongue, not just an apology for tonight but an apology for accepting your offer for a drink two months ago, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to let it be a single night of indulgence; an apology for seeking you out again afterward, knowing that he would be sentencing you to death.

He feels sick. 

What is he doing?

Why are you here?

What has he done?

“Dazai.”

You say his name but Dazai hardly hears you. God, he can feel it happening, where his fingers are pressed against your body, the skin suddenly goes cold and stiff, his surroundings are blurring, the people fading into the background. This isn’t the place. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Mishima. Cao. He can’t lose himself, not now, but his grip on reality is starting to waver, the pages pile around him. 

“Dazai.”

What has he done?

Everything he’s planned for, seven years of careful calculations and planning gone down the drain. How does he even fix this? Can he fix this? His mind races, but he’s not even sure he’s thinking coherent thoughts, trying to ground himself to the present because he needs to stay here, he can figure out how to fix it later, when you’re not in danger but-

His vision swims. Not now. He can see it—he can see you. Still on the ground. Sometimes there’s blood, so much that he can hardly recognize you (but he can, of course, he can always recognize you, even when your body is littered with more gaping wounds than not). Sometimes it looks like you’re sleeping, so much so that Dazai kneels next to you, begging you to wake up (he knows in his heart that it’s futile. he can’t stop himself from trying). His head spins, he loses track of where he is and then-

“Osamu.”

His breath catches, gaze zeroing in on you. You. Alive. Your brows are furrowed in concern, searching his face to try to draw him back to reality. He thinks his grip on your waist must be painful but he can’t bring himself to loosen it at all. He stares at you, still desperately trying to keep himself grounded because although you’ve brought him back mostly, the corners of the pages still linger in the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him again.

“You can’t leave me,” you tell him quietly. “You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow.”

Oh.

He lets out a breath, slow and maybe a bit more shaky than he would’ve liked, but he tries to focus on the situation at hand. He loosens his grip on your waist, rubbing a gentle circle over your hip in an apology.

His gaze drifts around the room, Nabokov is in deep conversation with Cao, hardly paying attention to anything going on, but Cao’s sharp, dark eyes are pointed over Nabokov’s shoulder, scanning the dance floor. He’s looking for someone—not Dazai, which is a bit worrying, and he becomes all the more attentive to everyone in the vicinity, trying to make sure none of the Red Chamber’s assassins made it through the security. If any organization would be able to pull it off, it would be them. 

Once he’s decided the coast is clear, he turns his gaze back to the bar. Tolstoy is looking at him—blue eyes sharp, blonde hair hanging in them, a curious expression on his face as he sips at his drink and watches as Dazai dances with you. As soon as Tolstoy notices Dazai has caught him, his lips curl up into a smirk and he raises his drink. Dazai’s expression is cold as he looks away, seeking out Mishima only to find the man nowhere to be found.

Hm.

Chuuya and Kouyou are entertaining idle conversation with two executives of the Sun and Steel, both keeping a sharp eye on where you and Dazai sway on the dance floor. Piano Man is entertaining several politicians, doing a good job at ensuring that none of the other foreign executives get any chance to get their ears. Ace, Dazai notes, is in deep conversation in the shadows with one of the executives of the Three Deaths. 

Interesting.

He finally draws his attention back to you, a small smile on his lips as he recalls what you’d said to drag him from his spiral.

Osamu,

“You called me Osamu,” he murmurs, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he focuses on that instead, trying to ease himself back into reality. Technically, he’s heard you say his given name before. Well. Not technically. It was never you and it was never him, rather it was vague memories of other yous and other hims, but it was nothing in comparison to hearing you actually say it.

You look embarrassed, averting your gaze. “I didn’t know how to get your attention, I’m s-”

“Say it again,” he whispers, lifting his hand back up to your chin to tilt your face back up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, watching the way you can hardly hold his gaze. You look hesitant, so he continues with, “Please.”

“... Osamu,” you say again, breathless, and god, Dazai wishes the two of you were anywhere but here. He wants to press you back against his bed, run his lips up and down your body, map out all of your curves with his hand. He wants to watch you come undone on his tongue and on his fingers—he wants you, he wants you more than anything else in the world. Every time he’s tried to take the next step with you the past few weeks, he either got interrupted by work or he ended up getting cold feet, nervous about making a mistake. 

Before his thoughts can spiral even more, the music picks up to a faster paced waltz. Your eyes widen, watching as all of the other couples shift into the respective dance. You look up at him, a bit panicked, clearly not sure what to do, and his lips curl up in amusement, beckoning you to lace your fingers with his to take the stance the other couples were taking.

“I don’t know this da-” you begin, voice hushed.

“Just follow my lead,” he repeats the same words he spoke to you when they entered the hall. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

You exhale, studying his face for a moment before sighing and mimicking the stance the other women took with their partners. He can feel your fingers wavering against his as he interlocks your fingers and he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he tells you, just as the music finally picks up for the dance to start. 

He thinks you’re worried for nothing. You moved smoothly in line with him and in tune with the music, gliding across the dance floor as if you’ve danced with him hundreds of times before, your body so in sync with his that the two of you put all of the other couples to shame. Not that any of them matter, of course, you’re all that Dazai can focus on. Your eyes never leave his, not even for the sparest of moments, and Dazai feels like he’s caught in a trance, lost in your eyes and the feeling of your body so close to his, hyper aware of the way your your hand rests on his shoulder and the way your fingers are wrapped tight around his.

God, there’s something so otherworldly about you. Doesn’t know if it’s heavenly or supernatural, if you’re his angel sent to lead him to salvation or his very own siren singing a sweet melody to lead him to ruin. Doesn’t think he cares either way—salvation, damnation, none of it matters as long as he has you.

“Not so bad, hm?” he murmurs, sweeping you out into a spin before pulling you back to him, closer this time. He can feel your chest brush his and he prays you can’t feel the way he’s lost control of his heart, painfully cognizant of the erratic thumping. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, holding you close to him. He could stay in this moment forever, surroundings drowning out; all he can see is you, all that matters is you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Not so bad.”

His lips part to respond but he’s interrupted when he sees movement from the corner of his eye, freezing.

“Dazai.”

Dazai stiffens as a familiar voice speaks from behind him, shifting to stand partially in front of you as his gaze cuts to the side to see Mishima’s familiar figure standing a few feet away. Turning to face him, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“I’d like to speak to you before we meet with Tolstoy, Nabokov and Cao.”

Mishima’s voice leaves no room for argument, dark eyes absent of any emotion as he waits for Dazai to follow him. Dazai’s jaw tightens, eyes drifting back to you as he tries to figure out what to do. He can’t leave you here, not with Cao’s hawk-like gaze trained on the dancefloor and Tolstoy waiting for the opportunity to make a move. But he does need to talk to Mishima, have some idea of where he stands with the Sun and Steel before facing all of the foreigners. 

“May I have this dance?” 

Dazai hadn’t even heard Chuuya approach, turning to the side to watch as he holds a hand out toward you expectantly, quick to step in to take Dazai’s place so that you’re not alone. You shoot Dazai a concerned glance, brows furrowing a bit, before you place your hand in Chuuya’s.

Chuuya leads you back onto the dance floor, Dazai’s gaze lingers for a few moments, a bitter feeling spreads through his chest because that should be him, and it’s wholly unfair that he has to deal with all of this unsavory business when he should be spending time with you.

He should just kill them all here and be done with it.

The words ring through his head, echoing, tempting. He inhales and forces himself to look away as you loop your arms around Chuuya’s shoulders, swaying in tune to the slow song playing. He turns his attention back to Mishima, voice cool and expression void of emotion:

“Speak.”

Dancing with Nakahara Chuuya is awkward. Awkward is even being generous. It’s not like he’s a bad dancer—in fact, it’s clear that he’s a very good one. He’s smooth on his feet as he spins you around the dance floor, but he’s so stiff. He’s careful to keep space between the two of you, hands never dipping lower than your sides, lips pressed together. He hardly even looks at you, his attention is more on where Dazai had stepped to the side to speak with the dark-haired man who’d interrupted the two of you, but you’re grateful for it, because it’s giving you a chance to gather your thoughts.

You think Dazai might’ve inadvertently confirmed your suspicions from yesterday. You don’t know who these people are, but there’s no way any ordinary business event would be dangerous enough for Dazai to genuinely worry that someone might kill you in a room crowded with two hundred people. A part of you wonders if it’s just different for ability users, that they’re not scared of committing crimes in public because they have an ability that prevents them from getting caught, but you know you’re just trying to make excuses at this point.

Your gaze drifts back over to the older, light-haired man with dark eyes who’d approached you and Dazai when you walked in. He’s off to the side talking with a Chinese man dressed in a red suit—your gaze lingers, trying to piece together the puzzle in your head desperately, but all of the edges are jagged and confusing, you can’t seem to figure out where they each fit with each other. 

You’d thought maybe that Dazai and his business was somehow affiliated with the mafia, because no one with the amount of money and success that he has gets it cleanly, but now you can’t help but hesitate, reconsidering your original theory. Vladimir Nabokov had been scared of Dazai. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed the effect that Dazai has on people. Whenever you’re around people with him, they get tense and on edge, but it’s different seeing the effect he has on someone who doesn’t even work for him, a foreigner supposed to be one of Dazai’s associates if you understood what he meant about not showing up to a meeting. 

Who are you, Dazai?

You don’t even know if you want to know. You love Dazai. You do. You knew it earlier in the night. You know it now. It’s something you can no longer hide or deny. You remember the concerned look on his face when he saw how upset you were. You can feel the way his lips brushed the nape of your neck as he explained why he kept meeting you at the club, the way he kissed your ankles as he knelt in front of you and told you how he was selfish for keeping you around, how he kissed your palm and leaned into your touch as he promised you anything you want. God, you love him, you don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way he does; no one has ever spoken to you the way he does. 

You love him, and it scares you because you’re realizing you still don’t know anything about him, not really, and you’re also realizing that there’s a high chance he’s been lying to you about what he does. It scares you even more that your first instinct isn’t to run. Because you should run. This should make you run. He brought you to an event with people so dangerous that he’s afraid they might try to hurt you, or worse, but you don’t want to run, because you’d be running from him and you don’t want to run from him. 

Could you sacrifice everything for him though?

Fuck your morals—everything you’ve worked for, all of the years slaving away to put yourself on the path to success. You’ve told yourself your entire life that it would be all you would focus on, that it would all be worth it in the end. You convinced yourself that maybe if you proved yourself enough, your brother would return to your life; he’d be proud of you and he’d come back to you. You know he’s still out there somewhere, you get letters with no return address every month—the only thing in the envelope is a check with a dubious amount of money, but it’s in his hand writing, so you know it’s him. 

A part of you wants to cry, frustration clawing at your chest: the future you’ve worked so hard for, or love? The question you’ve dreaded since your epiphany yesterday is finally thrown right in front of your face, and you need an answer. The two are mutually exclusive—you will not be able to pursue the career you want with Dazai Osamu, not in the way you want at least. And you don’t want to do all of this work to just end up being another shady politician.

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

Your gaze snaps up to Chuuya, who’s suddenly looking at you, and you don’t really know how to respond. 

I’m pretty sure you guys are part of the fucking Mafia and you’re all hiding it from me, but also I don’t want to know if you are because that’s going to force me to make a decision that I don’t want to make so I’d rather live in ignorance. 

“My thoughts are only worth a penny?” You deflect with a grin instead, hoping it meets your eyes.

It doesn’t, evidently, because Chuuya’s eyes narrow a bit, and then he tilts his head to the side and hits you with a more direct: “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried,” you finally say, not entirely lying but also not telling the truth. 

“About?” Chuuya presses and you sigh, exhaling a bit.

“He mentioned that there were dangerous people here,” you tell him quietly. “I’m just nervous for when you guys go to your meeting… I’m guessing it’s going to be soon.”

Chuuya’s brows furrow and you can see the thoughts racing behind his eyes before he speaks again. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you. “We have people all over the event hall, and Tachihara is going to sit with you until you Dazai can get back. Dazai shouldn’t have worried you with all of this. He shouldn’t have even-”

He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, but you know what he’s going to say: he shouldn’t have even brought you here.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Chuuya says quietly, and you think he might be talking more to himself than anything else now, but you listen anyway. “He’s always been hard to read but this is…”

He stops speaking out loud, as if he’s realized that you’re there again, and instead he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. Back at the headquarters before you know it.”

You aren’t so sure.

Your gaze drifts to the side as you watch Nabokov and the Chinese man make their way over to Dazai and the man he’s talking to. The blonde at the bar that Dazai kept looking at also stands up, drink in his hand as walks in the same direction. 

Chuuya spits out a curse under his breath and gives you an apologetic look. Your heart sinks and your throat feels a bit tight—he doesn’t abandon you right away though, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he guides you across the dancefloor to the bar, all the while keeping a keen eye on what’s happening on the other side of the room.

He pulls the barstool out for you, eyes still trained on where Dazai is standing with Kouyou, two men that work for him you haven’t met yet, and the four men you assume are business associates of his. Dazai is looking at you, an indecipherable expression on his face. You’re looking at him, suddenly anxious at the thought of being left alone, a bad feeling sweeping over you. 

“Tachihara will be over here soon,” Chuuya finally says to you, tearing his gaze from his coworkers to look back down at you. He flags down the bartender to order a drink for you. “You’ll be fine. Knowing Dazai, the meeting won’t last long anyway.”

Your shoulders only slump a bit as you nod, thanking the bartender quietly for your drink as he hurries to bring it back to you, taking a sip of it. Chuuya doesn’t say much else—once you’re settled in your seat and have your drink, he squeezes your shoulder before making his way back over to the intimidating group of people standing on the opposite side of the room.

Your gaze meets Dazai’s conflicted one one last time before he’s forced to turn away and disappears down a side hall deeper into the building. You sigh as you twirl your drink around, the clear liquid sloshing dangerously close to the brim of your glass as your eyes twist around the event hall, seeking out Tachihara, or Atsushi, or anyone that works with Dazai because you’re feeling distinctly vulnerable alone. You find none of them. You can feel eyes on you—most you’re sure are harmless curiosity, wanting to know who exactly came in on the arm of Dazai Osamu, but you know some aren’t nearly as harmless, you can feel the hungry stares of vicious opportunists directed at your back and you don’t feel comfortable sitting alone.

You don’t even get five minutes to yourself.

“Is this seat taken?” 

You’re startled by the unfamiliar voice, head snapping to the side. Your gaze focuses on a pretty man with soft features, shoulder-length black hair and gentle purple eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. He looks harmless enough, but there’s something about him that has you on edge—something simmering beneath the surface of his deceptive eyes that you can’t quite place but you know you don’t like.

“I mean no harm,” he says smoothly, lips curving up into an amiable smile. “I’m an old friend of Dazai’s. I only want to talk.”

An old friend. You don’t buy it, but you don’t want to risk antagonizing him, Dazai’s warning about the many lethal ability users prowling the event ringing through your head. You just hope that Tachihara shows up sooner rather than later as you finally shake your head.

“It’s not taken,” you say quietly, motioning to the stool as you take another generous sip of your drink.

The dark-haired man smiles at you as he takes a seat at the bar next to you, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the chandelier. Instantly, you feel like you’ve made a mistake, a chill running down your spine as your eyes meet purple ones that are not quite so gentle anymore. Sharp and shrewd instead. Calculating. Dangerous. 

