#i mean not for going out because it’s not as secure and some of them will come out and it’s just not convenient to wear under a hijab

[jq37]

Your sister who you love so much (even though you’ve never shown it) asks you to be her sister again, her true sister, in deed not just in name. And yes, of course that’s what you want. That’s what you’ve always wanted and now that she’s shattered your defenses and destroyed the ones who would pit you against each other and died right before your eyes, how could you refuse? How could your answer be anything but yes?

So you go home with her, not the ruins of your perfectly posh prison, but a new home which provides love and care and bunk beds and it’s so so nice. Ridiculously nice. Sickeningly nice. And a small, sick part of you almost misses your old home (if you can even call it a home) because yes, it was cruel and awful and you hated every second of it but you knew where you fit. You knew what your role was. You don’t fit in here. Everyone accepts you because they’re all so nice, but they don’t know how to volley back your sharp words or find a hidden, “I love you” within an offhanded insult. 

And then your sister leaves to save the world again because that’s who she is. She’s the kind of person who goes out to save the world with her friends when she’s needed and you’re not. You’re not, not, not. Not on any count. You don’t save things, you destroy them. And friends? You have to allow yourself to be vulnerable for friends so of course that’s out. Your sister is 16 and she’s out saving the world for the third time and you, fully grown at 18, are a wanted criminal who hasn’t even properly graduated from high school. You can’t stop thinking about it and, without your sister and her friends occupying the house as a buffer, the ones who are left try to get you to talk about it so you make a rash decision, as you are wont to do. You leave, like a thief in the night. You can make your own way. You can. You’ll prove it.

You find a shitty apartment and pay for it with the ill-gotten spoils from one of your many exploits. You could probably pawn some treasure for more luxurious  accommodations–there is that chest of rubies just lying around–but you don’t. That’s not what you deserve. And what if your sister needs help later? You don’t have access to your parental funds anymore which means she doesn’t either. You know she won’t ask anyone for help–you wouldn’t. But someone has to look after her. You’re an abjuration wizard. You protect people. You protect her. No, that’s a lie. But you want to make it not a lie. You want to start now.

If you’re saving the rubies then you need a source of income. You narrow down your least villainous talents to try and find a suitable job and hit on teacher. You’re good at magic, right? So how hard can teaching it be? Hopefully not as hard as securing the job, which proves trickier than expected because, oh right, you’re a wanted criminal who hasn’t graduated high school. But you dip into your villainous talents once more and tell yourself it’s for a good cause. You secure the job. You’re doing it. You’re making your own way. 

You want to text your sister to see if she’s doing alright but you don’t want to intrude and you don’t want to answer any questions about what you’ve been doing because then either you’ll have to lie or explain that you’ve left again, right after you promised you’d be there. Both options make your heart ache, especially since it’s her birthday. So you wait until the house is empty (mostly empty–you’re never really alone in a haunted house) and enter the room you and your sister shared for too brief a time. You paint her walls with carefully rendered runes, filled with all your abjuration magic and stamped with your arcane mark. It’s a possessive bit of spellcraft. A selfish claiming of a climactic kill. You mean to make a different kind of claim. You are claiming your sister, as she asked you to months ago. You are telling the world that she will not be fucked with while you live. Your rooms were so close before. You could hear her. You knew every night she went to bed in the grips of a panic attack with no one to console her. She won’t have to feel unsafe in her own room again. You can make sure of that at least. 

The sun rises one morning and you know that means your sister is alive and well and coming home. You teleport to Falinel to make sure she returns to her favorite dessert. It’s worth the spell slot and the chance of being recognized. The tower where they kept you is long destroyed and you know that this time, if you were ever captured or even killed, rescue wouldn’t be measured in a matter of months. It would be days. Hours even if your clever sister and her powerful divination magic put things together faster. The thought fills you with more emotion than you know what to do with. You leave a note. “I love you,” you think. “Enjoy the nemesis ward,” you write. 

Practicing magic, as it turns out, is a very different skill than teaching magic. The children are loud and obnoxious and you don’t quite realize that maybe your expectations are too high between the hothouse you grew up in and your sister being the world’s greatest diviner, fullstop. You know you can always go back to the manor, but that somehow makes it easier to stick it out. You’ve always been taught that pressure provides the best results but there’s something about the security of a safety net that makes everything a bit more bearable. And so what if you have to take a second job involving a light criminal element. You’re only smuggling–that’s barely even a real crime.

Your sister who has saved the world thrice now, texts you and she wants help. She is looking to you for help. And you do your best to oblige. You offer your knowledge, you offer your rubies, you invite her over again and again. She sends you a text and deletes it. You’re not the diviner in the family but you drain your spell slots scrying for information you already know. Information that you'll hear from her own lips in just a few hours. “I love you.”

She finally visits and you’re not unaware of the state of your apartment. You know you’ve been too exhausted for an Unseen Servant or even a round of Prestidigitations but you know that your sister has seen your mind and there’s nothing messier about you than that. She teases you and you tease her back. She’s the only one who understands how to deliver a complement with a backhand so you can receive it without your skin crawling. The only one who knows how much tartness you need with your sweetness. 

Later, she visits again. She sits in your filthy apartment and you watch trash TV and it’s the highlight of your week. Your month even. That should feel pathetic but, somehow it doesn’t. You want to tell her. She deserves to hear it from time to time without having to filter out the layers of prickliness that you add as second nature, a layer of armor as ever present as your abjurer’s ward. You may not be able to handle naked sentiment but she can. You’ve seen her with her friends. How affectionate they are. You’ve always been taught that loose lips sink ships but you have experience with ship sinking and this prospect fills you with much less dread. You tell her and it’s awkward and fumbling but you manage. Maybe loving people isn’t so different from loving cats.

You have a new job which is perfect because the school year is almost over and, blackmail or no, you aren’t sure how many times you’ll be able to get away with casting Sleep on your class to give yourself a break. Honestly, you should have applied for jobs in Leviathan from the start. Why would pirates care about your sketchy history and lack of credentials? You could teleport yourself to Leviathan every day but that would be a waste of a spell slot when the door to Leviathan is right there in the manor (and if your sister happens to be there too then hey, happy coincidence). While you’re there, you might as well do your laundry. And stay for dinner from time to time. And spend time with your sister in your her room where your runes stand sentinel and your old bunk lays untouched. You don’t think you’re staring but later, as you go to grab a snack from the kitchen your sister throws you a casual, over the shoulder glance. 

“You can just move back in, if you want.”

And would it really be that easy? Just like that? After a year of trying to make a point or a plan or a better version of yourself or whatever? Just like that? 

You remember a year ago. You and your sister and words that will be burned into your mind forever. 

“Despite the fact that you have not earned it, I do love you.”

Just like that. 

You say yes. You stay. 

#fantasy high #fantasy high spoilers #dimension 20 #d20 #spoilers #aelwyn abernant #you wanna hear something funny? #this was supposed to be a 3 paragraph post tops #I am boo boo the fool #adaine abernant #abernant sisters #i am back on my bullshit

[hazbinsimp777]

Hello! I'd love to request some cuddly fluff with Lucifer, Vox, and Alastor. It's my favorite trio pairing!

CUDDLING HEADCANNONS

Featuring Alastor, Lucifer and Vox

Reader read as female

A/N: I love these three sm! Thank you for the request ember! <3

✅️Fluff

~ALASTOR~

~ If you are dating Alastor in the first place, you are going to get a lot of privileges that others will not have (obviously) But of course, he still has his boundaries.

~ When you two are cuddling, it will have to be somewhere private. For example, his room, your room, or the room you two share (only when married) at times, when he is in a generous mood, in the hotel's library or lobby couch.

~ Where does he like cuddling? His favorite place he loves cuddling is on his armchair in his room. In an innocent way of course, he loved having you in his lap with your arms around him. This means easy access to your neck when it wants to bite it :3

~ No like sometimes he will just take a bite out of your neck, its not even sexual most of the time, only to the point when there is a light hint of pain, to leave a bite mark, he's just a bastard like that-

Alastor: *bites neck*

Y/n: Alastor! Agh- not again-

*The next day*

Angel: The fuck attacked you?

Y/n, tired: A deer

~ While cuddling, on the bed, he will lay his head on your head, Which you resting in his chest. So you are in comforable pajamas, his is still in his suit, fully dressed.

