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landwriter · 20 days

Note

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

#asks #the sandman #dead boy detectives #fic #crossover? fusion? i guess? who is to say! not me!#dreamling #perhaps some notes of chedwin #(a fabulous ship name btw. i may not get cob but i WILL get chedwin)#author wrote this while sick as dog so please excuse errors :')#might put on ao3 later if i have a chance to clean it up and expand on it a little!#my writing #me yesterday: 'i really don't see the appeal of blending both stories beyond doing it for the sake of it'#me today: 'no you don't understand they NEED each other here is my chart of the interpersonal dynamics and a list of all the ways hob can h #accidentally writing the new inn reunion scene i'd always dreamed of oops

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feroluce · 8 days

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Belobog was my fave main quest but a lot of it is so. Contradictory. It's like they had multiple groups doing different shit and none of them checked in with each other for consistency. And you see this so much in Gepard's profile.

So in the main quest, they made him unfailingly, unquestionably loyal to Cocolia. Gepard's character arc is him learning to question authority etc etc. And this isn't even a bad thing; that's a story worth telling! It makes good conflict between him and Serval! And I love that we got Gepard as a boss battle and I get to see him all the time in SU!

But then you look at his character stories and it's like. The complete opposite.

According to his profile, Gepard has already HAD this awakening, long before the Astral Express, and he'd already decided Cocolia sucks. Even outside of his stories, there's a pretty damning readable between him and Pela.

He even disobeyed direct orders right in front of her- he has been disobeying orders for a while now!

So I've decided I'm marrying the two different sides of this into a 1.5k fic-ish thingy, because I think there's some fun potential there with Gepard not trusting Cocolia, but still having to pretend to be a good obedient little soldier.

Anyway. I love to think of it as like. Gepard knows Cocolia has sunk into her apathy. He can see it in her eyes every time he looks at her. She doesn't care. Not about him, not about Pela, not about all his soldiers on the frontlines giving their lives to protect the citizens. And that's... It makes him bristle a bit, but ok. Gepard can deal with this. Even if Cocolia no longer cares, as long as she does her job then it's fine. Having compassion behind an action doesn't matter as much as the action itself. If Cocolia's heart is no longer swayed, then he'll just have to care twice as hard to pick up the slack. He considers it part of his duty as a captain of the guard anyway. It's fine. Gepard can deal with it.

And then, Cocolia starts coming down to the restricted zone. Issuing direct orders.

And Gepard realizes he is in way over his head.

Because Cocolia orders him to stay back and issue commands from the ramparts, away from all his comrades, away from where he can protect them.

Gepard had thought nothing could be as bad as watching a fellow guard die right next to him. But the first time he watches someone struck by a killing blow, so far away, it hurts. Every defensive scar across his arms itches, his fingers curl in want of a weapon, the cold cannot numb his hands enough as they desperately ache for his shield. It hurts.

Gepard tries to find any reason to stay. Because surely... He knows Cocolia has lost her love for her people, but surely... She wouldn't...

One day, Cocolia orders for their gunners to advance 20 yards. There are no survivors. She almost looks like she smiles.

Gepard doesn't sleep that night.

Pela brings him the report at the end of the first month; and then the month after that, and the month after that. A significant uptick in losses, and all of it started on that first day Cocolia started overriding his authority and issuing her own orders. The ends of Gepard's pens have all been nearly chewed off. Pela outright calls Cocolia an idiot, and Gepard corrects her. Cocolia isn't an idiot. Gepard had known her through Serval, knew her through all her college years and then some, and he knows how intelligent she is. It's not that she's stupid, and it's not that she's inexperienced, it's nothing of the sort.

Cocolia knows exactly what she's doing.

She must, there's no way she could make such a horrible mess of things so badly by accident. And Pela, quick as a whip, sharp as a tack, always too smart for her own good, catches onto the meaning behind Gepard's correction without any further prompting. The tent goes deathly quiet, nothing but the wind howling outside.

"...She's trying to kill us," Pela whispers, her voice swiftly suffocated by the silence.

Gepard swallows. He can't bring himself to correct her this time. There is nothing he could say that he would actually mean.

His gaze drops, back down to his desk and the reports on it. The names aren't listed, just the numbers, but Gepard knows them, knew them, and there must be something wrong, something he's missing, because why, why would she-? What could this possibly accomplish-?

“Gepard! Focus!” Something snaps right under his nose, and Gepard startles, eyes instantly honing in on Pela's irritated face as she leans over his desk. She holds his gaze for a moment before she huffs and begins to pace, wedges a knuckle between her teeth and bites like Gepard hasn't seen her do since cadet school.

Pela angrily strides from one end of his tent to the other, words hissed between her grit teeth. “What are we going to do?” In the dim lighting, Gepard can just barely see the damp spot of blood weeping under her gloves. “We need a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Wh- Yes, a plan! Unless you want more people to die!” Pela rounds on him then, all the wrath of a blizzard, winds roaring and snow sharp enough to cut.

“We don't even know-”

“What does it matter?! She killed-!!” Pela cuts off with a garbled noise when Gepard leaps up from his desk, hastily shoves his hand over her mouth. The prosthetic, not the flesh one, because he knows better than to assume Pela won't seize the opportunity to leave teeth marks in his skin.

“You're right. I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you're right. But you need to keep quiet.” Pela quirks an eyebrow at him and Gepard can read the question in her face. “Because we both saw what she did to Serval,” he hisses.