“Fyodor Dostoevsky. A pleasure, truly.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

[yenpondering]

Entitled customers are funny, imagine kicking up such a fuss with our managers that 2 mall security guards had to be called to come mediate all because you and your wife not only can't read but also can't see that our menu literally serves soft poached egg, not a boiled egg, in our Japanese rice bowls

Anyway read the menu properly y'all and ask questions if you're unsure, don't be a dick to hospitality workers especially over dumb shit

#this happened yesterday during boxing day #it was truly hilarious to me #this lady came to complain about our egg not being boiled fully #to which my managers were like 'yeah our menu only serves soft boiled it's shown and written very clearly on it' #but apparently this lady wasn't happy with that answer cause she left and then sent her husband back with the bowl to argue!!!! #and my managers were like nah we're gonna call security to mediate cause this guy legit just kept raising his voice #anyway in the time span of waiting for security to show up #this guy literally pulls his phone out to record a negative review of us which lmao alright #and then proceeds to tell customers looking at our menu to not order from us cause we've got bad food #they still ordered from us anyway with 1 customer saying to my coworker that they hoped he left soon cause he was making them uncomfortable #anyway security shows up and them + the guy + my managers talk for like 10+ minutes #with this guy apparently mentioning at one point that he wants us shut down #just to remind y'all if you're reading this that this is all over a soft boiled egg that is very clearly shown on the menu #and the whole thing ended with 1 of the security coming in to the shop to watch us remake the bowl without the egg #because apparently the guy was afraid we'd do something to his bowl #security looked done with this and apologised to us for this guy being so rude #also before anyone says anything both this guy and wife were fluent in English so it wasn't a matter of them not being able to read our men #and also again our bowls show a very obvious not hard boiled egg #anyway i hope they had an awful day afterwards for being such entitled dicks to us

[hobiebrownismygod]

StreetKid!Hobie x Fem!Reader

I recommend you read Part 1 HERE so you understand the story better <3

I posted these earlier on wattpad, the link is in my pinned post

~4.5k words

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_____________________________________

Hobie's POV

_____________________________________

RINGGGGGGGGG

W H A C K

CRASH

Hobie opened one eye and groaned at the sight, his alarm clock shattered on the floor. 5th one this month. It wasn't his fault that he kept accidentally breaking them. The loud noises just always triggered his reflexes so this wasn't the first time he'd broken his clock on accident and it definitely wouldn't be the last.

He sat up, shaking his head and groaning, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes as he looked around, sight adjusting the bright light seeping in through the window. Well, it wasn't really a window. More of a large crack in the wall of the abandoned warehouse he was squatting in, but it functioned like a window.

He stood up right as the door opened, stretching his arms and back out before he greeted Riri Williams, his roommate and fellow superhero. "Mornin'"

She nodded at him in response, fidgeting with her watch in an attempt to show Hobie something. Suddenly, it made a beep noise and a small map appeared which she promptly shoved in Hobie's face. "Here's the route Karl said we should take."

"Huh?" Hobie looked at the map and then back at her, still half-asleep. "Wot route?"

Riri blinked. "The route? For the riot today?" Hobie blinked.

Silence.

"Oh! That riot! Yeah, sounds good Ri'" He said, smacking his forehead as he remembered what they'd planned yesterday. In his defense, he hadn't really been paying attention to what they'd been talking about. He'd been preoccupied thinking about other things. Thinking about her.

The girl he'd met exactly 9 years ago. He remembered the date perfectly. December 24rd, the day before Christmas morning. The streets had been full of people shopping and laughing, spreading Christmas spirit. At least, they spread Christmas spirit among themselves. Hobie definitely wasn't on the receiving end of this morale boost that day. Until of course, he met her.

The girl that'd given him her jacket and sent him towards F.E.A.S.T. shelter. The girl who looked like an angel and had a smile like one, with flowy hair and gorgeous eyes. The girl who helped him up, pointed him in the right direction and given him a kiss on the cheek on one of his darker days. He'd been on the brink of starvation and she'd saved his life without a second thought.

But he never saw her again.

"Dunce." Riri replied, zooming into the map. Her harsh words snapped him out of his trance and he rolled his eyes at her, peering at the watch's image. "Right then. Let's grab Karl and Kamala and figure this whole plan thing ou'"

___________________________________________

Two hours later - Hobie's Canal Boat/Headquarters

___________________________________________

"Alright gang, today is the day Osborne's right-hand-man, Captain Stacy, 's daughter comes back from her posh boarding school! They're having some sort of fancy ball in one of Osborne's mansions for it and that's where we strike!" Kamala Khan slammed down her mini figure onto the map Riri had printed out for them to use. "Sound good?" She asked, looking amongst the squad.

Karl nodded. "The rioters will start off in front of the house and after a little bit we'll let them in. Maybe even web up a couple of cops, eh Hobes?" Karl asked, nudging Hobie's side.

"Huh?" Hobie stuttered, standing up straight, his arms falling to his sides. "Uh. Yea, sure." He said quickly, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Man, what's going on with you? Something up?" Karl asked, leaning in towards him slightly, as if inspecting whether or not he was sick.

"No, no. Nothin's up."

"You gotta keep your head in the game, 'Bie." Riri shook her head at him before putting her own mini figure down onto the map. "I'll turn off the security cameras."

"I'll lead the crowd." Karl added, gently putting down his figurine.

Kamala put her elbow on top of Hobie's shoulder, which was fairly difficult considering how tall he was, and grinned at the group. "And the two of us'll deal with the insiders!"

Hobie looked down at the map and smiled, placing his own figurine down. "Kamala'll take care of the pigs doing security. I'll take care of the ones inside the ball"

"Wait." Karl looked at Kamala and Hobie curiously. "There's gonna be a lot of civilians. One of you is gonna have to take care of them too."

Kamala groaned, "All those civilians are fascists too. Besides, it's not like the riot is gonna turn violent."

"Unless Osborne gets violent first" Hobie added, a thoughtful look appearing on his face. "Y'know what? I'll take care of the civilians then. But I'm not gonna put m'whole focus on 'em, aye?"

The three nodded at him.

"So, Hobes..." Karl asked, his tone sounding slightly more somber. "You gonna be okay if those symbiotes are there?"

"Yeah..." Riri added, glancing at Hobie nervously. "I mean last time...you didn't really take them very well."

"I'll be fine." Hobie said quietly, giving them a glance that said I know what I'm doing. "Last time was a freak acciden'. Nothing more." During a riot only a few weeks ago, Hobie had been fighting Osborne's goons as per usual, when a new type of bad guy showed up. They called it a symbiote.

Hobie had known about Osborne finding some sort of weapon that he was planning on using for his military, but the gang had never expected it to be so...weird. It was like it had a mind of its own. The V.E.N.O.M., Oscorp's name for it, was a kind of gooey substance that would engulf its host, using and protecting their body while they fought.

These symbiotes were notoriously hard to kill. Hobie had run out of webs at some point during that riot and had been cornered by multiple of them, only barely escaping thanks to Kamala and her shapeshifting powers, which she'd used to pull Hobie out of the situation and shield him while he fixed his webshooters.

"Fine." Riri said, taking the map of the mansion off the table and folding it up. "Let's head out."

______________________________

Your POV

______________________________

"Harry!" You exclaimed as you practically collapsed in the young man's arms, pulling him into a hug. "Hi-" he gasped out, struggling to breathe as you squeezed him with all your might.

It'd been nearly two years since you'd seen Harry, your best friend, and four since you'd been back in London. In those couple years, you'd been at a boarding school situated in France, which many of the higher-class girls went in their teenage years in order to learn how to become 'proper ladies' as they called them.

At first, it'd felt like a waste of time to you, but over time you'd made many friends at that school and now that you were returning, you couldn't help but feel a little sad to leave. But this sadness was quickly eliminated by the sight of your best friend and the beautiful city.

Although beautiful was definitely an overstatement. In fact, the city looked to be getting progressively worse, with more and more giant consumerist signs and more and more smog filling the sky that had used to be a beautiful, clear blue. You wrinkled your nose at the smell, the air filled with smoke and dust.

"Its been a while" Harry said with a smile, looking down at you, his hands shoved in his pockets. "That it has. I'm so excited to be home!" You said with a grin, following him as he led you toward the cab, pulling your suitcases for you.

London wasn't what you remembered. Even if you disregarded the changing environment and the pollution, there was still something so different about the place. Maybe it was the abundance of crime that overtook the city after Osborne's presidency. But you couldn't say anything negative about him, especially considering the fact that Norman Osborne was your father's best friend. He'd practically raised you and when you were young, most of days of the week, he and Harry would come over for dinner to eat with you and your father.

Those were the days.

But there was something even more distinct that was different about London. You didn't realize what it was until you saw him swinging through the air in the distance, followed by a flurry of flashing cop lights. Spider-Man.

Or as the higher-ups called him, Spider-Punk. Even those in France knew about him and his strange powers and his even stranger suit. There were plenty of superheroes in London, like IronHeart, a young woman who wore a suit made out of metal, Captain Anarchy, a man with an unbreakable shield and Ms. Marvel, a girl with a very flashy suit who's limbs would elongate in a way no human's ever should.

But Spider-man was definitely a fan favorite.

With his snarky attitude, those quips he'd make around thugs, the way he fought, even his style were all very popular subjects among the inhabitants of Western Europe, his cries against the fascist dictatorship Osborne had implemented in the UK even more popular.

Most called him a hero. Some called him a vigilante.

But your family? A family full of cops and businessmen? A family built on consumerism and fascism? Spider-man was a villain.

But not to you.

No, to you, Spider-man was fascinating.

You hoped you'd get to meet him eventually.

____________________________________________________________________________

Later that evening

____________________________________________________________________________

_________________

Your POV

_________________

"Hold still, girl!"

You sucked in your breath as the maid tightened your gown even more, making it nearly impossible to breath. "I can't brea-" She began to tie up the silky lace quickly, ignoring your pleas for air. When she finished, she ran her fingers through your hair gently, moving it over your shoulders and turning you to face the mirror. "What do you think?" She asked kindly, smiling at you.

The gown was a beautiful baby blue, coming down to your ankles in a flowy manner. The neckline was shaped like a 'V' but wasn't too deep, with fluffy straps hanging onto your shoulders. "It's beautiful." You said with a smile, looking back at her before you looked at yourself in the mirror again.

Mr. Osborne had been insisting on throwing a celebration for your return to London, stating, "my son's best friend needs a proper welcome." After all, you'd been gone nearly four years and you were sure there would be plenty of people who'd want to meet you after all this time. Although it seemed Harry was more excited for this ball than you were. 

He'd always been such a rich boy, with absolutely no regard for anything that wasn't his. It wasn't his fault he was so materialistic though, it was his father's. Mr. Osborne wanted the best for his son and although you respected him for it, he would often go overboard. He never let Harry go to anything less than a well-respected private school and wouldn't even allow him to go near any middle-class neighborhoods in fear of him joining a gang or worse.

But then of course, there was plenty in London to be afraid of. If you didn't count the thugs and criminals constantly patrolling the streets, there were also villains like the Green Goblin who were out to get you. The Goblin was a particularly nasty villain who was known for his horrific bombs and grenades.

Mr. Osborne himself could be considered a villain by many. After all, he ruled London like a dictator, with an iron fist protected by his army of super-soldiers powered by organic compounds called V.E.N.O.M., designed to protect their hosts and grant them extreme levels of endurance and strength. The V.E.N.O.M. soldiers were supposed to protect the streets of London, but really they just made everything worse.

And then there were the cops. Your own father, Captain Stacy, was a cop himself but you couldn't help but dislike the force. They were all shoved into the palm Mr. Osborne's hand, eating money out of it like filthy pigs while the rest of the civilians lived in complete oblivion. Disaster after disaster struck the streets of London and the cops did nothing but add to it.

But it wasn't all bad. London had Spider-Man to protect them, right? With his gorgeous guitar, that spiky leather jacket, and that snarky attitude, he was a proper hero. 

"Harry's here!" your maid called out to you from outside your room. You grabbed your things and quickly left the room, fixing your hair in the process. Harry was standing waiting at the bottom of the steps for you while impatiently tapping his feet, wearing a sleek black suit. When he saw you, he smiled and gestured for you to come down.

"Long time no see" You said to him with a grin.

"I saw you a half hour ago." He rolled his eyes before reaching behind his back to hand you something. He pulled out a beautiful white rose, the thorns plucked off as to not prick you. You shook your head and smiled at him, taking the rose from him. "You shouldn't have."

"You're right. I should've given it to someone prettier." he quipped, giving you his hand. You took it with a scowl and the two of you walked outside towards the car waiting for you outside. You and Harry both sat in the back while the driver got ready to take you towards the function. 

"God, it's been forever since I've been to a ball."

"Oh, father's made sure to make it as grand as possible. Honestly I think he's put more time into this return than into my own birthday." He said with a groan, looking out the window as the car began to move.

You gave him a kind smile. "I'm sure thats not true."

Harry tended to get bitter whenever his father planned something for you. It was obvious that Mr. Osborne liked you more than his own son, always being willing to host your birthday parties, buy you things and just acting more like a father to you than he did to Harry. Harry hated it. He hated being put second to someone who wasn't even related to him. Although you tried your best to play it off, it became difficult at times.

"Yeah yeah." Harry said quietly, still not making eye contact with you as he looked down at his hands, fidgeting in his lap.

________________________

Hobie's POV

________________________

Hobie was standing on the glass top of the room where the ball would be happening, his clunky combat boots leaving marks on what had been crystal-clear before he'd arrived. This was one of Osborne's multiple mansions, each of which he used to throw different parties and get-togethers. These parties were very exclusive, only being offered to Osborne's closest friends and business partners, and Hobie knew that by having a riot here, they'd be able to hit Osborn where it hurt. Maybe even cost him a couple partners or friends. Hobie's eyes glinted slightly as he smiled to himself, thinking about just how badly he wanted Osborne broken. He was everything that was wrong with this city.

A small crackle noise came from the earpiece embedded onto his earlobe. "Y'all ready for this?" Riri's voice could be heard from the microphone. "Protestors are gathering." Karl replied.

"I'm almost there! Just give me another second" Kamala said, her voice slightly muffled. It seemed like she was running late. "Where were you?" Hobie asked, searching around for where she would come from. "Oh...nowhere." She said quickly, brushing it off. Hobie could just barely see her coming in from the distance. She enlarged her fist to help herself swing up onto the rooftop, landing with her arms out in a t-pose before giving Hobie a cocky salute. "Reporting for duty!"

Hobie snorted and rolled his eyes at her, putting his hands on his hips. "A'right soldier. Let's get this party started." He and Kamala both began their entrance, searching around the perimeter for any way to get in without being noticed. Kamala pointed to a large vent on the outside of the wall and Hobie swung toward it, pulling it open and climbing through with Kamala behind him, closing it before she followed.

The vent led them to what seemed to be an empty dressing room. Everyone else was already out at the party, enjoying themselves. Kamala bade him goodbye as she left to go take care of the cops on the outer perimeter while Hobie launched himself onto the ceiling and began to crawl towards the ball. As he left the kitchen, he tried his best to stay inconspicuous, staying above the partygoers.

There were so many people that he knew. Mainly people that he absolutely despised. He recognized Otto Octavius, a famous scientist who, although at first had been a good, kind man, had been morphed into another one of Osborne's goons after being introduced to riches that no one but Norman could offer. That was how Osborne made allies after all. He paid them.

He also recognized none other than Captain Stacy. A man who he hated with every part of his soul. The man who'd shot at him numerous times when he was doing nothing more than peacefully protesting. The man who'd killed tens of rioters and innocent civilians while preaching that he was 'London's Protector'. Pathetic.

Hobie began to pick off the many cops standing near the doorways one by one, webbing them to ceiling to shut them up while he moved on to the next one. He badly wanted to give Captain Stacy a taste of his webbing, but he was in the middle of the crowd and Hobie wouldn't have been able to grab him without getting caught. So he stuck to the smaller officers that were farther from the rest.

"I've gotten all the one's on the outer perimeter. I'm gonna go join Karl. Let us know when you're ready" Kamala's voice could be heard on the other end of the ear piece. "Yes ma'am", Hobie replied quietly, keeping his eyes on the last cop near the doorway. He shot a web towards him, quickly pulling him up and slamming him into the ceiling, webbing him up before he could say a word, or worse, fall. 

Thats when he noticed Osborne getting ready to go stand in front of the crowd, dressed in a black suit that was noticeably nicer than everyone else's. Hobie hung down from the ceiling, watching silently as Osborne walked towards the stairs and quickly walked up them, microphone in hand. "Hello everybody!" Cheers erupted from the half-drunk people at the bottom of the makeshift stage. "I hope everyone's been having a grand time!"

