#I know this refers to reading the actual text rather than front matter

[ineloquent-tumbling]

I saw this post last night. Today, I started a new book (which I will not name). The book was prefaced by THREE different long and detailed disclaimers about its content, including messages like “this is a work of fiction,” “depiction of morally reprehensible things is not endorsement,” and “please for the love of god do not take the characters’ actions in this book as advice for how to handle situations in your life.”

I stopped reading and whispered aloud:

“The author is afraid of me.”

been stewing on an analytical approach to fiction which I call "is this book afraid of me?" and in order to answer this question you determine how hard the book is trying to make sure you don't come after the writer on twitter

[the-housenextdoor]

Hello to the rp blog ooc! I'm new to this and I've just joined the rp! I'm still kind of new to this whole thing since I'm new to tumblr in general. But I'm really excited to join! I'm really only gonna play as an oc. But my name is just S or Sophus if you call me ooc.

I have now figured out how to run a blog! So this will be it! Joy!

For those who are unaware of the lore I will have it copy pasted here!

Oc Lore:

His name is Maverick Madlock and he's just a teenager (around 16) who lives next to John. His father and mother are strict devout catholics. Maverick is a rather serious teenager. He doesnt have many friends (or any at all). The local kids say that he does live up to his name of being "mad". The adults think he's sick in the head. Honeslty he might be. He's very good at putting up a perfect "good christian boy" front in the presence of adults. Yet they know how he acts anyways. Behind closed doors.. He's a demon from hell. He hangs around the local church often. Praying the rosary. Reading a bible tabbed and annotated in every margin in messy slanted cursive. God knows who this kid is. He's a perfect little angel really. Few have really seen the demonic fire that rages inside of him. (I have been writing Maverick to have sociopathic tendencies but I am going to research ASPD (Anti Social Personality Disorder) more to make sure I am not being in any way incorrect or offensive to those who have the mental illness! I do not want to make the mental illness seem villianized in any way! Many people with ASPD actually do live a normal life with proper medications and therapies! The only reason I will write my oc in this way is because the timeline most takes place in the late 80s without much knowledge on the mental illness. And because Maverick's parents don't know how to handle his behavior so they let him run wild. Thank you! And dont be afraid to inform me if I do write something incorrectly!)

Family Matters:

Mother and Father are strict Catholics. They live two houses down from John Ward. In that cute little red brick family home with the white picket fence. Truly the American dream. Father's name is Sebastian Madlock. Mother's name is Agatha Madlock.

Looks for Maverick:

He has inky black hair that falls to the nape of his neck in extremely unruly, fluffy layers. He had the same unruly curtain bangs framing his face. His hair a mess of waves and soft curls and fluffiness yet still tame enough to look proper. He has softer facial features than most boys his age. He had extremely tan and sunkissed skin not to mention his skin was littered with freckles. Literally. He had freckles all over his body from what it seemed. His cheeks, forehead, face, neck, collarbones, chest, arms, legs, waist, etc. The brown flecks absolutely covered his skin in large constellations. He always wore a dark black collared shirt with black dress pants and black Doc Martens on the days were they got to be out of uniform. He wore a saint necklace of Saint Agatha of Sicily. The Saint he had chosen for his confirmation. He has cold brown eyes that genuinely appeared black. Maybe they were black. No one ever got close enough to tell. They were harsh and apathetic. Observing and sharp. He's watching. His nails were short from biting them constantly. Bleeding at the edges sometimes. He has a look of perfection and messiness. Two sides of that same coin.

(He looks exactly like his mother for reference. Like a mini-me of her!)

Thank you! Super excited to rp on this new blog!

Adding a few bits of information!

I unfortunately cannot color code my character because I am on mobile and most of the colors have already been used. I will simply stick with a bold text to identify Maverick.

Maverick will be bolded.

His parents (Sebastion & Morana) will be italicized.

Also he volunteers at the Open Arms Shelter because his parents forced him because they often can't handle how he acts.

[fenrisisms]

10, 24 and 25 for alas because who else would i ask abt <3

i literally just closed my reference tab of the questions u asshole... love you so much thank you for asking i will of course yap about your specialest meow meow ever for your entertainment. putting on my little jester shoes rn let's go

10. are they good horse riders?

before the inquisition? not really. he's never had much of a reason to ride a horse that wasn't trying to jump onto a wild one in competition with his brother (yes he did that while not actually knowing how to ride a horse. come and get your son in law please) but you know how he is. once the inquisition makes it clear he's expected to ride horses well. alas would rather blow himself and the entirety of skyhold up than not be good at something in front of a) solas and b) orlesians so it becomes a matter of personal pride. also he likes Critters and once the inquisition gives him a hart to ride well. you cannot tell that man shit. he has a literal manifestation of his high horse now and he WILL talk down to you from it.

which is to say he's never gonna be doing dressage or anything but he's adept. well. at least he is now.

24. what languages can they speak?

obviously he's got that trade tongue SWAG and he can speak elvish, he's also pretty familiar with starkhaven slang thanks to those clan soran roots, but aside from that he doesn't really speak anything else. he does start learning tevene when he and dorian get together but dorian knows it's just so he can read tevinter texts so he can find out what dalish history they might be hiding in there. he is not fooled into thinking this is a romantic gesture.

25. what did they plan for their life to look like before the events of the game happened?

my guy had a pretty solid grasp on exactly who he was and what he wanted from life. alas is pretty heavily defined by a thirst for knowledge, and in particular to arm the dalish with knowledge. he has immense pride in his heritage and love for his people, and the way he feels he serves them best is by discovering new things and bringing new information to them so that they can grow and change.

pretty much he knew the keeper wasn't really on her way out any time soon, and now that he's an adult who she doesn't have to worry too much about babysitting anymore, the plan was that she would train a second and a third and he would go off seeking knowledge of their history and spend some time as a lone keeper before returning to the clan. his first stop was meant to be the forests of arlathan and then he was going to join up with some of his friends from clans who roam rivain to basically go do some archaeology there but when the keeper heard about the conclave she sent word to him to change direction and go there instead. so there he went.

and while part of that was kind of based on his own desires, a bigger part of it was also that the clan was having troubles with templars sniffing around their mages, and alas was worried that his own little sister would manifest her magic, so the line of thinking was that if he left for a bit that might take the heat off them a little, especially since he's uh. liable to pick fights with templars. anyway aside from his Job and nerd hunting i don't know that he really put much consideration into whether he wanted a partner or a family, but even if he didn't plan for it his relationship with dorian & arihs and their children are so important for him that even though he mourns the idea of that life sometimes he would never ever change it because if he did then he never would have met his husbands! and he wouldn't have had his beautiful children! and he could simply not live in a world where that didn't happen

[yupuffin]

And that's exactly why I'm so disappointed. 😫 The one time so far a major character has gotten a poignant, meaningful, and properly cathartic death, rather than being killed off suddenly in front of the player character for shock value, and it's for a death that, in all likelihood, may be reversed.

I think we're going to have to agree to disagree on the point about Aventurine's demise never being framed as an actual death, though, as multiple characters at several point in the story directly refer to it as such:

Upon 'shackling' him, Sunday tells Aventurine "he only has seventeen hours left to live"

Aventurine resentfully refers to the meeting with Sunday as the staging of an "execution"

Dr. Ratio points out that Aventurine's coworkers would "love to be notified of [his] death in due time"

Aventurine's 'future self' in the Dreamscape mocks him based on the fact that he is currently dying, and later tells him to "die without regrets"

Aventurine refers to the spectacle he instigates on the stage in the Golden Hour as "a truly grand death" (with the dramatic irony here being that his apparent intention is to kill the Astral Express crew, while we know from the previous quests as well as the flavor text of the boss enemy that his own life is the one he intends to wager)

The epitaph that follows the scene where Aventurine disappears into the void ends with "Until the denouement of all coming morrows kisses me, I have then embraced the quiet death."

I'm struggling to find any dialogue that definitively points to Aventurine telling his 'past self' that he fully intends to come back to life. There's a couple of parts in the banter with his 'future self' where he says things like 'someone's going to disappear, and it's not going to be me,' but these all occur before he actually gambles with his life and loses. In his final conversation with his past self, Aventurine says that he will leave the Dreamscape and 'prepare to face his family and make them proud,' but that's worded pretty ambiguously and doesn't seem to indicate a deliberate choice to come back to life, assuming he has any choice in the matter at all.

I think if you wanted to, you could absolutely go for a reading in which the above textual references to Aventurine's death are purely figurative.

Consequently, though, I think the cathartic aspect of Aventurine's death arc would be necessarily diminished, since it hinges on him being forced to confront, and ultimately come to peace with, the potential permanency of his demise -- which is precisely what bothers me about how Aventurine's death is set up in the story, if, from a narrative standpoint, it's quite possible that it's never intended to be permanent to begin with.

I'm hoping that, if Aventurine does get brought back to life, there can still be significant consequences for him, namely in terms of his character arc -- in the conversations with his 'future self,' we got to see a few references to his cocky demeanor being a ruse to hide a deep-seated inferiority complex, and I'd love to see that, for example, explored further.

The whole thing with Aventurine is good because it's devastating. (Notwithstanding the apparent fact that death is temporary in Penacony's dream, I mean.) We got this whole character arc of "Oh, this guy's clearly sketchy because he's trying to bribe you into liking him -- but then it's actually tragic because we find out that his self-esteem is so abysmal that he legitimately thinks there's no way to get you to like him other than bribing you, but at the same time, he wishes he could love himself" -- wrapped up with a nice narrative bow about him finding comfort in eternal sleep as he's no longer forced to confront a future he can't even begin to envision.

Like, on one hand, it'd be interesting to see where his mindset goes if he was made to go on living with the insight he gained over the course of a few internal monologue...

On the other hand, It'd feel like cheating if they just. Brought him back. What, you want me to grieve for two or three days, and then you want to say sike, like, whoa, you did all that grieving for nothing?! It just wouldn't make quite as much sense within the context of the narrative for me.

Sunday, though?!

I can't get over how the rapidly-switching camera angles in that cutscene remind me of the scene in Baccano! where a similar composition implies that the old conductor shoots the young conductor, but, several episodes later, it's revealed that the young conductor actually pulled a metaphorical Uno reverse card and, with the help of some fancy martial arts tricks, disarmed the old conductor and shot him with his own gun instead.

I think it would be HILARIOUS if it turned out that Sunday did something like that. I will believe that this is canon until it's disproved. 🤣

[theladyofdeath]

Engagement Pie {Elriel}

Naked Texts & Pie #5

Warning: nsfw. 18+. Dom/sub.

Written alongside @snelbz . Thank you for reading this awfully dirty mini-series that was just meant to be a drabble. (;

Azriel was about to have a panic attack.

Inside of his mind was not a pretty place to be, not that it lacked ideas of flowers and baked goods, but because it was a complete and utter mess.

All day, while Elain was gone, he had been running around like a chicken with his head cut off, unaware if he was doing everything right but sure hoping he was.

He was hoping it would be perfect.

He glanced at the clock.

He had about half an hour until she got home.

At this point, Azriel and Elain had been dating for a little over a year, and living with each other for nearly six months. Since Feyre and Rhysand’s wedding, they knew, without a doubt, that they were meant to be together.

Then again, they had always known, just had never confessed it.

Their families had been less surprised by their sudden relationship and more surprised by the state they returned to the wedding reception in, but neither of them could find it in themselves to care. They were happy, blissfully, wonderful happy and in love.

Azriel opened the oven for the hundredth time, peeking inside to make sure things were still going smoothly. The pie was still there, it hadn’t run away, but it still didn’t have that beautiful golden brown crust that Elain’s always did. Sure, he could text her, ask what exactly he had done wrong, but that would ruin the surprise. He’d done his best to keep everything a secret so far. He wouldn’t ruin it now by texting her a question he could easily ask Google.

After doing so, it looked like he had done everything right, so he let it cook longer, forcing him to wait longer in anxious anticipation.

Azriel paced back and forth, fully aware that he had everything in place. He just needed the damn pie to hurry up and get done.

Elain would be home in twenty minutes, and Azriel needed to be in place when she walked through the door.

At ten until six, Azriel looked in the oven once more. It looked a little bit better, but not as done as he wanted it to be.

He’d wait until the last possible second. It wasn’t ideal, as there were other parts of his plan that required that pie to be done and, preferably, not piping hot, but he’d make do.

So he continued to pace in the kitchen until he heard the garage door rising, signaling Elain’s arrival home.

Hurrying to the oven, he threw the door open and pulled the pie out. The second it was exposed to the natural light of the kitchen, and not the watery bulb of the oven, he knew he fucked up.

It had bypassed golden brown and gone straight to brown, but thanks to the lighting in the oven, he couldn’t tell. He swore under his breath as he laid a towel on top of the washer and set the pie on top of it, letting it cool.

He’d ordered take out from Elain’s favorite restaurant, which had been delivered just a few minutes before, so thankfully even he couldn’t mess up dinner.

Right at six, he could hear Elain’s feet climbing the wooden steps to the front porch and he quickly sat at the kitchen table and popped open a bottle of wine, filling the two glasses.

When Elain entered, her purse on one shoulder, her keys in her hand, she stopped and a slow smile spread across her lips at the display.

“Wine and Rita’s?” she asked, setting her belongings down on the counter. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Azriel smiled as he set the wine bottle down in the middle of the table. “Nothing special. You’ve just been working so hard that I wanted you to have a relaxing night with your favorite food.”

Her smile widened as she sat across from him, but then she stilled for a moment. “Do I smell…pie?”

“No,” Azriel said, then quickly changed his mind. “Yes. It was a candle.”

She blinked once, twice and said, “Huh. I didn’t know we had an apple pie candle.”

She let it drop after that, filling Azriel in on her day. It had been uneventful, a change from her usual hectic schedule, and she was grateful for that. The past month or so, she would come home, scarf something quick and easy down for dinner, and collapse in bed, ready to do it all again the next day. Tonight, she actually had some pep in her step.

“Dinner, wine,” Elain mused, running a finger over the back of Azriel’s hand. “Did you have anything else in mind tonight?”

One of her eyebrows was raised slightly and he knew exactly what she was referring to, which yes, he absolutely did, but first, he had something else he needed to do.

“Actually, yes,” he said, standing. He leaned down to press a kiss to her lips. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Her other eyebrow had raised to match, clearly showing her surprise. “Okay.”

He disappeared for a moment, and when he returned, he held a pie in his hands, dark brown crust and all. It also had a massive “X” cut into the direct center. It didn’t look like a venting hole.

Covering the bottom half of her face with both of her hands, Elain tried to stop the giggles from bubbling from her lips, but she couldn’t. “I knew I smelled pie,” she said, still laughing.

“I sort of burnt it,” he admitted, setting it down in front of her.

“I see that,” she chuckled, leaning forward to kiss him. “I’m sure it will still be delicious.”

He was about to say something when she asked, “But what is that?” gesturing to the center of the pie.

“That….” Azriel started to say something, but wasn’t sure what. All he knew is that he was a nervous mess and not a lot currently made sense. “X marks the spot.”

Elain blinked. “What?”

“X marks the spot.”

She blinked, again. “I don’t follow.”

Azriel sighed. “Pirates… When they bury treasure… X marks the spot.”

Elain’s head fell to the side. “Babe, are you drunk? Are you high? Are you alright? You’re not-.”

Azriel sighed, and reached into the pie. His hand broke the crust, and Elain was so surprised by the gesture that she jumped, and a nervous laugh escaped her. “Az, what are you doing?”

His hand came back up a minute later, covered in apple filling. “You know, I had a whole, romantic thing planned out with the pie. Pie is our thing, and it was going to be cute as hell-.” His words fell off as he opened his hand, revealing a beautiful pear-shaped diamond on a thin, rose gold band.

Elain stared, her mind taking a second to process what she was looking at. He picked up one of the napkins from their dinner and wiped the ring off, as well as his hand, before dropping to one knee from the chair he was sitting in. With his clean hand, he took hers in his. He prayed she couldn’t feel it shaking as badly as he thought it was.

“I know we haven’t been together long, El, but I love you so much. You’re my entire world and my best friend. I can’t—.”

Elain’s lips crashed into his and they went tumbling to the kitchen floor. She pulled back, just enough to see his face and breathed, “Yes.”

Chuckling, Azriel said, “You didn’t even let me finish.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said, kissing him again. “My answer is yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

He sat up and Elain crawled off his lap, sitting next to him on the kitchen floor. He took her hand in his again. “Let me at least ask the important part, yeah?”

She was grinning like a fool, but she nodded, waiting for him to go on.

Resting the ring against the tip of her finger, Azriel asked, “Elain, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she breathed, and a tear slid down her cheek. “Yes. Yes! Of course, I will.”

He slid the ring onto her finger with shaky fingers before her mouth was crashing into his, once again.

Azriel wanted to ask that question for so long, and now that he had, not at all the way he had planned, it didn’t even seem like it had happened.

Yet, as she flung her arms around his neck, everything seemed completely and perfectly right.

Elain leaned back and peered at the ring. It was magnificent, lovely, perfect.

She slowly looked at Azriel. “You….hid it in the pie?”

He cringed, but laughed softly. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Her eyes went wide and she glanced at the ring again. “You didn’t bake it with the ring in there, did you?”

“No, of course not,” he chuckled, pulling her back into his lap.

She went willingly, straddling his hips and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Okay, good. The pie would have been inedible then.”

“I think it’s inedible now,” he scoffed, his hands gripping her hips, while his lips found her neck.

“I think I should be the one to decide that,” she said, her voice going high and breathy.

“There’s something else I’d rather eat instead,” he replied, tilting her face down to meet his as his lips crashed into hers.

Elain hummed against his mouth as she fell into the kiss. After the millions of kisses that they had shared and the constant lovemaking that had come along with being helplessly, madly in love, Azriel never grew tired of being intimate with Elain.

In fact, he couldn’t get enough of it. Every time he was with Elain, he just wanted it more and more. He couldn’t grow tired of it, ever - it was impossible.

His hands swept up her back and tangled into her hair, and she cupped Azriel’s face in her hands.

He could feel the cool metal of her ring against his cheek.

Azriel rose, taking Elain with him, and laid her down on top of the table. Her head fell right next to the pie. She couldn’t help but glance over at it.

She giggled as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close.

“Something funny?” He asked, ducking away, trailing his nose down her neck as his lips found her collarbone.

“No.” It came out as more of a breathy moan than the sigh she was meaning it to be.

“Really?” His hands gripped her wrists, unwrapping them from around him, and he pinned them above her head with one hand. “That little laugh would suggest otherwise.”

His free hand began undoing the buttons on her shirt one by one, and Elain was practically vibrating beneath him by the time he was pushing her shirt to either side of her body.

Her bra was made of nothing but lace, and he could see her pebbled nipple through the fabric. He toyed with the idea of taking it off, but his lips closed over it, the rough lace scratching against the sensitive skin. She whimpered softly, her back arching off the table to better accommodate his mouth, and when he tugged on her nipple with his teeth, the whimper became a moan.

Gazing up at her, he said, “Is anything funny now?”

Elain sucked in her bottom lip as she slowly shook her head. “No.” Azriel raised a brow. “No, what?”

Elain couldn’t help her spreading grin as pure excitement radiated throughout her body. “No, sir.”

Azriel smirked in return as he gave her his first order. “Stay still.”