It's amazing the snow plains haven't thawed out yet, the amount of heat Pela can put behind a glare. The mere mention of Serval, and the smoking ruins Cocolia had made of her life and career, have her bristling up like a riled cat. The sudden hot breath she takes fans fog across his metal skin, and Gepard wisely keeps it in place until Pela finally sighs and reaches up, taps her fingertips against the back of his hand.

The second she's free, Pela bats him away and then her knuckle is right back between her teeth again, Gepard leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed to watch her resume her pacing. “If we spread the word, she'll have us discharged and make sure we can't even touch the frontlines,” Pela's voice seethes like an open sore. Gepard nods but keeps his silence. He knows better than to get in her way.

“And if you and I are both out of the picture, Belobog is fucked.” A little harsher than how he would have put it, but there's no denying that they're both important to the city's survival. Pela has the restricted zone running as efficiently as ever, and Gepard had become the youngest captain on record for a reason. “We need to keep this tight under wraps, at least for now… It can't leak to anyone higher up the chain.” Another nod. “Serval might know other discontents…” Another n-

Gepard's head snaps up. “No.”

“No what?”

“No. We're not involving Serval in this.”

Somehow, even the same tone that leaves entire squadrons shaking in their boots has never worked on her. “You're not deciding that for her, Gepard.”

Pela hadn't seen the worst of it, though, back when his sister had just been banned from the Architects. Serval's pride hadn't allowed it. Pela wasn't the one to find her passed out bottle still in hand, hadn't been the one to wash the sick out of her hair or carry her to bed.

Serval still has trouble thinking clearly when it comes to Cocolia, still can't quite bring herself to be objective. And Gepard maybe doesn't want her to be purely objective- but he would worry a lot less if she thought twice before she acted more often.

“At least let me be the one to bring it up to her.”

“Whatever, fine,” Pela gestures affirmatively at him as she paces past, and Gepard sighs. Good, at least that's one thing he can help.

From there, it's a lot of hemming and hawing and frustration. Cocolia has them under her boot, and Gepard and Pela both know it. Even with the way she's been cracking down on freedoms lately, Cocolia is still, overall, liked by the people. It's unlikely anyone would believe them. They don't even have solid proof, because most people don't know Cocolia as well as they do and won't see the clues in the same light.

The Fragmentum has been ramping up in recent years, too. Everyone is struggling just to survive as is, they can't afford a fight on two fronts. Gepard is a damn good captain, one of the best for that matter. But they're at a massive disadvantage, his experience is narrowed to fighting a defensive battle against monsters, that's all he's ever done. That's all anyone there has ever done. He has no way of finding first-hand knowledge for taking the offensive against a human opponent, and if he goes at this blind, there's no way he'll get everyone out unscathed. He's going to lose people. He's going to lose a lot of people.

He'd never thought before that Cocolia would have it in her to have someone killed. And with this new knowledge, he has no guarantee she won't go after Serval or Lynx if she decides to retaliate.

Gepard has to remind himself to breathe when he realizes this.

Pela writes down every name the two of them can come up with. Lists and lists of names and groups and anyone they can think of who might be an ally in all of this. They memorize every bit of it, make their plans of who to talk to and when. Gepard watches the sparks reflect off Pela's glasses as they burn the evidence together.

Pela finally leaves, far too late to make it home, but says she wants to stay in the restricted zone anyway to investigate. Gepard watches her make her way in the direction of Dunn's tent, watches her back until she's out of his sight and squashes down the urge to follow and keep an eye on her. His tent feels empty.

In the morning, Gepard is up before the wake up bells. He drags himself out of bed, leads his soldiers through their morning training. The same people gravitate to each other everyday. Friend groups and training partners. There's an ongoing rivalry between a few squadrons that everyone bets on. Some of them have lockets around their necks, keepsakes, mementos. Some of them wear wedding rings.

Gepard is suddenly, painfully aware of something acidic clawing at the inside of his throat, of a heavy weight low in his chest that blooms, takes up room until it threatens to spread his ribs. His mouth tastes of bile and blood.

He rearranges the schedules. Puts himself down for every open patrol into the Fragmentum, makes sure he'll be on the frontlines every single time Cocolia visits.

He only hopes that it's enough.

#honkai star rail #gepard landau #hsr gepard #pelageya sergeyevna #hsr pela #hsr #smacking Gepard out of Hoyo's hands and running off with him skzjmdkd #tentatively Figuring Out how to write these two... It feels a little tricky starting out with extreme circumstances like this haha #I feel like a lot of people see Gepard as naive for trusting Cocolia so much but I don't think that's quite it. He's not stupid.#He's not even naive.#He's someone who has been groomed since birth by his own parents to be an obedient Guard and nothing outside of that role.#You are not immune to propaganda etc etc #But even then there are a lot of things like all the included screenshots where he. Doesn't actually seem to like/trust Cocolia much.#I think Serval was a really good influence on him as a kid. He might have turned out much much worse without her.#and even with how I've written him here. I don't think he's normally slow to act or one to stand aside and make other people lead.#it's just that this specifically was a pretty extreme circumstance for him.#and also he openly states elsewhere that Pela is overbearing and he tries not to interfere with her work whenever possible nskzhdjdjd #Pela too. I don't know that I normally see her as someone with a bad temper or quick to anger.#But again; extreme circumstances haha #Bc like. they both would have seen what happened to Serval when she stood up to Cocolia. they know damn well what's going to happen to them.#if they fuck this up and get caught then they're done.#and I mean. What are they supposed to do? they're two people against the highest authority of the entire nation.#regardless I do love Gepard agonizing over this in the future after Bronya takes over and everything has settled down #did he do the right thing? did he make the right choice? if he went vigilante how many soldiers would have died without his protection?#would Belobog have fallen completely? how many people died because he DIDN'T run away? was it actually enough?#I love characters forced between a rock and a hard place. no good options. pick your poison.#no winning- only weighing what you can and cannot bear to lose.#make your choice and decide whether you want to rot or to burn.