Hobie moved to a more discreet area in order to watch the rest of the speech. Once this was over, he'd be able to call the rest of the gang in with the rioters. "Now I'm hoping most of you know what this whole get-together was about. We're here to embrace the return of Captain George Stacy's lovely daughter from her long period of time spent in none other than the beautiful city of Paris. Everyone welcome back, Y/N Stacy!"

Y/N Stacy? Now who could that be? Hobie searched through the crowd, wondering who one of his rival's daughter could've been. And then he saw her. Long, flowy hair, her skin perfectly complimented by that beautiful dress...and those gorgeous eyes. How...? Hobie was awestruck. Could it be? That girl he'd met all those years ago. He felt his hand subconsciously go down to touch that patch on his vest where he'd sewn a piece of that jacket she'd given him all those years ago. It was her.

________________________

Your POV

________________________

"Thank you everybody!" You said with a smile, nodding as Mr. Osborne handed you a glass of red wine. "I'm so glad to be back! I've had a wondrous time in Paris, and I'm so excited to share it with you all!" After you gave a quick little speech and proposed a small toast, you returned to Harry who'd been waiting for you with a sly smile. 

"Did you even prepare for that?" he asked with a laugh, eyes looking over your face as you returned. "Of course not." you replied nonchalantly, taking a sip from your glass. "Load of tosh anyways, half these people are only here for the food. I don't think I recognize more than four or five faces in that crowd."

Harry chuckled. "Well at least you're paraded around. Father doesn't mind nobody knowing who I am."

"Lets not get all gloomy now, Harry." You said, patting his shoulder reassuringly. "Enjoy the night!"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm gonna go grab more bread." He said with a shake of his head before he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you behind with your glass. You were in the process of mustering up the courage to go introduce yourself to everyone when you heard a noise from behind you.

Thwip.

You turned your head around and strained your ears to see if you could hear that noise again.

Thwip.

The box a couple feet in front of you was knocked over. You looked at it in shock for a moment before you slowly began to approach it to check what'd happened. Maybe it was an animal of some sort?

Thwip.

The noise came again, farther away this time. It was coming from the balcony a few yards away from you. Curious, you began to approach the balcony cautiously, eyes scanning over your surroundings in an attempt to see what could've been making that noise.

"Hello?" You called out quietly. The balcony was empty, as everyone else was busy talking with Mr. Osborne or eating something. As you stepped onto the balcony, you glanced over the edge for a moment. It was a calm night, the breeze just barely chilly and the stars gleaming down onto you, making your skin look like it sparkled. 

Thwip

Suddenly, it felt like something passed right by your head. What looked like a string of spiderweb had shot past your right ear and landed on the edge of the balcony, right above where your arm was leaning against. "What the-" you were cut off by another thwip noise.

This time the web was shot onto your mouth. "Mmm!" You exclaimed, trying to pull it off. Then more web was shot towards you, pinning your arms to the railing. You watched in horror as a masked figure approached you, unable to escape due to the strength of the web holding you down. 

"MmmMmMm!" You said, trying to convince him to let you out of this situation, although there was no way he'd be able to understand what you were saying.

"Calm down, darling. 'mnot gonna hurt you." His voice was deep, with a cockney accent to it. Very different from the posher accent you were used to hearing. As he stepped into the light, you felt a quiet gasp leave your mouth. Spider-man.

"mmMM?" You asked, leaning back slightly as he approached you. You flinched as he reached his hand out toward your face and you watched as he hesitated for a moment before he ripped the web off. "You-you-you" you stuttered, in shock at the man in front of you.

He stayed silent for a moment, as though he was in shock himself. "Hi. I'm Spider-man." 

"I-I know." you said your eyes locked onto the white of his mask.

He stared at you for a moment longer, obviously wanting to say something. But then he shook his head slightly and looked away, hands shoved into his vest pockets. "Are you going to kill me?" You asked, eyes wide.

"Wot?" He looked back at you, taken aback. "o'course not! I wouldn't kill a peng like you."

You looked down at your tied up hands, prompting him to do the same. "Sorry about the webs, but t'was the only way for m' to make sure you didn't run away"

You nodded, still scared out of your wits. "You don't remember me, do you? Well o'course you don't remember me, I have a bloody mask on" he said quickly, turning away from you again. "dumbass" he muttered under his breath.

"excuse me?" You asked, feeling yourself calm down a little bit. He definitely wasn't acting like he was going to kill you. "Not you!" He said quickly, putting his hands in front of him. "Just uh-hi."

You raised your eyebrow at him. He shook his head, "y'know what? Lets start over."

He made a beckoning motion with his hands and approached you again. "What do you want from me?" You asked, looking up at him. He was intimidatingly tall, probably over 6 feet tall, but he was skinny, as though he rarely ate.

"Nothing. I don't want nothing." He said, looking at you. Suddenly, you heard a small crackling noise come from his ear. He placed his palm over his ear and took a step back. "Yeah, yeah I'm ready for you. Just give me another second." He said under his breath.

"Look, listen to me, a'right? Get out of here. Before you get hurt." he told you, leaning in more. "What? Why? What's happening?" You asked, a scared feeling beginning to brew in your stomach. "It doesn't matter. Just trust me and get out of here."

The same crackling noise came from his earpiece. The eyes of his mask widened slightly and he put his hand near yours. He ripped off the web holding you against the railing and took a few steps back. "Just trust me."

You were about to ask him something when he suddenly pulled himself over the railing, leaping off towards the ground. "Wait-" You started to say, but he was already gone. 

Get out of here.

That couldn't be good. You walked back towards the crowd of people, unsure what to do. Should you warn everyone? Should you tell Mr. Osborne? Should you tell Harry?

"Hey, Y/N!" you heard a voice call your name. Harry. "Where were you? I've been searching all over for you-" You grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him closer. "Harry, we need to get out of here!"

"Woah-" he put his hand on top of yours, pulling you off of him gently. "What? What's going on?" he asked, looking down at you concernedly. "Somethings going to happen and I don't know what but I know we should leave-" you started to ramble, practically begging for him to believe you.

"Alright, alright" he said, putting his hands on your shoulders to calm you down. "I'll call up a cab. We can go."

"But everyone else-" you started to say.

The entrance doors opened abruptly. Standing in the entrance was a large group of what looked like protestors, holding signs and whatnot, slowly entering. They were led by a man in a red white and blue suit, not the Spider-man suit, but one that made him look more like a soldier. Captain Anarchy. 

It was a riot.

You were about to repeat yourself to Harry when you felt him grab your arm and start pulling you towards the exit. "We gotta get out of here" he said quickly, gently gripping your hand. As the rioters poured in, the few cops left began to try to deal with them, pulling out their guns and their batons. "Oh god I can't watch" You said under your breath, looking away as you and Harry joined the group of people scrambling towards the exit.

You caught a glimpse of Mr. Osborne, calling for backup. He looked livid.

As you were pulled along with the rest of the crowd, you could hear shouting and screaming coming from behind you. The rioters and the cops were fighting furiously, the protestors being accompanied by numerous 'superheroes' and the cops being joined by the backup Osborne had called for. V.E.N.O.M. soldiers.

When you left through the exit with Harry, the last thing you saw was one of those 'soldiers' being smacked in the face with a certain guitar, catching sight of that same flash of red and blue, that same leather vest, that same mask that had had you tied against the balcony railing before.

Your not-so-friendly neighborhood Spider-man.

Tags:

@s6onder @therealloopylupin2099 @spiderrinn @l0starl @daydreaming-en-pointe @itsparis-07 @@vileviale @bubble787635 @hows-my-handwriting @puff-hugs

#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #hobie brown #spiderman #beyond the spiderverse #atsv hobie #across the spider verse #hobie brown headcanons #hobie my beloved #astv hobie #hobie spiderverse #hobie x reader #spiderverse hobie #hobart brown #spider punk #atsv brainrot #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x reader #Hobie Brown x #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x oc #hobie brown x female reader #hobie x y/n #hobie x you #spiderpunk x y/n #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you #atsv fanfic

[redstonedust]

wait im confused what is this kerilson lore you mentioned im apprently missing out on? Who/what is kerilson??

ok i'm gonna recap literally everything i can remember about kerilson because i'm not sure how much context you have. SO. INCOMING INFODUMP:

if you've been following the rest of hermitcraft season 9 you'd know that the majority of the active hermits went through the rift and got trapped on empires smp for a month. one of the only hermits left behind was xb, and he handled this... interestingly (badly)

so after showing footage of the hermits going through the rift via a security camera he apparently has set up in grians base, and then trying to claim the entire shopping district as his property (off to a good start) he opens his next episode proudly declaring that he's actually NOT alone, he has a friend, and that friend knows how to open the rift again!

enter kerilson:

i should clarify that kerilson is, first and foremost, a reference to the movie castaway. like. in that movie the protagonist is stuck on an island with nobody to talk to but a volleyball he's named wilson. so theres already precedent for kerilson being just xb going kind of stir crazy without his friends (especially keralis).

so according to xb, kerilson demands a diamond throne (which also includes concrete slabs, the first sign that something weird is going on) and then they reopen the rift. except the rift sends xb to previous hermitcraft seasons instead of empires, where kerilson is distracted by wanting to look at past keralis builds instead of helping xb find his friends. eventually xb DOES end up on empires, but its season 1, and he's completely alone.

he wanders through the server, finds the ocean, spends several days at sea, gets picked up by a flying kerilson themed boat, the scenery warps back into his base, he gets back into bed, and then is woken up by beef, who seems disturbed by the fact xb is even IN bed. bc, y'know, hermitcraft, sleep should be instant.

he concludes the whole thing was a dream, tho that doesnt explain how he's able to accurately dream of empires s1, but gem's empires lore establishes sleep based world hopping so...... put a pin in that.

anyways two episodes later kerilson can be spotted watching xb in the background of his base, but isnt acknoweldged. xb continues to be Totally Normal about his missing friends by building a giant keralis statue, except every time he looks back at it its head is replaced with kerilsons head. so he blows it up.

several months pass with v few kerilson hints, until xb starts teasing a makeship plushie of him and kerilson. in this weirdest way possible. ie. while building his base he mentions he's started hearing noises, and a low joepacity kerilson flashes on screen with scrambled keralis dialog in the background. (side note: xb heard similarly scrambled keralis dialog when keralis was coming back through the rift. unclear if this is related.)

aaand bringing it to now, xb gets a book inviting him to a TCG match, which turns out to be against kerilson. who is apparently real and able to hold TCG matches. except during the animation of the match kerilson never moves and keralis is shown to be helping him behind the scenes, implying kerilson was just an armor stand all along-- except for, you know, the whole established dream demon aspect.

and now he's a marketable plushie! :D

so yeah TLDR: he's an armor stand who has been simultaniously implied to be a figment of xb's imagination, a regular armor stand xb thinks is alive, a regular armor stand controlled by keralis, some kind of fragment of keralis, and an independent, dream controlling being. and also keralis has little to no involvement in any of these episodes.

and as a fun side note, this isnt the first time we've seen some kind of logic defying facsimile of keralis appear in somebody elses episode. when tango went to space to try and stop the moon crashing in season 8, he ran into keralis, who stated he'd been there for months, even tho this is not true in keralis' episodes.

both of these are also scenarios where the enviroment is implied to not be real (a dream / a simulation) and the keralis-a-like appears to help them as they try to leave the server. coincidence? absolutely. but i love to make lore out of nothing!

#asks #long post #listen if the ranchers fans can make a mountain out of tangos feris bueler reference. then im allowed to be insane about xbs castaway ref /

[communist-hatsunemiku]

Ok since I have a bit more substantial following. I'm going to detail my surefire method for shoplifting from walmart. I've been doing this for a couple years now, without any repercussions, with my method you can do the same. Read this whole guide, and feel free to ask me questions if need be.

So step one: do your shopping as normal, except grab a few 92 cent packages of tuna(anything small, flat and cheap will work). The amount you grab depends on how many things you're going to steal.

While shopping, place the item to be stolen on top of the tuna in your cart. it's very important that you know where the barcodes are located on both items, as this will come into play in a big way. What's also important is that the item is big enough to completely hide the tuna package under it. Otherwise this method can be risky.

Step two: once you are done with your shopping, head to self check out. Keep an eye on the walmart employee who is manning that station, you want to choose a self checkout that is as far away from them as possible (in my experience these people aren't paying THAT much attention and if they are, they dont care. Look for the younger employee, the ones on their phones, they are your best friend). You want your back facing these people as well.

Step three: Time to ring things up.

Something that is crucial is that you are not stealing literally everything.

Some of your items are going to be paid for normally, and ideally it's some high dollar items you have hid the tuna under. You're going to scan the tuna barcode but make it seem like you are scanning the other item's barcode. This is why you need to hide the tuna underneath the item, be careful not to scan the actual item's barcode because you might end up actually buying it lmao.

Proceed to scan your items, I always do the tuna items first, just to get them out of the way and bagged. I then scan the rest of my items normally, proceed to pay and then leave walmart. Those little scanners at the door only work for things with security devices on them, so dont worry about that. once you are in the parking lot you are home free baby! You just saved a fuckton of money and gave a big fuck you to walmart, good job!

Now, I make it seem very simple, and it is easy once you get the hang of it.

But there a few caveats that are very important.

1. You want everything in a bag, because the employee manning the doors are tasked with checking the receipt if you have something that is not bagged. They are lookingfor the unbagged item on the receipt, and if you have a lot of stuff and only some of them aren't paid for, then usually this isn't an issue. They'll see your huge ass tub of kitty litter on there, and ignore the rest. Still, being stopped by any employee is unwanted.

2. Some self checkout kiosks monitor the weight of items you scan and then place in self checkout, the bagging area is a scale. HOWEVER, in recent years, walmart has forgone that method of limiting shoplifting, I think because it would cause more trouble than it's worth. You need to go to your walmart and test this, which is easy to do.

Above all, it's important to act natural, and it's important to practice. Try it with just one item, you will not get in trouble for having a single item not rung up, if caught.

This post has gotten a bit longer than expected, so if you have questions let me know. HAPPY SHOPLIFTING FUCK WALMART TO THE DEPTHS OF HELL

#this post just might ruin my life but oh well

[abbythewritor]

"Janitor" Fnaf Security Breach x Fem reader. *2*

Description: What happens when Y/n L/n lands a cleaning Job at the mega pizza plex? How will she handle all the Animatronics falling for her?

Warnings: Slight drama, blood, and jealousy, but other than that, none.

Rated: PG-13.

Other things:

-Bonnie and Foxie aren't dismantled, thanks to Gregory.

-Cassie and Gregory are in High School, working as security guards to keep Freddy and everyone else safe.

-I added a new Daycare attendant named Jester, who will be introduced later, and of course, the attendees got new Upgrades, thanks to Gregory.

-The OCs I will be using aren't mind, and the User names will be linked at the end of the chapter; the credits go to them :)

-Finally, no adult content will be included in this story.

Enjoy the second chapter :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Wow! Good Job, newbie, we cleaned up in under 2 hours!" Dj's room was finally thoroughly cleaned, and thanks to you, your bright Idea of using some sort of Shop-vac to pick up toys, candy, and other stuff left by kids made this whole Job thing a little easier.

Cyrus, who had just finished putting the vac away, stood by as you sat on the floor, sipping a freshly opened juice box. Looking at his fazz watch, the time read 1:15pm, and a satisfied smile formed his lips. "If we keep this up, we can reach the daycare area by 5. You get the gist of things quickly, Newbie; I knew you'd get the hang of it. Plus, I think you went to the top of Mr. Dj's new friend's list." Chuckling, you sipped more of your juice. "I'm not his friend, Cryus; I just complimented his sunglasses." Cryus sat next to you, slightly nudging your shoulder. "Yeah, and everything else. I knew you didn't say anything, but I can easily see a person's body language when they're geeking out. So you're a robot fan, huh?" Your eyes rolled. "Glamrocks, actually." His eyes widened. "No way, really? Wow, is that why you took the job? Wait... you're not planning on anything weird with Freddy and the others, are you-OUCH!! Hey!! Hey!" He laughed when you hit his shoulder.