“And if I move?” she asked, quietly. Since their first time, Elain learned that she liked to test her boundaries.

Azriel liked it, too - when she was naughty.

“Then I’ll stop,” he said, and slowly let go of her wrists before putting his fingers in the band of her black skirt and yanking it off. “And you don’t want me to stop, do you?”

She shook her head, watching everything he did, biting her lip. Her hands were gripping the edge of the table to hold herself in place. As he dragged her panties down, as slowly as he could, she wanted to reach out and touch him. She was nearly naked, while he was still completely clothed, but she figured that was exactly how he wanted her.

It typically was.

He was quite the tease, but Elain secretly enjoyed that fact.

Azriel took a step back from where she lay and crossed his arms as his eyes swept across her body, taking in every beautiful inch.

In response, Elain spread her legs wide for him.

Azriel took in a deep breath and nearly growled.

He loved the sight of her, longed for it, thrived on it. It made him weak in the knees, still, and he was certain it always would.

“I am amazed,” Azriel breathed, “by your beauty.”

His comment only made her spread her legs wider.

He smirked. “What do you want, sweet girl?” He trailed a finger up the inside of her thigh, getting so close to where she needed him, but not quite.

“You,” she sighed, but it sounded more like a gasp.

“I know that,” he drawled. “Be more specific.”

“Your mouth on me, please,” she replied, gripping the edge of the table harder.

Azriel smirked again as he gently brushed his thumb over her entrance and then circled her clit once. “You’re saying you want me to eat your pie?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and looking up at her face.

“Yes, sir, please.” The words were breathy and quiet and he was fairly sure she was already trembling.

Azriel fell to his knees as Elain’s head fell back in pure ecstasy. It was the anticipation, the want, the need…

The second his tongue swept between her slick folds, Elain was already on edge.

Azriel had that effect on her.

Those hands that gripped the edge of the table tightened, and Elain’s eyes fluttered shut.

He knew exactly what he was doing. He had the first time, and he sure as hell did now as he took his clit between his lips and sucked, gently.

“Az,” she breathed, fully aware that when she said his name, it sent him wild.

He took her ass into his hands and pulled her closer to him.

She could never last long when his mouth was on her. The things he could do with his tongue made her see stars and she knew this time wasn’t going to be the exception. Azriel knew it, too.

He flicked his tongue over her clit and pushed a finger inside of her. “Are you close already, Lainey?”

She nodded, feeling his breath on her sex.

A second finger joined the first, and he curled them upward. “I couldn’t hear you. I said, are you close?”

“Yes, sir, I’m so close,” she panted.

Her arms were straining and he swore he heard the wood groan beneath her hands as she struggled to keep them where they were. It was surprising she’d held on for this long. He knew how badly she longed to have her hands in his hair or even kneading her own breast, still covered in that pretty, lace bra.

“Don’t come yet,” he crooned, pressing a kiss to the top of her sex.

He was torturous.

Purely evil, and yet, Elain thrived on it. Her entire body shook as pleasure swept through her. She was so close. So very close to the edge, ready to fall into the oblivion that was being loved by Azriel.

Her body jerked, and Azriel held onto her tighter.

Elain tried to obey, and tried to stay perfectly still, even though her entire body fought against it.

Azriel’s tongue continued to dance along her sex, continued to suck on her most sensitive of parts.

“I need you,” Elain begged.

Azriel didn’t respond, he only tugged her close, sucked her harder, praised her longer.

“Az, please.” It was more or a groan than anything else and he responded by sucking her clit between his lips and pulling hard. At the teeniest press of his teeth, she began to shake, and then he began to pump his fingers in and out.

Elain shattered, crying out and letting go of the table. Her hand dove into his hair and she lifted her hips, doing whatever she could to keep his face where it was.

Azriel worked her through her orgasm and when she stilled, he stood, wiping off his face and looking down at her. She was still breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling, but that full bottom lip was caught between her teeth again as she watched him. She knew what was coming.

“You weren’t supposed to come yet,” he breathed, dragging a finger from top of her sex up her stomach and between her breasts. He reached her face and worked her lip from between her teeth. “You disobeyed me.”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, even though she really, really wasn’t. The last thing she was was sorry.

“You’ll have to be punished now,” Azriel said, softly.

“Punished how?” Elain asked.

Azriel watched her for a moment before he said, “Turn around.”

She did as she was told, rolling onto her stomach, her ass in the air. “Is this okay?” she asked.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, and raised his hand before smacking her across her ass.

Elain gasped at the contact and had to bite her lip to keep from exploding into a fit of delighted giggles.

The sharp intake of breath was her only response, she fought to keep in the quiet cry or moan that he wanted to draw from her. She was feeling bratty tonight.

Glancing down at the ring sparkling on her finger, she knew exactly why. She got to experience this sensual rush for the rest of her life. She was Azriel’s.

And he was hers. Forever.

His hand cracked against her skin again and she had to close her eyes and bite her lip to keep from moaning.

He did it again and again, but then he suddenly stopped.

“You’re getting even more wet for me,” he breathed, dragging a finger along her center. She was unable to stop her whimper. He added, “That’s not the point of a punishment.”

He knew exactly what his spankings did to her. He loved it, and if he kept on with it, she’d be dripping all over their kitchen table.

Without warning, he picked her up, carrying her into the living room and tossing her on the couch. She bounced gently, a pleased smile on her face.

“Take off the rest of your clothes,” he ordered, pulling his own shirt over his head.

Slipping the button down off her shoulders, Elain reached behind her and unclasped her bra. She watched as Azriel removed his belt and dropped it to the floor.

She tried not to let herself feel any disappointment as he discarded the belt. He’d used that once or twice before and the unyielding, stiff leather had drawn more than a few orgasms from her as he spanked her with it.

He popped the button on his jeans and said, “Touch yourself.”

Propping her feet up on the couch, she spread her legs for him and slid her hand over her pussy. He was right. She was soaked and so, so turned on. She circled her clit with one finger. She moaned softly, “But I want to touch you.”

“That’s too bad,” he replied, his eyes settling on her sex. “You’re being punished.”

She slid her finger between her folds, teasing herself. Adding a second finger, she just barely dipped them into her entrance, but no more than her finger tips. She was so sensitive, still riding the high of her orgasm and fought off a moan as she watched Azriel watch her.

Dragging the zipper down on his jeans, her eyes tracked the motion and she stilled, waiting for him to take them off.

“I don’t remember telling you to stop,” he said, regaining her attention.

Her fingers began slow motions, yet again, but she didn’t take her eyes off of where his own hands worked at removing his denim. She breathed, “And how long will this punishment last?”

Azriel’s eyes sparked as his chest rose and fell, slowly. “It’ll end when I want it to.”

Elain nodded as her fingers slid up inside of her and she let out a soft, low moan.

Azriel licked his lips as he tracked her every movement. “Keep up the good work and I may just let you choose your own punishment.”

“I’d rather have a reward.” Her voice was soft, low, but it was shaking slightly. The anticipation got her off just as much as her own fingers did.

He paused with his jeans hanging low on his hips. She could see the waistband of his black boxer-briefs underneath. “Oh? And what would that be?”

“I want to touch you,” she said again, slipping both fingers inside herself again, deeper this time. Curling her fingers up, she reached for her g-spot, eyes falling shut when she skimmed over it. Her head fell back against the cushions and she groaned.

His approach was silent, but she felt his hand on her face and when she opened her eyes, he was standing in front of her. His cock was in his hands and he stroked it once. “You want to touch me?” He asked.

“Yes, please.” She continued to pump her fingers in and out and licked her lips as her eyes bounced between his eyes and his thick, proud length. It was just a few inches from her face.

“How do you want to touch me, Elain,” he asked, dragging a thumb over her bottom lip.

It was that tone, that deep, sensual tone of his that drove her mad.

“I want to take your cock into my hands,” she breathed, the words hitched. “Into my mouth.”

Azriel hummed, as if he was debating it. He nodded to the fingers that were pumping in and out of herself. “You can touch me when you’re finished touching yourself.”

Elain nodded, her hand moving faster as she pumped those two fingers in and out, then another, easily sliding in alongside the others.

Azriel stroked himself, slowly, again and again as he watched.

Elain’s other hand trailed between her legs and she began to circle her clit, pulling a loud moan out of herself. As her two hands worked, she drew closer to the edge, and Azriel’s breathing grew shallower.

Her words were high pitched and she was struggling to keep her eyes open as she asked, “Can I come? Please, I’m so close.”

He ran his thumb over her lip again and waited until she was looking up at him. And then he smirked. “No, baby, you can’t.”

Elain wasn’t proud of the whine that she let out, but she slowed her fingers. She didn’t withdraw them, because she knew he wouldn’t like that, but stopped circling her clit. If she didn’t, she was going to come and as fun as another punishment really would be, she wanted her reward.

“Good girl,” he crooned, tilting her chin up to look at him. She’d been staring at his cock. There was a milky bead of precum on the tip and she wanted to lean forward and lick it off.

As if he could sense her thoughts, he ran his thumb over the thick head, spreading the wetness over the length. She tried not to whine again.

“You want me in your mouth?” He asked, shifting his hips forward slightly.

“Please,” Elain breathed, nodding eagerly.

“Do you think you’ve been punished enough?”

She frantically nodded, and Azriel wondered if she even knew she was bucking her hips, searching and needing release. He loved when she got like this, so needy and begging for whatever he’d give her.

Instead of giving her what she wanted though, he crouched, taking the hand that had been circling her clit in his. Raising it to his lips, he licked the tips of her fingers. He moaned quietly. “I will never get tired of the taste of you.”

Elain whimpered softly, her other hand still pumping in and out of herself.

“Do I taste as sweet to you as you do to me?” He asked, leading that hand back to her swollen clit and stood.

She began the slow circling again and nodded, and he knew if she was incapable of speaking, she was going wild with lust.

In the quietest of voices, Azriel said, “Prove it.”

Elain wasted no time wrapping her lips around the head of his cock and lathering him with her tongue. Azriel let out a long, slow breath at the contact and when her finger slowed against her clit, he shook his head. “Don’t stop.”

Elain moaned, and the vibrations against him had Azriel’s fingers weaving their way into her hair as Elain took Azriel further into her mouth.

She continued the slow circling of her clit, but slipped the rest of her fingers from wet pussy. She reached for his cock, to wrap around what wouldn’t fit in her mouth, but he caught her hand. Her fingers were glistening, still costed in her essence, and he brought them to his mouth. “We can’t waste that,” he murmured, before sucking them between his lips one by one.

Elain’s eyes fluttered shut and she moaned softly as he released her hand and slipped his free hand into her hair as well, absolutely controlling her and the pace with which she worshiped him.

Or so he thought.

Opening her throat, Elain took him as deeply as she could, gazing up at him as tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Azriel was unable to stop the groan as he fucked her mouth and throat with no abandon, until she began to gag softly.

He withdrew himself, dropping his jeans the rest of the way, and sat down on the couch next to her. He took her face in his hands and kissed her roughly. “That’s new,” he crooned, his lips dragging down her neck.

Her laughter was sensual as she continued to stroke him. “I wanted to surprise you. I didn’t think you’d be surprising me, too,” she admitted, bringing her hand up to admire the diamond sparkling on her finger.

Azriel wrapped his hand around hers and brought it to his lips, where he kissed the back of her hand, just below her ring.

“I’m just glad you’re not asking me to wait for this again until our wedding night,” he murmured.

Elain grinned. “I don’t think I would survive the wait. I’d have to marry you tomorrow.”

Azriel’s eyes sparkled as he took her hips and pulled her on top of him. “That wouldn’t be so bad.”

Elain moaned quietly as Azriel teased her at her opening. “I don’t know. I kinda wanna make you wait.”

“That, and you want a big wedding,” he said, leaning up and trailing kisses along her throat.

“Not a big wedding,” she replied, trying to lower her hips. His grip was firm though, and she only managed another inch, teasing herself just as much as he’d been teasing her.

Resting her hands on his shoulders, she tried to rock her hips, wanting more of him inside of her. He still held firm.

His smirk was devilish when she looked up into his face. “I never said you were done being punished.”

Her mouth fell open in surprise. She squirmed and his grip on her hips tightened, his smile growing. “Az, please.”

“Hmm?” He leaned up again, capturing her lips with his and his thumb found her clit. Her body gave a jerk and her thighs burned with how hard she was trying to lower herself onto him.

Pulling away, she pressed her forehead against his. “Please… I’ll be a good girl for you. I won’t come until you tell me to. I just need to feel you inside of me.”

He nipped at her bottom lip with his teeth and released his hold on her hips.

She sank down onto him, not gently in the slightest, and moaned as he filled her in one rough stroke. She bucked her hips, not rising but needing the friction as her lips crashed against his.

It was thrilling. There was always a rush that consumed Elain’s body the moment he filled her. A spark of excitement that never grew old, never faded.

Azriel knew it, too. There was a look that crossed her face that only showed itself the moment he entered her.

It was beautiful.

Consumingly gorgeous.

Elain’s head fell back as she rocked her hips - her hips that Azriel’s fingers were digging into, yet again, but he didn’t guide her.

She did that perfectly well on her own.

With his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, Azriel’s eyes scanned Elain’s body, from her tilted back head, to her breasts at eye level, then to where they were connected.

“Better?” Azriel asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” she breathed, eyelids fluttering shut.

He wrapped a hand around the back of her neck and brought her lips to his. The kiss was not gentle, but he knew that wasn’t how she wanted it. Sure, they had sweet, soft sex sometimes, something they both adored on occasion, but nothing drove Elain wild as much as rough sex did. He had never dreamed she’d be as submissive as she was but gods, he was so glad of it. She was the other half he’d been waiting for and the fact that she was his for the rest of his life…

He growled quietly as he pressed his other hand to the small of her back and rocked his own hips up into her. She gasped against his lips and braced her hands on his shoulders as they found a rhythm that had her groaning his name.

There were very few things that pleased Azriel more than hearing his name on Elain’s mouth while they fucked. It broke him, unleashed something unearthly.

His hips thrust harder up into her, and each time he did so, his name grew louder and louder on her lips.

Azriel felt that magnificent, familiar feeling rising within him but he didn’t move his eyes from Elain. Her face was still close to his, her breath hot against his mouth. He cursed before kissing her, yet again, bringing her lip between his teeth and gently tugging.

Before she could anticipate it, he flipped them so they were laying on the couch, his body covering hers, and lifted one of her legs so it rested on his shoulder. It opened her up, allowing him to thrust harder, deeper, and she began clawing at his back. She cried out, and he groaned as she screamed his name.

His fingers gripped her chin and her lust-filled gaze found his. That hand slid between them and found her clit. The next thing he said wasn’t a request. It was a demand.

“Come for me.”

Elain did. She shattered, her body shaking with the force of the orgasm that slammed into her.

Azriel couldn’t hold on much longer, the feeling of her coating him, spasming around him, having him meeting his own end.

He came, one hand digging into the couch cushions, the other gripping her ass. His fingers would surely leave a mark.

Elain didn’t mind.

He fell onto her body, breathing heavily, sweat coating his skin. As Elain caught her breath, her arms wrapped around him.

His face was buried in her neck, and she felt his lips moving and heard him murmuring before she could understand what he was saying. But then she heard him, clearly, and she wondered how it had taken them years to realize it together.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

His words weren’t just a quiet praise and reminder, but also a promise, as strong as the one that she now wore on her finger.

He pulled back, his eyes finding hers, even as his chest was still heaving as he caught his breath. Reaching up, she ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “I love you, too.”

His gaze was soft as she leaned down and gently pressed his lips to hers. They stayed like that for a few minutes, slowly kissing each other, not in any hurry to start anything up again, but just enjoying the taste and feel of each other.

When Elain’s stomach growled, however, Azriel pulled back and looked at her with a raised brow.

“Work up an appetite?”

She laughed, quietly. “Maybe so.”

“Well, Rita’s is gone,” Azriel muttered, “but, there’s pie.”

Elains laughter grew louder, and even Azriel couldn’t help but smile down at her.

“It’s a little burnt, but I’m sure it tastes alright,” he went on. "Maybe."

“Pie sounds good,” Elain said, eyes bright. “Even if we can only eat the filling.”

Azriel scoffed. “That’s the best part.”

“True,” she agreed, and rolled off the couch from beneath him. “I’m going upstairs to clean up. Meet me in bed.” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked over her shoulder. Azriel's eyes scanned every inch of her body as she said, “You bring the pie.”

Azriel was off the couch before she could finish her sentence, doing just that.

[suchalonelysunflower]

You Said Forever (c.h)

Pairing: Calum Hood x Reader

Requested: Yes!

Summary: Based on the song “Driver’s License” by Olivia Rodrigo. You did everything you could to get over him, you talked to friends, went on long drives and even wrote him a song. Why cant you just let him go?

Warnings: Angst. Language. Mentions of alcohol. Some grammar mistakes? (English is not my first language, I’m sorry)

Word count: 6.7 k

Author’s Note: I’m so excited someone requested this! I highly recommend listening to the song before you read, references are in the text and dialogs. Please remember that Reblogs, Coments, Feedback and Likes are more than welcome and encouraged! You don’t know how much they help me 💕 Hope you like it and Happy reading 🦋

Fic of the week // My Materialist // wanna be part of my tag list?

@rime-warrior : Hey love! Has anyone requested an imagine for Calum based on the song “Drivers license” by Olivia Rodrigo yet? I think you’re the only one who would be able to do it any justice 😭💕

“I still see your face in the white cars, front yards

Can't drive past the places we used to go to

'Cause I still fucking love you, babe”

You could hear the doorbell ring over the thunderous storm raging outside. It was late, probably closer to midnight than you imagined. Who could possibly be outside right now? especially in this kind of weather?

After four consecutive rings, you decided to get up from your spot on the bed and walk up to the door. It must be something very important for someone to startle you that way.

Once you got closer to the door you could also distinguish some strong bangs coming from the other side accompanied by the endless ringing “Okay, okay! I’m coming!” You called, but whoever was standing opposite to you mustn’t have heard you as they continued to disrupt the peace of a stormy night.

A shiver ran down your spine before you could reach the doorknob, almost like the ghost of a feeling, a warning for you not to open the door. Despite your common sense, you decided to open the door, already being too late to go back.

“Calum?”

He was standing in front of you, completely drenched from head to toes. His breathing was uneven, almost like he ran all the way over here, but his eyes were set on yours, unmoving as you both tried to take each other in.

“Calum-what is?-” Your words got stuck in your mouth as he pushed himself forward, grabbing your face delicately as he clashed his lips with yours.

You felt yourself melt into the kiss, making it everything you ever wished for. You wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss as you brought him closer to you. He was here, he was finally here with you. It all feels like a dream.

Your alarm clock marked 6 AM when you jumped from your dreams into reality. You should’ve known, everything was too good to be true.

You brought one hand to your face, trying to wipe away the tiredness of your eyes, but you found your cheeks were humid due to tears you didn’t even know you shed through the night, damping your pillow sheets once again.

It was always the same dream: Calum coming back to you. Night after night your mind drifted to another reality where you’d meet again, sometimes it was at a concert, other at the local café of your neighborhood that you used to love so much, but tonight was the first night where he appeared at your house. Which was funny considering that he hasn’t stepped foot in this place for almost a year.