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lucaonthropy · 2 months

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Overheard someone saying T*re Liy* is the best author in my country and subsequently took psychic damage

#okay so im def not judging anyone who likes his writing #i liked his older writing!#i like his current writing worse bcs i think the guy is starting to burn out BUT that is strictly my personal opinion #to say that he is the best in this area tho??? deadass????? NO #his writing style is stiff and more tell than show. actually. it's mostly tell than show #his dialogue is .... well ... this one is a matter of taste but god his characters cannot just say things normally cant they #his romances dont feel like romance too lets be real for a sec here #like okay if you will be adamant about it alright fine. but maybe try other authors like dee lestari or ziggy z first #sure theyre both flawed too but at least i dont feel like im being seen as third grader when i read their things #luca rambles #random thoughts #vent post

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chanshoesunite · 1 year

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"Go harder for round two?"

Content info: YN and Chan have just fucked, but why not go harder for round two?

Word count: 1K

Warnings: dirty talk, the sex is a bit on the rougher side maybe idk

You lie there, on your stomach, basking in post-coital bliss. Chan and you have just had a very enjoyable tumble in the sheets; a playful little tussle during laundry folding turned less playful and more heated, and now here you are, naked, the late spring afternoon sun falling through the window, tickling your bare back.

Chan returns from discarding the condom and slips under the covers next to you. Immediately, his lips find your shoulder blades as he presses soft kisses to your skin. You giggle into the pillow, enjoying his gentle ministrations.

He continues to kiss you, his hand tenderly stroking your side, his touch light as a feather against your sensitive skin. You could doze off, and you almost do, because the rhythm of his strokes is so calming, and you have just had an orgasm, and the sun is so nice and warm…

Chan lets his hand slide across your arse and between your legs. You open your eyes in surprise as you feel him slide two fingers into your still-wet pussy. “Channie?” you ask, because you hadn’t expected this. The mood was sleepy, comfy, relaxed just a minute ago, and now, you wonder why you thought that – clearly, your cunt wants more, it delights in the way Chan is slowly fingering you.

He shifts his weight, and he is above you, his front pressed against your back, and now you feel it – he is hard. Very much so. You moan involuntarily, and he bites your neck. “I was thinking,” he rasps, his voice rough with want, “I feel like for round two, we can go a bit harder.”

“Go harder for round two?” you breathe, because that sounds overwhelming and incredible at the same time.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says as he grabs your hips and lifts them so he can push a pillow under them. “You just have to lie there and take it like a good girl.” He spreads your legs a bit wider, showing you exactly what he means – he’ll do all the work. “How does that sound?”

You glance back at him and smile. “Why are you not inside me already?”

His eyes darken, and an evil little smile curls up the corners of his mouth. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t know my little slut was even more eager to be filled than I was to fuck her.”

You begin to say, “Well, clearly, you were wrong about that,” but you cannot finish because with one swift, hard stroke, he is inside you, and the smallest delicious soreness of having just been thoroughly fucked and doing it again so soon takes over your senses. Chan does not wait – you don’t need time for adjusting, you are wet and eager to be taken. And so he does – he pounds you like that’s all you’re good for, and you just lie there, feeling his thick length filling you over and over again, stretching you. Your eyes are screwed shut, your hands curled into the sheets; the angle is so good, the cushion helps him hit your sweet spot with almost every thrust. His hot breath and his grunts against your neck do the rest: Being silent is out of the question – it is the middle of the day, but you can’t help but moan, pant, scream, beg for him to move, to give you more, to fuck you harder. It’s too fucking good, you’re almost sobbing with this assault of pleasure, the way every fibre of your being is focused on your pussy being railed by Chan’s hard cock.

He then shifts his weight onto his one arm, freeing his one hand to put over your mouth. He doesn’t stop fucking you, though. “Shhh, baby,” he growls into your ear. “You’re being so loud, we’ll get kicked out of the building. Everyone can hear you, baby girl, everyone knows I’m fucking you so well. You like that, hm? You like giving me all the control, letting me use your tight little cunt for my pleasure. You like making me feel good, being my little slut. You’re so hot, baby. Come to think of it… I do want everyone to know who’s fucking you this good.” And he takes his hand off your mouth, and he redoubles his efforts, his thrusts become incredibly harder, making the bed squeak. You almost howl at the pleasurable assault and bury your head in the pillow, dead set on keeping quiet. Then –

“Oh no, you won’t.”

Chan is not having it, though; you feel yourself being pulled up onto your knees, your back against his front. He is still thrusting forcefully, but now his hands find your breast and clit, stimulating you even further, making your moans more keening and breathier. “If I want you to come on my cock screaming, you will,” he growls, biting your shoulder and pushing into you relentlessly.