~ Even from cuddling he doesn't even fall asleep! At night, when you fall asleep from cuddling, he just, stares at you. Sometimes in a creepy way but he just wants to admire everything about you! Admiring your hair, face, closed eyes, your loud/quiet snores. Even when you drool in your sleep (if you do)

~ He will still hold you when you sleep, when he isn't watching you, he is simply reading or listening to jazz on the radio.

~ Alastor MUST ALWAYS be the big spoon, he will not tolerate being the little spoon on ANY circumstances. Okay maybe that was a lie... He will like being small spoon when he had a horrible day and cannot keep his smile up. On days like that, he just wants to be babied and held on those days. But that has only happened twice.

~ Baby this man he still misses his mother :(

~ He might not always ask for cuddles, but he is just too prideful to ask for them, so PLEASE ask him, he is always up for cuddles, he just doesn't want to admit it

~VOX~

~ This man is so confusing when it comes to cuddling, sense he was hesitant about them at first. In his past no one had asked to cuddle innocently with him, only being sex they desired from him.

~ The first time cuddling, was, delightful, he never thought it would feel this...secured. He had never felt this...loved before. Whenever with you, he feels safe and unjudged, which is new for him, but never unwelcomed.

~ From that point on, he just wants you in his arms 24/7, even during work if you are his assistant. Vox loves the feeling of his arms around you anywhere, especially in public, as if telling everyone, "Yeah! This hot and pretty specimen is mine!"

~ Something he hold dear to that metal heart, is the times when you are sitting down on his lap while he works on things for his business. Vox will usually have his hand on your thigh, gently squeezing anything really. Vox is a multi-tasker.

~ When cuddling in private, he loves telling you how perfect you are, kissing everything he loves about you. Which is everywhere. Not in an sexual way most times, more in like a, "let me show you how much I love you" sort of way.

~ One thing he will NEVER admit to anyone, besides to Velvette and Valentino is that he is a little spoon most of the times you have cuddled. Because they have walked in on that ten times He can't help it! He likes when you wrap you arms around him, he goes FERAL!

~ Night cuddles happen very rarely because he is always working on the latest new tech. But, when they do happen, he makes sure they are memorable and last a very long time.

~ It can be hard at times to cuddle especially with his, interesting shaped head...

Y/n: V-vox?

Vox: Yeah babe?

Y/n: Can you move your head please?

Vox: But I'm corfortable here :( so no >:)

Y/n: Voxy....MOVE YOUR FUCKING HEAD BEFORE I PUNCH THAT SCREEN!

~ This overworked man loves having physical touch with you, don't ever take that away from him. Seriously he will short-circuit.

~LUCIFER~

~ It is no secret this man LOVES physical touch from his partner. No, I mean it, he can't physically live without touching his partner in some way. He will be more than happy with holding hands or hand around your waist.

~ So I can imagine how much he lives for cuddles, living for your touch.

~ He is actually the one who asked for the cuddles, sure, he was a little shy. Because he hasn't had any for a long time. Ever since Lilith left him of course. Seriously how could she leave this man?

~ Lucifer loves being little spoon, shorter or taller than him, he really doesn't care. Of course, you will be little spoon at times, but I'd imagine those time would be extremely rare for him. But he will NEVER admit that, being the sin of pride.

~ This little short king just like when his domiant partner just cuddles him like a tiny puppy :3

~ When cuddling, he loves burying his face in your chest, giving it little kisses whenever and wherever he can. Long or short hair? One thing is for sure, he is going to play with it in whatever way he can.

~At times you wonder, is he addicted to your cuddles?

Lucifer: Baby! Why are you leaving me, as your husband I need attention. *pouts*

Y/n: Luci, I need to go help Charlie with the hotel *Attempting to get free from his grasp he is stronger than he looks*

Lucifer: *groans*

Y/n: *sigh* I'll give you twice as more when I come back.

Lucifer: YAY!

~ You have to remember this guy had a rough life, I mean, his wife just left him and hasn't had a good relationship with his only daughter for a while.

~ When cuddling, Lucifer loved holding hands with you, rubbing circles with it with his thumb. Placing gentle and soft kisses on your hand, especially on your ring finger. He would even just play with it sometimes, like a little kid.

~ He most ideally likes cuddling on your shared bed, but anywhere like the floor, couch ect. Basically anywhere were you two can lay down and enjoy each others touch.

~ One thing is for sure, he loves everything about you and your cuddling, so please don't ever take that privilege away from him.

A/N: I hope this delivered Ember! And I hope you have a good day.

Drink water and Stay Healthy Lovelies! <3

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin lucifer #hazbin vox #alastor x reader #vox x reader #lucifer x reader

[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

[mikkomacko]

i also think for mob nico, you should make a little something something on how they met! it would be so cute if you could like show how reader was introduced into his lifestyle and to the boys!♥️♥️

Sorry this took me so long! This is more of just their meet cute rather than meeting the boys but she does also meet Timo here so I hope you love it!

Thanks for requesting!

____________________________________________

Nico and the boys (the singles ones at least) spend a lot of time at The Rock. Free drinks, good music, a private section, and endless amounts of girls.

The Rock’s popularity with women took off after Nico rebranded the bar and made it into a place that feels more secure. His security is amazing, they notice everything and aren’t afraid to kick out any trouble.

That and majority of the men that take up space here are his boys, and he’s taught them all about reputation. Just because they’re Devils, doesn’t mean they can be assholes.

So yeah he comes here at the end of almost every day. He gets to bond with his men and drink, and if he’s lucky get a girl to go home with him. Well, more likely go out back to his car with him.

Nico and Timo were eyeing one of the regular groups that come in when he saw you. At first he was concerned because you were huddled in a tight circle with the other girls, everyone whispering and looking around the bar. He thought maybe you were hiding from someone and he was two seconds from climbing out of the booth to go check it out.

But then you, with your back to him, stood up straighter and hiked your black skirt up just a smidgen more. Someone fixed your hair, you flipped it over your shoulder and he watched in awe as you in your knee high boots sauntered away from the group and up to a table of men.

Almost instantly they all melted. It was like magic the way you just had to smile at them, twirl your hair a bit and laugh. One of them ordered you a drink, you laughed and thanked them with a hand on their bicep. The moment they got distracted though, you were slithering off back to your group of friends.

Baffled, he watched you hand the drink to a friend. Then do it all over again. Four more times you got different drinks from these guys, each time reporting back to your friend group to hand the drink over. Nico was in awe of you, how you moved, how you smiled, how you touched their chests or arms.

A little drunk, he waved security over to the booth. “That one,” he said, pointing to you. “Get her a drink on me.”

Unsure what you drank, he just requested something expensive and sent the man on his way. Sipping his beer, Nico admired you some more. He’d never seen you here even though you look so comfortable commanding the place. He wonders if you’d try and pull that move on him, if it’d work. A part of him thinks it would and he grows hot at the idea of it.

You’re handed the drink, confused but smiling when security points towards Nico’s table. Smirking, he winks at you when you meet his gaze and raises his own drink to you. You bite your glossy lip, cheer-sing him across the room before turning back to your friends.

Wait, what?

He’d given you a chance, an opening to approach him. That was your invite to saunter up those couple steps and slip into his lap for the night.

Not that you seemed to care. He even beat you at your own game. The most expensive drink on the menu just for being that pretty, for having that much of a hold over everyone in here. He liked it, and he wanted you to know he had even more.

“Harsh,” Timo tells him, laughing. “Maybe next time you should get her the drink yourself. She seems to like that.”

Nico scoffs, chugging down the rest of his drink. He orders another one, drinks it a little slower to give himself time to calm down. Then he’s leaving the booth, parting the crowd without even saying a word. You look up at him when the path to you opens, a coy smile on your lips. He stands over you, head cocked to the side.

“Thought I’d get a better thanks for that.” He greets and you look him up and down, eyes lingering on the chain around his neck.

“Thanks?” You laugh, turning your shoulder to your friends so you could talk to him. “The thank you was me drinking whatever the hell this is.”

His eyebrows pinch together in offense. “That’s a good drink!”

You take a sip, nose scrunching. “Not a tequila girl, thanks though.”

Not deterred, he crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at you. “I liked your little game, thought I’d help you out.”