You pushed your thoughts away as you tried to go back to sleep. And you did try, but the tossing and turning made you restless, you cursed your mind as the only thing you could see when you closed your eyes was Calum, standing at your door and asking for a kind of forgiveness you weren’t sure you could give. Although, who were you kidding?

Checking the clock once again you realized it was 20 past 6, still too early to go back to real life, but not too early to start and try to live a little.

Pushing yourself off the bed, you grabbed a big hoodie and some pair of sweatpants before putting on your running shoes and hopping into the bathroom to brush your teeth and clean your face before grabbing your keys and getting out of the house.

You sat on the driver’s seat, just like you did a thousand times, taking a big breath before starting the engine.

“You do know you have a perfectly good car in your driveway, right?”

You smiled at him and greeted him with a hug and a kiss as you climbed into the passenger's seat.

It was your usual morning routine. Ever since you met and he found out you lived nearby the studio he always volunteered to carpool with you. Since then, your mornings were filled with hugs, good coffee and stolen kisses you gave each other as the road to the studio became longer and longer thanks to all the detours you took.

“Hello, Calum. I’m very good, thank you for asking, how are you?”

Calum rolled his eyes and gave you a little peck on your lips “I would’ve been on time if I hadn’t had to pick your ass from the other side of town”

You lightly punched him in the arm “You know you love me” He smiled.

“That I do, darling. But I would love you more if you drove us from time to time”

“You know I don’t have a car!” Calum turned to you and pointed to the classic mustang sitting in front of your house, raising his eyebrows as if to ask if you were stupid “That’s my dad’s car!”

“That he kindly gave to you when he helped you move to LA so you could pursue your dream of becoming the next new sensation of music,” He said mocking a dreamy voice to try imitating you “He said it was yours, so it's yours! And honestly, it’s a pretty cool car if you ask me. A real chick magnet”

You mocked a gag at his old reference of movies from the 50’s “Sexist much?” You both laughed as he started the car and started driving “Anyways, he only gave me the car because mom was threatening to sell it on eBay if he didn’t get rid of it soon enough, so he could still come and get it whenever he wants to” You shrugged.

Calum started sniffing the air, “What?” You asked, sniffing as well in case there was something wrong.

“Do you smell that?” He asked with a concerned face.

“Smell what?”

He leaned closer to you and sniffed harder before whispering “The bullshit”

You scoffed and pushed him back “Haha very funny”

You waited until he stopped laughing, you never told him the truth, well two truths actually.

One: That you enjoyed the drives you had with him, it was a special time for the two of you to be yourselves without anyone to judge. You would laugh, sing, talk for hours as you sat in traffic under the city lights. It was the little moments that matter for the two of you, these were your little moments and you didn’t want to give them up just yet.

It was not easy being in a “relationship” that no one knew about, not even his bandmates, although you knew they were suspecting something. All the sneaking away while amid a recording session, hanging out in each other’s rooms, how adamant he was to carpool with you every day, even when he didn’t need to go to the studio… It was an easy tell, but it was also your private life.

You told yourself that it was for the best, that you shouldn’t mix work and personal life, especially when your personal life included Calum. He was adamant to keep whatever you had out of the public eye “What we have is good” He said, “Why ruin it with labels?” And you agreed, knowing that making everything official could just mess everything up. Calum was your best friend, after all, you would be damn if you lose him.

And for the second truth:

“I don’t know how to drive”

Just in time, the traffic light turned red. Calum turned to you in disbelief “Bluff” You shook your head, not looking at him just yet “Bluff! That can’t be right! Y/N how old are you?”

You shrugged again “I never needed to! I always enjoyed walking plus,” You said nudging your arm on Calum’s “I have the best driver right here!” You pecked his cheek with a kiss and saw how quickly they blushed, making you celebrate this tiny victory inside your head. You loved making him blush, it gave you some kind of security that he felt the same way.

Calum stared at you for a moment too long, making you self-conscious under his eyes. You could tell the gears were running inside his head “What if I teach you how to drive?”

You chuckled “Now I call your bluff”

“I’m serious!” He said, not taking his eyes from you “We have time before the tour starts, and that way you could drive us somewhere for once! You know? Picking me out and going on a date?”

Your eyes were set on him with an alarming tone, a what now? Was he serious? “You would do that for me?” You asked shyly, not wanting to fall into another of his pranks, but he seemed serious enough.

“Of course!” He said with a chuckle that accentuated all his dimples “Let’s get you your driver’s license, Y/N!”

Calum grabbed your hand and intertwined it with his, shaking it as a victory celebration and then placing a kiss on your knuckles. You laughed and reminded him where you were “Eyes on the road, Hood” even though the light was still red, you would rather him not noticing the red that tinted your cheeks and the loud beating of your heart.

You saw how the sun was starting to illuminate the coast as you drove by. Everything was so quiet this early in the morning and you were thankful, you needed this quiet so you could be alone with your thoughts once again. And, just like every day, that just meant you were thinking of Calum.

Could you blame him? Possibly, your friends said you should. But could you live with yourself knowing that you are holding a grudge towards someone who is probably unaware of it? Not in the slightest.

You were never official, not to the public at least, but in your heart, you knew he was the only one who could make you feel like this. He was the only one capable of making you laugh as hard as you did, cry the way that you did, and enjoy yourself to the fullest. You were your best when you were with him and now… How are you now?

Would he care?

You knew he loved you, he said so himself. The only thing you didn’t know was in what way. Did he love you like a lover? or just like a friend who he’d get to kiss and make love to from time to time?

The lump in your throat became stronger as you remember the last moments you had with him and all the promises he couldn’t keep. You tried to distract yourself, crying behind the wheel could be dangerous and you weren’t going to risk your life for him, not yet at least.

You turned on the radio in hopes that it would call your mind, at this point even the commercials would make you feel better if they made you think about anything but him.

“And now, Laurie. We have the hottest single of the year!” Said the radio host with the most cheerful tone a person could mutter this early “This up-and-coming artist debuted this single almost a month ago and it is still top of the charts in almost 34 countries all over the world!”

Now the lump in your throat came back but this time with a knot on your stomach as well. The first time you heard the song play on the radio you felt excited, after all this is why you came to LA in the first place. Yet the feeling became bittersweet in no time.

“My girls, boys, and non-binary folks; if you are in your car right now get ready to sing this at the top of your lungs with all the feelings you could muster and send a fuck you to your ex. This is ‘Driver’s License’ by Y/N L/N”

“I got my driver’s license last week, just like we always -”

You turned off the music and kept driving in silence.

You knew it was a bad idea to release the song you wrote about him. Maybe it was a petty move on your part, but… didn’t you have the right to be petty this time?

Either way is not like people would realize it was about him. It was your little secret, yours and Calum’s if he ever heard it, although you believe that if he did then he would’ve said something to you by now. Yet his silence was similar to the one in your car; deafening and heartbreaking.

“I don’t know Calum,” You said as you stared at your car parked in front of you “Is it safe to do it here?”

Calum was leaning on top of the hood, rolling his eyes at your indecision “Would you rather do it on the PCA?” You shot your eyes at him with a deathly glare, he just chuckled “I promise is okay, this parking lot is big enough and there are no cars left that you could accidentally hit”

You were both standing in the middle of the studio’s parking lot late at night. Calum insisted that this was the day you learned how to drive, so he spent the night at your place and today he drove you in your car, that way there would be no excuses left for you not to do it.

However, you were still hesitant. This was technically your father’s car, his other baby, and if you ever crash it you wouldn't know what you’ll do. Calum noticed your doubt and took a step closer to you, grabbing your hand in his to give you some sort of encouragement.

“Look, babe. It’s okay if you don’t want to do it. I won’t pressure you” He said softly “I just thought this could be fun for the both of us” He smiled “Fun and educational for that matter. But if you’re not ready then we can go home and-”

“I want to do it, Cal,” You said, “I just- I don’t know where to even begin!”

He chuckled and placed a kiss on your forehead, making all the butterflies in your stomach take flight.

“Tell you what,” Calum said confidently “You get behind the wheel and I’ll put us some inspirational music”

He walked back to the car to connect his phone to the speakers “You better put my song first!” You called after him as you walked towards the driver’s seat.

Calum laughed “God, I should’ve never told you that! Now your ego’s off the damn roof!” Soon enough he sat on the passenger’s seat next to you and buckled up.

“Not my fault that you think of me so often you want to put it into song” You teased, leaning in for a kiss that Calum was happy to oblige.

“Yes,” He said mid-kiss “It is completly your fault” Next thing you know ‘Kill My Time’ was playing on the radio, but Calum was not letting go of you just yet.

You wished this moment last forever, you wished every moment with Calum would last forever, but you both needed to breathe at some point “I wish I could kiss you all day long, I swear I could die on your lips and die happy” You said as you pressed your forehead to his, smiling like a fool in love.

“Soon, love,” Calum said as he crashed his lips against yours “Just wait until tour is over and then we’ll have forever to do just that”

You grinned at his words, a few days ago he promised to make your relationship publicly official once he came back from tour, that way you’ll have more time together as a fairly new couple. If he was willing to take that step, then you were more than ready to follow along. You knew you’d give everything for him if you had to and you still won’t regret it. You love him, and that was enough for you.

“Think I’m ready to start,” You said once you pulled away from him for the last time.

Calum nodded and patted his hand on your thigh “Okay, first you have to turn on the engine. Good, then you check all your mirrors and make sure your gear shift is on position-”

“My what?” You asked.

“Your gear shift, you know? The stick in-”

“Oh, you mean the PRNDL? You said, trying your hardest to stay serious, but failing to do so once you saw Calum’s face.

“You couldn't go one day without your references now, could you?” He said in amusing disbelief that had you both laughing.

The lesson was fairly simple, it just consisted of going forwards and on reverse a few times and practicing some turns in circles around the parking lot, and you were proud to say you were getting the hang of it pretty quickly. Calum turned out to be a great instructor with the patience of a god, he never got mad at you or showed that he was scared - even though it was pretty clear that he was, especially when you turned too far and almost hit a lamp post - and you appreciate him for that.

It was almost 2 AM when you decided to call it quits for the day and start back tomorrow. Calum was now behind the wheel driving you to your house so he could pick up his car and drive home.

“Cal?” You said once he parked in your driveway.

“Yes, love?”

“I’m really happy with you” You shyly admitted.

Calum’s heart beamed with love as he pulled you closer for a goodnight kiss “And I’m really happy with you”

You kissed him one more time before jumping out of the car “See you tomorrow!” He called before you watched him drive away.

The sound of a horn woke you up from your daydream memory. You didn’t know the light had just turned green until the car behind you started pounding their button and cursing at you to move.

You watched the white car from the rearview mirror as you drove away, it looked like his, all the white cars did, but you knew he couldn’t be here just yet, not until the tour was done.

A sinking feeling of hopelessness filled your inner thoughts once again. The promises he made faded like the wind in the summer once he stepped on that plane and decided that you were something he had to leave behind. It would’ve been good to know beforehand, that way you wouldn’t have wasted a year by the phone, hoping it would ring and that he’d be on the other line.

You glanced at the car’s clock one more time, it’s already too late to do anything, you’ve been driving around without a destination for hours when it only felt like minutes. Time is something you learn how to lose when you’re alone, minutes become meaningless once you realize there is no one there to share them with you, but it’s late and it was time to head home. You let out a sigh at the realization that your drive-through therapy didn’t work this time.

Deciding to take the long way home, you started to drive through the lesser-known streets of LA, hoping that you’d get lost somewhere and not knowing if anyone would care.

The dreams of running away came flashing down, more of an idea than an afterthought. Yes, you made it in LA, you have a hit song and your dreams are coming true. Why didn’t that feel like enough?

If you were gone, even just for a little bit, would anybody notice? If you just got up in your car and started driving somewhere unknown until the feeling of loneliness faded away. Could you drive your feelings away? Outrun them somehow?

You knew that if Calum could do it then so could you. It was so easy for him to just leave whatever you had behind, to leave you behind and hope that you were okay somehow. If he thought that you were okay then he maybe didn’t know you at all and you are probably better off without him, just like your friends say all the time.

But were you better off without him?

Tears started piling up in the corner of your eyes once again. No, you were not better off without him even though you want to be. And neither you are better off with him, if he ever came back to you, that is.

You swallowed a sob, trying your hardest not to break down again. It was useless, all the tears and all the songs and all the fuck him an attitude that you could muster… What was it for if not to dwell on your pain even more? You are still hurt and he still did not care.

You took a turn on the left, knowing the way like the back of your hand. You knew this path would lead you home, but you also knew it would lead you to his house as well.

The first time you did this was to practice how to find your way to Calum’s home without getting lost. You knew he wasn’t home and he wouldn’t be for many many months, but you wanted to surprise him once he got there, to pick him up and drive him to that date he promised you once he returned. Now, you avoided that road like a plague unless you had days like this, days in which missing him became everything you did, and now passing through his empty house gave you the reality check you desperately needed: He is gone. It also inspired you to write the song, it was a blessing and a curse.

You turned into the familiar street and looked to your right, you counted the houses passing by one, two, three, four… Until you spotted his old porch. Normally, that’s all you did. You would drive through his street and see the house dark and cold as his owner was out of town. But today there was a white car on his driveway.

Your breath got caught in your throat as you recognized the license plate, immediately stepping on the breaks and making the car stopped abruptly in front of the house.

That is his car… But how? You knew that Calum kept his car in Ashton’s place so they could drive up together to the airport every time they had to leave. What is it doing here? Tour didn’t end until a week from today and-

The sudden movement coming from the house pulled you from every rational thought as the front door opened. You held your breath as the person who stole all your sleepless nights came into view.

He was home.

Calum stepped out of his house with a bright smile on his face. His hair was shorter than the last time you’ve seen it, and he was less tanned, a fact that was easily noticeable thanks to the contrast of his leather jacket on his skin. But his dimples were intact as he smiled at whoever was inside the house.

A small figure came behind him, wrapping her arms around his torso as she was laughing at something he said. Her blond hair was falling down her back so elegantly, and her smile was bright as day as she hugged him, you wouldn’t have noticed that in the photos. She looked happy, but what broke you the most is that he looked happy as well.

He was home, but he was home with her.

You knew something was going on, even if there wasn’t anything official from either of them. You weren’t official, too. But seeing them was all the proof you needed to believe it. Believe that it was actually over and neither of you said goodbye.

You bit the inside of your cheek as silent tears started rolling down your face. You wanted to scream, to cry your hearts out, and let the world fuck itself over and over again. But for the love that you had on yourself, you promised that you wouldn't dignify him by making a scene. He didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve to know you cared.

With that in mind, you wiped your tears and floored the gas pedal, driving away from the scene.

“Hey!!!!!”

“Guess what?”

“I PASSED THE TEST!”

“I can legally drive on my own now :D!”

Read 19:05

“Calum?”

“Oh, you must be at the concert now, my bad!”

“Let me know when we can FaceTime again! I can’t wait to tell you how it went! I’m so excited we can finally switch places and let me be the one in charge of the road, lol”

Read 23:54

“Is everything alright, Cal?”

Read 04:32

“I miss you”

Read July 19th 14:49

Last week you sent your last text to him and he still hadn’t responded yet. You tossed all night waiting for at least a smoke signal from him. He was gone for two months now and he never missed one of your calls, it was so unlike him, especially when he promised you to call every day he was on tour.

You tried to distract yourself by doing everything you could think of. You watched videos, listened to music, played candy crush over and over again, and still, there was no answer.

You were starting to give up when a notification from Twitter graced your screen, it read: “Calum Hood, bassist from the band 5 Seconds of Summer, seen cozying up with a mysterious girl in a nightclub two nights ago”

You blinked twice and reread the headline, hoping that your eyes were deceiving you.

“The Australian bassist seemed to be catching up with some friends and letting it all loose at a wild night here in London after their sold-out show in the O2 Arena.

Hood was wearing-”

You skipped all that unnecessary information, scrolling down to the bottom where you knew all media kept the real gossip. A bubble of anxiety started forming inside your throat, as your fingers moved over the screen. The atmosphere became heavy while you could hear your heart thundering inside your chest, every little beat it made was hurting you, almost like it was banging your ribcages begging to be set free.

Time stood still as you looked at the pictures, not wanting to believe your eyes as they analyzed every detail of it.

There he was, hugging a blond woman from behind and resting his face on her shoulders just like he used to do with you. Even from the picture, you could tell she was gorgeous. The next picture showed her wrapping her arms around his neck and smiling at him. He had his hands cupping her cheeks, his face denoted a serious expression, but the look in his eyes was fixed on her.

He kissed her in the third picture, his hands still cupping her cheeks. It seemed like he was smiling through the kiss.

The last picture had them sitting on some kind of leather sofa. She was sitting on his lap and his hands were wandering very close to her butt, holding her close to him.

“The fans of the band wasted no time on identifying the mysterious girl. She seems to be the new tour assistant manager of the boys. Let’s hope that work and pleasure don’t get between this beautiful couple #goals<3”

The stream of tears was never-ending. You couldn’t understand what was going on, why Calum hasn’t said anything to you, why-why did he let it happen? Something was not right, and it wasn’t just your breathing getting heavy inside your lungs or your shaky hands as you typed the next text.

“We need to talk, please call me?”

You got no answers that night as you cried yourself to sleep, realizing that you had no one to comfort you cause nobody knew that you two were even together. You were utterly alone.

The next morning you woke up to no text from him, not even a call or a voicemail.

Read 08:45

You forced yourself to finish your nighttime routine. Ever since you came back home you did nothing but cry, but not of sadness, you were crying of anger.

With him being far away it almost didn’t seem real. You allowed yourself to create some sort of fantasy where he would come back to you, to start over where you left off and be together for everyone to see. How foolish.

You thought that he’ll hear your song and he’ll be running back to you to apologize, to ask if you still love him like before. But he won’t, because he is happy without you while you rot in your own pity party.

You grabbed hold onto the counter, trying to hold the tears as everything suddenly became clear as day. All the red flags you ignored were now shining as candy apples. He made a fool of you and didn’t even dignify you with at least some kind of warning or apology. He brought you down and now it was up to you to climb back up and even higher than before.

How could he?

All the memories you held close to your heart were burning in the pyre of your soul. You loved him, you knew you did. But all you meant for him was just a summer fling, something to waste time on before the real thing came along.

But he loved you…

Did he?

He spent entire days and nights next to you. He told you stories no one’s ever heard of. He sang to you to sleep and wrote you the most beautiful poems you’ve ever read. He picked you up every day and stayed with you until it was your time to leave. He made you feel welcome and there was not a day where you didn’t feel safe around his arms. He was your best friend. He taught you how to drive and what it meant to feel something real, something as important as the love you could have for someone. He loved you, he said he did, he promised he did.

Maybe love was not enough for him.

Your mind was divided, fighting over and over and over again about the same thing. Part of you cursed his name while the other part just wanted to be held by him, telling you that it will all be okay. But you couldn't even trust yourself on this one.

The doorbell rang, one, two, three times.

You were not going to answer it. One look in the mirror and you knew you couldn't answer anyone in this state. Your eyes were puffy and red, your cheeks were hollowed from not eating all day. There was nothing you could do to make you look or feel better, so whoever was behind the door will have to find another way to disturb the chaos in your mind.

However, they were persistent. With the ring of the doorbell came a few bangs. It seemed urgent.