You know it’ll soon be over for you, this is too much, and it only takes a few more well-placed rubs against your clit and you’re coming with a moan that is positively pornographic. Behind you, you can feel Chan shaking with the effort, but he’s a lost cause, too, coming as soon as he can feel you spasm around him. Grabbing your chin, he pulls you in for a messy, wet kiss that swallows most of his groans.

When you both still, he gently pulls out and lays you back down on the bed, once again discarding a used condom before pulling you against his chest. Slowly, both of you catch your breath. He softly kisses your temple. “Was that okay?”

You glance up at him – his dark curls are a sweaty mess, his pupils are dilated, his cheeks are flushed. He looks young and vulnerable and sexy like that, and you’ve never found him more attractive. “Very okay,” you say, kissing his collarbone, clearly underselling the exquisite sex you've just had. “But do I get to nap now?”

Chan chuckles. “You do, baby girl,” he allows, kissing your nose before settling with you under the covers, snuggling closer and closing his eyes.

#author hare don't care #author hare likes hitting it from the back and she doesn't care who knows it #tortoise is SALIVATING!!! what a delicious treat that was! wow!! i need me some of that (both the sex and the talent to write smut like it)#bang chan imagine #bang chan #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #author hare #skz imagine #chanshoesunite #bang chan x yn #skz smut #bangchan x reader #bang chan scenario #bang chan drabble #bangchan smut #bang chan hard hours

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betty-bourgeoisie · 7 months

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#writing #creative writing #fanfiction #author #romance #I'm so curious #I feel like I rarely see writers who can pull of both

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i-will-physically-fight-you · 6 days

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6. “Not to be dramatic, but I’m back from the dead. Hope y’all missed me.” With Virgil and Remus?

Title: On a Stormy Sea of Emotion

Word-Count: 1.7k

Summary:

"Not to be dramatic, but I'm back from the dead. Surprise!" Remus shoots a pair of finger guns, droplets of blood spraying out from his finger tips, "Hope y'all missed me."

The cloaked figure, the target of his finger guns, does not move. Their facemask, elegantly carved to mimic a raven, stares Remus down apathetically.

Remus laughs, clasping his hands behind his neck as he leans against a building that makes up the alleyway of their standoff, "C'mon, old man. I clawed myself out of the grave and this is how you treat your 'beloved son, departed from the earth too soon?'"

OR: a Superhero AU featuring Jason Todd coded-Remus.

Pairing: parental dukexity

Warnings: Superhero AU, Death mentions, blood mention, vomit mention, implied self harm, pstd flashback, morally grey characters, angst with ambiguous ending

Thank you for the prompt! This infected my brain all last night and today, hope you enjoy <3

Killing isn't that hard of an action, really. There is a million ways to kill someone. Guns, knives, poison or the way Remus liked it--using your bare hands. It wasn't always the most effective, but when your target knocks your knife out of your hands--well, then you gotta go for the jugular.

Remus hums as he picks up his knife, examining it. The blood dripping from its blade landed on his gloves, coating it with a metallic stench. One time as a kid, he received a paper cut and out of curiosity, he stuck his finger inside his mouth to taste his own blood.

It just had a copper tangy taste, not very appetizing. But well, he's never tried someone else's blood, what if it had a different taste? Would a greedy drug lord's blood taste too greasy? Tainted by their lack of remorse and regard for the suffering and lives destroyed in their avaricious pursuit of wealth?

He is almost halfway to enacting on such an impulse, when something shifts behind him. He turns around swiftly, his knife meeting nothing but air. But there is something there, or rather someone.

Remus cackles, his eyes darting around his surroundings. There, in the shadows of the nearby dumpster. He lowers his knife, putting it away for now.

His heart clangs loudly against his ribcage as his ears began to clamor with a loud ringing noise. This moment has always been inevitable since the second he decided to remain in this hellish city.

Remus is many things, but he is not a fool nor is he a coward. He is exhilarated this moment has come at last. Not terrified.

"Hello daddy dearest," He calls out, "it's been a while."

His words are enough to draw out the cloaked figure from out of the shadows.

"Not to be dramatic, but I'm back from the dead. Surprise!" Remus shoots a pair of finger guns, droplets of blood spraying out from his finger tips, "Hope y'all missed me."

The cloaked figure, the target of his finger guns, does not move. Their facemask, elegantly carved to mimic a raven, stares Remus down apathetically.

He already knows the truth; maybe there was a time this man had regarded him as a beloved son. Back when Remus had been a quiet, subdued child, perfectly manageable and obedient. But that time had long passed.

"I know I probably should've stayed dead but you know me! I'm not great at following rules."

Virgil Storm, or in this case, "The Raven" still doesn't do anything. It is a little unnerving, actually. Remus had expected there to be harsh words thrown his way, or perhaps even be pinned into a chokehold by this point in the interaction.

The Raven doesn't kill. During his first bout at the whole being alive thing, that been a contentious point between the two. Yet, would an abomination like Remus count as a living being?

"And," Remus says abruptly, shifting his weight against the wall, "you can't kill me. You can try, but like. It won't work. I jumped off like a twenty story building--went splat! Like a bug, it was really messy, but I didn't die. Um, you can take a DNA sample to prove it's me--"

"Remus?" The Raven speaks at last, his voice garbled and gravelly from the voice modifier of the mask.