Your smile grows almost wicked at that and you giggle a devilish little sound that has his knees wobbling. “You just gave me my ace in the hole, actually.”

Fuck, he really can’t this right, can he? “Oh yeah?”

You drink so more, pursing those pretty lips in distaste. “Yeah, the whole point is to make guys uncomfortable. No one likes when a girl has enough confidence to walk up and demand a drink, and they hate it even more when they realize it wasn’t even for me.”

And he’s lost again. He beat you at your game, he took that confidence and turned it around by sending you a drink. Why doesn’t he feel like he’s won?

“Well you didn’t demand that one.” He argues.

Tucking your hair behind your ear, you step closer to him and tilt your chin to peer up at him. “No, but for the first time I made you leave that booth to come talk to me, didn’t I?”

It takes him a moment to realize you’re right. He’s too busy thinking about beautiful you are, how he wants to feel the curve of your lips on his and run his fingers through your hair.

But you are right. He’s good at getting girls to sneak up into his booth and beg him to leave together. In fact, he doesn’t think he’s ever come down here to interact with someone he’s interested in before.

When he looks over his shoulder, he realizes they’ve all noticed it too. The whole group of men are watching him with wide eyes and wild hand gestures.

“So that’s the game?” He finally asks, “letting us know you’re better than us?”

Humming, you hand him the rest of the drink. “Not better per se,” he leans down to be closer to you, to feel the heat of your breath on his jaw. “But you look like a man who loves a good power trip. And I do that better than you.”

Something burns in his chest, makes his neck and ears go hot. He knows he can change your mind about that, no he will change your mind about that. You’re in his fucking bar for god’s sake.

“A power trip is all fun and games baby,” he leans in close to you, nose brushing against your temple. “But it’s not just a trip for me. So when you’re done with your game, come find me.”

You raise an eyebrow, not surprised with his offer but definitely interested. Licking his lips, he smiles. “You can call me Nico,” he introduces, throwing back the rest of the drink. “I own the bar.”

Head tilting at that, you just give him another once over and a nod, then turn back to your friends. Nico can be patient, he can sit here until closing and not look at you until you’re begging at the bottom of those stairs with his name on your tongue.

The only issue is, after he’s returned to his table and sipped on beer for two more hours, you’re still not at the steps. When it starts to empty out, girls trailing home with random men, he’s left in that stupid booth looking for that pretty smile of yours.

And he comes up empty handed.

~~~~

A week later, Timo is the one to find you. This time they’re standing on the second floor by the railing, looking down at the crowd.

“There she is,” Timo giggles gleefully, shoving his hand out to point at an even larger group of girls than last time. Smack dab in the middle of them all is you and that radiant smile.

God if Nico had a smile like that he’d run the fucking world.

“M’not getting her a drink tonight.” He grumbles, but he watches you anyway. You don’t seem to be playing your game tonight though, instead just hanging out and chatting.

Timo leaves to go mingle and Nico slinks into a corner where he can hide and watch you. He’s been thinking about you all week, about how he still never won that night and it pissed him off.

He’s sulking and pouting, glaring at you as you pose in front of a digital camera with some of the girls for a picture. Flash after flash of photos that would probably be cute if he actually liked you.

But he doesn’t, you’re mean and you don’t play fair.

The flash goes off again, and to his utter horror he spots the large man behind you that’s jumped into the photo. Unfazed, you lean into the large arm Timo throws around your shoulder, two idiots grinning at the camera.

And then you’re turning around, laughing alongside his best friend as you shake hands and chat. That pisses him off even more. Of course Timo would get you, of course it’d be him that you actually find charming.

His friend whispers something in your ear, and then you’re taking him by the hand and pushing through the crowd to the bar.

You’ve talked Timo into buying you a drink. Nico rolls his eyes, huffing and puffing as he drinks his beer and you order two drinks from the bartender.

Nico doesn’t talk to you that night, he doesn’t want to. Not after you let his friend buy you drinks and then look up at him, almost like you knew exactly where he was, and bat those long eyelashes him. The wink you send him is taunting, especially with your lips wrapped around a straw and your hand in Timo’s.

He scoffs, turning his back to you and heading for the offices in the back. This game of yours is getting exhausting, especially after the night ends and he’s notified that Timo didn’t buy you drinks.

You put them under his fucking name.

~~~~

Nico puts an end to the game two nights later. You’re back, this time by yourself when you walk in. Not that it lasts long. Timo finds you instantly, shoving his way off the dance floor to the entrance and engulfing you in a hug.

He must’ve exchanged numbers with you last time.

Irritated, Nico waits to see if you slink up to the bar and put the drinks on his name again. But you don’t. Instead you link arms with Timo and head straight towards him.

Sitting up straighter, Nico nervously smacks on the mint gum he’s chewing. Your eyes find his, sweet and innocent in the dim lighting as you smile at him.

Brooding, Nico glares at you as you slide in across from him. Timo doesn’t bother staying, just flicks the brim of Nico’s backwards hat and winks. “Play nice you two!” He sings before retreating back to the dance floor.

You bite your lip, gaze unwavering under his own and you reach across the table for his beer. Nico lets you take a sip, subconsciously licking his lips when you’re lip gloss sticks the neck of the bottle.

Your nose scrunches again and you slide the drink back to him. The silence persists, Nico stewing as you grin at him. How the fuck is he supposed to pretend he doesn’t like you when you look at him like that.

“Think it’s my turn to get a round, huh?” You tease and he scowls.

“Yeah, why don’t you go buy my friend another drink under my name?” He says coolly.

Something in your gaze softens, the humor bleeding out. Your foot nudges his under the table. “Thank you, Nico.” You murmur, genuine and sweet. He can’t help it, he deflates back into the booth.

“You could’ve at least said hi.”

You lean in closer, resting your elbows on the table and he does the same. “With the way you were hiding I didn’t think you wanted me to say hi.”

“Gave you my name didn’t I? Not many people get that privilege.”

A coy smile curls your lips. “Why?” You giggle, “because they’ll use it to steal drinks?”

That makes him grin, chuckling just once. “Something like that.”

“You seemed annoyed when Timo came to me,” you explain “more annoyed than when I said your drinks are bad. Figured I’d let you be.”

Nico just nods, smacks his gum and then takes a drink of his beer. He can taste the sweetness of your lipgloss. “You hear for Timo, then?”

Your eyebrows furrow in thought. “Nah, he’s not really my type.”

Nico hums, not believing you for a second. Timo’s welcoming nature and extroverted personality always draws girls in. He’s everyone’s type.

“I’m more into brunettes with pretty eyes.” You add, “Especially grumpy ones.”

His chest warms again, heartbeat buzzing behind his ribcage. He drinks some more, hopes the cold beer will cool him down. It doesn’t.

“You gonna tell me your name?” He asks, offering you the bottle. You shake your head, declining the drink.

“You gonna dance with me if I do?”

Sighing, he looks over the packed dance floor and frowns in disgust. “Not much of a dancer.”

Surprisingly, your smile grows and you lean over the table even more. “You’re just perfect, aren’t you?” You giggle, eyes shining. “I don’t dance either.”

“That another game of yours?”

You shake your head. “No, it was a test of character and you passed.”

Flattered, Nico slips his hand across the table and takes ahold of yours. “Come on baby, let’s get a drink.”

You stop him when he moves to get up, squeezing his fingers. “Y/n,” you introduce, a blush rising to your cheeks. “But you can call me baby.”

Nico says your name in his head, murmurs it back to you so he can feel it on his tongue. Then he decides he’s gonna give it to the bartender and security. He has a feeling you’ll be coming around more often.

#him and i #nico hischier #mob boss nico hischier #nico hischer x reader #him and I blurb #requested

[vivisols]

what’s the fizzyfaz theory

OK SO! THE FIZZYFAZ THEORY... THERES A LOT OF THINGS CONNECTED TO FIZZYFAZ. LIKE. A LOT A LOT. NOW I MEAN IT WHEN I SAY BE PREPARED BECAUSE THIS IS. A LOT LMAO

in fnaf security breach there are cans of fizzyfaz that you can collect right? theres also this message that goes along with them!

interestingly enough, this message mentions grape, lemonade, and cherry fizzyfaz. however, while you can get grape fizzyfaz in game, you cant actually get plain lemonade or cherry. there's only orange, sour lime, pink lemonade, as well as grape, which is strange. theyre mentioned in the message, so where did normal lemonade and cherry go? well before we get to that, lets take a look at the fizzyfaz flavors that we can actually get in game!

quite obviously glamrock branded! for freddy, we have orange, for monty, we have sour lime, for chica, we have pink lemonade, and for roxy we have grape.

considering what we know about the glamrocks, we can start to deduce what each flavor might mean about each bandmate personality wise, as its obvious that theres some tie in with their marketed personalities.