You took one last look at yourself before deciding with a sigh to go and open the door. Whoever it was must have a good reason to come banging at your door a little past midnight.

“I’m coming!” You called, voice coming out a little hoarse from crying all night.

A shiver ran down your back and you felt like you were here before, in this exact moment where all your instincts told you to walk away. You decided to ignore them as you gently turned the doorknob and opened the door. Immediately wishing you didn’t.

“Calum?”

He stood in front of you, soaked from head to toe. Hands in the pockets of his jacket, not the leather one, but one more cozy. He was also wearing a pair of sweatpants and part of his hair was stuck on his forehead. You didn’t realize it was raining.

“Can I come in?” He asked, not even a hello.

You debated on whether or not to let him in. Part of you wanted to throw him back into the streets, but a storm was coming - much in the literal and subliminal way, and you didn’t want him to drive in this weather, you still care for him even though you shouldn’t.

With a simple nod, you opened the door wide enough so he could enter the house, a little “thank you” came out of his mouth as he stepped inside for the first time in over a year.

You closed the door and started walking into the kitchen with Calum following you like a stray dog. Your hands were shaking so you hid them behind your back as you slowly wrapped your arms around you in an attempt to comfort you throughout this whole ordeal.

Calum is standing in front of you on the other side of the island. He is not looking at you, but rather he is looking at his feet. You figured he was too scared to be the first one to talk and it broke your heart that he has suddenly become shy around you when you used to tell each other everything. ‘But whose fault is that?’ You thought.

Now you were just two strangers in a room.

“I thought you’d still be on tour,” You said, breaking the silence that has fallen upon you.

Calum looked up and he almost looked thankful that you spoke first “The last two venues canceled at the last minute due to weather conditions,” He said “So we came back earlier than expected”

You nodded and faced the other way. The fact that he was here in your home made your stomach turn and not in a good way. You always thought him coming back was going to be something joyful, but it became more painful as time went by.

“They closed café Mariannete while I was gone” He said, was he really going to talk about that right now? Did he came over here to reminisce about the café you used to have breakfast in?

“I didn’t know. I don’t go there anymore”

More awkward silence came upon you. You both knew he was bullshiting his way into the real conversation he was avoiding to have. He always used to do that and you have forgotten how much you hated it.

“Were you driving by my house today?” He asked and you froze on the spot. You didn’t think that he saw you.

“I was,” You cleared your throat “I was coming back home”

“And you didn’t say hello” It was more a statement than a question.

A sour taste filled your mouth. How dare he? “You were busy enough” You knew it was a petty answer, but what did he expect?

A flash of hurt came through Calum’s eyes as he said nothing in return. He knew you saw him with her, so he had no excuse to push the topic back to you.

The atmosphere was tense as the only thing you could hear was the ticking of the clock and the raindrops falling through your window. There was so much to say and yet none of you were brave enough to muster them.

You had every right to be mad and he had a right to explain himself, but you were not going to be the first one to cave in. Not without hearing from him first.

Eventually, Calum got restless of the silence.

“Your song is amazing,” He said, pleading for an answer that didn’t contain poison in your words “Ashton showed it to us the day it came out”

So he has heard it, you didn’t know if you should be proud or ashamed “Thanks”

“I forgot to congratulate you on your number one”

“You forgot to do a lot of things”

If there was ever a moment where you could give him the chance to redeem himself, this was it.

You saw how Calum shifted his weight from foot to foot, he had his lips pressed in a thin line and you could see how his eyes changed and fell into a deep pit of regret as tears were forming in the corner of his eye.

“I know the song’s about me-” He said.

“How did you figure that out?” You said sarcastically.

“Y/N…” He pleaded, running a hand through his face, but you were having none of that.

“Why did you do it, Calum?”

You needed an answer, something you could hold onto to eventually let go. Calum, however, was almost speechless.

The ticking of the clock became even louder as you counted the seconds until he spoke again. One, two, three…

Ten “I don’t know”

The answer cut right through you as you let a stream of tears roll down your cheek, not lifting your head to look at him in the eyes. It wasn’t what you expected, it was way worse.

Calum noticed your crying and started panicking, spilling every thought he had through his mouth “I-I don’t- I was drunk and she was there with our groups of friends and we were too drunk to even take notice of what was happening and we just kissed and- Y/N, I’m not perfect. We weren’t perfect, we weren’t even official and it was only a kiss and I thought it would be okay but then the tabloids and your message and I just- And she’s a great friend, she didn’t mean any harm but things happened and-” He stammered, unable to connect his thoughts as he desperately tried to fix something so you would stop crying.

“For me it was perfect” You cried “We were perfect in my mind, you made it perfect. God, Calum. Why didn’t you tell me? I spent months in agony trying to figure it out, to make it make sense! I beat myself up over and over again and there you were having the time of your life with a stranger!” Your voice was loud, not enough to yell, but enough to make it clear that you were fuming.

“What are you talking about?!” Calum said matching the tone of your voice “I missed you every fucking day but there was nothing I could do about it! You don’t know shit of what you’re talking about!”

You scoffed “Oh yeah! It surely seemed like you missed me! You never called me once, Calum. Not even to apologize and try to make it better”

“I didn’t know how!” He said, “I was scared that-”

“That I’d hate you?”

“That you’d forgive me,” Calum said in one breath, making you stare in shock “I-I didn’t want you to forgive me, Y/N, cause you deserve so much better. On tour I realized that I wasn’t ready for a relationship, no matter how much you mean to me and I didn’t know how to tell you that so-”

“And are you ready now? That’s why you are with her?” You interrupted, head filled with anger to even think straight.

“I’m not ready to be with either of you!”

The room felt silent once again.

You had no answer to that and you weren’t sure you wanted to hear more from him.

The rain outside your window started to calm down, only droplets of water were left as the memory of the storm that almost was.

Your legs gave out a minute later, sliding you down slowly onto the floor. Calum walked up to you and sat next to you, neither of you saying anything for what it seemed like hours.

“You said you loved me…” You said with a faint voice.

Calum sighed “I did. I do”

“And you love her too?”

He thought about it “I don’t know. I might” You closed your eyes as a tear fell down your cheek “She’s good to me, Y/N. And we really got close but-”

“I know,” You said with a soft sniffle “We weren’t perfect either”

“You do know I love you, right?” He said softly, turning his face towards you “And that everything we had was real. Every minute of it, every word in every song was true and it still is. All was real and it’s still there somewhere. I still want you in my life, Y/N, cause you make it better. I just,” He sighed “I need to figure my shit out”

“Yeah, you do” You said, making him chuckle darkly “But I can’t promise I’ll be here”

“I wouldn’t ask you to”

You sat there in silence for a few more moments, just enjoying each other's company before everything fades away.

“I love you, too” You said in a whisper, hoping that he won’t hear “I still fucking love you”

Calum sighed “I know”

“Guess that you didn’t mean what you wrote on that song about me

‘Cause you said forever now I drive alone past your street”

.

Tags: @iknowyouthinkimbulletproof @mystic-232 @talksoprettyjjx @theshyspy @sarcasticallywitty15 @hoodhoran @flaneurcth h @notinthesameguey @myloverboyash @yeah-and69 @fckingpernico

* if your url is crossed please reach out to me so we can fix it

[penfullofwordsaheadfullofstories]

In The Tongues of Men and Of Angels

Image above from Cassius Corrigan's instagram

A/N: Here rests a short filth. (18+!) Please note before proceeding, however.

The conversation surrounding religion is nuanced and complicated. The motivation behind this fic was much more simple: a bitch saw Ewan Mcgregor as a hot priest and got to work. Although there is a religious backdrop, please be advised the following is smutty smut and is likely not the best read if you’re offended by heresy.

Also know if you don’t appreciate the power imbalance surrounding some stories like these, I don’t either, and this is a story of consenting adults on equal standing.

Pairing: Priest! Obi-Wan x female reader

Also note: unprotected sex (please be wise irl lovelies!)

The passcode to get in the backdoor is 1132. You know it has to be a scripture reference, but you’ve looked in every 11th book that had a 32nd verse and nothing met the explanation of “his favorite verse.” There’s irony, certainly, in the fact that had been your motivation to crack open the book.

There’s something dreary and heavy about the wood-panelled walls and old carpet of the hall that leads to his study, something about the place that doesn’t make your skin feel right, like the walls themselves rather than god would condemn what they witness.

The minute you open his door, you have to wonder if it’s the same place. The decor is just as outdated, just as heavy, but his smile takes up too much light for the oppressive room to have its power.

He closes his journal of notes when he sees you; he leaves the holy book open. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Must pleasure always be owed for?”

There’s only a brief flash of recognition of your verbiage’s implication before his practiced impassive expression washes him in neutrality. He gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk in invitation. “Perhaps not.” Leaving his own chair, he takes the one next to you. “Tardiness, however, is almost always. You’re aware service starts in thirty minutes?”

You tap your phone to indicate the time. “Twenty-eight, actually.”

He doesn’t approach. No, that isn’t how it’s been between you two. It could be a multitude of things. The guilt, maybe, but no matter his profession that never seemed to fit him well enough for him to wear it with any conviction. Much more likely is him knowing that as well as this setup can be the stage for fetish, there’s far worse associated.

He waits for you to initiate, and you do so softly, even though you know he’ll meet you and more once you make contact.

There’s safety in this sacrilege, in his arms. He’s always seen to that.

You tip your forehead down to his, standing over where he’s seated, and he hums, closing his eyes.

He opens them again when you trace your hand down his face, trying to commit his features to the memory in your fingertips.

Down past his lips, the stubble on his jaw, the little bit of his neck not covered by clothing.

You slide your finger along the top of the hem. “Leave the collar.”

You’re not sure if the faint raise in brow is indicative of interest or if it’s a hint patronizing. You’re not sure which shoots heat down your spine.

Your thighs take their place on either side of his, your hands take their place in his hair, and it’s only then his move to action, long fingers tracing up your sides.

Is it playing with his hair in and of itself that gets the start? Or the thought that not even half an hour away is when he’ll need it back to its proper state for Mass? Where you’ll pretend to walk in once again, and greet him in passing with a slight nod and “Father Kenobi” before finding your seat. Could you ask to not clean him off of you? Could you leave his spend to run down your thigh throughout the service? Rub your thighs together under the sound of his voice teaching holiness?

Questions for later.

Now.

You bunch the hair at the back of his head to get his eyes up to yours.

“Be good, and I’ll take it off.”

It’s half a joke, half a promise.

He smiles like he has the exact plan on how to do just that either way.

Brushing his fingers at your temple, he asks, “Will you lie back for me then? On my desk?”

He helps you onto it, warm hands guiding your hips right to where he needs them and helps you out of your pants before kneeling, pressing kisses into your thighs.

The first kiss to your mound gives a full body shudder, and the second kiss to your lips knocks the arms supporting your upper body, making you lie back in truth. As his tongue parts your lips, your hands scrape his desk for something to anchor in, your head lolling to the side. Your vision allows nothing in focus with your heavily lidded eyes, but you can make out the shape of the book left open, the worn lettering of the title just enough.

There should be shame, you suppose. But you can’t muster any. Not when his tongue presses hot, open strokes to your clit. Not when he adds a thick finger and then another into you and you have to bite your arm to not cry out.

There’s nothing about this that wasn’t meant to be.

He stands again to get a better angle for his fingers, curling until he finds that spot inside you that has you soaking his fingers.

“Precious girl,” you hear him say.

When your arms feel some semblance of strength again, you push up to press your lips to his, gliding your tongue across his bottom lip, the taste of yourself still lingering.

He’s gentle, so gentle, but his movements are certain as he kisses you in fullness, one hand cupping the side of your face as the other gives gentle strokes to your now overly sensitive pussy.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips once you’ve pulled back just far enough to breathe, undoing his collar as promised. He’d be happy to just leave it at this, and he has many times before.

He nods, and your hand clashes against his at the fastenings of his pants, and you both give a small laugh.

A gentle push to his firm chest is all he needs to know to sit again, for you to straddle his lap and start to settle onto his cock.

You like to take your time for this part, letting yourself savor the stretch, the fullness, his noises he can never seem to completely bite off. But that’s when you have time.

It helps that you’re devastatingly wet for him, when you sink most of the way onto him in one motion. He lets out something between a shout and a snarl into the side of your neck, and you only worry briefly about the soundproofing of the walls. It’s hard to concentrate on such trivial things when he starts lightly biting the lobe of your ear. “Slow, darling.”

“Time,” is all the explanation you give for your defiance, but you wait for his nod to push down even more.

You’re fairly certain you hear him curse under his breath, and his fingers grip hard into your hips to steady you. Or maybe himself.

When he starts rolling his hips up, you know you can take him harder.

The wet smack of where your skin meets his fills the room, and it would be obscene if not for how sincere and full his eyes are as they look up at you.

You rest your cheek against his, trying not to shake with the overload of sensation.

You feel the tears before you see them, and you stop, instantly pulling back in concern, but he only smiles and shakes his head, brushing his fingers over your lips again.

He rolls up into you twice more and groans out his pleasure against your neck.

You hesitate to pull off of him, but he has to go. Time. He doesn’t seem to be ashamed, though. Shame wasn’t something he dealt in or cowered to. Does heaven know they have a traitor in their midst?

He kisses you sweetly and wipes the mess of both of you off his pants and hands. “Come to my house? Later? That we might have time. And that I needn’t clean you off my clothes?”

You nod, and you kiss him deeply once more.

He grabs his notes, his bible. “I’ll be thinking on you.”

*****

You can indeed feel his spend on your thighs as you listen to the message.

The multi colored light from the stained glass lights his hair in a halo-esque glow, and his voice fills the room and your heart.

He reads from Philipians, but he says the words without looking down to the book.

“Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest…”

A quick scan of the room, and you notice the congregation is split, some with heads down reading their own text, some looking to him.

When you look back up, he’s looking directly at you.

“...whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.”

*****

1 Corinthians 13:2

“ If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.”

[fortunatelyfresco]

A Holistic Integration of Type 1 Narcolepsy into the Reading of Moist von Lipwig

Literary Interpretation, Disability, and Finding Yourself Between the Lines

As it goes, "I wrote this for me, but you can read it if you want." It might be a fun ride for anyone who is very interested in Moist von Lipwig, or narcolepsy, or both, and/or anyone who enjoys collecting small details from within a body of work and arranging them into threads that are supportable by the text, without being actually suggested by it.

Personally, I find it very interesting to read the meta behind different headcanons, and see how creators can unintentionally write a character who fits certain criteria. There are only so many traits, after all, and some of them tend to travel in groups! Humans are pattern seekers, etc etc.

The first step of reading Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic is wanting to read Moist von Lipwig as narcoleptic. Being narcoleptic myself and relating heavily to Moist, this step was very easy. I invite you to take my hand and come along, at least briefly, if you were interested enough to click the readmore.

Once you have taken that step, things start falling into place. At least they do if you're intimately familiar with narcolepsy, or if you first learn about it in detail through, for instance, a Tumblr post with an agenda :)

I'll break this down symptom by symptom, citing only the ones I both have personal experience with and see textual support for.

I'll be using OverDrive's search function to catalogue "evidence" in (the American editions of) Going Postal, Making Money, and Raising Steam, so I might miss passages that don't use certain keywords.

Please take any statements along the lines of "being narcoleptic means X" with a huge grain of salt. Sometimes it's just more succinct. Narcolepsy can manifest in many different ways, and is still being actively studied. Don't base your entire understanding of it on a fandom essay I wrote to cope with the crushing pressures of capitalism. I have not even fully read the scientific studies linked here as sources.

Here we go! Spoilers abound.

I. Excessive Daytime Sleepiness (EDS) and sleep attacks.

Being narcoleptic means (salt now, please) that your brain does not get adequate rest while you sleep, no matter how much you sleep. This is because of a disturbance in the order and length of REM and NREM sleep phases. This leads to constant exhaustion. Some sources describe narcoleptic EDS as "comparable to [the sleepiness] experienced by a healthy individual who has been sleep-deprived continuously for 48–72 hours."

(Source.)

Sleep attacks can come on gradually or suddenly. In my case, I become irritable and easily overwhelmed, and nothing matters except finding a place to lie down. A more severe attack, under the right circumstances, can put me to sleep while I'm actively trying to stay awake and engaged.

Moist refers to 6:45 am as "still nighttime." He is "allergic to the concept of two seven o'clocks in one day" and is "not good at early mornings," and the narration even cites this as "one of the advantages of a life of crime; you didn't have to get up until other people had got the streets aired."

In Going Postal, he repeatedly falls asleep at his desk. I can only find two instances, but the first one describes it as having happened "again," so it happens at least three times over the course of one week. Both of the times I found were after Mr. Pump cleared his apartment, giving him access to a bed, and I can't find any reference to the fire destroying it—just that his office is "missing the whole of one wall." His presumably wooden desk is still intact, even, just "charred."

There's also no build-up either time. No direct narration of the time right before he falls asleep, just retroactive accounting for it.

Which is primarily a function of stories not showing us every boring second, and secondarily one of the smaller ways we're shown Moist being overwhelmed and racing to keep up with himself, but tertiarily it's a great set dressing if you've already decided he's narcoleptic. Sometimes sleep is just a thing that happens, without any deliberate transition. Sometimes you sit down to catch your breath or get some paperwork done, and wake up several hours later.

I've found only one example in GP of Moist waking up in his actual bed at the post office: the morning after being possessed by all the undelivered letters. Presumably either they put him there, or Mr. Pump did.

There are two points in Making Money where Moist, in an effort to be a comforting and/or guiding hand, advises people to get some sleep. First Owlswick Jenkins, and then one of the clerks (Robert) who is worried about Mr. Bent.

I take the optimistic view that this is Moist genuinely caring about these people, not just trying to get them to do what he wants. He has always done some combination of those things (GP opens with him having befriended his jailers, after all), but there's definitely a thread of him learning to treat both himself and those around him more like real people. (See also.)

Looking at this thread through narcolepsy-colored lenses, you get Moist perhaps drawing from his own experiences in an effort to be helpful. In Owlswick or Robert's position, what is something he would want to hear from the man currently in charge of his fate, or at least his job? "Get some sleep."

If we accept this as a pattern, it culminates in Raising Steam, when Moist starts to worry about "Dick Simnel and his band of overworked engineers," fixating particularly on their lack of sleep.

What sleep they got was in sleeping bags, curled up on carriage seats, eating but not eating well, just driven by their watches and their desire to keep the train going.

[...]

"People are going to die if we push them any further," he said to Dick. "You lot would rather work than sleep!"

[...]

The young man swayed in front of him and Moist's tone became gentle. "And I see now that part of my job is to tell you that you need some rest. You've run out of steam, Dick. Look, we're well on the way to Uberwald now, and while it's daylight and we're out of the mountains it's going to be the least risky time to run with minimum crew. We're all going to need our wits about us when we get near the pass. Surely you can take some rest?"

Simnel blinked as if he'd not seen Moist the first time, and said, "Yes, you're right."

And Moist could hear the slurring in the young man's speech, caught him before he fell and dragged him into a sleeping compartment, put him to bed, and noted that the engineer didn't so much fall asleep as somehow flow into it.

Moist then recruits Vimes to help him talk the rest of the engineers into getting some rest. The two of them briefly commiserate about people not realizing how important it is.

"I have to teach that to young coppers. Treasure a night's rest, I always say. Take a nap whenever you can."