"Yeah, it's me. I mean, we both know Prince Boring doesn't have the guts to pull off a prank like this," Remus smirks, "I'm sure he's happy that I haven't been around to play screamo when I have the aux or fill his backpack with severed Barbie doll heads."

The Raven's cloaked figure starts staggering towards him. Remus moves to stand upright once more, his body tensing. He can take the punch, it'll hurt but it won't leave any bruises. Remus has done enough experimenting to know he can't be physically harmed anymore. At least not permanently in any way that matters.

But rather a punch thrown his way, the Raven's arms seize hold of him. Not around his neck, but around his body, as the Raven leans around him, his cloak wrapping around Remus like a blanket. He is...hugging Remus? What the fuck?

A cold pricking sensation hits Remus, spreading out through every inch of his body. But he does not move to resist the Raven's embrace.

"I'm sorry," His adoptive father murmurs, "I made so many mistakes, I was afraid but I shouldn't have allowed my fear to control me in the way that I did--"

"Aren't you paranoid?" Remus whispers, "What if I'm not actually Remus? What if I'm just a shapeshifter pretending to be him? Or--or something else?"

"But I know you're you. Do you really think I wouldn't have investigated the assumed grave robbery of my son's corpse?" The Raven counters, "I already have a DNA sample I collected from your confrontation with the Dragon Witch analyzed."

Of course, of course Virgil already had a DNA sample. To any sane person, this might've been a horrifying realization. But for Remus, who spent ten years under the man's roof, this was perfectly normal behavior of a man obsessive enough to run around as a nonpowered cloaked vigilante.

"Remus, you have every reason to hate me or even Roman," The voice modifier pitched upwards in an odd high tone, "but would you'd be willing to come home for at least Janus's sake?"

Remus forgets how to breathe for a moment. There are many reasons why he hasn't sought out his family. He isn't sure if he is willing to accept Virgil's apology, much less risk seeing Roman's face again. But Janus is different. He has always understood Remus in the ways the others never did.

Despite Janus being Virgil's "man in the chair" as it were, he has never operated with the same morals. Remus will never forget the time some henchmen broke into their secret hideout while Virgil and Roman had been away on a mission. Janus had not hesitated to put lead directly into their foreheads.

"I'm afraid I don't indulge in the same mercy as your father," Janus had said, tidying up the mess they'd left behind, "It is my duty to preserve the safety of those I've been sworn to protect, even if comes at the lives of others."

The Raven is a vigilante that is shrouded in mystery. There are rumors that circulate the streets that the Raven is inhuman, a being that moves swiftly and strikes without warning. Some even dare to whisper about the unfortunate ends that some of the Raven's victims have met. What they don't know is that last bit is all of Janus's doing.

It's why Remus has never understood Virgil's hypocrisy. He'll turn a blind eye to Janus's actions but Remus, roughing up a thug a little too harshly? Oh no, no, no, that was the most heinous thing Remus could ever do.

(He wonders what his adoptive father thinks of his actions not only tonight, but the past few months. Isn't this everything his father feared and more? Putting aside the whole "not being dead" thing, isn't this enough to make him irredeemable in the Raven's eyes?)

"Janus?" Remus hesitates, "would he be willing to make his tea?"

"For you, I am sure he is willing to prepare a full spread of pastries along with a pot of tea. He has...missed you a lot, Remus."

Remus's stomach rumbles. He hasn't eaten in weeks--not since he realized his body technically doesn't need food to survive. But he does need Janus's pastries. Those pastries are never a want, but a necessity.

"Okay, I'll go." Remus says, craning his neck to meet the Raven's gaze, "but only because I'm hungry."

Somehow, this causes a snort from his adoptive father. The closest thing resembling a laugh that the Raven will ever do. When he is not the Raven, and is simply Virgil--sometimes the man will actually laugh. Even so, that snort is the closest thing to a laugh that Remus has heard from the man in close to a year before his death.

Remus's legs buckle beneath him, almost bringing the Raven down with him. But it's not from the shock of the old man laughing. No, it's more likely his body protesting his week long streak of not sleeping.

It seems even though he doesn't require as much sleep as before, he still requires a certain amount of it. Or at least, that is what makes the most sense in his hazy racing thoughts.

"I've got you," Virgil whispers, his words unfettered by the voice modifier, "you're safe now."

Arms gather underneath him, as a long Kevlar cloak is draped around his wiry figure. An unwanted memory drifts to the surface; a time where his kid self demanded to be carried home and the Raven obliged without complaint. Roman had trailed after them, begging to be carried as well.

Janus had taken one look at their return (Roman clinging to Virgil's back like a baby koala while Remus was cradled in his arms) and simply raised an eyebrow. But it was clear through his stifled breathing that he found the entire thing comical.

Remus doesn't want to fall unconscious. He'll deny it, protest it with a wide grin and a cackle, that death doesn't scare him. But he is terrified of pitch black darkness.

He fears a confined undetermined space that is meant to seal him away deep in the ground. He fears wood splinters underneath his fingernails as he chokes on dirt as he continues to dig upwards, driven by an urge to survive--to break out of the ground to blessed, fresh air. He fears staring at a gravestone and just laughing until he started vomiting clods of dirt.

What if Virgil is lying about Janus? What if he decides to bury Remus again, this time in a coffin made out of titanium or reinforced concrete--dooming him to a living death?