"Take your mind out of the gutter; I got this job for the money. Besides, I may be a geek, but at least I'm not like one of those Crazed fans who always kiss their posters." Cyrus nodded. "True, we had a fair of those people come here, not to Freddy, but foxy, surprisingly. Poor guy, we had to close his meet and greet early one day because an older woman came to him with his shirt off." "PFFFT" Apple juice came out of your nose as you and he began to die with laughter. Not believing him, you turned to him with surprise once you stopped coughing. "Really? You're shitting me." His head shook. "Nope, not kidding; I got the whole thing on tape if you want to see it later?" Sighing, your head shook.

"Can this place even surprise me more? First, the pizza here is actually good, Second, I meet a Gianormous spider, who's not a human-eating creature, and finally, I get told a story where Foxy almost got molested." Chuckling, Cyrus put his arms behind his back. "You'd be surprised at what happens at the daycare; Poor Sun has to deal more with the kid's actions than Jester and Moon." Your head tilted.

"Jester and Moon?"

"Oh, they are the attendants with Sun, but their moment to shine is when Nap-Time happens. Jester was meant for both morning and Day, but he takes Tag too seriously." Smirking, you leaned onto your right elbow, now fully onto the floor. "Sounds like me; I hate kids." "Same...but someone has to take care of them while the Parents are gone, the same as we have to take care of this place..." Standing up, he stretched.

"Alright, if we head to the Glamrocks dressings rooms now, we'll still be able to make it while they are still performing, which makes perfect timing for us to clean. Now, being the Geek that you are...I doubt they would be out now, but don't worry, I will give you plenty of chances to see them when that time comes." Nodding, you adjusted your hat. "No problem, not in a rush when it comes to that anyway; I know how busy they all can be. Especially Freddy." Cyrus smiled at you. "Glad you understand, Newbie; now come on. DJ! WE OUTA HERE!!"

"Right on! Thank you, Cyrus and little lady! Don't be a stranger, ok?"

Chuckling, your co-worker held a thumbs up towards the tunnel. "Will do! Say Hi to Mini Dj for us!! Come on, Y/n, let's head to the VIP area." Nodding, you followed behind as he began to walk, grabbing the mop bucket as the both of you headed that way.

In all reality, Mr. Dj's room was pretty neat, even though it was large and a lot to clean; you had fun getting to know the spider, the area, and Cyrus a little more.

This job won't be so bad if the other animatronics are excellent as Dj.

Just as long as you keep your head up and do not embarrass yourself in front of the Glammrocks, you should be fine...

Right?

..........

...........

...........

"Cyrus! What are you doing here?!" With a lot of walking, you both made it to the VIP area.

It was huge, right next to the entrances, as many different colored rooms were aligned inside a vast wall, each color representing a different Glamrock and their personalities.

Besides the rooms, you were taking in the mall itself, as the true size of it through your eyes was amazing. Multiple floors, stores, and people surrounded the structure, as familiar music from the Glamrocks played throughout the area.

Many children, adults, and teens walked passed the screen in many different directions, the camera focusing on you as you tried your best not to bump into any people, the mop bucket still being pulled by your grasp.

Not being bothered by Cyrus, he was heading over to a familiar yet older boy, who was shocked to see your Co-worker at this moment. "Gregory! My man!" Giving each other a hug, Gregory fisted his shoulder. "Look at you, man; Summer treated you well." Cyrus was shocked by his comment. "Look at me?! Look at you! You are all grown up! Just yesterday, you and Freddy were being chased by killer Vanny and the others! Just think of how it would go down now!." The boy chuckled while scratching his neck. "It was 8 years ago, Cyrus; Vanny's gone now, unable to hurt anyone again." "Thanks to you! Man, you Kicked that bunny's but! From the beginning, you knew she was involved with the Animatronics going a wall; now, none of them are shut down because of you. Look! You're even freddies personal security guard! How's that going?" Gregory slumped. "It's tiring; Freddy takes every chance of the day to see every. Single. Child. It's annoying enough that I must deal with the crying Kid's parents above it all. They say some...vulgar things..." Cyrus chuckled while his hands went to his hips. "That's Freddy for yah, and yes, sure, the parents suck, but hey, on the bright side, you get to spend more time with him, right?" Gregory shrugged. " I guess your right? But since he's always busy, I tend to hang out with Cassie more than anything. But enough about me, what about you? How's life going for you, and who is that? Is she your girlfriend?" He looked to you, who was being an airhead and was too busy looking around more, stars filling your eyes. Cringing at the sight of you, Cyrus turned to Gregory. "One, I still live with my mom; two, that is Y/n, the newbie; and three, no, she is not my girlfriend." "Huh." Gregory crossed his arms. "That's the Newbie? She doesn't look shy and timid to me-" "Yeah, Dean said that to Dj too...but she's a total geek; you should have seen her when I beat her at a race, anyway, are the gang still performing?" Gregory nodded. "The Guys are; Foxie and Chica don't perform until later tonight; they're practicing for their Duo downstairs. Do you guys need to clean their rooms right now?" Cyrus nodded. "Might as well, since we are on time; we just want to get it cleaned before they get done so fan girl over here....doesn't get too overwhelmed." They both looked to you, who was standing there like an idiot, who played with the ends of her hair and fiddled with your Tee-shirt. Gregory laughed at his statement, his hand lifting his hat up slightly. "I get that; I know Bonnie and Freddie can get a little touchy around new people, so I'll try to keep them distracted until you are done." Cryus patted his back. "Thanks, Gregory, always the hero; hey, Newbie!" Getting your attention, you looked at him as he motioned to you with his thumb. "Let's get started; follow me!" Nodding your head, you grabbed the mope bucket to follow him, walking past Gregory as he told you the plan, both of you heading to Freddie's room first.

Gregory, who just shook his head, sighed as familiar sounds of doors rang through his ears. Turning, he saw Freddy and Familiar animatronics coming toward him, which made him smile.

"Freddy!" He yelled, catching the attention of the bear, who was talking to Bonnie on his right side. "Gregory!" He replied, tail wagging as the boy ran up to him, latching himself onto the robot. "Look at Ya, boy, all dressed up and everything," Foxy spoke, referring to his uniform as the boy adjusted his hat. "Yeah, I never expected this outfit to be this fancy; it feels kinda weird." Monty glared at him. "You're making it feel weird, kid; it looks good on ya." Bonnie nodded. "I agree; besides, it's better than wearing those clothes daily, right?" Gregory huffed, his arms crossing. "At least those close were comfy." Freddy chuckled while putting a hand on his back. "Well, I'm proud of you, superstar; it's a rare opportunity for a high schooler to get this job; you should feel honored." The boy crossed his arms. "I'll feel honored when the stupid parents stop bullying me. Everyone besides him and Monty laughed, Freddy looking at him again. "Greggory, if I can ask, is there a way can we go to our rooms yet to recharge? There is a malfunction I need to check; my left eye seems to be a bit more blurry than usual." "I wish you guys could, but Cyrus has a Newbie with him; they're cleaning your rooms as they speak." Bonnie's eyes widened. "Theirs a new Janitor? Why isn't Dean here then?" Gregory shrugged. "Dunno, but Cyrus doesn't want to overwhelm her, so it's best if you guys do something else for now." Freddy nodded with a smile. "No problem, superstar, we'll think of something." Foxy did a stretch. "Yar...might as well be heading to my ship; I don't want Roxy putting her dirty paws on me, gold..." Bonnie's eyes rolled. "I told you, foxy, it's not roxy who steals it; kids sometimes swallow those things, you know?"

"Doesn't matter; my gold matters too much; I need to protect it." Watching Foxie walk away, trying his best to avoid crowds and kids, Bonnie just sighed. "Him and his Gold, I'm off to go play bowling. El-chip has bets of years of free tacos if I can get a perfect strike score; wanna join, Monty-Monty?" The gator just huffed, a pissed-off look hinting on his face as Freddy and the bunny grew concerned. He walked away from the group, probably heading to Gator Golf, as the three watched, unable to do anything else about it. Gregory sighed, looking at Freddy. "Did his guitar break again?" Freddy nodded sadly. "The instrument is not what it used to be, he got it before Vanny corrupted him and the others, and it was the only thing that could keep him calm. But now, it keeps breaking during performances, which concerns people and his fans." Gregory's brows furrowed. "Can't he just get it fixed?" Bonnie shook his head. "No, he doesn't trust anyone with it, especially when Cyrus switched to Daycare; he is the only one who can fix his guitar." "Then why not ask Cyrus to fix it himself? It's not like he'd turn Monty down, right?" Freddy sighed. "It's not that simple for Monty; he cares about Cyrus a lot, but since Cyrus switched to daycare, it made him angry enough to be a threat. When Vanny corrupted everyone, he went straight to Cyrus, doing something horrible that none of us can forget. " "Wow...and he doesn't want to hurt him again...I understand...Vanny caused him that fear, and to get rid of it must be hard." Bonnie nodded. "Yes, But I'm afraid for him..." Gregory tilted his head. "Why is that Bonnie?" sighing more, Bonnie looked to Monty, who seemed to be kneeling down to a Toddler, who touched the Gator's snout with pure love and fondness. Even the gator didn't show his genuine emotions; he tried to put on his best face for the toddler, not letting his Guitar or the past get to him. "Each day, that fear grows more and more, kids are getting ignored, he lashes out if nothing going right, and heck, even Roxy can't put him back in line. If something doesn't happen to help the poor guy."

"He'll just end up getting worse, day by day."

......................................................................................

"And finally, we are done!!!" It took a while, but the rooms of the glam rocks were finally cleaned.

Cyrus was impressed as you cleaned Montie's room by yourself, picking up every destroyed object, dirt, and even leftover presents from fans on the floor or the walls.

You ensured not to touch the robot's personal stuff, as everything in the room was essential and organized. This wasn't even a part of your payroll, but doing the extra stuff made at least your OCD ten times better.

Shocked as hell, his mouth was open wide as you stood up, whipping the sweat from your forehead. "It took a lot of elbow grease, but I think I managed to get it mostly cleaned-" "MOSTLY CLEANED?!" You squealed a bit as Cyrus's hands went everywhere. "THE WHOLE ROOM IS SPOTLESS!!!" You chuckled. "Yeah, guess I got carried away; I hope that isn't a problem, Cyrus." "Are you kidding?" You looked up at him smiling. "That isn't a problem, Y/n; it's a great skill to have, I wish I was like that when I was little, but of course, I had to be a pain in the ass." "Well, I am not like that; I get terrible OCD when things are misplaced, so cleaning Monty's room was basically therapy for me." You replied, feeling a hard slap coming from him onto your back. "I'm glad, newbie!" He chirped, throwing a towel over his left shoulder. "Monty can get pretty angry sometimes, even after the whole hacking incident; things have changed, and doing this for him makes the Gater a little bit happier each day." He then sighed.

"Though, that's all we could do; he didn't used to be like this." Your brows furrowed."What do you mean?" Cyrus was silent for a while before looking to the ground. "Before I transferred to Daycare, I was a mechanic for the Glamrocks." Your eyes widened. "Really? That's cool!" He chuckled. "Yeah, it was cool, alright, being able to hang out with the most excellent Robots in history, Freddy, Bonnie, Foxy, Chica, Roxy, Monty. Honestly, out of all six of them, I seemed more attached to Monty than everything; we were best friends. Whenever he malfunctioned, he came to me with the saddest eyes, or when Roxy or even Foxy said something wrong, we would always talk about the situation and work the stuff out."

He paused before pouting, trying his best not to cry just a little. "I fixed his damn guitar before every. Single. Show. His temper tantrum was the death of me of my time there, but somehow I always managed to fix it and make the gator happy. I miss that feeling....but when the glitches happened, and Freddy and the gang started to act weirder than usual, the company switched me over to daycare, which hadn't been touched by the virus at the time." Your eyebrows furrowed, and one of your hands was on his back as he struggled to get the following words out, his eyes looking at the guitar Monty o-so cares about. "He hated me leaving, and trust me, I didn't want to transfer either, but it was for my and other people's safety as well; Monty was like a brother to me. Sometimes when I try to talk to him now, I get an angry huff, and he walks away. It hurts, yes, but it's not his fault...I should have stayed when I should..." His hands ran through his hair, and shaky breaths and sad motions came from him, which made your heart instantly break. You don't know why he's telling you this when you only met him today, but hearing the story of his and Monty's bond is hard to ignore.

"Cryus...I-I don't know what to say..." He chuckled sadly, looking at you. "You don't have to say anything, Newbie....what's in the past is done, and now what I can try to do to lift his spirits is clean, clean, and clean....thank you for your help, Y/n, but, I think we should cut training today short." Your eyes widened with surprise. "A-Are you sure? We still have a lot to do-" Cyrus smirked. "Go home; night shift people will take care of the Daycare area tonight, just as long as you're ready to clean again tomorrow, alright?" Watching him get up, you were confused at first but understood since the Situation and tension were high right now; no, you nodded in agreement. "Alright, but at least let me finish up here; there are just some holes I need to patch up." He snorted at your stubbornness. "You don't quit, do you?" Shrugging, you smirked. "What can I say? You hired a germaphobe." Shaking his head with a smile, he rummaged through his pockets before throwing you something. "Alright, here." Catching it, you looked to see it was a pair of keys. "Monty's room will need to be locked when you are done; he rarely goes in here, so you don't have to worry about him coming in anytime soon." You nodded again. "Alright...thanks." "Just, when you're done, give the keys to Gregory; we don't want anything happening if those keys are found by kids or teens, okay, Newbie?"

Saluting to him, your face went cute. "Yes, sir!" He cringed. "Just finish up you doof." And with that, Cyrus left you in Montie's room.

Looking around and out of windows to see if no one was coming, your body turned, looking at Monty's broken yet elegant guitar.

Hearing his story replay in your head caused your heart to break while staring at it more, as your hands gently grasped the large instrument.

You play a little guitar at home, and you had a fair share of broken instruments, special ones. So hearing that story, knowing Monty's pain and anger, it's like looking in a mirror.

Everyone has bad days, but this Monty has been dealing with a lot of them for many bad days.

Yes, you are a Janitor, and Yes, you shouldn't be thinking this, and yes, it's only your first day, but if you were going to work here forever, you might as well start building a relationship with your co-workers and even the glam rocks. Feeling the guitar, every inch, string, and flaw this machine has, you knew exactly how to fix it. "Alright, Monty, you suffered enough days of anger......Now..."

"It's time to make things right."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Monty's guitar :)

#fnaf sb x reader #fnaf fandom #glitch trap #security breach #vanny #william afton #fnaf 3 #fnaf sb #fnaf 2 #five nights at freddys #fnaf security breach #fnaf fanart #fnaf sun #fnaf lunar #Freddy #Foxy #Monty #Roxy #Bonnie #dj music man #Chica #sundrop #moondrop #OC #Robots #artists on tumblr #fanfiction #Gregory #freddy x reader #monty x reader

[incorrectbatfam]

Okay, so I want a little angst fic where Robs twins and Milo get kidnapped, and the kidnapper is doing the whole cliche thing with ‘cHoOsE oNe, will your twins or Milo live??’ and, Rob thinks, it should be obvious, right? Pick ur twins! But, it’s a difficult decision, he can’t let any of them die, and he’s stressing Tf out. Like, Milo is fourteen! And the twins love him! (Kinds? He bullies them sometimes but it’s fineee)

At the end, the bats come and save them, but it’s still an eye opening experience.

The Gooners Christmas kidnapping fic that exactly one (1) person asked for

Word count: 3,375

———————

“What’s the password?”

Milo chuckled. “Jackie, you’re only supposed to do that when you get picked up from school.”

“Dad said to always ask before getting in the car with anyone,” the six-year-old replied. 

“But you know me.”

“What if you’re a shapeshifting alien trying to abduct us? Or an evil robot clone?” 

He sighed. “Unicorn ice cream. Now are we going Christmas shopping or not?”

“Sure,” she said, “when Gunner quits being a slowpoke.”

As if on cue, the other boy stumbled out of the three’s shared bedroom, tugging his blue snow boots on. Since he didn’t know how to tie the laces yet, Milo kneeled down and helped him.

“Now remember, the mall’s gonna be really busy, so what do we do if we get separated?”