(the rest of it is under the cut for everyones sanity)

freddy makes sense as orange because he's sweet and mellow. monty makes sense as sour lime because he's more of a rebellious cool guy. chica makes sense as pink lemonade because she's also sweet, though she's even moreso than freddy is. and roxy makes sense as grape because she's cool and different like monty, though she is be shown to be sweet at times (as in with Cassie in ruin)

these four flavors seem pretty normal right? theyre obviously color/flavor coded to each member of the glamrocks. however the actual flavors that were chosen in game have always stuck out to me for one reason.

THEYRE ALL CITRUS EXCEPT FOR GRAPE. lemon, lime, and orange are all citrus fruits. strange, right?

now you could always argue that it is fazbear is making these things, and that it's cheapest to produce like idk. a base citrus flavor and then add the additional flavors accordingly. but then why is roxy's and ONLY Roxy's grape flavored instead of being another citrus? grape is a pretty weird flavor to pair with 3 citrus flavors. hold on to that for now.

plus, roxy has another connection with distinct and stand-out fizzyfaz flavors. she specifically has an advertisement for her own type of limited edition cola flavor.

no other animatronic has advertising in game for any limited edition flavors. just roxy which really peaked my interest! wouldn't they do a promo with every glamrock? ok well, maybe since its limited edition the other glamrocks' special flavor runs have already ended and hers just wrapped up/is about to.

but wait, theres even more to do with roxy and fizzyfaz.

in help wanted 2 in the staff bot food prep mini games for el chips and the kitchen, you can serve four flavors of soda. orange, sour lime, pink lemonade, and.... sodaroni. aka not grape fizzyfaz.

ISNT THAT WEIRD??? not to mention how specifically in the theater version of food prep, theres no fizzyfaz at all. instead, we can serve exotic beverage, dj music man's techno-cooler, chicachug, and.... sodaroni again.

isn't that weird? the theater is also an interesting choice for the final food prep level to take place in considering that it's clearly not the most popular attraction, as well as the fact that we're in a whole mall with multiple food stands. you can argue that it's also one of the few places with a kitchen, but i believe that this choice was made on purpose for a different reason.

after all, who is tied to the theater as well as the only character to actually talk about fizzyfaz in game?

thats right.

THE DAYCARE ATTENDANT.

I mean i was gonna tie them to this somehow! the connection is obvious!!

like… theres a soda dispenser in the ACTUAL DAYCARE ITSELF.

theres also numerous ones outside and in the theater lobby. interesting, right? so much soda promo in the daycare area, yet they dont even serve the main soda brand of fizzyfaz in the theater food prep level... how interesting.

and now for something ive seen literally no one talk about. in the theater basement theres a room with the purple stars painted on the walls outside. inside that room, sitting on a filing cabinet under gold balloons that spell out ‘5TAR’ as well as a sundrop poster, theres ANOTHER soda dispenser. yet instead of one of the fancy digital ones, it's just a simple soda dispenser like we see in the kitchen above.

interesting choice for a soda dispenser location, right? there aren’t any others in the theater basement. just this one.

let’s take a look at this room. specifically the vanity.

there’s a flower pot, a trophy, some makeup brushes, and interestingly enough, a whole nail polish stand with a variety of colors. the uniqueness of this whole room makes me think that it’s meant to stand out. not to mention the fact that there’s a connected bathroom with two stalls in it. after all, the other rooms are just standard dressing rooms.

maybe i’m just reaching here, but i think that this was a theater staff break room, as well as some kind of animatronic prep room for sun and moon’s performances. they used to be the theater bot, after all.

so sun and moon have obviously been around for a while, as evident by all the wear and tear they have. plus in the tales from the pizzaplex books the daycare is mentioned to be an attraction that was built later on. it wasn’t there when the pizzaplex first opened.

but the theater was.

and since the out of place soda dispenser was in a room in the theater basement, there’s a chance that it served fizzyfaz.

cherry fizzyfaz.

i may just be grasping at straws here, but cherry… kind of fits the DCA really well. i mean, it isn’t a citrus fruit like the glamrocks (minus Roxy) have. sun has red and yellow pants, moon has red eyes, and they both have red ribbons with two bells around their wrists. the overall theater is pretty red too.

besides the overall red coloring of the theater and the red on the DCA, the cherry flavoring would fit sun and moon pretty well too! cherries can be either sweet or sour, and are often a balanced mix of both, which would be a nice tie in to sun and moon’s good and evil double act in the theater!

so when the daycare got built and sun and moon were transferred over from the theater, the cherry flavor likely got pulled or discontinued. probably because the theater wasn't as popular as fazbear wanted it to be. and thus in help wanted 2 in their food prep minigame, there was no fizzyfaz. they lost fizzyfaz privileges from management when they were moved to the daycare LMAO

and there we have it. sun and moon are the probable answer for who the cherry fizzyfaz flavor belonged to.

but what about lemonade fizzyfaz?

well, lemonade has a much easier answer. it’s a citrus flavor too, of course. and every bowling alley i’ve ever been to has served an abundance of lemonade lmao

so YEAHHH it’s probably Glamrock Bonnie’s flavor. i mean, he's got a yellow star on his chest, a yellow bass, and yellow sunglasses. plus blue is the opposite of yellow...

though... personality wise, we know basically nothing about the guy other than he was maybe probably laid back considering how bonnie is in fazbear and friends. and lemonade is a pretty chill drink. i mean glamrock bonnie also died and was possessing all the wet floor bots or stuff in ruin and like theyre yellow too or something idk....

with this lineup the band would still have 3/4 citrus flavors, with... two lemonades. interestingly. and tbh i think that the majority of citrus is potentially the most important factor in this theory.

i mean freddy, chica, and bonnie are the OGs. the MAIN THREE from fnaf 1 days. so ofc they'd all be similar flavors (even if there are two lemonades... no idea what fazbear would have been cooking with that one lol) and yeah, foxy is an OG too, but he wasn't actually part of the main band until later on lol

yet in security breach, we don't get a glamrock foxy. we get roxanne wolf, who is an entirely new character, so it makes sense for her to not have a similarly citrus flavor.

grape is the only one mentioned in the message that you can actually get in game. and if the lemonade and cherry have been discontinued since bonnie was decommissioned and sun and moon were moved from the daycare to the theater, then...

it's clearly been a while. and if it's been a while and there's still grape fizzyfaz, which would make no sense for foxy to have (as the statue of him in kids cove is nowhere near purple) then roxy has been around for a while. and if she's been around since the dca was in the theater, then she never replaced foxy!!!! wild and crazy am I right

and yes! you could also argue the opposite and that bonnie's flavor was cherry while the dca's flavor was lemonade, which likely makes more sense.

the DCA has yellow as both sun and moon, with sun's overall coloring and his pants and stuff, and the stars on moon's pants and the bells on both of their wrists. and lemonade can be sweet or sour. like their act. and fazbear pulled it because nobody really cared about the theater or just plain lemonade fizzyfaz as opposed to the cool pink lemonade chica had.

plus bonnie is more red than yellow, with his reddish-pink jumpsuit and his red eyes. and cherry could maybe work for him? again, we barely know anything about his personality... then when he got decommissioned, they replaced his unique cherry flavor with another citrus to cut costs.

though we really have no way of telling which was the real flavors for each of them or if they even were flavors that were produced at all!! after all, the message says 'COPY FOR APPROVAL', so lemonade and cherry might have been scrapped all together....

this is all just speculation from yours truly, since im such a big flavored drink fan and i really want more people to talk about the fizzyfaz... ,:3c

and now onto my next theory, which is that the DCA is the real one have to killed glamrock bonnie...