"No," He mumbles, attempting to grasp tightly to Virgil's cloak, "I don't--"

But his eyes flutter shut against his volition, and he can only hope that they truly did miss him enough; that the words carved on his gravestone were genuine and sincere.

Remus Seagrove

20XX-20XXX

Beloved Son, Brother, Friend

Dearly Missed and Departed from the Earth too Soon

#sander sides #virgil sanders #remus sanders #sasi fic #thomas sanders #kat writes #time to yell thoughts in the tags #firstly this fic is roughly inspired by batman comics but not a one for one AU obviously #Virgil is a very flawed individual who was trying his best parenting both Roman and Remus #Janus is acting in an Alfred role here but he is actually a former villain of Virgil's who has been 'reformed'#but he obviously still isnt above killing people lmao #he was badly wounded in a fight and isnt able to be active in the field thus the reason he operates behind the scenes for virgil #Roman and Remus take on Robin-esque roles in this AU #they are biological twins who Virgil adopted after their parents were murdered #Roman probably the most like Dick Grayson in this AU #Virgil didnt want literal children out on the streets fighting crime but eventually caved because they craved violence #Remus used to be very withdrawn as a child #it wasnt until he became a teenager he found his voice and became more vocal and resistant to blindly following authority #virgil to janus: 'stop encouraging him! you're a bad influence!'#janus sipping his tea: no <3 #in comparison roman seemed like a saint and thus some tension erupted between the two #as to how he returned from the dead? similar to jason some cosmic reset occurred causing him to wake up in his coffin #unlike jason he didnt require a lazarus pit and has become some undead being that probably shouldnt exist but does #also virgil isnt old hes like in his forties lol #remus is just being annoying

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jichanxo · 8 days

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sooooo... *twirls her hair* how many asks should i send until kuwagami art. jk as well. the real question will be: does it happen often that someone else’s art inspires you? in fandom spaces specifically

well you see it’s like a loyalty card program, every 10 asks or so you get a complimentary kuwagami

just kidding you can just breathe in my direction and I’ll be tempted to draw them. kuwagami blast! (you've caught me on a... just okay art day lol)

(people still like kabedons, right?)

anyway for my actual answer: in terms of direct inspiration, it doesn't really happen much? the last two times i did art directly based on someone else's work is probably this one from this fic, and also that time i drew art of someone else's judgment au. oh! and there's that moriohpsycho art based on this comic! (filthyguts' work is so very. hgngngghh. very good.) nothing else really comes to mind, and when i think of the other things i've been into recently there hasn't been as much opportunity for that to happen...

flex and herds = strong fixation but lmao. almost nobody else made stuff about them. nobody is surprised umineko = surprisingly i don't read much umineko fanfiction? and in terms of illustration, i certainly picked up imagery and indirect inspiration but nothing concrete enough for me to give an example... now that i think about it, i did once draw andromalius from redaction/sunny, but that was years ago, and also mostly because i was acquainted with the writer. ...i don't have that artwork on hand right now death note = didn't really get involved with the fandom + i enjoyed my own ideas well enough! ...i can't recall if i drew long-hair-L art before or after seeing other artists do it. and as for everything else the same kind of reasoning applies. didn't really get involved with the fandom or wasn't really compelled to make art in response to stuff i saw, or i just don't remember anymore.

buuuuuuut if we're opening this up to just... pulling ideas from other people? then yeah, all the time, though that kind of goes without saying when you have a creative hobby. ...it's probably going to be hard to come up with examples of this since it's more ambiguous.

there's uhhhhhh... kuwana listens to nickelback which was a @/four-white-trees invention, wasn't it? (EDIT: and @/overdevelopedglasses!) (not tagging in this post so he doesn't feel obligated to read my big ass ask responses 💀) as of writing this, it's not posted but i did end up making kuwagami art based on a nickelback song so. yknow. there's that LMAO

for sawashiro and arakawa, i do sometimes go reference @/todayisafridaynight 's art to help me with my own. ("how did he draw this part of the suit? oh, like that huh? hmm" <- this kind of thing)

and um. i'm not trying to pander to you (at least not this time), but genuinely it's one of the few examples that come to mind at this moment. but when i was writing my first kuwagami fic, i could feel the influence of the ever-changing on my brain... was turning over some of your ideas there...

you remember this? (you even pointed it out in your comment on my fic, and i should've said something then, but whatever i'm saying it now)

that was absolutely because of this

(obligatory poke at anybody else reading this post that you can read passthroughtime's fic here.)

so, um. yeah. not really sure what else to add to that. pretty self evident i think. (i'm always talking about the ever-changing but i don't think i can overstate the impression it left on me at the time)

anyhow there aren't really any other examples off the top of my head! these are all recent examples so they're not so difficult to recall, but there are probably others i've forgotten...