“Meet at the food court,” they say in unison.

“And what do we not do?”

“Go to a security guard.”

“And why don’t we do that?”

“Because they don’t work for people like us.”

“Good job.” He patted the pom-poms topping their matching hats. 

Once Milo buckled the twins in and put his favorite rock album on, they set off. There was a light dusting of snow on top of the salt laid down earlier that morning, but the fifteen-year-old managed to weave through the holiday traffic and beat the lights in time to snag the last parking spot at Gotham City’s shopping hotspot. 

“Any idea what you’re gonna get your dad?” he asked as they walked into the bustling shopping mall. 

“How about a watch?” said Jackie. “I saw a really cool gold one last week.”

“Hm… maybe,” he said. “Gunner, what about you? Any thoughts?”

Gunner stifled a laugh. “Pants.”

Milo rolled his eyes playfully. The kid was in that phase where pants were the funniest thing in the world. But in the nine months since he started living with the Steelers, Milo hadn’t seen Rob get anything—buying or stealing—for himself. It was always for the kids or to sell on the internet. And, frankly, the man looked like he spent a year on a deserted island. 

“We’ll start with pants,” he said.

“What about you?” Jackie asked. “What are you gonna get him?”

“I’m not sure.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Probably something as a thanks for, you know, not leaving me to the wolves.”

“Like what?”

Gunner said, “How about a World’s Best Dad mug?”

“That might work for you, but he’s not my dad,” said Milo. He shrugged. “Eh, I’ll figure it out.” 

They perused a few clothing stores, the twins pointing out pieces of clothing their dad might like. Milo kept a mental inventory as he fiddled with the magnet in his coat pocket. He also made notes about where the cameras and security guards were placed. 

After about an hour, the kids were whining about being hungry (breakfast wasn’t exactly filling—they shared an egg and a slice of toast between them). Milo took them to the food court and used some cash he pickpocketed the other day to buy them both kids’ meals from the Batburger pop-up stall. 

Once they sat down, he said, “I’m gonna go get the gifts for your dad. Do you guys have your phone?”

Jackie and Gunner nodded and pulled out matching rose gold and black smartphones, respectively, that totally weren’t stolen and jailbroken. 

“Good. Stay here and don’t move. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes. Call me if you need anything.”

Milo still had a thing or two to learn before he could begin swiping electronics and jewelry, but shoplifting clothing was easy. He grabbed a shopping bag from behind an unoccupied register and wove through the aisles for the list of things from earlier. He took them to the dressing room and removed the security tags with his trusty magnet before putting the clothes in the bag. Then, for good measure, he stuck them back onto random clothes throughout the store before walking out while using his phone like any other teenager. 

When he didn’t see the twins at the food court, there was a small spark of panic. He called Jackie and it rang three times before she answered. 

“We’re in the bathroom,” she said. 

He should’ve noticed the quiver in her voice. When he stepped into the all-gender restroom, he was met by the kids pressed against the wall with a haggard middle-aged man towering over them. 

Gunner cried out, “Milo!”

As the door fell shut, the stranger whirled around, pointing a sawed-off shotgun at Milo. “You with them?”

Stunned, Milo nodded numbly. He wasn’t sure if that was the right move or not. 

The man’s hands trembled. “Do as I say or I shoot.”

Milo reached for his batarang—the one he found on the street—inside his jacket, but before he could grab it, the man walked around him and prodded Milo in the back with the barrel. 

“I know you heard me. Now all three of you move it.” 

The bathroom was five steps from the exit, so there wasn’t any chance to make a getaway without putting Jackie and Gunner at risk. They were ushered roughly into a white van with the peeling logo of an electric company. A second person was in the driver’s seat so the guy with the gun got into the seatless back with them. He slammed the door shut. Milo motioned for the twins to get behind him. 

The driver turned the radio up as they made their way onto the road. 

Smart. Milo thought. Mask any calls for help. This obviously wasn’t the kidnappers’ first rodeo. 

But neither was it Milo’s. Being a runaway street kid, he had his fair share of close calls with bastard adults who tried to manipulate him because of his age. While he couldn’t call himself an expert, he had a general gist of how these situations went. 

Traveling at sixty miles per hour in a windowless van with no clue where they were headed, Milo didn’t have an upper hand. He needed information. Something was better than nothing. 

He studied the man with them, who had tucked the gun away. Even in the dark, he could see the man wasn’t doing well for himself. The worn-out clothes plus the crudeness of his weapon ruled out the mafia. What would Falcone or Maroni want with some random kids from Burnside, anyway? Milo could also rule out some of the major Rogues—Riddler, Two-Face, and Mr. Freeze all had standards. 

The man’s graying blonde hair and beard were both overgrown. His face was hollow and his breath smelled like spoiled leftovers. Clearly, he hadn’t taken care of himself in a long time. Mental break? But unless it was a case of folie a deux, there’s no way he could’ve gotten a second person to be his getaway driver. More likely than not, he was on his last legs and holding people for ransom was his Hail Mary. 

Milo also tried to analyze the man’s body language, but the low light and the moving van made it difficult. Kellin would’ve probably deduced everything with their assassin training by now. 

He glanced over his shoulder at Jackie and Gunner. Gunner always had more braggadocio, but underneath he got more scared easily, and Milo saw it in the way the kid clung to his sister’s arm with tears running down his cherubic face. Jackie appeared calmer, but her big brown eyes looked up at Milo, silently begging him to do something.

Milo took a deep breath and turned to their kidnapper. “You mind telling me what you want with us?”

“We don’t want anything from you,” the man replied. 

“Then what? You gonna sell us? Because we’re pretty unmarketable.” 

“No,” he said. “This isn’t about you. It’s about your father.”

“Axel Carr? Good luck with that. I’m as dead to him as he is to me.”

The man pointed to the twins. “I meant theirs.”

“How do you know their dad?” Milo asked slowly, careful not to let a name slip in case the man was bluffing. 

“I worked with Rob Steeler under Scarecrow. When he left, instead of getting promoted, they let our entire crew go since we lost our key player.”

The man was clearly getting started and Milo hoped he’d keep going until the boy could formulate a plan. 

“My whole life torpedoed after that. No gigs meant no income. No income plus a disabled kid meant I had to give up custody.”

While unfortunate, Milo was more focused on the clock and speedometer up front. Eight minutes had passed since they started driving and the speed had stayed consistent. The hum underneath the wheels told him they were still on the highway. 

“Without that money, I can’t get my kid back. So here’s what’s gonna happen.”

They came to a stop and there was the sound of a garage door opening and closing. Gun back in hand, the man prodded them out. 

“I’m gonna make Steeler pay,” he said. “He gives me cash for his little tikes. Otherwise, if I can’t have my family, then neither can he.” He turned to Milo and cocked the gun. “As for you, I’m afraid I can’t have any witnesses.”

“Wait!” Milo exclaimed before the man put his finger on the trigger. “Don’t you think killing me right away will cause a huge scene? You’ll end up with cops at the doorstep before you can even ask for the money.”

The driver muttered something to the gunman.

“True,” the gunman said.

The driver whispered something else. The gunman’s face lit up and he nodded. 

“Better idea,” he said. “I was going for around thirty grand. That’s ten grand for each of you. For each one he can bring me, I’ll let you go home.”

Jackie piped up. “What if he can’t?”

The man smiled. “For your sake, little girl, you better hope he does.” 

The gunman forced the three to surrender their phones while the driver bound them with rope to a water pipe against the wall. The windowless garage offered no clues to the outside, but the fishy smell in the air meant they were close to the harbor. It hadn’t been used in a long time because every step someone took left a footprint in the dust. Off to one side, underneath a mountain of scrap wood and netting, was a speedboat with a gaping hole in the hull. On the other side was a small, messy work table where the driver and gunman were making the ransom call. 

“Milo, what do we do?” Gunner whispered. 

“Just stay here and don’t move unless I tell you to,” he replied. “I’m gonna get us out of this.”

“What if you get hurt?” Jackie asked. 

He smiled. “Remember when I did a cartwheel with a twisted ankle? A little hurt doesn’t bother me.”

His arms were pinned to his side, but he managed to maneuver them enough to grab his magnet and batarang. Normally he would have had a trunk full of inventory to work with but this was going to have to do. 

While the kidnappers were on the call, he sliced himself out of the ropes with the batarang. He also loosened Jackie and Gunner’s restraints to prepare for a quick escape. 

The only exit was the garage door, controlled by a red button on the wall. If he was one of the bat-people, he could easily throw the batarang and hit the tiny target far away, but as just Milo, the risks far outweighed his chance of success. Normally he would have tried anyway, but he had the kids with him. 

He gestured to Gunner’s boots. “I need to borrow something real quick.”

The boy nodded. Milo undid the laces, resulting in two long strings in his hands. He tied them together to create a single, even longer cord, which he then put the batarang on one end of. 

The kidnappers turned toward them and the gunman shouted, “Hey!”

Milo muttered a prayer to Wonder Woman on the off chance that’s her thing. 

He twirled the string and released it. It wrapped around the driver’s knee, causing the man to stumble and fall. His joint cracking echoed through the garage and a red stain grew on his cargo pants. 

He reeled it in before throwing it at the gunman’s face. The tip grazed the man’s cheek, drawing a thin trickle of blood, before spinning back around into Milo’s hand. Milo threw a punch, but the man caught it. The gunman twisted before shoving Milo to the ground and pointing the shotgun at him. 

“Had fun playing Robin?” the man asked, finger nearing the trigger. 

Stall. That was all there was left to do. 

“Heroes are overrated. They always have to follow some stupid code,” Milo said, doing all he could to keep his voice steady. “You and I have more in common than you think.”

“Whatever deal you’re trying to cut won’t work,” the gunman replied. “Steeler’s already on his way and he accepted all my terms.” 

“What if I tell everyone what you did? Then what?”

The gunman laughed. “Tell who? The same cops you’re always running from? Don’t think I didn’t do my homework on your little posse.”

The driver was pretty much down for the count because he was still on the floor with the pool of blood slowly growing. Plus, he didn’t seem like the fighting type to begin with. Unless there were more kidnappers lurking, Milo just had to make sure the gunman stayed focused on him. 

“Your kid. How old are they?” Milo asked. 

“He’s ten, and unlike you, he’s actually suffering. He didn’t bring it on himself after a fight with daddy.” 

That plucked a nerve. For a disheveled ex-henchman, the man knew a lot. 

Milo clenched his jaw. “And what would he say if he knew about this? Even if you get the money, what makes you think he’d want anything to do with you?”

Smack. 

Milo fell back as the gun met his temple. His head throbbed and black speckles swam in front of his eyes. His fingers traced over the spot and came back red. Through the dull ringing in his right ear, he heard the twins cry out his name. 

He turned back to the gunman, still kneeling. “If you’d do this to us, what’s stopping you from doing it to him?”

This time, a kick to the stomach forced the wind out of him. He doubled over, gasping. He reached for the batarang but the gunman kicked it away. 

The man raised his gun for another strike but the garage door interrupted him. 

“Step away from the kids.”

The twins exclaimed, “Dad!”

Rob made brief but reassuring eye contact with them before turning to the kidnapper. 

“I got as much as I could, Frederickson. Now let go of my kids.” 

The kidnapper walked over and snatched the water-stained blue duffel bag out of Rob’s hand. He opened it and counted through the banded bills before turning back to Rob. 

“I said thirty grand. This is only twenty-five.”

“That's all I got, I’m telling you! Just take it and let my kids and I go home.” 

“We had a deal.”

While the two men went back and forth, Milo crawled over to the batarang. The open garage door meant the bright lights inside flooded the harbor with nothing blocking the way. The bright lightbulbs dangled from the ceiling. 

It was sheer luck the batarang flew over the adults’ heads and wrapped around the base of the brightest light bulb before dangling in front of it. It wasn’t very distinct, but his makeshift Bat-Signal would have to do. 

The man cocked the gun. “Now you gotta pick. It’s them…” He pointed it at the twins. “Or him.” He pointed at Milo.

What kind of choice is that? Milo thought. Of course pick them.

Rob stood there as if nailed to the spot, fists clenched. 

“Fredrickson, think about this,” he said, his normally firm voice edging on pleading. “Is five thousand dollars worth having this on your conscience?”

“You were always the soft one,” the man sneered. “You never let it on around the boss until our last sting.”

“There’s ransom and then there’s this,” Rob said. “Fredrickson. Darren. You’re not okay.” 

“Rob,” Milo said. 

The men’s heads both swiveled around. 

Milo swallowed. “Give him what he wants and he’ll be out of your hair. It’s obvious. Pick the twins.”

Rob sputtered, eyes wide. “I-I…” 

“You trust me on the field all the time,” he said. “So do it again.”

“I can’t.”

The gunman said, “So the little ones go.”

“No!” Rob yelled. “I just—I just need…”

“Take. Your. Pick.” 

His eyes darted between Milo and the twins. Milo knew his boss was an idiot at times and the proof was right here. The twins were younger. There were two of them as opposed to one of him. They were actually Rob’s. 

Before the gunman could repeat himself again, a brand new voice chimed in. 

“I’ve seen this trope before. Spoiler alert: the good guys win.”

With a swish of her purple cape, Spoiler released her grapple and knocked the shotgun away. She coiled the rope around the gunman before kneeing him in the ribs. Milo didn’t think much of heroes given how they beat up people like him and Rob, but he couldn’t help but marvel at each fluid strike. As easy as one, two, three, four, and five. 

The gunman hit the ground and she clasped a pair of handcuffs on him. Nearby, Orphan collected the driver. 

Spoiler crouched beside the twins and freed them. “Are you guys alright?”

They nodded. Gunner said, “Is the supervillain defeated?”

“I’d hardly call him super, but yes,” she said. “He’s not gonna bother you anymore.” 

As red and blue lights flooded the room, Milo’s head pulsed even harder like a kick drum at a rock show. Some of the blood from his temple dripped onto the floor. His stomach rolled. 

Rob answered some of Spoiler’s questions before she set them loose. Of course cops would be at the scene. Why didn’t Milo think of that?

The twins ran into their dad’s arms and he scooped them up. Milo had never seen his boss so relieved or so scared. He staggered to his feet, one hand in the brick wall for balance. His head spun and a sharp pain was finally sinking in. 

Rob put the kids down and turned toward Milo. 

“I’m sorry,” Milo said. “It’s my fault we got into this mess and—”

He was cut off by a pair of arms wrapping around him. 

“Rob, what—”

“Just shut up and take it.” 

The hug ended before Milo could fully register it. After one of the medics patched his wound, all they had left to do was go home and pretend this never happened. Business as usual. 

“The car’s still at the mall,” he said. 

“I borrowed one from Otto,” Rob replied. “I’ll get ours in the morning.”

Once they were back at the apartment, Rob tucked the twins into bed with an extra-long story. Meanwhile, Milo cleaned himself up in the cubicle-sized bathroom and changed into something more comfortable. 

He tried to sleep after that but wound up tossing and turning for hours, replaying the night’s events in his head. What if he hadn’t left the twins alone? What if he’d brought a better weapon? The Steelers were already hanging by a thread and he just cost them twenty-five grand. If one of the others was in his position, they could’ve figured a way out by themselves. Blaise would’ve siphoned the gas from the van and turned it into a flamethrower. Booker and Molly would’ve been better negotiators. Kellin would’ve fought their way through.

The door opened. The thin bar of light cut between his side of the room and the sleeping twins’ bunk bed. 

“It’s two o’clock,” Rob said. 

Milo propped himself up on his elbow. “And?”

“I could hear you down the hall. You’re gonna wake the twins up at this rate.”

“Not on the clock, not my boss.”

Rob quietly chuckled. “Get some sleep. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

#see previous posts #milo carr #jackie steeler #gunner steeler #rob steeler #gotham gooners #original character #stephanie brown #spoiler #cassandra cain #orphan #batman #batfamily #batfam #batgirls #batkids #batsiblings #batman family #dc villains #gotham rogues #dc comics #dc fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #tw kidnapping #tw violence #tw angst #tw swearing #tw christmas

[depressed-fanperson]

Ok so here is my theories for Good Omens season 3

☑️More Angel Crowley flashbacks (possibly his status/name as an angel unveiled[and here are my theories on that])

☑️ “Love of My Life” by Queen as Crowley proceeds to, as Castiel put it, “I found a liquor shop. I drank it.”