#vivispeaks #ask #fizzyfaz theory #I JUST WANT CHERRY TO BE THE DCA FLAVOR OKAY. I LOVE CHERRY #fizzyfaz #sun fnaf #moon fnaf #dca fnaf #glamrock bonnie #glamrock chica #glamrock freddy #glamrock animatronics #montgomery gator #monty gator #roxanne wolf #roxy wolf #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #security breach

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!

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It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.

As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.

“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”

“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”

Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.

“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”

Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.

At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.

And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’

So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.

You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.

THAT BEING SAID

You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.

The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.

It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.

“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”

“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”

“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”

“Trying is the key word there.”

“That’s true enough I suppose.”

The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.

“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”

“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.

“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”

“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.

“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re my angel. No one else.”

“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”

The shop bell dings.

“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”

When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens 2 #good omens fandom #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow lasts forever #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #tumblr fic #poll fic #choose your own adventure #self insert #let's write #we're all in this together #fanatic intervention #part 7 #muriel #maggie #tesco #mugs and fuzzy socks #muriel has an aesthetic #yes they talked #if they made out now you wouldn't have that to look forward to later #ineffable fandom #gomens #go2 #good omens s2

[zenkindoflove]

Elucien Parallels: Eddard and Catelyn Stark's Arranged Marriage/Marriage of Convenience Trope

I'm back again with more ACOTAR and ASOIAF/GOT parallels. You can go read this post where I breakdown my thoughts on comparing Elain Archeron and Sansa Stark as representing similar character archetypes in fantasy.

Today I want to talk about one of my favorite ASOIAF/GOT ships - Ned and Cat. What I want to do with this post is sort of breakdown the dynamics of their relationship and story arc and apply it to some common criticisms of Elucien and why in order to get the kind of tension Elucien have in canon, you need to have an understanding of how this particular trope works and the way these types of characters inhabit it.

So, a quick rundown on Ned and Cat and their relationship, just to get anyone reading this up to speed. Catelyn Tully was betrothed to Brandon Stark, Ned's older brother. Their betrothal represented a political alliance between the Starks of Winterfell and the Tullys of Riverrun - the liege lords of their respective regions. Despite being betrothed for political reasons, Catelyn fell deeply in love with Brandon anyways. And when he was tragically murdered by the Mad King, alongside his father, she was heart broken. Enters Ned, now the Lord of Winterfell, who has to secure this political alliance because he is about to wage a rebellion alongside his friend Robert Baratheon against the Targaryens. It makes perfect sense for him to marry his brother's betrothed. Ned and Cat get married quickly and off to war he went. When he returned a year later, he brought home his bastard, Jon Snow. He and Cat now have to figure out their marriage on top of not only being effectively strangers, but also with this betrayal looming over their relationship. When we enter the story of Game of Thrones, they have 5 children, the oldest Robb who was conceived just before Ned left for war, is 16. Cat and Ned are very much in love, showing open affection and devotion to each other. Cat is quoted later in the series telling her son Robb (show canon):

"Love didn't just happen to us. We built it slowly over the years, stone by stone, for you, for your brothers and sisters, for all of us. It's not as exciting as secret passion in the woods, but it is stronger."

Okay, so where does Elucien come into all of this and why should you care if you ship them?

Well, I think Cat and Ned's story illustrates a lot of things and disproves many doubts that are thrown at Elucien being endgame.

Betrayal

First is this issue of betrayal - that Lucien's involvement with Tamlin and his inevitable association with the situation in Hybern (though he did not know the extent of the deal with Hybern nor at all that Feyre's sisters had been kidnapped) will be such a huge breach of trust that Elain will never be able to get over it. That the relationship is dead before it even started.

Ned and Cat are a perfect example of how many anti-Eluciens are wrong when they think that Elucien are essentially dead before they start. By bringing home Jon Snow and raising him in his home amongst his trueborn children, Ned inflicted a huge betrayal onto his wife before they ever truly started their relationship. Although, at least in show canon, we know this ends up being quite a noble lie by Ned, this is never something that he reveals to Cat. So, Cat must swallow her pride and her jealousy and continue to be Ned's wife. This does not mean she has to fall in love with him, as it is not expected of her to, but she does all the same. Why? Because of Ned's inherent goodness and devotion to her. Cat sees that Ned is a good, honorable man - which is why she ultimately believes the rumors that Jon must be Ashara Dayne's son and that he is a love-child that Ned cannot bear to abandon. Because as she comes to know Ned, she sees his heart and his moral standing.

Which is all to say, that regardless of whether Elain begins her journey angry and blaming Lucien for association with her being Made and the end of her engagement, by getting to know him and spending time with him, she too will be able to see Lucien's inherent goodness. It is unavoidable and undeniable. Lucien, much like Ned, is honorable, loyal, and stands up to the face of evil, even if it will stupidly get him killed. He takes ownership over the people in the lands he runs and cares for that responsibility and their well being deeply. He commits violence when he must but he does not enjoy it. These are all traits that suited Cat well and why she ended up having such a loving marriage to Ned through many, many years. And likewise, suit Elain well and why she and Lucien will have a healthy and loving mating bond.

Reluctant Tension

Many anti-Eluciens do not understand the romantic tension presented in their situation. They see their distance, polite exchanges, and reactions as a sign of indifference or discomfort. It is a far cry from the explosive anger and deliberate pushing away that Nesta displayed with Cassian. Sometimes it's easier to understand Nessian's romantic tension because passion can exist both in anger and desire. But what about the stilted interactions of Elucien?

This is also where I will draw parallels to Ned and Cat. Ned and Cat did not go to the alter kicking and screaming. They were not political rivals or enemies. Catelyn did her duty with her head held high, living her house words (Family, Duty, Honor). Catelyn is often described as the picture of a noble lady - well-mannered, kind, diligent, dutiful, and respected. She held a high place of honor at Riverrun, effectively serving as Lady of the house after her mother's passing at a young age, and then taking over the role of Lady of Winterfell. She earned loyalty and respect amongst her subjects. We don't know much about the dynamic of Ned and Cat at the early days of their relationship. But what we can infer based on how Cat describes this time period, is that Cat hid her reluctance and anger behind silent pride. It was over time, as she grew to know Ned that this distrust and distance was thawed and she fell in love with him.

Similarly, Ned is not a hot head. He is grounded and stone-faced, a trait that Cat actually did not like initially because it was so different from his brother who she was in passionate love with. Brandon was a hot-head, charming, and funny. He was a showboat and is basically how he came to duel Petyr Baelish in the first place. But Catelyn eventually realizes the wisdom in loving a man like Ned, rather than the girlish love she had for Brandon.

Now Elain and Lucien are not mirror images of this. Lucien is certainly much more savvy and charming than Ned. And Elain is not forced into a romantic relationship with Lucien at all even with the mating bond. She has been given total freedom to choose, unlike Cat. But, my point here is that the presentation of their romantic tension, which is more quiet and understated and can confuse some readers who have a preference for the more passionate displays of tension, is very similar to Ned and Cat in the beginning of their relationship.

Now, as we learn both in the books and the show, Cat and Ned at the start of the series are well into their 16+ year marriage and are quite passionate now. They have many loving physical displays with one another, often passionately kissing or referencing passionate lovemaking they just had. They speak to each other with such warm affection others have to look away. It is clear they have deep love for each other that goes beyond duty. The passion certainly developed between them along the way. With Elucien I'm sure this will play out much differently given the presentation of the mating bond and how we know it affects people. It's very likely both of them are deeply desiring each other already, and very likely that they will have some dramatic rows between them, as it is likely Ned and Cat had as well, once they start really talking about the hard topics. But the point is that passion and the potential for passion does not have to be readily observable right from the start. If anything, there is something very delicious in the steady build-up to it through many of the tropes we see in historical romances where there are rules and etiquette to courtship (which many suspect Elucien will play with some regency era tropes).

Conclusion:

I really love finding parallels between ships of my favorite series, and there is of course a lot to draw from when its two fantasy series. In the end, my bigger point is that great love can come from Arranged Marriage/Marriage of Convenience Tropes which Elucien inhabit with the nature of their bond snapping right when they met. It's not for everyone, but for those of us who get it... we really get it. Fortunately for us, Elucien exist in a romance with HEAs and not the world of ASOIAF/GOT so they won't meet the same tragic fates as Ned and Cat *sobs*.