"Very good."

II. Insomnia.

This is a lesser-known but very common symptom of narcolepsy. Or a comorbidity, depending on how you look at it. It seems counterintuitive if narcolepsy has been presented to you as "sleeping all the time," but it makes sense once you know it's really a matter of disruption in the brain's ability to regulate sleep cycles.

The case for this symptom is flimsier, and I fully admit I'm just reading my own experience into it. But here are two excerpts from Going Postal that I find quite suitable for my sleepy agenda:

1. "A man of affairs such as he had to learn to sleep in all kinds of situations, often while mobs were looking for him a wall's thickness away."

I latched hard onto this detail the first time I read GP.

At my worst, I could not get more than a couple hours of sleep in my bed. I kept taking naps in the bath because it was one of the few places I could sleep. It seemed to fulfill some of the criteria (isolation, temperature control, etc) that my brain demanded in exchange for playing nice.

We're told over and over again, throughout Moist's books, that he functions best under pressure.

(Brief aside: This is often cited as a reason to interpret Moist as having ADHD, which I'm also fully on board with. Not coincidentally, narcolepsy and ADHD share a few symptoms, have a notable comorbidity rate, and are treated with some of the same medications. Source.)

So again, if you're already inclined to read Moist as narcoleptic, the following is an easy jump:

"Moist thinks he's good at sleeping in strange places under strange circumstances. This is because A) his basis for comparison is a disordered attempt to sleep in normal places under normal circumstances, B) something about danger satisfies his brain into running more smoothly, and C) he's a resourceful person who is 'not given to introspection,' and so is less likely to wonder why his body demands sleep at strange times and more likely to focus on finding a place for that sleep to happen, and chalk this up later as a skill."

And returning briefly to EDS: Why would someone like Moist waste time finding a safe place to sleep while people are actively trying to kill him? At the beginning of GP, he leaves Vetinari's office and immediately goes on the run. In multiple books, when he feels threatened, his brain instinctively launches into complex escape plans. We see him successfully blend into an Ankh-Morpork crowd at least once after becoming a public figure.

So why bother? After all, a safe place to sleep is also a safe place to change clothes, or at least remove whatever distinguishing features he's given himself. Why wouldn't he just become someone else and leave town immediately?

The obvious answer is that sometimes things just happen, and an author doesn't need to know or explain every single detail of a character's past.

I would suggest, though, that one of those things might be Moist reaching a point where sleep is just not optional. A point where he not only doesn't, but can't, care about anything else. Where he is too tired to think straight, too tired to talk his way out of trouble, too tired to even contemplate the long journey from one town to the next.

2. "Moist knew he ought to get some sleep, but he had to be there, too, alive and sparkling."

Sometimes (especially in combination with underlying mental health issues) narcoleptic sleep deprivation can bypass everything I've described so far, and lead straight into a manic state. You won't necessarily find that on Google, but it's been my experience.

That's obviously not what the text is implying. "Alive and sparkling" is just a very relatable description. And we do often see Moist getting away from himself, speaking without thinking, making absurd promises that he justifies immediately afterwards as Just Part Of Being Him, always raising the stakes.

And here are a couple of excerpts from Raising Steam that could be interpreted as Moist being a light sleeper, AKA struggling to get deep sleep:

1. "And slowly Moist shut down, although a part of him was always listening to the rhythm of the rails, listening in his sleep, like a sailor listening to the sounds of the sea."

2. "All Moist's life he'd managed to find a way of sleeping in just about every circumstance and, besides, the guard's van was somehow the hub of the train; and although he didn't know how he did it, he always managed to sleep with half of one ear open."

Moist is exactly the kind of opportunist to see that as a useful tool, isn't he?

III. Hypnagogic and Hypnopompic Hallucinations.

These are hallucinations that come on as you're falling asleep or waking up. They can also happen during REM intrusions while you're awake. My most memorable ones include piano notes, someone calling my name, being trapped in the waves of a large body of water, and a huge truck going over a guard rail and tumbling down a hill. These are often, but not always, accompanied by sleep paralysis (and sleep paralysis is often, but not always, accompanied by hallucinations).

In GP, Moist casually cites his own hallucinations as proof that what is happening at the post office is not one.

"They're all alive! And angry! They talk! It was not a hallucination! I've had hallucinations and they don't hurt!"

Obviously that's not true for everyone, but it's true for Moist, and he has enough experience that he immediately recognizes the difference.

At one point while awake, Moist "[snaps] out of a dream of chandeliers" to realize someone has approached him to talk, while he was busy having visions of what the post office used to look like/could look like again.

Now, that's cheating, because we're probably supposed to assume it's a side effect of being possessed, but... I'm putting it here anyway.

There is also perhaps a case to be made for the tendency of Moist's internal monologue to lapse into extremely specific and prolonged hypotheticals. The lines between hallucinations, waking dreams, and "regular" daydreams have always been very blurry to me. I'm especially curious about the example at the end of Going Postal, which goes like this:

"Look, I know what I'm like," he said. "I'm not the person everyone thinks I am. I just wanted to prove to myself I'm not like Gilt. More than a hammer, you understand? But I'm still a fraud by trade. I thought you knew that. I can fake sincerity so well that even I can't tell. I mess with people's heads—"

"You're fooling no one but yourself," said Miss Dearheart, and reached for his hand.

Moist shook her off, and ran out of the building, out of the city, and back to his old life, or lives, always moving on, selling glass as diamond, but somehow it just didn't seem to work anymore, the flair wasn't there, the fun had dropped out of it, even the cards didn't seem to work for him, the money ran out, and one winter in some inn that was no more than a slum he turned his face to the wall—

And an angel appeared.

"What just happened?" said Miss Dearheart.

Perhaps you do get two...

"Only a passing thought," said Moist.

In-universe... what is Adora reacting to? What did just happen? The fact that these incidents are not isolated to Going Postal is a point against it being some sort of literal timeline divergence caused by The Spirit Of The Post.

So maybe Moist visibly zoned out. Maybe he had some kind of minor but noticeable cataplexy attack (more on those later) as part of a REM intrusion, brought on by the intense emotions he's currently struggling with.

IV. Vivid Dreams.

Again, at least some of this is probably supposed to be part of the possession, but I've been professionally projecting myself onto the surreal dreams of magically afflicted characters for years. Do try this at home.

1. "Moist dreamed of bottled wizards, all shouting his name. In the best tradition of awaking from a nightmare, the voices gradually became one voice, which turned out to be the voice of Mr. Pump, who was shaking him."

2. Moist is uneasy about the Smoking Gnu's plan, and then he has an extremely detailed dream about the Grand Trunk burning down.

This culminates in "Moist awoke, the Grand Trunk burning in his head," followed by a paragraph of him thinking things through and starting to form his own alternative plan, followed immediately by "Moist awoke. He was at his desk, and someone had put a pillow under his head."

So he fell asleep at his desk, woke up from a vivid nightmare, was awake just long enough for a coherent train of thought, and then passed back out. Which once again is not "proof" of anything, but fits the predetermined interpretation like a glove.

V. Cataplexy.

Cataplexy is a sudden loss of muscle control, usually triggered by strong emotions. This is thought to be a facet of REM intrusion—waking instances of the atonia that is meant to stop us from acting out our dreams.

The most well-known manifestation is laughter making your knees buckle, but it's not always that severe. My own attacks range from facial twitching, usually when I'm angry or otherwise extremely upset, to all-over weakness/immobilization and near-collapse when I laugh. My knees have fully buckled once or twice.

This is the biggest stretch. This is the one that is absolutely only there if you've already decided to read entire novels between the lines. It's also not even necessary for the broader headcanon; plenty of people have narcolepsy without cataplexy (or such mild cataplexy that it's never noticeable, or very delayed onset, etc).

However. I am doing this for fun. So I want him to have it. It's also become a major part of how I imagine Moist engaging with emotion, and I'd like to make a case for that.

There are a few scattered references to Moist's legs shaking, or being unsteady, or outright giving way, but there's usually an external physical reason, and/or enough psychological shock to justify it without a medical condition.

The most compelling example I've found so far comes from Moist and Adora's conversation about people expecting Moist to deliver letters to the gods.

"I never promised to—"

"You promised to when you sold them the stamps!"

Moist almost fell off his chair. She'd wielded the sentence like a fist.

"And it'll give them hope," she added, rather more quietly.

"False hope," said Moist, struggling upright.

"Almost fell off his chair" at first sounds like casual hyperbole, but then "struggling upright" implies it was a bit more literal. It's also an accurate description of me recovering from my more severe attacks, supporting myself on a wall or my spouse, or pushing myself up if I've fallen over in bed.

That happens to me multiple times per day, by the way. It doesn't bother me, and I didn't realize there was anything unusual about it for a long time. I barely think about it, except to fondly note that my spouse is good at making me laugh.

Which is to say, even severe cataplexy is not always noticeable or debilitating. Sometimes it absolutely is! It can be downright dangerous, depending on where you are, what you're doing, and whether you have any other conditions it might exacerbate. I don't want to undermine that.

I am just hell-bent on justifying the idea that this fictional character could have repeated attacks throughout the canonical narrative that are so routine they don't merit an explanation, or even a description. Especially for someone who is used to hiding his few distinguishing features behind false ones that are much more memorable. (See also.)

(That link goes to my own fanfic. Sorry.)

On the milder side, between Going Postal and Making Money, there are three instances of Moist's mouth "dropping open" when he's shocked, upset, confused, or some combination of the three. This is the kind of thing that shows up a lot in fiction, but rarely happens so literally in real life.

(There's technically a fourth instance, but I'm not counting it because it seems to be a deliberate choice on his part to convey surprise.)

And then there's laughter. Or rather, there isn't. I could be missing something, but I've searched all three books for instances of laughter and various synonyms (not counting spoken "Ha!"s), and what I've come up with is:

Moist laughs once in Going Postal, when he receives the assignment for the race to Genua.

Two packages were handed over. Moist undid his, and burst out laughing.

There's also an instance earlier in the book where Moist nearly "burst[s] out laughing."

I find the specifics here interesting, and, for our purposes, fortuitous. Cataplexy is complicated and presents differently for everyone. In my case, when laughter triggers an attack, one of the effects (which is sometimes also a cause) is that I laugh very hard, with little or no control. "Burst out laughing" is quite apt.

Let's move on to Making Money, and start with a quick tangent:

Mr. Bent explains that he has no sense of humor due to a medical condition, and that he isn't upset about this and doesn't understand why people feel sorry for him.

Moist immediately starts in with "Have you tried—" before getting cut off by the frustrated Bent.

Out-of-universe, "Have you tried" is such a well-known refrain to anyone with an incurable condition, I'm not at all surprised to find it in a book written by someone who had at least begun the process that would lead to a diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer's. And Pratchett has certainly never shied away from portraying ignorance in his protagonists.

In-universe, it feels a little odd. Moist's tongue runs away from him all the time, but usually in the form of making ridiculous claims or impossible promises. Moist's entire stock-in-trade is People Skills, and it feels strange for him to make this kind of mistake immediately after being told Mr. Bent is not looking for solutions.

But if one were reading with, for instance, the idea in mind that Moist himself has an incurable condition related to laughter and is enthusiastic about, but still relatively new to, the practice of drawing on his own experiences to help people... it is easy to imagine the gears in his head turning the wrong way, superimposing those experiences over the tail end of Mr. Bent's explanation. Disabled people are not immune to these well-meaning pitfalls.

There is another Mr. Bent moment that I want to discuss, but we'll circle back around to it later.

I found two instances of Moist himself laughing in MM.

1. "He said it with a laugh, to lighten the mood a little."

This is deliberate laughter, employed as a social tactic. A polite chuckle, probably. Not the sort of thing that generally triggers cataplexy.

2. "Moist started to laugh, and stopped at the sight of her grave expression."

The first and only involuntary laugh in MM. It doesn't always trigger attacks...

Which brings us to Raising Steam. Compared to the first two books, Moist laughs a lot here. I count nine instances. Two of them are "burst out laughing"s, a couple include him as part of a group, some of it comes off as deliberate, and some of it doesn't.

I've always seen a lot of... rage in Raising Steam. Combing through it for laughter, I realized Moist's emotions in general are much closer to the surface here, and he's much less concerned about letting people see them. He laughs with friends and acquaintances, he cries in front of strangers, he shouts at Harry King, he has that entire conversation with Dick that boils down to "I'm very worried about you," etc.

Opinions vary wildly and sharply on Raising Steam. I have my own hangups with it, as I do with most books in the series. (Every time I make a new Discworld post, Tumblr passive-aggressively suggests the tag "my kingdom for a discworld character who is normal about women and other species.")

But I like this particular change in Moist, and I choose to see it as character development. He's trading in the professional detachment of a conman for the ability to grow into himself as a person and make meaningful connections.

So, what does that have to do with cataplexy? A lot.

I don't want to get too maudlin, so I'll just say I have plenty of personal experience with emotional repression masking cataplexy symptoms. And so, I believe, does the version of Moist we've put together over the course of this post.

Which brings us back to Making Money, and Mr. Bent. He says something about Moist that I find very interesting: "I do not trust those who laugh too easily."

Unless I've missed something, at that point in the book, Moist has never actually laughed in front of him. And Mr. Bent is a man who pays very close attention to details.

So, what is the in-universe explanation for this? I'd like to propose that Moist is very skilled at seeming to laugh, without actually laughing. He smiles, he's friendly, and he makes other people laugh, which is another thing Bent dislikes about him. He gives the impression of being someone who laughs a lot. (He certainly left that impression on me; I was very surprised by the lack of examples in the first two books.)

Even staying strictly within the bounds of canon, it's easy to imagine why this might have become part of Moist's camouflage in his previous life. He wasn't looking to get attached to anyone, and he didn't want anyone getting inside his head. Engaging with people genuinely enough to laugh at their jokes would run counter to both of those things, but some of his personas still needed to come off as friendly and sociable.

Still working within the canon, it makes sense to assume he's similarly distanced himself from emotion in general. He sits in a cell for several weeks without truly believing he's going to die. He's bewildered when Mr. Pump points out that his schemes have hurt innocent people. He has no idea what to do with his feelings for Adora. Etc.

Interpreting Moist as having cataplexy adds an extra element of danger. Moist thrives on danger, but there's a difference between the thrill of a con and the threat of sudden, uncontrollable displays of vulnerability. And so it becomes even easier to see him stifling his own emotional capacity.*

We meet Moist at a moment of great upheaval. He is forcibly removed from his cocoon of false identities, and pushed out into the world as himself. And we are shown and told throughout Going Postal that he does not know how to be himself. (See also.)

He is repeatedly stymied by his own emotions. He gets tongue-tied and confused around Adora, he snaps at Mr. Pump, he lashes out at Mr. Groat, he gets lost in school flashbacks when he meets Miss Maccalariat. This thread continues in Making Money, where the sudden reappearance of Cribbins immediately rattles him into making an uncharacteristic mistake.

I called him Cribbins! Just then! I called him Cribbins! Did he tell me his name? Did he notice? He must have noticed!

Later in the same book, Moist misses a crucial opportunity to run damage control on the bank's public image... because he's excited to see Adora.

The Moist of GP and MM is not used to feeling things so deeply. It throws him off his game. I'm not at all suggesting cataplexy is the only (or even primary) reason for that, but I do think there's room for it on both sides of the cause and effect equation.

With or without the cataplexy, I find Moist's relative emotional openness in Raising Steam... really nice. (It's a work in progress. He's still getting a handle on anger.)

Cataplexy just adds another dimension. A physical manifestation of emotional vulnerability, which would have been especially untenable for a teenager on the run. Just one more facet of the real, human, fallible Moist von Lipwig who spent years buried beneath Albert Spangler and all the rest.

Another piece of himself that Moist is growing to understand and accept, as he learns to more comfortably be himself.

The Moist of Going Postal runs into a burning building to save lives without fully understanding why he wants to, and justifies it on the fly as an essential part of the role he's trying to play.

The Moist of Raising Steam mindlessly throws himself under a train to save two children, and then blows up at Harry King about the lack of safety regulations. Freshly traumatized by the murder of several railway workers and his own violent, vengeful response to it, he still offers, in the face of Harry's own grief, to be the one to inform their families. On a long and dangerous journey with plenty of moving parts to think about, he worries about Dick Simnel and the other engineers, and pushes them to take better care of themselves.

He also meets a bunch of kids who nearly derailed a train as part of a childish scheme. His admonishment is startlingly vivid.

"Can you imagine a railway accident? The screaming of the rails and the people inside and the explosion that scythes the countryside around when the boiler bursts? And you, little girl, and your little friends, would have done all that. Killed a trainload of people."

[...]

"I'll square this with the engine driver, but if I was you I'd get my pencil and turn any clever ideas you have like this into a book or two. Those penny dreadfuls are all the rage in the railway bookshops."

Maybe what he is also saying, between the lines, is:

I left home at 14 and began a life of smoke and mirrors. I was empty inside, and I thought everyone else was, too. It was all fun and games, and then a man made of clay told me I was killing people. Nip it in the bud, child. Write books.

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

*There are studies suggesting that in addition to deliberately employed "tricks," people with cataplexy may experience physiological reactions in the brain meant to inhibit laughter. (Source 1, Source 2.)

Most of the information here is way over my head, but that second link also says "one region of the brain called the zona incerta (meaning 'zone of uncertainty') was only activated during laughter in people with narcolepsy, not in controls. Research on the zona incerta in animals suggests that it also helps to control fear-associated behavior."

The linked article about that (https://www.nature.com/articles/s41467-018-03581-6) is also over my head, but I would certainly describe Moist von Lipwig as having unusual fear responses.**

**Narcolepsy is a fun roller-coaster ride of constant scientific discoveries about exactly which parts of your brain are paying too much attention, not paying enough attention, or trying to eat each other.

[cerastes]

I just remembered his monologue over Doctor and now feel pain. Him lamenting how a crucible if war was born and wishing that person instead was never forced again into strife again and lived on as teacher and also on what they were fighting for. ... i suspect he was unloading his sorrows on doctor since doctor was not yet warcrimes but like, he continued doing this apparently when doc was like, almost bereft of emotion that was not hunger for victory and goal achieved and that's impressive.

“i suspect he was unloading his sorrows on doctor since doctor was not yet warcrimes”

This is what I personally think, and the whole monologue Scout gives, I think, serves as pretty solid evidence that Scout is one of the longest lived veterans and most decorated elites Babel had. In other words, Scout probably befriended Doctor back when they were still an academic and held many an interesting conversation with them. It’s very likely that it wasn’t just Scout that confided in Doctor, but that Doc reciprocated as well.

And this leads to the perfect opportunity to address something I think we’ve been doing wrong: We’ve been considering Warcrimes!Doctor as two dimensional, I believe. We focus too much on them being a war machine.

Allow me to elaborate.

It is fact that they would eventually become a Beast Of Logic, so to speak, a creature that focuses only on winning battles, no matter the cost, but that’s very likely not all they were, even after the change Scout so sorrowfully describes.