☑️ Aziraphale fumbling around kinda in heaven. Like he’s just kinda really awkward up there and doesn’t really know how to do things or he just changes things to have like a couch or something idk

☑️ Muriel in the bookshop (not really a theory so much as a hope) Also Muriel finally changes her clothes (I will cry if she’s still in that all white uniform even I have limits)

☑️ Crowley going to Nina and saying “Give me Death”

☑️ The Bentley acting sad/this AMAZING post

☑️ Another kiss? Maybe? Hopefully?

☑️ a happy ending

☑️ 1941 (and possibly even more apology dances) Edit: ok so I saw this post that made me realize that 1941 was the Nazi scene and that’s probably why Aziraphale did the apology dance after the whole zombie thing but I still believe that Aziraphale is gonna do an apology dance in season 3 I feel it in my rib cage

☑️ ARCHANGEL AZIRAPHALE WITH BEARD???

☑️ this post by @ineffable-cliffhangers

☑️ I really wanna know what Neil Gaiman was talking about in this post

☑️ I am desperately hoping for this post by @feathered-serpents to happen

☑️ scenes with Aziraphale in Heaven that make you cringe with second hand embarrassment(not in a negative way more in a ‘you’re amazing and I treasure you but please don’t do that’ way)

☑️ ok but you know how Aziraphale does a super accurate drawing of Gabriel? What if he does a bunch of drawings of Crowley in heaven because he misses him so much

☑️ In season 1 we see a lot of Earth (obviously) and In season 2 we see plenty of Hell, but only a sneak peak of Heaven, so we’re definitely going to see more of Heaven, especially with Aziraphale being supreme Archangel there’s finally a reason to.

☑️what happened in Edinburgh when Crowley went to Hell?

☑️Aziraphale claims to have fooled Nefertiti, and mentions several times all the magic classes he’s been to, so maybe more history of Aziraphale and magic?

☑️ Aziraphale actually TELLING or Crowley somehow finding out that Aziraphale loves his eyes.

☑️14th Century???

☑Another reference to that 'lovely Chinese fellow' who ended up 6 feet under. I feel it in my bones.

☑️In the Shakespeare scene Crowley mentions that they’ve done the Arrangement “dozens of times before.”, so probably something in between then.

☑️God is gonna come back for narration God will come back I know she will because in s2 they were figuratively leaving the Garden and now that Azi is going back (😢) we will see more of her.

☑️CROWLEY STOPPING HIMSELF FROM CALLING AZI ANGEL

☑️Roof top scene, I swear to god there better be a roof top scene

☑️The big plane, with Jesus, and the security agents/angels; the 2nd coming. This is basically confirmed lol but I have a strong feeling that one of the Christian Big 3 will be there. (God, Jesus, Satan)

☑️In the scene where they're talking about guns and Aziraphale said that they "lends weight to a moral argument; I think.", and then Crowley snickers. He's laughing when Aziraphale says 'moral argument' and mutters it under his breath and starts walking away and Aziraphale is slightly annoyed/embarrassed and I'm sry I've started reading into everything I feel like it might have some sort of connection.

I’m going to save this and maybe add to it as time goes on then come back and fill in any checks that were right. If I’m basing any of these theories on incorrect facts or you’re confused on some of them please tell me and I’d be happy to make the corrections and further explain:).

#imma fucking die #good omens #crowley #aziraphale #go2 #good omens 2 #good omens season two #good omens 3 #neil gaiman #good omens headcannon #season 3 theories

[homosexuhauls]

I haven't seen anyone mention it on here, most likely because English language news sources are reporting them as friends, but a man murdered a lesbian couple in Hong Kong last week.

(Twitter thread includes more sources and proof of the two victims being in a relationship. However, video of the attack exists online and some of the photos in Chinese news articles are graphic/disturbing. Please proceed with caution.)

Fang Xiaotong (26 years old) and Liu Jixi (22 years old) were stabbed to death by a 39 year old man in a targeted attack in a shopping mall. Allegedly, he purchased the knife only after seeing the visibly gay couple, then attacked Fang Xiaotong, who was a Tom, which has a similar meaning to a butch or stud or masc lesbian. Liu Jixi attempted to intervene to save her girlfriend, but the perpetrator stabbed her also. Bystanders and mall security did not intervene, although eventually chefs who worked at the mall heard screams and armed themselves with stools before attempting to stop the attacker. The perpetrator then waited calmly for the police, and both women were pronounced dead at the hospital. While Western sources are painting this as a result of mental illness, the video and local news stories make it clear that this was likely a hate crime.

(Nb. I've also seen their names given as Fong Hiu-tung and Lau Kai-hei, and also that they may have used the nicknames "Daniel" and "Amber". I can't know which names they would have preferred to be used, hence why I'm including all of them here but using Fang Xiaotong and Liu Jixi throughout the post for consistency and clarity.)

From Naomi Wu, whose twitter thread I've linked above, an explanation of the sometimes deadly hostilities Toms and other lesbians face in China and Hong Kong:

When men attack Toms (butches), they think a lot of things- sometimes in Chinese we say "one lesbian steals two men's wives"- herself and her partner. And for bitter middle-aged, unmarried men like this attacker, they've been told their whole life they are owed a wife to wait on them hand and foot- and they feel robbed and wronged by a young handsome Tom taking what's "theirs". They are angry, entitled, jealous- they want to teach her a lesson. They want to punish her for having what is rightfully theirs when they don't. Then it's "Oh, if you want to act like a man, I'll treat you like one". Most need to justify it to themselves to get started. Of course, the femme/Dee/P is always next, because we will fight to save our Tom, and once we do, they can justify turning their violence on us next. In their twisted head, they decide their unprovoked attack was "fighting 1-on-1" and it's our fault for getting involved. All Toms know the deal, they cannot win, all Toms tell their girls again and again "if something happens, just run, I can take it". When the time comes, all Toms try to buy their girl time to get away- even as they go down under fists and boots...or knives They want to buy us time, but no femmes can bear to leave them, so it never works. But they always go for our Toms first, then us. Every time.

Fang Xiaotong was a waiter in a high-end restaurant. She loved small animals and children and had lived with her mother and step-sister prior to moving in with Liu Jixi one to two months before the attack. Liu Jixi was a hair stylist and also worked part-time at a bar, which is apparently where she and Fang Xiaotong met. On the day of the attack, both women were planning to meet up with Fang Xiaotong's family to celebrate her grandfather's birthday.

Rest in peace 🫶 your courage will not be forgotten.

#lesbophobia #homophobia #lgbt #lesbian feminism #radfem safe #radical feminism #idek how to tag this i just want people to see it #it's so unfair to see them being erased before our eyes

[ladyfogg]

Who Wants to be Lonely - 1/10

Who Wants to be Lonely – 1/10

Fic Summary: After the ground splits and sends you hurtling into the Upside Down, you come face-to-face with the notorious, and injured, Eddie Munson. Lost and hunted by otherworldly creatures, the two of you have no choice but to stick together if you’re going to find your way home. Masterpost.

Fic Rating: 18+

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Female Reader

Warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Language, Violence, Angst, Blood/Slight Gore, Season Finale Spoilers

Fic Song: Who Wants to be Lonely by Kiss. Full fic playlist on Spotify.

A/N: This fic came into my brain and decided to not only set up shop but close down any other business until I started writing it. It’s going to be multiple chapters, ten to be exact, and I already have everything outlined and planned. I hope you all like it!

’86 is your year, baby!

You feel it in your bones. Something great is going to happen to you. It has to. After all the struggles you’ve been through something good has to come from it. The last few years haven’t been kind. Not to anyone in Hawkins but especially not to you. Among the disappearances and deaths, you barely managed to graduate and even though the hell that was high school is finally over, something worse looms on the horizon.

Adulthood.

It doesn’t help that you don’t know what you want to do with your life, at least not long term. It also doesn’t help that your overbearing parents keep nagging you over and over again to find some direction. If they aren’t arguing with you then they’re arguing with each other.

Right after graduation, you move your room to the basement, that way you don’t have to listen to their screaming. Your dad designed the basement as an underground bunker for some major world-ending event that might be on the horizon. You don’t remember his exact reasons but as long as you don’t go through his cache of food and weapons, he doesn’t care. He has them stored in a separate room off the main one, the door secured with a padlock. It gives the whole place a very “end of the world” vibe that you dug in your late teens. Not to mention the storm cellar doors make it so easy to come and go without even having to see them most of the time.

You remember being so excited when the mall opened because it meant you’d definitely be able to find a job. And you had, working at the music store. Those months were when you were the happiest. Listening to records all day, taking lunch over at Scoops to chill with those guys. Making good money and saving to get your own place, an apartment where you wouldn’t have to worry about being side-eyed by your parents or walking into another screaming match when trying to get a bowl of cereal.

Then, the mall explodes. So much for that plan.

Finding a new job takes forever, and when you do get one, it isn’t nearly as good as the last. You bag groceries at a small market on Main Street. The hours are long, the pay is small, but hey, it’s work. Eventually, you finally manage to scrape together enough savings to afford a small, one-bedroom apartment near the Forest Hills Trailer Park. It isn’t much, but it’s yours.

Things are finally starting to settle down. That’s the thought you have anyway when you pull your car into the parking lot. It’s virtually empty since most folks in this area work long hours at the plant. You have considered working there as well but prefer having your evenings to yourself when you can swing it. The moon is bright and almost full, the sky dotted with stars. It’s actually beautiful and you take a second to admire it before going inside.

You let yourself into your place, breathing a sigh of relief at being home. It had been a grueling double shift. The usual check-out person had quit days before, stating that Hawkins was a shit show and he was getting out of town before things got worse. He wasn’t the only one. You’d seen a lot of people pack and move after the murders started. From your living room window, you can see the trailer park where that cheerleader’s body was found. As far as you’re aware, that Munson guy is still on the loose.

At any rate, your coworker’s departure left the store owners in a bind and you, never one to shy away from making extra cash, offered to pick up the slack. Which meant that you were checking out customers and bagging, alone, for over twelve hours several days a week.

Thoroughly exhausted, you throw your keys on the kitchen table along with the stack of bills you’re pretending haven’t arrived. Your place doesn’t have much. Just your bed and a dresser in the bedroom, and a couch, kitchen table, and stereo in the living room. The kitchen, if it can even be called that, is basically a stove, sink, and refrigerator shoved into a corner.

The major upside to your apartment, aside from the super cheap rent, is that it has a clawfoot tub. Apparently, when the old mansion was converted into apartment buildings, the tub was too cumbersome to take it out they just left it. Lucky you. This means, after your long workday, you can soak in a bath with your music blaring while drinking the beer that you swiped from work. And maybe while you’re in the tub, you’ll eat the sandwich you got the deli boys to make you after you flirted with them.  

Yeah, that’s exactly what you intend to do.

You turn on the stereo, hitting play on whatever cassette you left in there last. Which turns out to be the newest Metallica. Damn, you miss the music store. Maybe one day you’ll open your own. There isn’t a good one for miles around. That’ll be sick. Blaring Master of Puppets, you reach into your bag and grab one of the cans of beer. That satisfying crack it makes when you open it makes your shoulders relax. Feeling lazy, you drag your bag with you into the bathroom rather than unpack it. You drop it on the floor and kick out of your shoes.

Briefly, you wonder if you should check to see who is playing at the Hideout. There’s a metal band that’s been getting some buzz. It could be interesting. Whatever you decide to do, a hot bath is first on the list. After another sip of beer, you place it on the counter and turn around to start the bath.

However, after you turn the knob, barely any water comes out. God damn it. Not again.

The building is old as shit and the landlord never gave a damn about updating it. Yeah, he’d take your money for the apartment but that’s about it. You try the cold water and the same thing happens. Well so much for that. Annoyed, you don’t register the ground rumbling under your feet. Not at first at least and it’s so slight, you think it’s probably a truck going by. Happens all the time.

Well, since the bath is no good, at the very least you should change out of your work clothes and into something comfortable. You take your uniform shirt off, leaving you in only a tank top and your jeans. The lights start to flicker and suddenly, your stereo begins to cut in and out. Did you forget the electric bill? No, no, you’re pretty sure you paid it. It may have been a week late but still.

This time when the ground shakes, you feel it. It’s enough to throw you off balance and you grab your sink for support. A brief pause makes you wonder what the fuck that was. But then it happens again, and again, and now the shaking doesn’t stop. Holy shit, there’s an earthquake! You’ve never been in an earthquake before. What the fuck were you supposed to do? Run to the basement right? Shit! You can’t! You’re three stories up for fuck’s sake. You won’t make it down there safely.

You catch a glimpse of the tub in the mirror and vaguely remember hearing how people hide in tubs during quakes. Or was that tornados? Shit, you can’t remember!

With no choice, you turn quickly and end up tripping over your shoes and backpack. The strap of the bag gets caught around your foot and rather than stepping into the tub, you literally fall into it, barely missing hitting your head on the rim. You swear, untangling the bag from your ankle and clutching it to your chest as the room continues to shake. It doesn’t let up, doesn’t slowly ease. In fact, it gets worse. The power flickers for a final time before cutting off plunging you into darkness.

Then, everything stops.

You sit there for a moment, breathing heavily and listening to the still silence. And just when you think it’s over, you drop.

Your stomach lurches as the tiles beneath the tub split open and you’re sent plunging down to the next floor. Except, it doesn’t stop there. You keep going, falling through three floors and into the earth underneath the building. Walls of rock and stone seem to rise up around you through the dark. Then the walls start to come into focus, the darkness recedes. But the light isn’t coming from above. Bright red light comes from below, and you’re too scared to look over the edge and see what’s causing it. It gets brighter and brighter as you fall, fall, fall…

In one split second, your world turns upside down and suddenly the tub isn’t under you anymore. It’s above you and you’re free-falling fast. You’re too scared to do anything but shut your eyes, clutch your bag, and scream at the top of your lungs. Suddenly, there’s a moment of weightlessness and then gravity returns and you hit the ground hard, landing on your back and knocking the wind out of you.  You crack your eyes open in time to see the tub coming down fast and, at the last second, you curl your body into a ball, covering your head and bracing for impact. The tub lands upside down on top of you with a loud clang!

You’re dead. You have to be dead. A huge porcelain clawfoot tub fell on you and now you’re a goner.

Your body hurts and your heart is racing, which is the first clue that you’re actually alive. It takes you a long time to register that though. And when you finally dare to poke your head out from under your arms, you are met with darkness again. Your heavy breathing echoes back, bouncing off the porcelain surrounding you. The tub had fallen onto you like a dome, trapping you in a protective bubble.

Outside, you can hear the crash of thunder and more things falling, feel the impact as they hit the ground around you. Several more clangs make you flinch. But the tub is sturdy and whatever hits it bounces off, leaving the tub unscathed. An acrid, decaying smell reaches your nostrils and almost makes you vomit. Or that could be the anxiety of what you just went through. Really hard to tell at this point.

You’re too scared to move. Still curled into a tight ball, you try to get your breathing to return to normal. Deep breath in. Hold for a second. Then deep breath out.

Each time you do, you feel like you’re inhaling ash and eventually, you’re sent into a coughing fit. You can’t stay here. You have to move. You’ll die breathing in the same stale air over and over again. Also, you’re safe for now but what if the whole building comes down around you and you’re trapped under this stupid tub?

Gathering your courage, you release your death grip on your backpack and try to move. You can’t stretch out much without hitting the sides of the tub. Taking another deep breath, you try to push up against it. It doesn’t budge. You try again but nothing. Not even a centimeter. Fuck. Fuck. Now what? As you move around, the ground beneath you starts to give way, the loose dirt sliding under your feet. With no other choice, you dig your way out, using both hands to rapidly move the dirt and rock. It’s a long process and by the time there’s a big enough space for you to see under, your nails are caked with dirt and your fingers are raw. Even then, you have to work a little more to make the hole big enough for you to fully poke your head out.