#elucien #pro elucien #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #ned x cat #elucien supremacy #will i stop making these? #probably not #i was in got fandom for too long and these will keep popping in my brain

[alxstxrhazbin]

The Storm ~ Vox x Reader

It was a dark day in hell. Not that day’s in hell weren’t usually dark because of the dark crimson sky—but today, there were dark clouds covering the pentagon in the sky. Meaning one thing. There would be a storm.

Hoping to be lucky enough to run out and get groceries for you and the rest of the Vees before the storm hit, you ran into a small grocery store, got your items, and quickly checked out.

You ran down the streets of Cannibal Town, hoping to take a quick shortcut, but ultimately being cornered by cannibals. Luckily, you were an overlord. Quite a powerful one at that.

After easily taking your cannibal enemies down, you continued your quest to get back to the tower. Unfortunately, the storm you and the rest of hell had been expecting had just begun.

Hellborns, Hellhounds, Fallen Angels, and some sinners were immune to the acid rain that fell during the rare occurrences when a storm happened. Unfortunately, you were not one of them.

You could feel the acid raindrops burning your skin.

You ran and ran, until you were met with the three bright V’s of the Vees building. You quickly opened the door and bolted inside.

In the lobby, you were met with the overworked receptionist, Linda, and many Voxtech workers. They all looked up at you with shocked and relieved expressions.

“Miss, Y/N!” A sinner with rosy-red skin, violet hair, and big black glasses shouted from across the room. She took the groceries out of your hands, grabbed your arm, and yanked you into an elevator.

The two of you quickly made it to the eleventh floor. In the room before you sat a worried looking Valentino, with his face buried in his hands, and a pacing Velvette, who looked just as worried. They were startled by your footsteps.

“Bloody hell! What the hell took you so long?” She yelled, grabbing your shoulders and aggressively shaking you. Valentino looked up at the both of you and said “Your Voxy is searching through all of the security cameras in the city,” Valentino paused just as Vox appeared via a security camera. “Speak of the devil.” Both Val and Vel muttered unanimously.

“Where were you!?” Vox raised his voice. You tell he had been worried about you.

“I…” You paused. “I was out shopping. I’m sorry.” You spoke guiltily.

Vox didn’t respond but, instead slowly hugged you. Soon, both Velvette and Val joined the group hug.

“You must be tired. Let’s go upstairs, babe.” Vox said slowly and softly.

“Oooh taking it upstairs Voxy?” Val mocked him.

“Shut up Val!” You, Velvette and Vox said together in sync.

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin x reader #vox x reader #hazbin x you #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel vox #vox #hazbin vox #voxval #the vees #vees #vox the tv demon #vox hazbin hotel #valentino #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin velvette #velvette x reader #velvette fanart #carmilla x velvette #staticmoth #mothstatic #hazbin hotel vees #hazbin vees #vee shut up #velvette

[henrysglock]

You Speak Basic, Doc?

So. As a follow up to this post about the 2.08/2.09 HNL lights, I want to talk about something Wilbur just brought up in the server:

Very good fucking question. Why did he leave? And how did he end up in the stairwell that leads down to the basement?

Specifically, it's the same stairwell Bob just went down to reset the breakers and take the lab off lockdown:

(Which also, coincidentally, seems to be the same one El runs down in NINA to get to Henry and the tunnel out of the lab)

So...okay, cool. He was on his way to or from the basement after having left his little safe space in the upstairs security room.

That, however, brings me to another question: What is there for Owens to do in the basement?

Bob, as I said, went down there to reset the breakers and unlock the doors, because when the power cuts in HNL, the doors all lock. It's a lockdown.

So really...what else is there to do in the basement, besides no-scope demodogs and go "ooh" at the weird, pulsing mega-pussy gate? Owens doesn't have a gun, and he's been staring that weird, pulsing mega-pussy gate in the face for like a year now. Which means...it's probably not that.

So...could he have been trying to reinstate the lockdown by flipping the breakers Bob had fixed?

Well. Let's think about the "why"s of that.

First off, Owens knows firsthand that a lockdown isn't going to do shit against the demodogs.

A) The tunnels already allow them to circumvent the lab exits. Owens is aware of said tunnels.

B) The demodogs can smash through polycarbonate. Owens literally sees one do so.

So they could easily just tear right through any doors in their path. A lockdown makes no sense...for creatures.

No. Lockdowns are primarily for humans.

In fact...If I had to bet, the lockdown protocol in HNL has to do with the whole "keeping people from escaping the child torture basement" thing we see in ST4.

But...the prison-basement ended with El in 1983, right? So the question remains: What would Owens be locking down in the basement, and why hide his reasons for going downstairs?

Unless, of course, the prison-basement didn't end in 1983. And, of course, unless there's something worth securing down there that we're not yet privy to.

And along those lines: Why are so many demodogs staying in HNL? Why concentrate in the lab, when the tunnels will take them anywhere under Hawkins in pursuit of Will? There were more than enough to spread out and search. If it was about guarding the gate against El, they'd just leave some at the entrances, or swarm wherever she happened to be (which is where Will is, coincidentally). I thought Vecna could read minds even without an open gate. If he's supposedly involved in this...then why not just swarm the Byers house? Why still concentrate in the lab after they find out where Will is?

That is to say...what are they looking for, specifically in HNL, after they've found out that Will's left the building?

TL;DR: Owens...there wasn't someone down there that you needed to lock down, right? Someone to be retrieved later? Someone the democreatures might have a vested interest in finding?

#sam owens #st2 speculation #henry creel #<- not explicitly mentioned but definitely implied

[matan4il]

do you think irans attack this past weekend was a test? a dip of the toe, if you will, to assess potential future plan viability?

can’t shake the thought unfortunately

Hi lovely, sorry it's taken me a moment to reply! I think you're justified in thinking this way, because when the top military experts all did not foresee Iran's unprecedented attack on Israel coming, we all have to take their threats very seriously.

That said, I personally find it hard to believe that Iran will make its "big move" before it has a nuclear weapon. Israel (supposedly) has nuclear weapons, and also has (again, supposedly) some of them loaded unto nuclear submarines. Why the submarines? Because those are hard to locate, which means that even if an enemy thinks they can somehow exterminate Israel with one decisive strike, they'll still pay the price of Israel's retaliation, launched from those submarines. And THAT is a serious deterrent. So if Iran wants to destroy Israel and live to tell the tale, it needs at the very least its own nuclear weapon, and a plan on how to stop Israel's nuclear submarines from striking back.

Iran is def not in a place where it thinks it can avoid Israel's retaliation (at least not yet). How do I know? Because of the money they invest in Hezbollah. More than any of the other terrorist organizations it funds, the Iranian regime arms, trains and prepares Hezbollah to be its main extension during an all out war with Israel. Hezbollah is believed to be at least ten times stronger than Hamas, at least in terms of manpower and number of rockets, and Iran was still reluctant to add its power to that of Hamas on Oct 7. They're reserving that terrorist organization and its power for the day they'll need it. The reluctance to use it during the current war tells me Iran is still not ready for the ultimate showdown with Israel. It's also supported by the fact that Iran was quick to announce after its attack on Israel, that they're done if Israel doesn't further attacks, and then the Iranian regime pretended like it couldn't determine who launched the (counter)strike on Isfahan, and also did all it could to hide the damage that we now know was caused to Iran's aerial defense systems, protecting its nuclear program...

Iran is not ready yet. Does that mean they're not learning from this little exchange of blows? They are. Just like Hamas used every time they fired rockets at Israel to study Iron Dome, and make their next attacks more efficient. But what did the Iranian regime learn? That even when it looks like Israel is more diplomatically isolated than ever, that doesn't mean that the world's leaders will stand by when unjustified aggression is launched at it. They DO understand that what Iran gets away with when it comes to Israel can come for their own countries next. That its air defense systems are still no match for Israel's attack capabilities, since the Iranians failed to even detect them coming in. That there is a coalition in place, which even includes identified and unidentified moderate Arab countries, back by western ones, and this constellation will be much harder to fight than Israel on its own, even with Iran's proxies. That 99% success at defending Israel means Iran is not even close to where it needs to be, if it wants to launch its ultimate attack.