Take Amiya, for example: She has the utmost intimacy and trust with Doctor, and makes many offhand references to past events that Doctor doesn’t remember but that she treasures. Doctor, even as a Beast Of Logic, did have some connection with others, likely select few people and only with those they knew before the switch with few exceptions: For example, W and Doctor never bonded, and we know W met Doctor after they already had changed, but the likes of Ace and Scout, veteran Elites, are very clearly enamored with Doctor. This likely was the case with Kal’tsit, Theresa, Closure (who is friendly with Doctor) and Amiya as well. Scout mentioning that W could confide with Doctor if she so wanted wasn’t an empty gesture: Despite knowing as much as he does about Doctor and what they had become, Scout still chose to see them as a friend and as someone apt to help others. Perhaps he saw in Doctor and W a chemistry that would allow them to be friends, had either ever taken the first step (neither did). Despite how cruel they had become, Doctor still apparently had their funny moments, such as their habit of eating weird things or eating things in weird ways, banter with Kal’tsit, bonding with Amiya, and whatever it is they had with Theresa, implied to be close enough that Doctor could apparently be in Theresa’s quarters and this would be seen as normal. As much of a bloodthirsty Beast Of Logic as they had become, terrifying enough for W to refer to them as “The Evil Spirit of Babel”, they still had a semblance of humanity outside the chessboard, with those they were close with.

And I think that’s what makes this even more painful, what makes Scout’s monologue even more painful, and what makes Kal’tsit’s interactions with Doctor in Chapter 7 even more painful.

It is easy to reject a monster.

Pariahs are pariahs because we don’t want them near us. No matter how effective and skilled and, dare I say, necessary someone is, the reality is, they won’t last if they have but burnt bridges around them. The reality of it all is, Doctor was probably still likable, if unsettling. It is not even subtext that Kal’tsit was having fun for a second with Doctor during some points of banter during Chapter 7, it is text, Actual Empath Amiya very much says “oh, wow, Doctor Kal’tsit, you are smiling right now!”, unintentionally shanking Kal’tsit in the heart with the agonic stake of nostalgia because, yeah, Kal’tsit and Doctor were probably very close in the past, and their seamless banter showed it. No matter however it is you wish to read their dynamic, either as that of colleagues, friends, or ex-lovers, it is rather painfully apparent that they used to be close, and Kal’tsit even has to take a stand and say: “No, I have to say this, I will not let this person close to me ever again, this is simply work”, even if she painfully misses this rapport, even if she aches at the thought of never having what they had again, because she knows, she knows something so terrible that it has irredeemably burned this bridge.

“Kal’tsit is being unreasonable. She’s a medical professional, she should understand the duress that comes with amnesia, the burden, and that Doctor can’t be blamed for it, she should understand she shouldn’t act that way towards someone amnesiac and blame them for things they did before they lost their memories,” you may say, and I can’t blame you for it, but hear me out:

Even if Doctor’s memories reawakened, even if Doctor was presented with the chance to reassess their choices, even if they repented, or looking at it the other way, even if Doctor truly forgot everything forever, you cannot change how Kal’tsit sees Doctor. She made clear she won’t let the hate buried deep inside of her bloom, but she has the right to keep it. She has the right to remain angry forever.

The thing with amnesiac narratives is that they focus a lot on the amnesiac, and so, we sympathize with our amnesiac protagonist and obviously defend them from people blaming them for things you could argue they never did, but we never really think about the victims of their past acts, and how they are entitled to all the anger they have, because whatever it is that happened that sowed it, it still happened, even if the guilty party doesn’t remember it. It isn’t as simple as tabula raza, the person currently standing in front of Kal’tsit might not have done the terrible thing she remembers, but they absolutely have the potential for that cruelty. And she has every right to hold onto her emotions, be they anger or wariness. Nothing you say can change that.

Nothing.

And so it becomes all the more painful to think that Scout probably had a drink with Doctor every Thursday, they’d talk about whatever, and all the time, Scout would see glimpses of this charismatic, kind educator he once knew, now replaced in part but never in their entirety by this Beast Of Logic. Consider that, and Scout’s monologue feels like something he’s telling himself more than something he’s telling to Guard before he goes off to his death.

Scout held a little eulogy for a remarkable friend he once knew before heading to his own funeral.

Because it’d be easy to reject and pile bile and blame on Doctor if they had become complete monsters.

But the painful and probably reality is, they likely didn’t.

Which only made it all the more painful to bear for those that knew the old educator.

[sternbilder]

Gyu-hyuk's Epilogue 3 (Re-translated)

#Buried Stars spoilers

OMG okay, I feel like I need to expand on this, because YES, it does;

So the line you're referring to is the one where Gyu-hyuk tells Do-yoon, "딛고 일어서," which, to break it down: 딛다 means to overcome or get over something, and 일어서다 means to stand up. Grammatically speaking, this is in the imperative mood, so in a very literal sense, "get over it" is...technically...an accurate translation.

However.

In the context of the scene, I think this is misleading. In the official translation, Gyu-hyuk sounds weirdly cold and dismissive, but imo he doesn't actually come off that way in the original text? I read the "Get over it" line as more like...Encouraging? Motivational? Than dismissive, personally. It's clear to me that he's comforting Do-yoon, and I was honestly surprised at the tone whiplash in the translation.

Don't get me wrong, this scene is unsettling. It feels "off" somehow. But it's not because Gyu-hyuk is being dismissive of Do-yoon's feelings when Do-yoon is clearly still incredibly traumatized, but rather:

Because Gyu-hyuk himself seems relatively unfazed, in stark contrast to Do-yoon (Not to mention the strong Dutch angle on that CG. Come On. It just adds to the subtle creepiness of Gyu-hyuk's weirdly serene smile?)

Because one of Gyu-hyuk's biggest flaws is his tendency toward codependency, and of course

Because Gyu-hyuk is the one responsible for the murders, which is like. A pretty big part of Do-yoon's trauma.

At the time that you get this epilogue for the first time, it's likely that you haven't actually seen the true ending yet. So unless you know what happens, it's easy to chalk (1) up to Gyu-hyuk's personality—or at least, the calm and level-headed front that he puts up. You have enough evidence to arrive at (2) by this point, but it's not until you learn (3), which obviously isn't revealed until the true ending, that you realize what a deeply broken person Gyu-hyuk really is.

Without some of this background, the scene honestly reads as, idk, a bit uncomfortably codependent maybe but also...Very Heavily Romantic, in a fucked up, vaguely problematic and unhealthy way? Incidentally, I was looking up a Korean let's play of this scene on Youtube so that I could transcribe it and the streamer I was watching also was straight up like, "Why does it feel like he's flirting with me" and "Oh this feels like a romance" so I know I'm not the only one thinking this LMAO.

TL;DR This epilogue doesn't feel "wrong" because Gyu-hyuk is being insensitive and selfish, but rather the opposite—if anything, his tone is excessively warm and sweet, almost bordering on smothering.

Anyway, because I really, really hate how this scene was translated, I'm going to take a crack at a fan translation that (hopefully) captures the effect of the original text a bit better? I've highlighted the lines that I think have the greatest diff:

Original Text

GH: 또 심각한 얼굴이네. 무슨 생각을 그렇게 해?

DY: 그냥 뭐… 이것저것. 형은 아직 여유가 좀 있나 봐? 맨날 문병 오는 거 보면.

GH: 여유 있긴, 너 보러 시간을 빼는 거지. ...오늘은 좀 어때?

한도윤은 창틀을 매만졌다.

DY: 복잡해. 사람들이… 그렇게 됐으니까.

GH: … 지금은, 너만 생각해.

어깨를 토닥이는 손길에 저도 모르게 움츠렸다.

GH: 아, 미안…

DY: 아냐. 내가 아직… 다 낫질 않아서.

GH: 얼마나 걸리든 푹 쉬어, 다 나을 때까지. 복잡한 머리도 풀릴 때까지. 내가 있잖아.

이규혁의 말에 고개를 들었다. 따스한 눈길이 한도윤을 바로 본다.

GH: 너, 나… 우리 두 사람은 살아남았어. 힘들면 기대. 내가… 언제든지 곁에 있을테니까. 도윤이 네가 구해준 덕분에 난 여기 있어. 언제까지라도 널 배신하지 않을 거야.

눈앞이 흐릿해지더니, 볼에 뜨거운 무언가가 흘러내렸다. 눈꺼풀 밑으로 스러져간 얼굴들이 아른거렸다.

GH: 괜찮아.

이규혁의 손이 다시 한번 어깨를 토닥였다.

GH: 서로 의지하면서 살아가자.

고개 숙인 한도윤이 이규혁의 팔을 붙잡았다. 바람이 흔들리는 창문 소리가 적막한 병실을 울렸다.

GH: 도윤아, 딛고 일어서. 내가 곁에 있을 거야.

다정한 목소리가 멀게만 들렸다.

Official Translation

GH: You look somber again. What’s on your mind this time?

DY: Just a few things… Aren’t you supposed to be busy? You visit me every day.

GH: Busy, but I always have time to drop by to see you. How are you feeling today?

Do-yoon touched the windowsill with his hand.

DY: Complicated, considering what happened to them…

GH: Focus on yourself for now.

He fidgeted as Gyu-hyuk patted him on the shoulder.

GH: I’m sorry…

DY: No, it’s just that… I’m still recovering.

GH: Just take as much time as you want until you’re fully recovered. And I hope you can stop worrying so much, too. I’ll stand by your side.

Do-yoon raised his head to listen to Gyu-hyuk. He was staring at Do-yoon with an affectionate eye.

GH: You and me, we’ve survived. Lean on me when things are rough. I’ll always be there for you… I’m standing here because you saved me. I’ll never betray you.

Do-yoon’s eyes blurred, and tears rolled down his cheeks. The faces of their departed friends glimmered under his eyes.

GH: I’m okay.

Gyu-hyuk patted Do-yoon on the shoulder again.

GH: We’ll watch each other’s backs.

Do-yoon lowered his head and grabbed Gyu-hyuk’s arm. The sound of the rattling window hit the walls of the still hospital room.

GH: Do-yoon, get over it. You have me.

His kind voice seemed so distant.

My Translation

GH: You have that somber look on your face again. What’s on your mind?

DY: Oh, you know… This and that. I guess your schedule must be pretty free still? You’ve been visiting me every day.

GH: I wish. I’m actually making time to come see you. How are you feeling today?

Do-yoon adjusted the windowsill a bit.

DY: It’s complicated. You know… considering what happened to them.

GH: …You should try to worry about yourself for now.

Do-yoon couldn’t help but flinch reflexively as Gyu-hyuk touched his shoulder.

GH: Oh, sorry…

DY: No, it’s OK. It’s… just that my injuries are still healing.

GH: Take as much time as you need and rest until you’re fully recovered. And until your anxieties quiet down a bit, too. You know I’m here for you.

Do-yoon lifted his head as he said this. Gyu-hyuk was watching him with his warm gaze.

GH: You and I… We’re survivors. Lean on me when things are tough. Because I’ll… always be by your side. The only reason I’m here today is because you saved me, Do-yoon. I’ll never betray you, no matter what.

Do-yoon’s vision blurred, and hot tears began to roll down his cheeks. The faces of the deceased wavered beneath his closed eyelids.

GH: It’s all right.

Gyu-hyuk patted him on his shoulder once again.

GH: We’ll have each other to depend on from now on.

Do-yoon lowered his head and grasped Gyu-hyuk’s arm. The sound of the wind rattling the windowpane echoed throughout the quiet hospital room.

GH: Do-yoon, you'll overcome this. I’ll be right here beside you.

His voice was kind, but it somehow sounded distant.

[alirhi]

Loki ranting

Okay. I had this thought in my head of like just compiling links of all the Loki shit I've posted/reblogged so far so that when I get into a conversation about the show and how it fucking disgusted me, I can just be like "here. here's this masterlist post, go read all this shit. This is my entire argument, and not only mine, but a lot of stuff posted by people far more intelligent and level-headed and eloquent than I am, whom I happen to agree with." Because the alternative is constantly getting fired up all over again, and that is exhausting.

BUT! I'm stupid and don't know how tumblr works. Apparently I can't just be like "give me all the Loki-tagged shit I've got" I can only search all the Loki-tagged shit on all of tumblr. And I'm not scrolling back through all of my posts. I talk too fucking much for that shit 😂

So, I'll try to remember all of my grievances with how the MCU has treated Loki, and all of the excellent posts made by other, equally upset fans, and put it all together here under this nice, neat little cut for everyone else's sanity and scrolling convenience...

For people who actually read my shit fairly regularly - bless you, you crazy, patient people. I love you! - this is going to be a lot of repetition of shit you've already read. Probably at least twice. I'm passionate and I have a terrible memory lol. Sorry.

Anyway, first, for those who don't know me and haven't been following my explosions of rage for the past couple of months, some quick background: I do not read comic books, so Loki's Marvel comic canon means nothing to me. I know almost nothing about it. The reason I'm so in love with the character in the MCU is because I am an eclectic witch and the deity I've actively loved and worshiped the longest in my life (literally for as long as I can remember) is Loki. So when he was mentioned in The Mask, I squeed. When they named Matt Damon's character after him in Dogma, I cheered.

When Thor came out in 2011, I just about died from happiness. I was hungry for any representation of this underappreciated god, no matter what it was. I didn't even bitch about how underpowered he was, because at least he was there. But I'm getting slightly ahead of myself.

I can hear anyone reading this going "Why Loki? Isn't he, like, evil? Like basically the Norse version of The Devil?" Because I heard all this shit irl all the fucking time. And no. So let me give you a quick rundown of who Loki actually is.

Loki is a Trickster God. He's often referred to as the God of Mischief. He is not and never was evil, simply chaotic and hedonistic. Loki Laufeyjarson was the son of Laufey (that's mama; they changed her to a man for some reason in the movie) and Fárbauti. Right from the start, from his name, we get a sign of how Loki goes against traditional norms of the time, because in Norse culture, families were patrilineal, and surnames were "son/daughter of father" (which would have made him Loki Fárbautitason), not the mother. But Loki's surname is matrilineal. Feminist icon woo! lol

Though he's a Jotunn, Loki is counted among the Gods (Aesir) in Norse tradition. Depending on his mood, he is alternately helpful or disruptive to the other Gods. I'm not gonna sit and teach a whole text class on him lol but I'll use my favorite example of Misunderstood Loki - the conception of Sleipnir!

So, get this shit. This is also part of why I DO NOT follow Odin and never fucking will (a very small part, but still part of the reason). So, the other Norse Gods are petty motherfuckers, and they wanted some shit built but didn't want to pay the dude doing the building. So they were like "okay, if you can get it done in X amount of time, we'll pay you, but if you can't manage it NO MATTER WHAT, this whole thing is free." And they made sure he had NO help, nothing but him, his materials, and his Very Good Horsey. And this guy and his horse were fucking BAMFs. So it was looking like he was definitely gonna get it done in time, and Odin was like "nah, fuck that shit. I'm cheap." and so he sent Loki to distract the work horse. Loki transformed into a mare and lured the horse away, got fucked, got pregnant, gave birth to the 8-legged (for some reason) horse Sleipnir. Odin rides Loki's son into battle. Um. Kay.

So Loki helped Odin be a petty mf, and Odin got himself a new pet out of the deal.

Oh, also, because he's smart af and a shapeshifter and a master magician and genderfluid, Loki "fails" to fit the super fucking toxic and narrow Norse/Aesir view of "a real man". He prefers intelligence and manipulation to solve problems rather than violence, he's not afraid to behave like a clown if it gets shit done, and that grosses the Aesir out, so they constantly ridicule him for being "less than a man".

Loki is the God of the outcast and the misunderstood. The marginalized people from all walks of life. He is the God of the LGBT community. In modern terms, he's pansexual, polyamorous (married to Sigyn and they are deeply in love, but boy gets around and I've never seen any indication that Sigyn gives a shit) and genderfluid.

Okay. Focus, Ali. This is part of why I usually post multiple rants instead of one big long one XD The longer I ramble, the more I get sidetracked and forget the original point.

So. Loki's awesome, and being a Trickster, is powerful as all fucking hell. There's not much he can't do.

And now we come to Thor (the movie, not the deity). Loki's there! 24-year-old Ali is spazzing! All is right with the world!

Oh lord, they've actually done him justice?! Amazing! He's complex and nuanced and emotional, just like the real Loki! I loved this movie. Loved. It. The climactic thing with trying to blow up Jotunheim never really made much sense to me until someone made an excellent point the other day about Loki being raised in a racist society that was racist against his own race, he just didn't know it yet, poor child. Baby Thor was never corrected when he pledged to commit mass genocide, so Baby Loki probably absorbed the lesson then that Jotunns=evil and killing them all will win his father's love. Anyway, 2011 Loki was a beautiful, heartbreaking portrayal of the God I've loved all my life and spent 24 years longing to see depicted on the big screen.

Then The Avengers happened. And I saw another Loki very close to Norse mythology - mainly, how he's treated. In the beginning of the movie, he's sick, exhausted, and in pain. He can hardly stand, he stumbles and needs help when he walks. He was very obviously tortured, and the sickly blue light of the scepter's control is in his eyes. That gets less and less pronounced as the movie goes on, showing Loki working his way free of it, but in the beginning, he's a mess. Because he was tortured and used by Thanos. Marvel directly confirmed this, and that he was under the scepter's/Mind Stone's control. Loki's actions are not his own in The Avengers. He's under both threat and Thanos' direct control. The movie actually shows The Other directly threatening him to keep him on task, because this is not Loki's plan. It is not what he wants. He's being used and villainized... Just like in real life. It hurt to see this done to him, but the accuracy was too beautiful to ignore.

Thor: The Dark World comes out. I've heard people complain that this movie is the weak link in the Thor trilogy. I disagree. I think that's Ragnarok, for a bunch of reasons, but we'll get there. (And for the record, I loved Ragnarok, too. It was a funny movie. Infinity War and the Disney+ series are the only portrayals of Loki in the MCU that I truly fucking hated.) Anyway, good, fun movie. Had its faults, as all movies do, but it still followed Loki's real-life arc in a way. How? By having Loki dragged back to Asgard in chains and imprisoned underground. Again, not super happy that this happened to my love, and having to see it on screen was painful, but at least in the MCU he's not chained to a rock with venom dripping on his face for eternity, so there's that. (poor Sigyn. how tired do her arms get, holding up that bowl? best wife ever, amirite?)

In TDW, we're shown Loki's love for Frigga, who favored him and taught him magic as a child. We see his bravado; his attempts to mask his true feelings, especially grief. We see him slowly coming back to himself after the events of The Avengers, and slowly mending his relationship with his brother. He accepts that Odin will likely never love him, but Thor just might, because they were close when they were young. "I didn't do it for him." No, no my sweet, you did it for your brother, and a little out of guilt for what happened to your mother.

At the end, Loki fakes his death and escapes, taking the throne, and I have mixed feelings about this. Not the writer's choices here; I love that completely! A natural progression in Loki's story. But my joy is tainted by how closely they're following the Eddas now. Because Loki's escape from his prison heralds the beginning of Ragnarok. And Loki will die in Ragnarok. I don't want to see that play out in front of my face. I won't be able to handle the grief (spoiler alert! IW broke me. I almost walked out of the theater. Loki's death was legitimately fucking traumatic for me. I don't even care how pathetic that is. That grief was real, it was intense, and I still shake and cry when I think about it.)