And what you see, is not what you’re expecting.

You thought you’d see the building or at least remnants of it being collapsed around you. What you do see, is an inky black sky and rolling gray clouds, which you only notice when lightning flashes. Flecks of snow drift past but when one lands on your hand, you realize it’s not snow. It’s the ash you’ve been breathing in.

Terrified and confused beyond belief, you maneuver yourself out from under your porcelain prison and get to your feet. Your legs are weak and your body aches but miraculously, you’re not injured.

But, looking around, all you can wonder is, where the hell are you?

It looks like Hawkins. Sort of. And yet, it’s clearly not. The sky. It thunders occasionally but the lightning is almost constant. And there’s no moon. None. There was definitely a moon twenty minutes ago when you walked from your car to your building.

Speaking of. You look around. There are parts of your building but not the way you would think there would be. It’s like half the building fell through to whatever this place was, and the rest stayed behind. Like someone took a giant knife and sliced the place right down the middle. The ground is littered with cracks around you, but they’re filled in by building parts, the walls of your apartment somehow fused with the ground of this place.

What the hell are you supposed to do? How can you get out of here and get back? Can you get back?

Your mind is racing with fear and you are starting to hyperventilate. Suddenly, from above there comes a screeching noise that’s so high-pitched you have to cover your ears. Looking up in the sky, dark shapes are moving fast, circling and circling in an endless loop. Lightning flashes, illuminating the sky and the hundreds of bat-like monstrosities that have spotted their next meal. You.

Heart racing and stomach twisting in knots, your body is telling you one thing: run.

With your backpack slung over your shoulder, you pick a direction and bolt. Your sock-covered feet stumble and trip over the uneven ground, making you feel like you’re running in a nightmare. A terrible nightmare, the kind where you run as fast as you can but can never escape the dark thing that’s chasing you. This can’t be real. This can’t possibly be real. But when you trip over a large root and scrape your palm as you catch yourself, the searing pain reminds you that you are, in fact, awake. Awake and running for your life.

One of the creatures swoops down as you scramble to get back up.

Its talons rake across your shoulder and you cry out in pain, stumbling in your attempt to escape. It’s bleeding, the warm wet feeling seeps into your white tank-top, changing it to red. The smell of blood only riles the creature up more.  You keep going, trying not to look back even though you hear more screeching. You know the creature is coming back for another attack, not as patient as its kin. This time, you manage to duck out of the way and it soars past your head. For the first time, you get a glimpse of it, and its shocking horrible visage almost makes you trip again.

Have to run. Have to keep going. Have to find somewhere safe.

But where’s safe in this godforsaken place?

Chunks of buildings and walls with no support litter the area around you. You do your best to use them to your advantage, bobbing and weaving through empty doorways and broken storefronts. The creatures screech even louder and now multiple ones are taking their shot at you, swooping, and trying to claw whatever part of you they can reach. In desperation, you clutch the strap of your bag tight and fling it around, hitting one of the bastards dead on and sending it tumbling across the ground.

Before you can celebrate, you see a swarm of them on your heels. Right as you face forward, you realize the ground slopes sharply. There’s no stopping your momentum and you go tumbling down.

Jagged boulders and thick vines tear at every bit of exposed skin, drawing more blood which only enrages the beasts even further. When you finally stop, you’re at the bottom of a deep ravine. You’re not alone. Several bodies are lying motionless around you. One look at their torn corpses lets you know they’re dead. The creatures shriek excitedly, circling you, the lone live prey in their little den of gore. Get up! your brain yells. Move! Move! Move!

Body on fire, you scramble to your feet, slipping on dirt, blood, and who knows what else. You reach the wall of the ravine and swing your backpack onto your back. The stone and dirt are jagged enough for you to climb. But without shoes, your feet are having a hard time finding purchase and you keep sliding down towards the bottom. The creatures haven’t dived yet, and you get the sense that they’re playing with you, watching you struggle before they swope in for the final kill.

You’re almost to the top. Just a bit more…

Your foot gives out right when you catch the edge of the ravine. With both hands, you hang on for dear life trying to pull yourself up. Damn it, why did you never pay attention in gym class?! The one time knowing how to do a pull-up would come in handy! Your socks slide uselessly against the dirt and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The creatures are getting louder and louder. You’re doomed. This is it. This is how you die.

One of the creatures dives and you shut your eyes, flinching, and waiting for the pain. But instead, it screams in agony and when you look, just inches from your face, you see a knife poking out where its face should be.  The creature gets flung off to the side and from the darkness, a figure steps forward.

A pale, blood-stained face, dark eyes, plush lips, and long stringy hair tied up in a bandana come into focus as a young man around your age crouches down to your level. Eddie Munson holds his makeshift spear in one hand and extends his other for you to take.

“Come with me if you want to fucking live.”

Without hesitation, you grab his hand.

He gives you the leverage you need to pull yourself out of the ravine. The moment you’re on solid ground, he’s running and dragging you along with him. The creatures are screaming in dismay. They’re done playing with their food and start to angrily dive down. Eddie’s grip on your hand is tight and is the only thing keeping you from falling down. Your body jerks to the right as he takes a sudden turn and you find yourself in a labyrinth of buildings, all similar to yours, with half walls and chunks of bricks here and there. More bodies litter the ground and you don’t even have a chance to think about whether they’re alive or not.

Then, without warning, Eddie ducks to the left and yanks you down into a small crevice.

“What are—?”

He pulls you against his chest to keep you still and slaps his hand over your mouth, stopping you mid-sentence. You freeze, the sounds of flapping wings and angry squeals flying past your hiding spot. Your body is shaking and your lungs on are fire, not just from running but from holding your breath to try not to make a sound. Eddie still hasn’t removed his hand yet. He’s shaking too one arm curled around your waist to keep you still.

After what feels like an eternity, the angry screeching dies down, replaced by horrible crunching noises. It seems the bats decided to go for easier prey, snacking on the bodies you and Eddie jumped over.  

Only then does he let you go. Immediately, you pull away, putting as much distance between you two as possible. Which, given the tight space isn’t much. He’s still leaning against the wall, now pressing his hands to his abdomen. His spear and shield lay discarded at his feet. Your shoulder is burning and you glance over to see three deep claw marks in your flesh. It hurts like a bitch but the blood is already starting to clot.

You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you and you nervously meet his gaze. “You’re Eddie Munson. You’re that guy they say killed that cheerleader.”

“I saved your life and all you can do is accuse me of murder?”

He smirks and you can see blood in his mouth. It’s then that you realize the hands against his stomach are coated with it. His pale face is somehow even paler now and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was on death’s door.

“Did you do it?”

“No.”

You have no reason to believe him. But given the fact that he just saved your life, you’re willing to bet he’s telling the truth. You motion to his wounds. “You’re bleeding.”

“I’m aware of that.” Sliding onto the ground, his face twists with pain. “You wouldn’t happen to be a nurse or a doctor would you?”

“No.”

“Great. Hey, listen, if I bleed out, make sure I look cool doing it. Okay?”

With that, his eyes shut and he slumps over.

---

Taglist

(Some of the tags wouldn’t work and I’m not sure why other than, you know, it’s Tumblr)

@thirddeadlysin​ @imagine-all-the-imagines​ @ladymunson​ @daddychicka  @nerdyboylover @witchymoonbabe​ @fangirling-4-ever​​ @sadbitchfangirl

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #joseph quinn #stranger things #strangerthings #eddiemunson

[1348ts]

Snow (pt.1 invite)

avengers x teen fem reader.  

Back story

the reader is a 16-year-old girl with ice superpowers she was a baby when she got sent to Earth (why she doesn't know but she thinks it was because her parents didn't want her) she was found by HYDRA and raised there she was mistreated, used, shot at, train, electrified and so must worst when she turned 5 she didn't feel anything of the things they did to her and even if she did she would never let them know they have too much fun with that. one morning after her daily ¨training¨ she found a baby in her room and later learn she had to care for him she named him Chris. she did she wanted the best and to have Hydra give that she had to do horrible things her name was ¨frost bite¨ cause she freeze people when she was 14 (Chris 9) in her daily ¨training¨ he was the one in the chair and he was the one getting hurt and they didn't stop. she had gotten attached and Hydra didn't like that she tried to get to him but was too late he had passed there was nothing left of him and it was painful for both of them all the anger and sadness broke her even so that she lost control the whole base exploded and she grabbed a picture of them together and ran.  

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

Two years later reader is 16 now still on the run but she was trained to beat the best to be the best. you had a mission with no stop you went from HYDRA base to HYDRA base with maybe a week between each attack the goal was that nobody ever got hurt by them again. you have so many identities you gave yourself a different name ¨snow¨ and even a normal name ¨Chloe Hallow¨ you closed a painful chapter in your life and started to do better. but on one mission in Germany, something happened that wasn't supposed to happen it was a big base and it turned out the Avengers had heard too and much to our luck they weren't in the way they tried to talk to you and then catch you but failed miserably. you had read about them and everything but you didn't care cause it wasn't useful. Still, now they were very interesting you postponed your planned missions for about 3 weeks by the end you knew everything you even entered the ¨secured¨ compound and snooped through some stuff (nobody nodest). Still, hey you are the best there is you created an account and mailed Mr Fury giving him base locations I mean there are a lot and you could use some help. when he got the mail all the bells went off who sent him that? how doesn't give out his mail not even the Avengers have it? how do you know that there are bases there? he asks you all of those questions in his mail to you. your reply was simply ¨meet me at the coffee shop on 23 Main Street tomorrow at 4:30 PM come alone otherwise I won't show. O and don't tell anyone¨ so he cancelled his meetings and told no one and he got to the coffee shop at 4:27 Like clock-work 4:30 you walked in and sat down but before he could say something you said:¨I know I am young but you want to know you I got your mail Mr Fury and I'm willing to give that information¨ you say ¨go ahead tell me¨ Fury states¨well simply I went in you ¨secure¨ compound and got it from your computer¨ he looks at you impressed ¨and how-¨ he starts but you cut him off ¨how do I know where those bases are? I have my ways¨ you answer he looks at you and says ¨I have a team super heroes you'd be perfect I have seen you're file it is very impressive from whats known at least ¨ ¨im not interested I have a lot of things to do¨ you reason both of you argue for a good while at the end Fury convinces you (that's what he likes to think but you need some chance and you know it it is gonna be hard but you can do it ) you agree to come in on Friday (that's 3 days from now). 

if you want more parts just let me know

PS: don't mind the mistakes pls

#avengers x teen!reader #Chloe Hallow #avengers x platonic reader #nick fury #marvel #hydra #feminine reader

[fizzarollitm]

.thinking about a proper loose fizzy timeline now that I've played him more and developed him Note: This is like 50% character study and build for me to better understand Fizz and how I want to interpret him. Everything is adaptable for the sake of threads or hc's!

tw; stalking

1-3: Born in Greed, he has very little memories of his bio-parents. Thinks they were low level in some mob but hard to know for sure. Never reached out (and likely don't even know/recognize Fizzy is their child once he gets famous) in his life.

3: A circus worker found him abandoned by the popcorn stand. While at first people thought it was a case of some couple losing their kid (not the first time nor the last) as announcements became more "Come get your fucking child", it got obvious no one was going to claim him. Cash saw money signs in adding another child (sweet, sweet unpaid labor) to the roster, and that was that. Cash got the name Fizzy from a random clown prop/sign (I just love the idea Fizzarolli is like HHverse of naming your kid Krusty)

5: First glimpse of Mammon; it was one of those blink and you miss it life altering moments: An ad on a TV in a shop window, a millisecond of Mammon performing at some mall before getting shoved out by security, him passing by on a float of money. He saw him and his whole brain flared to life and he saw his future ahead of him. He will be the greatest clown ever!

General childhood notes; Grew up in step with Barbie and Blitz following everything they ever do. He did any stunt they did because they didn't seem scared so why should he. He loved performing for them and making them laugh and that love spilled over into Clowning very easily. If you had asked him what his dream was at this age it was the three of them forming a traveling trio and TAKING OVER THE WORLD

13-15: Light teen fuckery like shoplifting makeup they can't afford and fabric to make costumes. He gets handy with a sewing machine and makes everything for the three of them usually basing it off of whatever Clown Fashion magazine he swiped. He also starts to experiment with his gender around here and comes out as nonbinary in his early teens!

15; Seeing Mammon was the greatest night of life. He still thinks about it as an adult and the whole night gets swept up in this haze that destroys every blemish, in his mind it was the perfect show. Blitz's (right) negative comments bleeding the jealousy filter that comes later. He will be Mammon's protege even if it means leaving the Circus. This was also when the "light" stalking he experienced hit a new high and when Blitzo became his unofficial bodyguard. Cash told him to ignore it and " Take it as a good sign of how popular you are!"

16th [Explosion]: This will be a full hc post by itself one day but tldr he spent most of the after unconscious. Later, he got told the "hero" Cash pulled him from the wreckage before the remains of the tent finished what the fire didn't. He is shocked and hurt made worse by Cash's claims it was Blitz who did it, years of jealousy turning unfortunately deadly. Barbie is in not much better shape and they are alone in the wreckage wracked with betrayal, pain, and medical debt.

16-21: Recovery time. He got fitted with prosthetics and started physical therapy pretty quickly. He focused on his goals and put his head down while also learning ASL for when 1) His voice is too weak to speak from smoke damage 2) Hearing loss in his right ear. Soon he was able to rejoin the Circus (Albeit in a much more stripped down form) and eventually after Barbie's use made her unable to perform, took on most of the performance rolls. He mostly stayed out of guilt with Cash being his "savior".

21: Things hit a boiling point. After Barbie left it was a lot on him as the face of the Circus and he started making demands as such. Cash pushed back again and again until finally he snapped and ended their professional relationship. Out of impulse, he left the Circus for Mammon's stage entering the competition in a thrown together costume and a prayer. And. He. Fucking. Won. After signing on he realized the debt he had with Mammon but shrugged it off as a reality of fame. He moved into greed and took up a small apartment and lived out the year as any other winner. This includes an AI scan to create a robot for LooLooLand.

Nebulous pre-canon I have no set date for:

Mammon announced his wish to start selling robots in his likeness. He felt a little weird about it but went along with it using a more advanced AI based off the LooLoo Land model.

Asmodeus was commissioned to work on them (Fizzbot was made by Mammon hence its...quality) and him and Fizzy gradually grew closer over the project.

Sex robots come shortly after and he just keeps saying yes because its Mammon! His Idol! ...wooh. Also the echo of Crash's words about the stalking not helping much either.

As Mammon shifted focus to the Fizzy Bots, the stage became less a focus and he started working in Ozzies. Moving to Lust as his work moved out of Greed just made sense.

#[ooc] 「backstage pass」 #[musings] 「froggy flips」 #stalking tw #ok im going 2 bed

[doctor-fancy-pants]

That Researchin' Maritime Life

We've got a bit of downtime - there's a trawl going down to 5000m right now.

I've rotated and freshened up the sea cucumbers, packed away the echinoderms (starfish, sea cucumbers, sea urchins, brittle stars, feather stars and sea lilies), thrown a few buckets of seawater in the cold room (including the smaller pails seen below, I'm refining my holothurian rescue plans), and had a snack because This Machine, She Runs On Heavy Fuel.

This is actually a very comfortable ship to live on. Each cabin has a private ensuite, so you're not clambering down the bunk ladder and teetering out into the hall in search of the head in the middle of the night (I have been very spoilt and have only had one voyage like that). The mess has plenty of room at mealtimes. There are two lounges ("quiet" and "you're allowed to make noise and have informal meetings" respectively), and my favourite beanbags in the world.

There are, however, some drawbacks to marine research as a specialty (apart from the lack of job security, she says, as a short term contract taxonomist), and using a laboratory on a boat.

What drawbacks, you may ask.

Well, after my shift ends, I've been known to totter wearily into an online chat with mates and just drop random observations (you may note a somewhat laissez-faire attitude to punctuation).