We do have to be wary, and I'm sure the heads of Israel's security forces are. But I also think we still have time before Iran makes its "big move" to destroy Israel, because honestly, I do believe they know they won't get more than one shot. So... I have that's a bit of comfort. I'm not saying Iran won't attack, but I am saying I don't think we're there yet. And just like Iran can use this little exchange to study Israel, we can do the same right back. Remember, Israel has a laser defense system that's meant to go operational in the near future, and it's meant to be even better (in more than one way) than Iron Dome. So we have a few tricks up our sleeves, too... ;)

Sending you a big hug, I hope you're okay, and if you celebrate it, then have a happy Passover! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #israelunderattack #iran

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Typical Day for a Mall Cop

My name's Bill, and I've been a guard at the mall for almost a decade now. It wasn't my dream job, but life has a way of creeping up on you with kids and a mortgage. I needed something to pay the bills, and I've always had a knack for watching over people.

Like any other weekend, the mall is fairly busy, so I stay on my feet and patrol the halls for most of the day. Occasionally, I'll check in with the other mall cop, but my time is mostly filled with watching shoppers come and go. If anybody gets too rowdy, a stern look is enough to keep them in line.

A lot of the time, teenagers will loiter in stores. Some of them even try and bring their skateboards in, but it isn't too hard to make them adhere to the mall's strict policies. They might be young and clueless, but that doesn't mean I'll cut them any breaks.

Over by the fountain, I see one of the boys I admonished a week ago. I think I caught him shoplifting or something. Thieves normally get banned from the mall, but I didn't do that with this one. He said something that completely caught me off guard; he said he could hypnotize me.

I laughed in his face.

Amused inwardly by the boy's foolish claim, I walk over to check in with him. I'm sure he'll remember the security guard that almost kicked him out of the mall last weekend.

The kid is chatting with his friends, but they fall quiet when they notice me looming behind them. Like we'd discussed last week, I drop to my knees and kneel in front of the troublemaker. He explained that this is the best thing for me to do when I see him around, and I can't help but agree. I know the boy deserves my respect.

I plant a kiss on both of his sneakers, and then wait for him to speak first. It takes a minute because he and his friends are busy cracking up over some unspoken joke. Whatever it is, clearly went right over my head.

"How you doin', mall pig?" the boy laughs.

I smirk at the nickname he's given me. We've gotten in the habit of calling each other by these pseudonyms, and I don't mind it.

"Very good, sir," I answer, using the name I've come to associate him with, "How are you?"

"Fine, I guess," he shrugs, "I spent your cash on kicks for my crew."

That reminds me of last week again. The boy had made it seem like a good idea to give him all the money I had, which included the paycheck I'd earned for last pay period. On the ground, I had a close view of all the vibrant sneakers the teenagers were wearing. It was nice to know he'd put my gift to good use, even if my wife had been pissed that I'd come home without my month's salary.

"You have another check for me, fat ass?"

His friends laugh at his new nickname for me, but I shake my head and answer a solemn, "No, sir."

The teenager groans and carries leads his gang of friends away, already bored with me. It seems like he's just going to leave me there, kneeling in the middle of the mall, until he turns and beckons me to follow. Inwardly, I'm glad that he's not done with me yet. I've come to enjoy our interactions a lot.

I follow the boys, crawling behind them all the way into a bathroom.

"If you ain't got any cash to keep me and my crew entertained, then you're gonna have to do something to make us laugh," he explains.

"Of course, sir!" I smile, trying to express how willing I am to impress him and his friends.

"We'd find it hilarious if you dunked your head in each toilet," he adds blandly.

I light up. He's just explained how I can be of service and now all I have to do is follow through. I'm sure it'd be hilarious for them to watch a fully grown security guard giving himself a few swirlies. That's peak comedy!

"Watch this, sir!" I laugh, crawling over to the first toilet and shoving my face into the water without any hesitation.

I know the guy that's supposed to clean these bathrooms, and it's obvious he slacks off because there are skid marks all over. I try not to think about it as my cheeks and forehead brush against the bottom of the bowl. When I pull my face out of the flushing toilet, my ears pop and hear a roar of laughter behind me. The kids find it hilarious, which only fuels my desire to keep going.

With a gaping grin, I shuffle over to the next stall and repeat. There are six toilets in the men's restroom. Some are cleaner than others. The last one is a clogged mess, and the boys find it hilarious when I come up with toilet paper plastered to my face. I laugh through it all, even if the urge to puke is growing.

By the time I'm done, I'm soaked in toilet water, and the teenagers are in tears.

"Alright, toilet guy. That was disgusting," the leader of the pack chuckles, grimacing in my direction, "You have a car or something?"

"Yes, sir. I've got a minivan in the parking lot."

"A minivan?" he seems disappointed, "Hand over the keys anyway. We wanna drive around."

"You got it, sir," I say, fishing the fob out of my damp pockets.

He swipes the keys out of my hand eagerly and turns to leave the bathroom. I start to follow the boys out, but he stops me.

"Why don't you stay in here 'till you dry off," he snorts, "You can spend that time in the corner, thinking about what you can do for me next time I'm at the mall."

"Yes, sir," answer, and the boys leave.

Briefly, the thought of getting back to work crosses my mind. I really should be out there keeping an eye on the vendors and their merchandise, but that goes away. Like suggested, I stare at the dirty tile wall and begin to brainstorm what I can do for the boy the next time I see him.

My walkie goes off now and then with the voice of my coworker wondering where I am, but I ignore it.

After an hour or so, I've dripped mostly dry, but a strong stink still lingers around my head. Still, I've come up with a few different things I could have ready next week. It'll take some overtime to make extra cash for the boy. My wife won't be happy about that, but it'll give me a chance to actually have cash ready for him when he asks for it.

The only other thing I have to offer is the perks of my job. Maybe his friends and him would like a tour of the security office? I'd give them free reign of everything in the confiscated bin.

Speaking of my job, I should probably get back. My partner is probably angry at me for not answering the radio. He'll be happy when I tell him I'll take the late shift for the next few days. Hopefully he won't say anything about the smell. God, it's awful!

Just another day working as a mall cop!

#hypno story #mind control #hypnotized

[catastrxblues]

violet baudelaire was actually sooo right about the tying your hair with a ribbon thing. why do i only get it now

#my mom was marking her luggages with this purple and white checkered ribbon and i wanted to try something with it because i suddenlyremember #how violet baudelaire used to always do this to keep her hair out of her eyes so she can focus #and so i did and oh my god??? #i actually like this better than using a hair tie #i mean not for going out because it’s not as secure and some of them will come out and it’s just not convenient to wear under a hijab #but it looks so cute!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #also is this my first asoue post #kinda a crime that it took me this long actually #violet baudelaire #a series of unfortunate events #asoue #nadirants

[qsmprambling]

Imagine Egg A1 still has one life left, and it somehow manages to escape the facility... It is being followed by mobs, by Federation employees, being hurt by the poison ivy and other environmental threats, but it keeps running, because what other choice is there? That parkour course was a trick after all, the last block was a fake, it was never meant to pass that test in the first place.

So it keeps running, but the Federation workers are getting closer. It won't be able to avoid them forever...

But then it bursts through some bushes and comes face to face with someone new - and it's Bad, out building or exploring or just wandering alone. A1 is immediately afraid, of course. It is a stranger, a very visually striking stranger, the complete opposite of the pure white and featureless employees of the Federation. But there are people close behind, and it knows what will happen to it if it is caught, so... It has no choice but to try. It has no way to communicate, no signs or books, so it simply rushes to hide behind him and hopes he understands, and that he is willing to help...

And Bad, for his part, well.. he's an extremely cautious and paranoid person, and this is just an incredibly confusing and unexpected situation to be in. An unknown egg appeared out of nowhere and is hiding behind him, he can see Federation employees in the distance that are clearly looking for something... He knows that the code has been disguising itself as eggs, and that the strange egg in front of him with no marks, no distinguishing features, an egg that he has never seen before, could easily be the code monster preparing to attack at any moment...

But there is absolutely no way Bad could ever look at an egg in distress and not try to help it, even knowing it could be a trap.

So he quickly digs a shallow hole and pushes the mysterious egg into it, covering it up just in time, and when the employees throw him a book asking if he had seen anything, he lies effortlessly, he complains about nonsense, he asks them where the Ekea is and is as annoying as he can be, until they leave.