#jitxt #started writing this unsure if i could give many examples and i ended up with more than i expected. nice!#sunny is a very good piece of umineko writing and i should reread it with the author's notes toggled on. and also read redaction #“shouldn't you have read redaction first” n-no. shut up! (besides i think renall said it was fine)#nobody remind me of that 20k note post that's just an uncredited screenshot of sunny. it'll piss me off #as cosmic balance i ought to shill sunny as much as possible #anyway uhhhhhh. the everchanging.#i am awful about receiving compliments (i never know how to respond aside from a rehearsed “thank you”) but i sure am great at giving them!#apologies if i'm laying it on too thick but #1. i am being truthful and #2. i figure it's reparations for all the time i spent as a lurker on the kuwagami ao3 tag #the explosion in my brain when i realised that “the nice person who leaves lots of tags on my kuwagami art”#and “the person who wrote that REALLY FUCKING GOOD FIC” were one and the same. crazy. and now we are mutuals ❤#it is a little funny thinking of when i'd read your and four-white-trees' work before meeting you #real life foreshadowing for me meeting you both....#i still have these discord messages of me telling a friend about both your works #basically: (reading an update to the everchanging) wow that was depressing (reading a joke in four-white-trees' fic) nevermind i'm good now #i ought to reread the everchanging and take detailed notes on all the parts i like #just so you know your impact on my brain lol #kuwana calling yagami a pretty boy and meaning it sincerely oh my GOD. rewired my brain

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viaravt · 9 months

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Authors will literally be like "I love my job! I deeply enjoy sharing my stories with the world!" and then take any excuse ever to procrastinate and not write.

...It's me. I'm authors.

#writing #authors #you know who you are #no judgement #though I am literally judging myself over it as I type this #(instead of typing my next book #procrastination #derogatory #and affectionate #it's both #writers

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kyouka-supremacy · 7 months

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Gin is such a tricky character. They've got a very good premise and compelling relations with other characters which makes them very interesting to explore. They have near to no screentime which makes everybody have a personal and original idea of what their personality is like with equal canon basis, so that in the end it feels like the fandom is filled with as many different Gin-ocs as people that are in it. I'm forever pursuing the objective, doomed to be unsuccessful by its own premise, of finding a fanfiction that features a Gin characterization that perfectly aligns with my own Gin-oc.

Anyways, meet my Gin-oc:

I already mentioned this, but Gin and Ryuunosuke aren't biologically related. Back in the slums, everyone assumed they were for their similar looks and how they never left each other's side, and they never bothered correcting them; what did it matter anyways? In the end, when all their friends were slaughtered, they ended up being the only family they had.

Gin's quite confident actually: she could cut your throat at any given moment, and she knows it. That's the consequence of always having been quite spoiled by Ryuunosuke: not really with words, but it'd be extremely rare for him to criticize anything she does, and he would let her win on everything more often than not. She is the youngest sibling. The difference in age feels a lot bigger than what it actually is.

Gin's the blunt, sharp type; doesn't talk a lot, but when she does it's sure to cut you. She's similar to Ryuunosuke in that. She's the only one who can speak back to the most feared pm member without fearing consequences... And it shows.

The only thing that intimidates Gin is for people that have only ever known her in her work attire to see her in civilian clothes, or the other way round.

Gin is also a little naive compared to their brother: she doesn't contemplate the endless fight between good and evil or what it means to take a person's life like Ryuunosuke is used to, she just gets her job done. She's younger than Ryuunosuke and, although she's still a feared Port Mafia operative, I think she is fairly more immature than him, also given the fact that, again, Ryuunosuke used to spoil her and always tried to shield her from seeing the most gruesome, terrifying sides of the world. It's not like he managed to keep her blind to everything, she is from the slums too and she did see her family being slaughtered in front of her eyes and she does know how cruel the world can be a thousand times more than your average Yokohama citizen; it's just slightly better than it is with Ryuunosuke, that's it. And keep in mind that to me Ryuunosuke is quite naive too, so they're also close in this.

Gin and Ryuunosuke live together. Ryuunosuke moved them to a little rented apartment as soon as he could when he started receiving pm retribution, and they later moved to a big flat when he got promoted to command unit (the apartment was destroyed after Dazai left the pm because. yeah).

Ryuunosuke was actually against Gin joining the pm too. He never contemplated it being a possibility when he accepted to join himself. But Gin never had any intention to sit around uselessly, and was going to join whether Ryuunosuke liked it or not. He eventually gave in, reasoning the pm would have protected her, so it was all for her to be safe (a little naive thinking on his end, but he was young too).

The one and only time Ryuunosuke ever got mad at Gin was when he found out that she killed someone for the first time. Which like, what else did he expect ever since she joined the mafia? And yet he had thought (perhaps, hoped) that her role would be limited to low stakes missions, and that she would have maintained a low rank (he's a little stupid). He was furious. Which sounds quite hypocrite given the fact that he's killed countless people, but the thing is in his mind he always was the only one supposed to stain himself with sin, never Gin. Despite all the lives he's taken, I have reason to believe Akutagawa still values life and understands what burden it is to take other people's; a burden that Gin should had never known. He's quite the protective kind. But Gin is not afraid of Ryuunosuke (of course, he's her dear brother), and she wasn't afraid to speak back at him; in the end, she did what she wanted, but it was a tough tooth to swallow for Ryuunosuke.

No one has to know they're siblings– no one. Ryuunosuke is dead serious on the matter and mildly obsessed by it; he's tormented by the idea of any of his enemies getting revenge on him through Gin, and that's literally his greatest fear and worst nightmare (not only Gin dying, but also Gin's death being his fault). The only people to know they're related are the executives and Hirotsu; if Ryuunosuke ever found out anyone else knew, he would instantly hunt them down and kill them, no matter who they were. At work, Gin and Ryuunosuke act like they don't know each other; Gin never protested, because she understands just how vital the matter is for their brother, and how it would be impossible to change his mind on this.