For example:

you know it's amazing, you can be totally fine working in the dirty wet lab and you'll leave for five minutes and it's like your olfactory filters completely reset and then you get back down there and the nose is shouting at the brain "BOY HOWDY IT SURE DO SMELL LIKE FISHY PRAWNS IN HERE HUH JUST GOTTA SOAK IN THAT BRINY AMBIENCE"

summation: the science smells bad.

related outcome: the scientist also smells bad.

Yuuup, the smell is a whole freaking vibe. We can't dump too much seawater down the sinks that go into the grey water holding tank, we can't open the chute in the lab if there's an operation in progress (i.e. a trawl, a tow video, a Baited Remote Underwater Video, a fish trap) (which has been the case more often than not), and the same restriction is in place for simply tipping buckets over the side

That means that buckets of filthy seawater, sea cucumber guts, discarded excess critters, banged-up prawns and so on... just have to sit in the lab for a bit.

I've got a very sensitive nose. I have never been good at filtering out unpleasant smells, and yet somehow I kind of adapt to the lab odours... until I head up to the mess, and back down again.

(side note: we do actually clean the lab very thoroughly between trawls, and it does not smell all the time! It's more when you have to take a break in the middle of processing and then come back to it.)

What I do not adapt to is how bad I smell. By the end of the day, if I've been racing around in my coveralls, especially if I've been carrying heavy things, I will stink to high heaven.

(I will be quite self-conscious standing next to anyone.)

That shower is... so good.

But showering every day raises an issue. It's not what I normally do. Now, I realise there are some people who will find that horrifying (and most of them are from the US for some reason), but every second day, or when I need to wash my hair, or after a workout or, on a hot day? Yeah, that shower is good.

Every day? My poor skin is dryer than shoe leather, and I use a very gentle shower gel.

Shower Discord thoughts:

have been speculating on how one transitions from "I own body moisturiser but only occasionally remember to use it" as a terrestrial organism, to "I am pretty sure I could start a black market trade by subdividing this half-tube of Body Shop Hemp Hand Cream into small aliquots" as a person who is

1) at sea (the briny sea! The salty [drying] air!)

2) when not outdoors in the salty air, indoors in the drying A/C

3) regularly shoving one's hands into 100% ethanol and... usually... nearly always... wearing gloves while doing so

I mean this cream is the good shit

like basically liquid gold

which... could also be distributed in aliquots

okay. have decided: will not trade Body Shop Hemp Hand Cream for less than the equivalent volume of liquid gold

On later reflection, while I continue to believe that this asking price is fair, I may be pricing myself out of the market, if for no other reason than the simple lack of gold on board the vessel, regardless of phase.

I have decided that it doesn't have to be liquid. Melting gold on a moving vessel far off the continental shelf is an untenable safety risk. It just means that we will have to try to match the quantities by weight.

And that means using the scales in the clean wet lab, because the balances in our lab are not up to that sort of task.

And that means that I have definitely thought about this far too much, and I should go do something else (mainly clean my teeth and get ready for bed - need to get the energy for tomorrow's science-ing!).

We're still doing a fair bit of transiting and deeper sites, so I plan to try and knock out some taxonomic work on the few crinoids that have made it into the lab, and maybe set aside some time for the Sea Cucumber Salon.

Cukes gotta get their glamour shots, dammit.

#marine biology #boat thoughts #life at sea #holothurian naughty corner #RVInvestigator #Gascoyne2022 #liquid gold is a safety concern #safety first at sea #moisturiser economic analysis #marine biologists do not need to lick the science because smelling the science is quite enough thank you and goodnight

[mhdiaries]

Wave 1 Ghoulia Yelps Diary 

*kindly sent in by @fedorasquidwithglasses*

July 15,

I went to the mailbox to see if the book on monsterlecular biology I ordered was there and by the time I started back to the house it began to rain. Needless to say I was soaked by the time I got back inside. Everyone thinks I am so smart but if I were really intelligent I would carry an umbrella with me wherever I go.

July 16,

I woke up with a monster cold this morning. Ugh… I just wanted to lie in bed and simply un-die. Sir Hoots A Lot kept me supplied with tissues and books so I did not have to get up and mom even brought in some lukewarm dragon noodle soup although I am quite sure it was hot when she left the kitchen with it.

July 25,

I started a new book today. Actually it is a graphic novel… okay comic book. It is all about a zombie boy who gets pecked by a radioactive hummingbird and gains the power of super speed. I know it is just a made up story but a ghoul can dream can she not?

July 31,

So there is this zombie boy and I have become completely enamored with him. He plays on the casketball team and he is sweet and smart and I get tongue tied every time I am in his presence. I attempted to ask some of my ghoul friends what I should do but all the advice they gave me just seemed wrong. I even thought about sending a letter to one of those teen monster magazines:

Dear Relationship Know-It-All,

I am totally head over tombstone with the most engaging zombie boy but I am too nervous to talk to him. Please send your most generalized reply with a solution so diluted that it has no possible application to my current situation.

Signed, Thoroughly flummoxed in his presence

I did not, of course, send the letter. The last thing I want to do is publicly announce my inability to function in the presence of the opposite sex. It really should not be this difficult but it does require a certain amount of spontaneity and unscheduled events are not my fate.

August 15,

Today was the day I had scheduled to make a trek to The Maul in order to take advantage of their back-to-school fashion sales. Unfortunately due to circumstances beyond my control involving a flat tire, an intransigent hunchback and untimely solar flares I goes to The Maul about 4 hours late. I was able to makeup most of the time because I had a list of things I needed, which allowed me to bypass shopping and proceed straight to buying mode. The last stop on my list was the shoe store and I got there just as they were closing. I tried to talk to the store lurk into giving me just a few minutes but she did not understand zombie so she just rolled her eyes said “Sorry we’re closed,” and started to pull down the roll up security door. This caused the whole day to come crashing down on me and I started to fall apart. It was then that something remarkable happened. An arm reached around from behind me and stopped the door from closing. Then through my tears I could see that the door was being pushed back up and store lurk’s eyes had gone very wide. I do not know where she came from, but Clawdeen, perhaps the most intimidating girl at Monster High, stood there in full Alpha mode. “She said she had a list and that it wouldn’t take long, and since you are trying to close five minutes earlier than your posted hours, I suggest you open up and wait on her.” The lurk swallowed hard and said, “Of course Ms. Wolf.” Clawdeen put her arm around me and said, “Come on ghoul friend let’s try on some shoes.” It was one of the most enjoyable shopping experiences of my short zombie life. I even bought an extra pair on Clawdeen’s advice and when we were done she and her brother Clawd gave me a ride home so I didn’t have to take the bus. It is unfortunate that Clawdeen is still angry at Cleo because of the way Cleo and Clawd’s relationship ended. In retrospect though, I suppose Cleo should not have started dating Deuce the day after she dumped Clawd but what do I know about relationships?

August 20,

I made the acquaintance of a new girl today. Her name is Frankie Stein and although her understanding of zombie is quite rudimentary, she only asked me to repeat something twice. She had many questions about what it is like to be a zombie. Her inquiries showed a remarkably limited knowledge of zombie life and culture but I was happy to oblige her in her quest for knowledge. Her first question was, “Why do zombies only speak zombie but write in vernacular?” Okay, she did not use the word “vernacular” Anyway… I told her that it was a function of our unique zombie physiology. Actually, I believe I said that it is the way we are made – like a werewolf gets doubly hairy and ferocious on nights with a full moon or a vampire not being able to go out in the sun without totally covering their skin. It just is. I look forward to getting to know Frankie better when school starts. She is monstrously sweet.

August 31,

I received my “Zombies are monsters too!” t-shirt and bumper sticker in the mail today. The bumper sticker will have to go onto my wall until I get my license but I will proudly wear the t-shirt, under something else, because I hate drawing undue attention to myself. Yes I am being contradictory here. I want to make a statement but I do not want to be noticed while I am doing it. Why a statement? Well, it is not as if zombies are treated poorly by the “legacy” monsters but sometimes we do get treated like background noise which is a little disheartening. Yes we only speak zombie, yes we slowly shuffle along, yes we often appear to be devoid of personality but the same observation could be made about any teenager. Regardless, I am just as special as any pedigreed monster. Speaking of pedigreed monsters, my iCoffin just went off to remind me I am supposed to meet Cleo de Nile tomorrow.

September 1,

Spent the day at Cleo de Nile’s helping her get her class schedule organized. While Cleo does have the reputation of being arrogant and demanding, which she is at times, she can also be generous and helpful. How does she help me? It is hard to socialize when you are as shy as I am but Cleo will not allow me to sit on the sidelines. When we first became friends she took me around and introduced me to everybody – even Clawdeen! Now I am included in every social event and I have so many good friends at MH that while I am still shy they will not allow me to be invisible. I am still closest to Cleo though because she took a chance on getting to know a quiet and nerdy zombie girl when she really did not have to.

September 6,

Although I have enjoyed my time off for the summer I am eagerly anticipating the resumption of the school year tomorrow. I know that I am unusual in this but school is where I get to focus on my two favorite activities, acquiring knowledge and spending time with my friends.

#monster high #monster high diary #Ghoulia Yelps #wave 1

[itsawhumpsideblog]

The Safehouse, pt. 1

Had some ideas, thought I'd start writing. Here goes, I guess?

CW: for institutionalized slavery, mentions of abuse, treatment of people as things

The call came on their anachronistic landline while Angie was washing the dishes and it made her jump. She wanted to grab it right away, but she was in soap suds up to her elbows and had only gotten as far as toweling dry when Tim came skidding around the corner and grabbed the receiver off it's hook.

"Hello?" he asked, breathlessly, as though anyone else would call on that line. Parents and friends would have texted their individual phones; this phone could only ring for one purpose.

Angie finished drying her arms and walked over to lean against the wall, hoping to hear some of the conversation instead of waiting for Tim to hang up and relay the information. To her disappointment, he did a lot of listening and very little talking and there wasn't much she could glean until he thanked the person on the other end and turned to her.

"Well?" she asked anxiously.

Tim sucked in a deep breath as if steeling himself for something serious, which was more or less the case. "They're sending us three of them," he said. "Our contact says we should expect them to arrive tomorrow. They'll be delivered by WRU employees, so don't be surprised by the method of delivery, but he promised the abolitionists falsified records somewhere to get them sent here- no money changed hands. He was very clear about that."

It was no good asking who the contact was or how the delivery orders had been created. For the safety of the whole network, they would never know.

"We'd better get ready," Angie said needlessly. They had a checklist, but it made her feel better- more prepared- to say it out loud. "We'll have to make the beds, make sure we have food they can eat- did they say anything about allergies?"

"No, nothing." They knew better than to ask about preferences. The rescued box boys likely wouldn't be able to have preferences for some time, or at least not express them.

"So beds, food, soap and shampoo for their bathroom, fresh towels." Angie counted items on her fingers. "They'll need clothes- did they give you any information about sizes?"

Tim shook his head. "Just said they were coming tomorrow and that there were three of them- all men. They'll be with us permanently, until they're rehabbed well enough to live independently or in a halfway house. They're-" he winced slightly at the next phrase "-'second hand' so we should be prepared for them to be in... pretty bad shape. Maybe very bad. Our contact didn't know." Tim's voice had gone very quiet as he spoke and he was looking at his shoes.

Angie nodded. "We'll do everything we can," she said. "Do you want to split up and go shopping separately? Get it done faster?"

"Can I go with you?" Tim asked. He looked up at her through his bangs, smiling sheepishly. "I'm- I'm a little nervous. I didn't think I would be. But it would help to go together, maybe talk things over on the way."

"Of course," Angie said. "We can go together if you want. We should get started."

"I'll put my shoes on." Tim went to the front hall and returned a minute later wearing sneakers and a hoodie against the cold weather. He pulled keys out of the pocket and they let themselves out of the single-family home and got in the car parked out front.

The house was not really theirs and neither was the car; Angie and Tim had only known each other for a few weeks and both felt that it would be a while yet before they were comfortable living and working together. They had been paired up after training, a mostly-virtual affair offered in secret and only after volunteers had passed several levels of security and background checks and the like. The abolitionists could not afford to operate too overtly, but they managed to create and staff safehouses and Angie and Tim, along with others they would never meet, had been deemed to posses the qualities necessary to help rehabilitate rescued box boys.

And now, as of tomorrow morning, they would be the caretakers for three young men rescued from... whatever it was that WRU had done to them.

The pairing seemed to have been well made, or at least Angie and Tim thought it was. They had quickly become comfortable with each other and Angie's organized, energetic determination was a useful foil to Tim's quiet, gentle nature. She looked around and saw what needed to be done; his strength was in finding the right way to do it.

As they passed through stores, they talked and debated and made choices as if intentionally demonstrating these choices. It was Angie who steered them directly to the linens and quickly put her hand to the best financial choices, while Tim made sure the items were available in different colors and patterns, so that the new arrivals would each have something to call their own. Later, he ensured that the towels did not match the bedsheets, so the young men would not feel color-coded. Thanks to Angie, they kept the whole thing under-budget. "That leaves more," she said, "that we can spend on them later, when we know what they need."

That night, they ate pizza and stayed up until the early hours setting up the bedroom and bathroom. There was a bunkbed and another single bed to match it, mattresses to haul upstairs and put on the beds, a bathtub to wash out and curtains to hang. The house had come partially furnished, but they had expected more time to get it ready.

No matter, though. By the time they went to their own rooms to sleep, they felt confident that they were ready for the new arrivals.

Next time: a knock on the door and the population of the house grows.

Master Post

#box boy universe #hurt/comfort #BBU #whump #box boy whump

[equizona]

I saw the headcanons for the security breach crew reacting to a reader making plushies of them, so how would the fnaf 1 crew react to a reader making plushies for them, this includes Golden Freddy

feat. the fnaf 1 gang

warnings :

note : writing through a block is a struggle I tell you that

❥ FREDDY FAZBEAR

He is extremely confused on why you're holding up a stuffed animal of him. And he is confused on why it looks so different from the ones sold at the gift shop. Where did you find it? When you tell him that you handmade it he's in awe. He shuts up for once and kind of just stares at it in awe, not uttering a single word.

If you then tell him that you made it for him, he'll continue staring at it for a few moments before carefully taking it from you. He keeps it hidden in a vent placed backstage so that none of the workers find and mess with it.

❥ CHICA THE CHICKEN

She gasps in excitement when you show her the stuffed copy of her and she carefully takes it from your grasp, looking over all the tiny details in barely contained excitement. When you let her know you handmade it, she isn't surpised. She compliments your work and tells you that she thinks it's absolutely wonderful.

If you made it for her, she will be even more eager about the whole situation. She names it some silly spin off name of her own and then she keeps it stored in the security office, knowing that nobody ever actually touches anything in there so unless the entire place burns down it will be safe.

❥ BONNIE THE BUNNY

He also sees that it isn't the same ones that are sold as merch so he's a little confused, but he definitely likes it. He tells you it's cool, not wanting to seem too eager about the thing. He does end up becoming way more open about how well-made it is when you tell him it's handsome.

He doesn't express it much how happy he is if you made it for him. He absolutely adores it, but he tones down his joy to seem cooler, lmao. He keeps it with his in the supply closet, hidden behind boxes that are never used by people so it's safe.

❥ FOXY THE PIRATE

He is eager about the stuffed animal, looking at it excitedly. He knows they don't sell merchandise for him anymore since he was placed out of order so he's curious on how you got it, but he's so distracted he barely hears you telling him it's handmade. He is so in awe at the handmade plushie of him.

And if you made it for him? He is even happier, and he barely thought that was possible. He keeps it in the pirate cove with him, giving it a silly name and he makes it a crew mate. The plushie becomes his daytime company whenever you can't and he tells it all the stories he comes up with.

❥ GOLDEN FREDDY

He was never on action so he knows for a fact that they never made merch or items based around him, so he can tell that it has to be handmade. There are no other options. And he is enamoured with the stuffed animal. He isn't surpised when you tell him you made it for him. But he's so happy that you spent time making it.

And if you tell him it's for him, leaving it in that backroom that's closed off behind cement with him, he feels so happy. He doesn't talk to it like Foxy had a tendency to do, but the stuffed animal certainly makes him feel less lonely.

#fnaf #fnaf x reader #five night's at freddy's #five night's at freddy's x reader