And now they're alone... just Bad an this mystery egg in the middle of the woods, A1 too afraid to leave the hole even when Bad tries to coax it out. He gives it food and tries his best to comfort it, to tell it everything is okay and that the pursuers are gone. He gives it some signs and a book, trying to see if it will write anything to him or answer any of his questions, but he gets no reply. A1 is just too afraid to even attempt to answer, and Bad doesn't even know if it understands him. He tries what few words he does know of the other languages, and still no response.

What should he do? As much as the image of a tiny, terrified egg makes him want to do all he can for it he also needs to be safe. He can't bring it home, because if it is a code there is no way he is bringing it anywhere near Dapper. Should he call someone else for help, or would that draw too much attention? Would it even be safe for him or the egg to let anyone know right now? And was this egg dangerous, or harmless and in need of protection? He wouldn't abandon it regardless but...

What now?

#Egg A1 #badboyhalo #I am a Bad watcher it will always be qBad in my what ifs even if anyone could do it #Plus he is perfect for the job #I can't write fic but yes this is basically an A1 fic oops #ElQuackity you thought killing a featureless egg was a safe option but you're wrong we are all attached #I want A1 to be alive and to escape to be adored and protected #Also I bet if Bad got caught with a mystery egg I think he'd just go 'Huh? No this is my other child you just never saw them before :)' #Also for some reason my brain was calling A1 'Alice' but then I saw people using 'Ai' and that's adorable too~ #Though it also makes me think 'artificial intelligence' but hey maybe that is fitting for the fabricated eggs theory XD #'What now' I ask as if I am not already imagining Bad trying to protect A1 and also be safe in case it is a threat #not wanting to think it is but unable to know otherwise #but also being so BBH about it and just being in complete dad mode when they interact #he keeps it in it's own safe little secure home and does what he can to help it with minimal communication for several days #until A1 starts to open up little by little - incredibly slowly #Bad very gradually telling very select people about it #until eventually when the Federation finds out - everyone who knows is immediately hmm what no this is our child what do you mean? #and go ultra protective #because A1 deserves the world #fic within the tags yes #Bad ruined my sleep schedule and I can't sleep mindless rambles time

[wooahaes]

i don’t like the idea of people calling fics and people who read them “delusional” since you’re hopefully engaging with it purely as an act of fiction. i think it’s okay to have celebrity crushes, especially if you’re in the same boat as me (trust issues, but i can indulge myself in the idea of a relationship when it’s something literally impossible). i think it’s okay to write/read about them as long as you aren’t crossing that line into thinking its real.

you can daydream about being held by someone without expecting to be a reality. you can read reactions of having your first kiss with someone without thinking it’ll happen someday with that exact person. fiction is something comforting to a lot of people, and sometimes using someone’s likeness (like i and other writers do) can help. i don’t claim to be writing the “real” svt or trsr or anything because i don’t know them. i gauge reactions based off what they’ve shown us of themselves.

i think it’s genuinely fine to engage with content like this as long as you’re separating fiction from reality. basically i feel like i’m writing ocs that are based off the public personas we’re shown. i can feel safe while writing these things because i know they’re not really going to happen. maybe other people feel the same way, too, or maybe they just want to escape from reality for a bit via a free medium. nothing wrong with that.

#wooahaes.txt #its probably the reason why i love soulmate aus so much. because while theres the security of a built-in person to love u hopefully #its also... not real? i dont have to deal with the pressure of knowing theres Someone out there who may not like me and vice versa? #but anyway yeah without getting into it: a lot of the fluff i write is an exercise in learning to theoretically trust again #i don't talk about the times i try reading fics and i feel like im going to suffocate because even the idea of someone idk like #looking at me lovingly is enough to make me want to claw my skin off. #anyway some people were being... really fucking mean about this whole thing? calling people 'delusional' despite those ppl #literally being their followers? like. are you really going to insult the ppl following you like that? thats so mean. why would you do that? #(anyway know that i got screenshots because fuck those people. theres a reason why i blocked them)

[nightingalesighs]

What really pisses me off when people are like. No child should be friends with an adult; it’s (insert word/phrase that has been misused so much it’s kinda ceased to have meaning to me anymore) is… My older friends? Even though I’m 28 and yknow. An Adult. Have literally saved my life. Like not only do they have more knowledge about how things work (like Medicaid and food stamps and student loans and resumes and and and all the other shit nobody bothers to teach you and can be hella confusing/nearly inaccessible unless you Know but is hella important/can really fuck up your life if you’re not careful) and like…more experience so when they tell you “it’s gonna be hard, but you can handle it” or “I know it looks scary, but it’s not that bad and I promise you’ll get through it” or “it doesn’t matter if don’t graduate college, look at me. I didn’t. I’ve got a stable, well paying job. It’s not impossible to be comfortable without a college degree. And look at (other friend who is sitting right next to them), they worked their ass off for a double degree and currently not using it! You’ll be okay, you’ll figure it out.” your brain can actually believe them cuz yknow. They’ve been where you are. They have that life experience. And they’re not gonna lie to you because they love you and respect you too much to do that.

Like I don’t want to make it sound like friendship is a commodity, but older friends and intergenerational friendships can be so extremely valuable, especially to vulnerable younger people in abusive households. And I don’t even mean like in that they can offer you a place to crash cuz not every friend is gonna be able to do that and that’s OKAY. But maybe they can still help you in other ways. Even if it’s “just” holding your hand and validating your fears while you cry your eyes out but reassuring you that they believe in your ability to work through it. They believe in *you*. (And yes, I REALLY appreciate the same sentiment from friends my age and it’s also extremely helpful and I love them so very much. But it just sorta hits in a different way coming from an older friend. Not in a way that’s better or worse. Just different.)

Also something something seeing that you have a future when you can’t see past the next year or six months is just. So fucking reassuring.

Also. Older friends are just plain fun. I love my older friends and my life would be so much poorer without them. So yknow. Fuck people that condemn intergenerational friendships.

Also also something something something ‘fuck you for making me feel terrible/paranoid about wanting to offer my own experience to those younger than me. To help them in any way I can. As another fantastic and dearly beloved friend says. “If you start sounding like my mental illness, YOU are the problem and maybe need to re-evaluate some things.”’

#ignore me #im just all up in my feels about that time my friend twisted around from the passenger seat of the car to hold my hand and comfort me while #I was crying and terrified about the upcoming semester. that said it IS actually not good that you’re having panic attacks and chest pains #just thinking about going back. and was so kind and understanding and calm and she listened and held my hand. or the other friend who grew #up with little financial security. worked two jobs to pay her college tuition because her parents just didn’t have the means to help her. #and now she’s married to a surgeon and EXTREMELY financially secure and because of her own experience she is just soooo. im gonna pay for #your dinner because I can and it won’t affect me or stress me at all and I want you to save your money. and if you need money for some #reason just let me know and we’ll figure it out because I have the means to help in this way and I’m gonna do it dammit and if you need to #or the friend that sincerely told me to call her if I needed someone to talk to. even if it’s the ass crack of dawn or 3 in the morning. #or my friend (my Person) who when I asked if it was okay to tell my cousin her address while visiting her so my cousin could pick me for #dinner. said ‘of course you can. this is your home too’ (home as in your safe here and home as in you are loved here and home as in you will #always be welcome here.) #like…just. intergenerational friendships guys #they are literally lifesaving #don’t deny young people these friendships #but as someone who has also been the Older Friend #don’t make them feel bad for just loving and caring about another human being #that’s what we do. that’s what humanity is #i scream into the void #personal

[persephoneflouwers]

-

#honest anon i wont publish your ask cause it’s a bit triggering and it’s not the right time for that #i see where your concern comes from #but I don’t agree because we don’t have any reason to be worried for that #at least for now #i agree someone shouls step up and speak loud and clear about some habits of his #let it be his doctor his therapist his friends his manager or someone from his family #but in this moment there’s no need to go there with these thoughts #all the cases you mentioned are suis generis and we don’t know what happened with them in reality #(for example i think the Z thing was really staged by the monsters of the fucking family im so glad he escaped) #all of them need help (and when i say all i mean ALL including the ones you let out) #but as for now we don’t know much more #I’ve seen someone saying he has a long history of broken arms #this is his 4 time 😵‍💫 and even before the band #it’s just sad it happened on this weekend #maybe his security team and management should be more careful with him and advise him better tgan this