Gin and Ryuunosuke love each other more than anything. They're always going to be each other's priority, always, I can't stretch this enough. 50% of the reasons Ryuunosuke joined the pm to begin with was because of Gin, because he wanted to take her away from the slums, because he wanted her to be safe. Yet they just... Have no idea how to help or comfort each other. Both of them are entirely inadequate with words when it's about comforting someone. So their only way to show affection ended up just being there for each other, silently. I can picture, in one of Akutagawa's lowest moments, when months of being beaten up are starting to really feel on his already frail body, and his illness is starting to emerge, him vomiting blood at home; and Gin just being next to him without saying a word– because what could she possibly say? But she's still there, next to him, and she's the most important thing for him; and it doesn't make the world any less cruel, doesn't lessen the pain that's killing both of them, but at least there's some sort of white comfort in knowing they're not facing it alone. I really believe that as much as Dazai worked to dehumanize Ryuunosuke, tried to make of him a mindless killing beast only existing to follow orders, Gin was the only thing left to keep Ryuunosuke hanging to the glimmer of humanity left in him. On that front, I find the relationship between them to be similar to the one Kyouka and Atsushi share in Beast: their life is walking through the darkest of nightmares, but they do so holding each other's hand.

Although, those moments of connection became always less frequent as time passed and both of them grew up. The more time Ryuunosuke spent working for the pm under Dazai, the more he was reluctant to show himself vulnerable, the more they grew apart. Ryuunosuke was going through a very hard time and for him it was of vital importance that Gin had nothing to do with it. On Gin's end, it was draining to have to powerlessly, passively witness her brother slowly destroy himself and his own humanity without being able to do anything about it, and ironically that led to her distancing herself from Ryuunosuke in turn. In a funny, cruel way, seeing Ryuunosuke so pained without being able to do anything about it activated the fight or flight response the slums installed in her: since there was nothing immediately tangible she could fight against, her instinctive response was to run away from the situation. I just feel like powerlessly having to see a dear one suffer so deeply without being able to do anything has the potential to be even more painful than having to bear the suffering yourself, and I can see how she would have wanted to distance herself from it. Gin and Ryuunosuke didn't move away or anything, but the time they spent together significantly decreased to the point they were both actively avoiding each other. Ryuunosuke was constantly moody and angry at the world and although it was never - ever - directed at Gin, can you really blame her if she didn't want to spend time with him? It's hard for me to explain this without making it sound like Gin didn't care about Akutagawa, wasn't aware and suffered from his pain, didn't want to help him; because she really did care, and was concerned for his suffering, and wanted to help. It's just something really hard to deal with on daily basis when it drags on for several years, and there's so little you can do, especially if the person you want to help would rather die than let you help them.

It got better, though. I feel like Ryuunosuke touched the bottom when Dazai left the pm. But his and Gin's relationship got better after that. Very slowly, very gradually, but it got better. I like to think something switched in Ryuunosuke with the Moby Dick fight, and he started to change. And if he had to change, he decided to start from his relationship with Gin, because she's the person he cares about the most. He tried to be there for her more often, tried to spend more time with her, and it made her so happy. It took a while, and it was a little awkward at first: after all, Ryuunosuke is still his brooding self, who will tell her “It's been a while // Let's go home” with a frown on his face; but even despite that, what matters is that he's still there where he wasn't before, he's there wanting to spend time with her, and Gin is overjoyed by it, and she smiles sweetly to him. They're fixing their bond together, and I think they will get there! I think they will get their close-to-normal siblings relationship.

Differently from Ryuunosuke, Gin actually grew to quite like her job, especially after the Black Lizard was born. Hirotsu soon enough became the closest to a father figure she could have ever wished for. And she has lots of fun with Tachihara– in a way, they share much more of a siblings relationship than she and Ryuunosuke ever had. They constantly jab at each other, they have inside jokes; they threaten each other's lives on the daily but unfailingly have each other's back in battle. Gin eventually opened up a lot to Tachihara, who she felt like was the only one who could really understand her; she had found a solid common ground in their shared experience of having a distant older brother they struggled to connect with. And she trusted the sentiment was mutual, that Tachihara opened up to her as much as she did to him, completely oblivious to his half-truths. When she found out he was a spy– when he told her he was a spy, it broke her. She felt deeply, thoroughly betrayed; it changed her. She's not much the forgiving type. (talked about the Black Lizard dynamics some more here)

#Also as in: me giving female characters the complexity author doesn't care enough to give them #But I've slowly grown to have such a precise perception of Gin's character that I supposed I could as well write it down #although once again it has NO canon basis #gin akutagawa #ryūnosuke akutagawa #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd analysis #my analysis #mine #q.#26/12/22 #I opened this saying “meet my Gin oc” and yet spent most of it only talking with her relationship with Ryuunosuke #I'm so extremely embarassed for that and I apologize 😭😭#But it really is hard not to talk about character B when handling character A who's is literally born from a novel of character B's namesak #and who's only canon info we have literally is being character B's sister 😭😭😭😭#But also like. I really like Gin and Ryuunosuke's relationship for what it does to both their characters‚ Ryuunosuke as well!#I think it really adds to his character beyond the “obsessed with Dazai's approval”‚ you know.#Btw: Gin drinks coffee like Ryuunosuke drinks tea #And neither of them can cook. They carry on through leftovers and what Hirotsu / Tachihara / Higuchi brings them

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