Marvel announces that Thor 3 will be called Ragnarok. The internet treats this as a shocking revelation. I roll my eyes and mumble "duh" to myself and move on XD

Then they say Ragnarok will be a buddy comedy. I throw up a little in my mouth and no longer want to live on this planet. If they're going to make something called Ragnarok, could they at least treat it with even a fraction of the respect they've shown these characters thusfar? Jfc. I mean, I'll see it anyway, because I'm a whore for Tom Hiddleston lol. But come on, people!

I hated that they made Hel the long-lost older sister and Fenrir her fucking pet/attack dog. Those are my favorites of Loki's children! Hel is such an incredible badass that the early Christians named their dimension of eternal torture after her! They were terrified of her, to the point of naming the place that terrified them most after her. That's awesome! And Fenrir's just the best. I love wolves. Those two details, and Odin's retcon of "we're not Gods! ...lol, except your sister. she's totally a Goddess. and def gonna kill literally everything, so... good luck! byyyeeeee" pissed me off royally.

The rest was great. I genuinely liked this movie. Still do. And they finally used The Immigrant Song! That was pretty cool. If they'd thrown in Bring the Hammer Down and Thunderstruck, I might've called this movie perfect. XD

I wasn't totally in love with their portrayal of Loki in Ragnarok. Yes, the falling for 30 minutes line was funny, as was "I have to get off this planet" and "YES! That's how it feels!" And "Get Help" was funny as hell. But also, like... There is no way Loki would have been the dumb one in that first encounter with Hela. Also, he can teleport and project copies of himself and shit, so... He would not have been that desperate to go straight back to Asgard and bring her right along with them. Loki's not stupid. But whatever. Movie's gotta movie.

What I did love was seeing the slow mending of his relationship with Thor continuing, and the badass fighting on the bridge. I also loved that, like Real Loki, Movie Loki helped when help was needed, was quick and clever, and while he was carrying out the main plan, he was also planning ahead and grabbing the Tesseract. Yes, that drew Thanos right to them, but that's a whole other thing. Loki never would have left that thing on Asgard to be destroyed or lost.

And now Infinity War. Hooooly fucking shit. You know what? No. I'm not going into this. He was killed, years of character growth were erased forever, my heart fucking shattered. The end.

Endgame. IW hurt me so bad I didn't see Endgame until this year. I actually watched Civil War first (for context: I had actively avoided all Cap movies until this year because I fucking hate Steve Rogers. I find him insufferable. Did not realize what I was denying myself until I watched CW and finally saw the charms of Bucky. When he appeared in IW, I was so lost. XD I was like "...who dis? Murder Jesus?" also I just... didn't care. I was numb by then from crying through most of the movie over Loki)

So, anyway. Endgame. Loki picks up the Tesseract in alternate 2012, escapes, fans go "yay! he didn't actually die!" I go "yes he fucking did. Five years of his life, gone. Five years of growth and change, erased. Loki is dead. This will not be the same."

I was more right than I could have predicted. Now we come to the point of this rant. Sorry it took so long, but you were warned lol.

The Loki series makes me so angry I actually get sick to my stomach. It was fucking TRASH. When I praised Marvel for following Norse mythology so faithfully earlier? Yeah. I DID NOT MEAN TREAT HIM THE WAY THE OTHER GODS DID. I did not mean paint him as a pitiful clown, a joke, a caricature of who he truly was, with his pain and suffering played for LAUGHS.

This is supposed to be 2012 Loki, newly freed from Thanos' control. The Loki we saw in the beginning of TDW - snarky, exhausted, nihilistic. The Loki who rolled his eyes and said "get on with it" expecting to be killed.

The bumbling clown flipping on a dime from posturing to calling himself weak is not 2012 Loki. That is not ANY Loki. That is Tom Hiddleston in a black wig doing what he's told by a shitty writer who had no fucking idea what he was doing and was salty about his (bad) original script (for something totally fucking unrelated) getting killed.

In Episode 1, Loki is mocked, imprisoned, stripped against his will, tormented, belittled, and given a flippant summary of all the trauma Actual MCU Loki suffered that this one skipped out on, with no context, no acknowledgement of the trauma he's already lived quite fucking recently, and with the narrative twisted to not only erase all the abuse he's suffered, but to make it all his fault. And this is supposed to make him want to help these people?

And worse, IT FUCKING WORKS. WHAT?! I CAN'T- FUCKING WHAT?! Remember when I said LOKI IS NOT FUCKING STUPID?! So why is he STUPID?

Episode 2, he's a child. Mentally, this Loki is a fucking child. Now we've erased all the growth and development of his entire adult life. He's dopey, impatient, impulsive, desperate for a pat on the back and actually shows it. Yes, abused and neglected children crave the positive attention we never received, and we often grow up to be a bit emotionally stunted. But not all of us, and not Loki. Not as we've seen him EVER in the rest of the MCU. Playful and a bit callous at times? Absolutely! But not a big dumb fucking puppy.

Episode 3, a ray of hope, despite Sylvie! (I hate Sylvie) Loki casually admits he's pan/bi; labels never come up, but he admits to being with both men and women! He sings! Not really relevant to whether I approve of his portrayal or not lol but Tom has a beautiful voice, Norwegian ("Asgardian" lol) is a gorgeous, entrancing language, and I could watch that one bit on loop for eternity and never get bored. And then, finally, we see a glimpse - a glimpse - of Loki's power! He stops a falling building and pushes it right back up! Are we finally getting to see what he can really do? Will the next episode bring us Loki in all his glory?

Nope. 4 and 5 we see him mocked and pushed around and utterly irrelevant. Again. We see tiny reflections of what he could maybe theoretically do in other random Loki variants, but the "main" (lawl. main. it was the Sylvie and Mobius show. Loki was never the main anything.) Loki? Nothing. He wears his heart on his sleeve for no reason, bonds with the man who imprisoned, taunted, and gaslit him, is killed, and continues to be a moron and a joke. Always the clown. Always the dumb one. The one with the bad ideas. The inferior Loki.

Don't even get me started on that finale. I can't. This already took so much out of me. Fuck Marvel. Fuck this fucking show. I just... I'm done.

[vrisrezis]

the matsunos reaction to knowing their s/o have a kid and meeting them?

YES PLS

Also if u want I can do hcs for these specific kids and the matsus bc god . I have ideas

Gender neutral reader

“Wait.. you have a kid?! How?!” Osomatsu asks, bewildered. How hasn’t he known about this? Why hasn’t he met the kid yet? He’s a bit disappointed at first, not that he hates kids he just.. it means there’s another parent in the equation right? So he kinda asks you about that whole thing, are they just dead? Or like were they a dick? Or? Is your kid just adopted?

However, he’s very excited to meet your kid! He wishes you told him about your little girl sooner. He’s not worried he’ll mess up at all, (he probably should be). He doesn’t even ask any questions, he just wants to meet the kid.

You were a bit worried.. and for good reason. Your daughter didn’t exactly .. like people. She was anti social. Besides.. things had been kinda difficult for the both of you upon having to take care of her on her own. She’s been waiting for you to introduce her to Osomatsu, the man you’ve been dating for months now.

Your daughter tended to be a bit judgmental, especially when it came to your relationships. D/n may only be twelve, but she has a knack for being able to sniff out unsuitable future dads/moms/parents. The thing about your daughter was.. she was Osomatsus complete opposite. She’s serious, hardworking, an over achiever type of gal. She knows what she wants and will do anything to get it. Point is, you were a little worried about how she would take you dating a literal neet.

As you walked into your house, your daughter was reading on the floor. As per usual. She looked up, he eyes widening a little to see the male next to you. Red hoodie. She stood up, walking up to osomatsu, and he smiled, taking his hand out for her to shake wordlessly, and she takes it, shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you! I’m Osomatsu!” “So I’ve heard. My name is d/n.” She said, her face more deadpan, in contrast to his smile. He didn’t seem to mind though, like he didn’t care, which made her raise a brow. Your past lovers tended to be intimidated by her seriousness.

Seeing how well behaved your kid was, how serious she was. He didn’t even think she was real, she’s literally the perfect child. Seeing how sweet you were being with her as well. God you were a great parent that raised such a well behaved child and he couldn’t help but sigh out of pure love..

Maybe that’s what won her over, and actually be willing to be nice and have a conversation with him.

“Wait so you’re a neet?” “Yes.” “Are you looking for a job?” “Nope.” She lets out a loud sigh as he smirks. “

They talked for a bit, and honestly? Your daughter couldn’t help but sigh at some of the things he said, only making him laugh more. You are surprised she hasn’t blown up in his face yet.. but.. is she… laughing? At a joke he made? That’s so… unlike her..

You can’t help but smile at the two.

Karamatsu is extremely surprised, but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t ask about the other parent, it’s personal and he understands if you don’t wanna talk about it. Very excited about meeting the child as well honestly. Tries to keep that cool guy act and pretend he’s not overly excited but it couldn’t be more obvious, he always brings it up whenever you see eachother as well. “So.. heh.. how are s/n and d/n.. hm??” Trying to act cool about it. You simply deadpan, “do you want to meet them karamatsu?” “YES!” He then coughs suddenly, “ahem, yes..”

You wondered if he was excited because they were identical twins. Yes, you had two kids. A son and a daughter, absolute monsters. They’re teens though, so it’s to be expected. Being age fifteen was not easy! But.. you often found yourself scolding the two of them for something new.

You weren’t too nervous about him meeting them, it would certainly be an… interesting night. He seemed rather nervous though. You gave him a reassuring smile before walking in…

Only to find a mess before you, as you expected. You sigh, “d/n!! s/n!! Get down here and clean your mess!!” You yell in a tone karamatsu has never heard you yell. Such a motherly tone with strictness to it. He heard loud stomping, only to see the two rush down the stairs. They originally would just rush, and get back upstairs but the two of them stop upon seeing a man beside you.

“Who is that?” s/n cocks a brow, and before you could answer, your daughter interrupts, hitting his arm. “Ow!” “It’s the new daddy right?! Right? I’m right! Right..?” She smiled excitedly, and he couldn’t help but blush a bit. Dad..dy.. maybe one day? You couldn’t help but blush yourself, “this is my boyfriend karamatsu. Karamatsu this is s/n and d/n. Okay you two, clean up and make it quick.” You say as they both quickly nod, yelling a “nice to meet you!” Before cleaning up all the chip bags, clothes, and wires on the floor.

Karamatsu was having a trouble time acting cool in front of these teens. They were oozing with confidence, and that is intimidating. No matter HOW young they are. They are definitely your kids. They have your confidence, your talkative and mischievous personality, your teasing, everything. “Wait so what’s your job?” “Do you live by yourself?” “Do you have any siblings?”

“Kids..!” You looked at them with that stern look, and they quickly shut up. “Sorry!” S/n grins, “maybe we’re being a bit much..” he laughs sheepishly, as so does his sister. “We’re just excited!” She whines, and karamatsu only chuckles, saying that it was fine.. “I understand you have a lot of questions about dear old me..” he adjusts his shades, “I am a sextuplet.. I love with my brothers..” “woaaah!!” “Seriously?! You love them that much?”

“What about the job?” D/n pressed, and he sweats. “As for a job.. heh.. I..” he pauses. Oh god here it comes.

“I have no plans..!”

“Jeez you paused just for that?!” Your daughter says in annoyance, as your son laughs. “Hahahah! This guy is awesome!”

“Really? Awesome?” He asks, trying not to sound hopeful.

“Yeah!” They both say at the same time, smiling.

He had to stop himself from letting out a loud sigh of relief.

Choromatsu spits out his drink, gaping at you. “You have a WHAT?!” He just can’t believe it to be honest, but at least he won’t ever have to have a talk with you about having kids with you (a talk he was terrified of having) so he’s actually thankful you have children already. He was a bit nervous about meeting the two little girls, they were age 10 but they were little demons.

As you walked in the house, you yelled, “girls! I’m home!” and he saw two little girls run up to hug you “mommy/daddy!” You hugged them back, “hey girls.. you gonna say hi?” You gesture to the man behind you, and they back up from the both of you and they wave “hello!” “Hi!” The twins say at the same time. For some reason, he felt like he was in the same room as Todomatsu. Fake cuteness and kindness to it.. god you were so right, these two were gonna be absolute monsters weren’t they?

He was a lot more scared now rather than just plain nervous, however your girls were good at conversing with him despite their younger age, asking him what he likes to watch and stuff. Not really the .. adult stuff. Which he was thankful for, it’s not like they need to know he does nothing… right?

Well, that was until the younger twin said something. It’s always the youngest isn’t it?

“Oh… I… uhm… I don’t really have a job” he rubs the back of his neck, “oh! Why?” She asks, “uhm… because I.. don’t want to..?” He says honestly, and she looks to you “can I not work because I don’t feel like it?” she looks innocently, but you know her better than that, shaking your head no. “Awww!” She pouts, but smiles. “Well, that’s okay! You can just work at home or something, like .. uhm..” she thinks for a moment, the elder twin pops in “like a malewife!”

He felt his face grow red, malewife?

“Okay girls go set up the table for dinner!” You butt in, smiling.

“Okay!” They say in unison, running off, and you notice them giggling mischievously. You roll your eyes.

These two were gonna be a lot, he knew it. But instead of feeling scared, he felt happy, relieved even.

He was a part of a new family now.

Ichimatsu is surprised as well, a kid? Well it’s not like he minds it exactly, he secretly likes kids a lot.. besides this means he can technically have one of his own if he plays his cards right with you. Which hes much more determined to do. A young 12 year old boy, a 16 year old girl. He can’t wait to meet the two of them.

The younger one was… much more energetic, mischievous even. However, he will hand it to him for digging the color purple, as it was obvious from his dyed purple hair, black and purple striped skirt, (yes, your young boy was wearing a cute skirt), a stylish young boy full of confidence. Despite his smirk though, something about him had a similar aura to his own. Then there’s your daughter, complete opposite. Pink clothing to contrast her brother. With a permanent grumpy frown on her face, he assumed that was normal for her, which he wasn’t wrong about.

As he conversed with them for a bit, it seemed like he had a lot in common with the little boy. “Hehe~ I love cats! Big sis likes em too.. she likes to act all tough and like she doesn’t tho!” He said in a teasing tone as for once looks up from her phone and stops texting. “Not true!” She blushes a bit, and he laughs.

He can’t help but smile himself, making your son smirk with a bit of pride at making your intimidating boyfriend smile. He’s definitely been trying to show a good impression this whole time. Unlike your daughter who doesn’t care either way, she’s definitely like Ichimatsu in many ways.

Though by the end of the day, when he didn’t try conversing with her as much as your son she started putting in effort.

“I didn’t take you for an anime nerd.” Ichimatsu admits, “maybe you should meet my brother.” He says, referring to Choromatsu in particular. “Oh shit you have a brother?” “Yeah. Your mother/father didn’t tell you? I have like five brothers.” “Holy shit that’s horrible” your sister looks in disgust, as her younger brother just laughs at her dramatics.

Your daughter showed much more of her true personality upon the shock of him being a sextuplet, and he ended up chuckling at her ridiculousness.

He already loved the hell outta your kids.

“Cool! When do I get to meet them?!” Jyushimatsu asks rather excitedly, and it’s hard for you to be too surprised by that kinda reaction. Of course he didn’t care you had kids.. three, to be exact. Triplets, all three girls. Yeah.. all three. Originally, you had two girls and one boy, but things have changed, and that was just fine by you, who was once your eldest child and only son, was now your eldest daughter.

Jyushimatsu was eager to meet all three, they’re all 16 years old. The eldest, was the “chill” one of the three. She often likes to just relax and can be seen as overly patient and calm. The second, often with a bored or deadpan look, she reminded Jyushimatsu of Ichimatsu. And the third, who honestly was a spoiled brat, she was grumpy at times and she always got what she wanted.

He ended up talking to the girls a lot, talking about being a sextuplet, being a neet, and of course baseball. Your eldest listened, “oh that’s cool! I love baseball!” She went to get a picture showing him pictures she’s taken with famous baseball players, as the youngest rolls her eyes. The second eldest was as quiet as ever as your boyfriend and your eldest conversed about their similar interests, the youngest complaining, Jyushimatsu laughing it off.

He had lots in common with the youngest too, and was able to eventually gain her approval. He eventually talked with the second daughter about things, which was also nice. She seemed to like him. Your second eldest tended to be the shyer nervous type despite the cold exterior that she puts on, so she really liked such a friendly dude.

He seemed to really like them. And he was really good with them. You couldn’t help but think how sweet he was being, he’s always sweet but it’s different. He’s being different with them. It’s nice.. it’s good. He would be such a good dad.

You smile at the thought.

Todomatsu is certainly surprised that you have children. He’s curious to learn more about them too. “So when do I get to meet em!” He’ll excitedly ask, “whenever you wanna totty” you smile, “though, I must admit.. they can be a bit much sometimes” you rub the back of your neck and he gives you a deadpan look. “Have you met my brothers?”

Good point.

And that’s why he’s here now, talking to the three of your kids. Three identical twins!

Technically your son is the eldest, he’s a grumpy guy though. Always yelling or cursing at something, you think to yourself that maybe it’ll go away, he’s only 16. The other twin, your daughter, is much more outgoing and hyper, his complete opposite. And finally your youngest child. They were more of the silent, mysterious type, even shy.

The eldest was nonchalant with him and honestly you could tell your boyfriend was a bit nervous with him. You smack your son at the back of his head whenever he gave a backhanded comment. He didn’t like your boyfriend at first, but he kinda gave in. Only reason was when he noticed how he looked at you when you were helping your youngest with something, it was like that stupid I’m in love with my s/o look.

He got along with the second the most, she’s easy to get along with given her friendly personality. Besides, she is always in on the newest internet drama, she was bound to get along with him the most. She adores him. And of course, the youngest. The youngest got along with him quickly, actually thinking he was pretty cool. They liked his style, his being more pastel and pink, a huge contrast to their emo style. They weren’t as kept with drama but they definitely were in on clothing trends which they both conversed about. They warmed up to him and got out of their shell, even calling him totty by the end of the night along with your daughter, your son refusing to do that.

Seeing how each one of your kids interacted with totty, it was obvious they all liked him.

He was gonna fit in great with this family.

[bevioletskies]

if i keep my heart out of sight

summary: Apollo used to think Klavier was an open book - someone honest, someone uncomplicated, someone who didn’t have anything to hide. But when Klavier asks Apollo to accompany him on a visit to see Kristoph, Apollo finds himself starting to think otherwise.

word count: 4.2k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day three of seven (prompt: "protection"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

This fic takes place at some point in time between Dual Destinies and Spirit of Justice, but doesn’t reference any specific plotlines otherwise. Fic title is from the song If I Keep My Heart Out Of Sight by James Taylor.

“You don’t have to, Apollo. I know I’m probably asking too much of you, so if - ”

“No, i-it’s okay, you just - you surprised me. I’ll, uh, I’ll be there! Only...we’re not going on your bike, are we?”

Klavier blinked. His expression scared Apollo; he’d never seen Klavier so stoic, so serious, not even during the most crucial moments of a trial. Then, Klavier burst into laughter. “Achtung, I ask you to come with me to visit mein Bruder in prison, and that’s what you’re concerned about?”

Huffing, Apollo narrowed his eyes at him. “Actually, I’m more concerned about you calling me ‘Apollo’ a second ago. You feeling okay, Gavin?”

“Obviously I’m feeling just fine, Forehead, as you can plainly see by me wanting to talk about Kristoph for a change,” Klavier drawled, his lazy smile betrayed by the sharp glint in his eyes. “And nein, not my motorcycle. Did you forget I have a car?”

“Apparently,” Apollo said. “You ever mess up the exhaust pipe on that one, too?” Now it was Klavier’s turn to glare. “Kidding, kidding. So, uh...what brought this on? Why do you even wanna see him?”

“Misguided need for closure?” Klavier let out a short, harsh chuckle. “Or maybe I’m just bored.”

Apollo had to look away from Klavier for a moment, the rush of emotions that had crossed his face just then too overwhelming to bear. They were standing in the courtroom, which was long empty now that their latest trial was over. Phoenix and Athena were waiting for Apollo in the defense lobby, while Trucy was back at the agency, eagerly awaiting the outcome. For Klavier, on the other hand, the only things waiting for him were the journalists on the courthouse front steps and the paperwork on his desk at the prosecutor’s office. “And...why do you want me to go with you?” Apollo asked, looking back up.

Klavier shrugged. “We don’t hang out enough,” he replied, grinning cheekily. He then turned and headed for the courtroom doors, lifting a manicured hand to wave him off. “I’ll text you, ja? Auf Wiedersehen, Herr Forehead.”

“Liar,” Apollo muttered, rubbing his wrist where his bracelet had squeezed him.

_____

Another week or so went by before Apollo found himself getting into Klavier’s car, his stomach turning unpleasantly. It was mid-morning on a Saturday, a time in which he was usually at his most relaxed - sleeping in, watching TV, and hanging out with his cat. But now, all he could think about was Klavier’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

“...Gavin.”

“Ja?” Klavier’s response was too quick, too loud.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Apollo asked. “You shouldn't force yourself to do something you don’t wanna do. If he, I dunno, contacted you and called you out or whatever - ”

“He didn’t,” Klavier interrupted swiftly. “And before you ask, nein, I didn’t contact him, either. Just this once, I’d prefer that he didn’t have the upper hand.”

Apollo’s face softened; he nodded. “Good call. Who knows - maybe it’ll work in your favor.”

They pulled into the Central Prison parking lot less than thirty minutes later. Apollo, trembling with anxiety, followed Klavier closely as they made their way through security. Prison, Apollo thought rather stupidly, felt cold, impersonal. At least Klavier radiated warmth, familiarity, though the guards seemed surprised to see him. That was to be expected, Apollo supposed, since it had been nearly two years since Kristoph’s imprisonment, and Klavier had never visited until now.

“Here he is,” one of the guards said gruffly after leading them through a confusing series of corridors. “Go on, then.”

Things were unsettlingly quiet for a moment. Apollo and Klavier stared at the reinforced door before them - Kristoph was no longer behind literal bars - waiting, anticipating, dreading what was to come. The only view they were afforded was a small window of an even smaller room, meaning they would only be able to see Kristoph from the waist up at most, even if he was on the complete opposite side of his cell. His back was to them, hands clasped neatly behind him. Klavier’s breath hitched. Kristoph turned abruptly at the sound.

“Ah.” Kristoph smiled pleasantly. “What an unexpected surprise. Mr. Justice, I didn’t know you still cared.”

“Hardly,” Apollo said through gritted teeth. Already, he felt the hairs on his arms stand on end. “Gav - Klavier asked me to come, so I did.”

“Still taking orders from a Gavin, are you?” Kristoph stepped closer. His face was gaunt, his skin ragged. Even his hair seemed to have lost its shine. “And here, I thought you were working for Wright. Or does he not pay you enough? Honestly, I wouldn’t think he’d be able to pay you at all. He’s very fond of working pro bono, from what I remember. How...charitable of him.”

“Hallo to you too, Kristoph,” Klavier said evenly, stepping in front of Apollo. “If you’re done being an arschgeige, it’s me you’re talking to, not him.”

Kristoph’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that so? I wouldn’t have guessed it, what with you shaking like a leaf.”

Klavier sucked in another breath between his teeth. “Do you really have nothing to say to me? Do you not think of our parents and what they think about you? What everyone thinks about you?”

Kristoph smirked, taking a few measured steps back. “Did they not teach us not to concern ourselves with the opinions of those who don’t matter?”

“So breaking Mama and Papa’s hearts, that doesn’t matter to you?” Klavier snapped. “If I were to bring them here, could you really say that to their faces?” Apollo glanced at him, worried. He’d never heard either Gavin mention their parents before, had always assumed they were gone in some sense. He couldn’t imagine what they were like, what Kristoph and Klavier’s childhood had been like, for them to turn out the way that they did.

“You’re better than that, Klavier,” Kristoph scolded lightly. He seemed to be enjoying himself; it made Apollo’s throat burn with disgust. “Emotional manipulation, hypothetical scenarios...they aren’t becoming of a prosecutor of your caliber.”

“That disappointment you feel? It’s mutual, vertrau mir,” Klavier retorted, letting out an irritable exhale.

“Is that really all you came here to ask me about?” Kristoph paced to the back of his cell, neatly dropping down onto the small cot he'd been given, covered with a threadbare blanket. At the very least, Apollo was satisfied to see how little he had. Phoenix had told him what Kristoph’s first cell was like, how infuriatingly luxurious it was. This was more fitting for a man of his morals. “If I’m broken up about hurting poor Mother and Father’s feelings?”

“Nein, that’s only the beginning,” Klavier said coolly. Apollo shivered, moving away entirely so Klavier could stand directly in front of the little window. “You know, even now, there are still people who think that I’m the arrogant one. The one who so desperately seeks validation, while you don’t have a care in the world. But tell me, Kristoph - if you really care so little about what people think, why are you the one in prison for killing someone who passed you over for a case that would've made you famous?”

Kristoph scowled. “Klavier…”

“And does it bother you, knowing that even before you became a killer, that everyone always preferred me?” Klavier continued, unflinching. “Our parents, our teachers, our family friends...the world at large.”

“Your silly insults are more suitable for a playground than a prison, how depressing,” Kristoph said, quickly regaining his composure. “After all this time, your lack of maturity still disappoints me. Not surprising, though, considering you were worshipped by the masses from a young age. But that worship, it doesn’t quite fill that emptiness, does it?” Klavier went pale.

Apollo let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “The hell does that mean?” he demanded, his voice echoing throughout the prison’s hallowed halls.

“All Klavier ever wanted, ever since he was a little boy, was to be loved. How asinine,” Kristoph drawled. “It was our parents’ love of soaps and Austen novels that...inspired him. Made him the romantic he claims to be. Personally, I don’t believe he was ever deprived of love. As he said, our parents adored him, our teachers and classmates thought he was just so charming...but apparently, that was still never enough.”

“Kristoph,” Klavier warned, eyes narrowing. “Halt mal.”

“Did you know, Mr. Justice, that he’s never been in a long-term relationship?” Kristoph’s gaze went to his brother’s reddening face. “For all his talk, all his literal song and dance about love, he’s never had what anyone would call a romantic partner. Just...sex and bad dates.” He cocked his head, looking at Klavier inquisitively. “Is no one good enough for you, Klavier? Is it that you haven’t found anyone yet? Or...is that you have found someone, only they have no intention of ever loving you back?” He neatly folded one leg over the other, smirking. “I’m inclined to believe the latter. I know your tastes, after all.”

“You don’t know me,” Klavier said lowly. His fists were clenched so tightly, he was leaving fingernail indents in his palms. “I don’t think you ever did.”

“That’s more than most people can say,” Kristoph replied. “When was the last time anyone cared enough to get to know you?”

Klavier reeled back like he’d been hit, his eyes wide and suspiciously wet. “I - I - ”

“Alright, enough!” Apollo said sharply, tugging on Klavier’s elbow. It took a few tries before Klavier moved away from the door, his chest heaving with emotion. Apollo cast him a brief, concerned glance - Klavier refused to look back - before stepping in front of him so he could look Kristoph in the eye. “You know what, Mr. Gavin?”

“Tell me,” Kristoph said, smiling devilishly.

“I obviously wasted my time thinking about what I was gonna say to you, if I was gonna say anything to you,” Apollo said, his own hands trembling by his sides. “But I’ve made up my mind. I-I’m not gonna give you the satisfaction of letting you continue to stroke your own ego. Save that for when you’re alone.”

Kristoph chuckled, amused. “I’m sure that sounded wittier in your head, Mr. Justice. Next time, perhaps.”

“Asshole,” Apollo muttered, pulling on Klavier’s arm once more. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before we do something that gets us thrown behind bars, too.”

Klavier was worryingly silent, barely managing to plaster on a polite smile for the security guards who led them out. By the time they returned to Klavier’s car, Apollo expected him to be furious, to be beside himself, to be completely falling apart. Instead, Klavier was smiling, leaning casually against the side of his car like nothing had happened. “Achtung, I’m starving. Where do you want to eat? I’ll pay.”

“I - huh?!” Apollo’s anger was quickly replaced with confusion. “Wait, we’re just gonna...eat? After all that?”

“Maybe today will finally be the day you have a meal with me, ja?” Klavier teased, his grin widening. There was no trace of emotion in his eyes that suggested he was feeling anything less than perfect. “I mean it, Forehead. You choose.”

“Um.” Apollo cleared his throat. “I...I guess I have a place in mind.”

_____

Klavier stared down at his food with more suspicion than Apollo had ever seen anyone have while looking at a bowl of ramen. “...Gavin?”

“This might contain more sodium than I consume in an entire week,” Klavier mused. He then picked up his chopsticks and began to eat. Apollo exchanged glances with Mr. Eldoon, who merely shrugged and returned to his station by his stockpot. Sighing, Apollo started eating, too. He’d given up on the notion of Klavier talking about what had happened, and honestly, he couldn’t blame him. There was a reason Apollo despised Kristoph like no other, even after all this time. The less said, the better.

“It’s good, right?” Apollo said, chuckling awkwardly. He wasn’t sure whether to go with small talk or stifled silence.

“My compliments to the chef,” Klavier said, loud enough so Mr. Eldoon could hear. He seemed unbothered, waving a hand in bare acknowledgement. “Anyway, what are your plans for the rest of the weekend, Herr Forehead?”

“The same thing I do every weekend - sleep, video games, more sleep,” Apollo replied. “How ‘bout you?”

“MIght go for a run tomorrow, it’s been some time,” Klavier said, popping a piece of chashu into his mouth. “But sleep sounds sehr gut, too. I worked more than usual this week, so maybe I should sleep in, get a massage…”

“Sounds...nice.” Apollo was starting to think silence was the better option. He felt seconds away from bursting with a dozen questions he knew he wasn’t going to get answers to. “Hey, are you - ”

“Do you - ” Klavier cut himself off with a soft laugh. “Sorry, you go first.”

“Are you feeling…” Apollo trailed off when he realized Klavier’s eyes were fixed on him intently; there was something in them that almost felt like a warning. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Never mind, i-it’s not important. What were you gonna say?”

“Do you…” Klavier went quiet for so long, Apollo turned back to his ramen, intensely aware of how close they were sitting, how uncomfortable they both felt. “...regret coming with me?”

Apollo nearly choked on his noodles in surprise. “Oh - no, no, n-not at all! I mean, it’s not like I wanted to see him again, but...I’d hate to think what would’ve happened if you’d gone by yourself.”

Klavier hummed. “...then let’s not think about it, ja?” Just like that, he was smiling again. This time, it looked off somehow. “Herr Blackquill told me Taka made a nest in your hair the other day. Your forehead makes quite the landing zone, doesn’t it?”

“You shut it or I’m stealing your egg,” Apollo threatened, elbowing him. Klavier laughed, making a point to eat the remaining half of his soft-boiled egg before Apollo could snatch it from his bowl. Hesitating, Apollo set down his chopsticks. “Actually, y’know what? Never mind my ‘never mind’ - are we really not gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Klavier reached for his tea. “I asked if you regretted coming with me, you said nein. What else is there to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know, everything?” Apollo shot back, trying not to raise his voice. He didn’t want Klavier to think he was angry at him - after all, for once, he really wasn’t. He just wanted something, anything, aside from Klavier’s too-bright eyes and his indifferent smile. “Gavin, he - I - ”

“I think I liked it better when you called me ‘Klavier’,” he commented, taking a long sip.

“Don’t change the subject,” Apollo said, frowning. “Look, I-I’m not saying we have to talk about it now, but are you...okay?”

“I’ll be better once I get that massage,” Klavier said airily, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I should book it now before I forget. Personal massage therapists can be so finicky, you know? Especially when I want something specific.”

Apollo narrowed his eyes. “I see what you’re doing, Gavin.”

“Making an appointment? Ja, Forehead, very observant of you.” Klavier turned to look at him, then winked. “Don’t worry, you’ll have my full attention again in a moment. I know you’re desperate for it. Just be patient, bitte.”

“You are impossible to talk to,” Apollo grouched, picking up his chopsticks again. “Fine, I give up. I guess I won’t, quote-unquote, ‘get to know you’ after all.”

“Hey.” The sudden bite in Klavier’s voice made Apollo jump. “Don’t do that.”

“I - ” Apollo shrunk in his seat, simultaneously stunned and subdued. “...sorry. Sorry, that crossed a line. It’s just - you’re…”

“I hate it when you sound like him.” Klavier turned back to his own food, pocketing his phone more forcefully than necessary. “It happens more often than you think, you know.”

“I...didn’t realize.” Apollo tried, and failed, to clear the lump in his throat. They ate in silence for the next few minutes, painfully aware of how their legs were pressed together, how they kept brushing against each other’s elbows and shoulders. “Listen, um...I know it might not seem like I’m on your side most of the time, but...if you wanna talk about it, I’m here. No judgement.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Forehead,” Klavier said, though not unkindly. “Anyway, I won’t bother lying to you, I won’t insult your intelligence. I think I do enough of that in court. So...I’d rather not talk about it at all. Why bother?”

“Why bother?” Apollo repeated, confused. “You don’t wanna, I dunno, process your feelings or whatever it is you’re s’posed to do?”

“And then what?” Klavier sounded more bitter than angry now. “Talking about my feelings won’t make them hurt less.”

“I...guess not,” Apollo said slowly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Right now, it seemed like nothing would bring Klavier any kind of comfort. “...besides, it’d be kinda hypocritical of me to ask someone to open up, huh?”

“I wouldn’t know. I...haven’t had the chance to get to know you, either.” Klavier finished his tea, then wiped his mouth. Another uncomfortable silence passed between them. “After all, it seems like neither of us is particularly forthcoming.”

Apollo shot him a bittersweet smile. “Yeah, that, uh, that about sums it up.”

Klavier then hung his head, almost as if he were ashamed of something, possibly himself. “...sorry, Apollo. I don’t mean to take this out on you, it’s just...I’m not used to this.”

“Visiting your brother?” Apollo guessed.

“Talking about mein Bruder.” Klavier gave Mr. Eldoon a grateful smile when he wordlessly came over to refill his tea. “Or talking to you, whichever one sounds better. Or, you know, worse.”

“Try all of the above?” Apollo suggested, managing to get a short laugh out of Klavier. “Hey, I’m just keeping our options open. And, um...it’s okay, Gavin, you’re fine. Things got...really rough back there. I don’t blame you for being...you know.”

Klavier nodded slowly, his expression inscrutable. Suddenly, he sat up like he’d just remembered something. “Ach, look at me - I still haven’t said danke schön for today!”

“Oh. You’re, uh, welcome?” Apollo turned back to his food and began shovelling noodles into his mouth, his face growing steadily warm; he wasn’t sure how else to respond.

“Wait, I haven’t actually done it yet,” Klavier chuckled, the light in his eyes gradually returning. “Danke schön, Herr Forehead, for coming with me to see Kristoph. For...cutting him off after he said...you know…”

“...that.” Apollo cleared his throat. “Yeah, I know.” They both went silent again, though it wasn’t nearly as stifling this time. Klavier waited patiently while Apollo finished his ramen, humming idly to himself. He seemed to be in better spirits now, though there was still a fog in the air that hadn’t quite lifted.

“I can tell you still have questions,” Klavier observed, right as Apollo was taking his last bite.

“I-I’m not gonna push it!” Apollo protested. “You don’t wanna talk, you don’t have to talk. Simple as that.”

“Pick the easiest one, then, and I’ll answer it. Just so you don’t walk away empty-handed.” Klavier’s smile was pleasant, friendly, as if he’d merely offered to play a game of twenty questions to pass the time instead. Apollo stared at him for a little too long, still unsure of how to figure Klavier out, if he’d ever figured him out.

“Okay. Um…” Dozens of questions seemed to flood Apollo’s mind all at once, none of which seemed “easy”. None of them seemed remotely appropriate to talk about here and now, not while they sat on rickety seats at a noodle stand on a colder-than-usual Saturday afternoon. He supposed there was one question that seemed less invasive in comparison, only he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer and all it implied. Apollo sucked in a breath. “Was he right about you, er…‘finding someone’?”

Klavier blinked. “...are you trying to ask me if I’m single?”

“Gavin, I swear to - ”

“Because I’d rather not get into it,” Klavier continued. “Ja, I don’t have anyone. But I do have someone. Someone who means a lot to me, even if...even though they barely give me the time of day. And...that’s all I want you to know.” His voice cracked slightly.

“I...oh.” Apollo was more confused than ever. “Fair enough, I guess.”

“I can’t believe that’s what you went with,” Klavier said, laughing quietly, more to himself than to Apollo. “Of all the things to ask about, achtung. My relationship status, Forehead, really?”

“Apparently.” Apollo finished his tea as well, then sat back with a satisfied sigh. “Well, this has been...awkward.”

Klavier couldn’t help but snort. “You don’t say.” He then softened. “I’m still grateful you’re here all the same. Even though it made you uncomfortable, you stuck around. Danke again, I mean it.”

“You needed someone to look out for you,” Apollo shrugged. “That’s why you asked me, right? Not ‘cos we don’t hang out enough or whatever that bullshit reason was that you gave me, but ‘cos...I-I was there. When it happened. I made it happen.”

Klavier stood, averting his eyes so Apollo couldn’t see his face. “You could’ve said no. To be honest, I was expecting it.”

“I’m sorry you expected it,” Apollo said, his voice barely above a whisper. For some reason, he felt as if he couldn’t speak at his usual boisterous volume. “And I’m not saying, y’know, sign me up again, but...if you ever go back...let me know, okay?”

Klavier merely hummed, then tossed a handful of bills in Mr. Eldoon’s direction before Apollo could even pull out his wallet. He wordlessly started heading across to the street where his car was parked, Apollo trailing after him. “What about you, Forehead?”

“Huh? What about me?” Apollo asked. He was really starting to get mood whiplash, though it definitely wasn’t the first time today or even the first time in the last ten minutes, not by a long shot.

Klavier smirked. “Have you…‘found someone’?”

“Wh-what the hell does that have to do with anything?!” Apollo exclaimed. “And even if I did, I-I wouldn’t tell you!”

“Then let’s keep our secrets, shall we?” Klavier sounded strangely serious all of a sudden; it sent a shiver up Apollo’s spine. “Let me take you home now, ja? I think we’ve had more than enough of...everything.”

“Agreed,” Apollo said, getting back into Klavier’s car.

The drive back to Apollo’s apartment would’ve been completely silent, if not for Klavier’s insistence on blasting the radio at nearly ear-splitting volume. It didn’t leave Apollo much room to be alone with his thoughts, though he supposed at a time like this, he was glad to not have the opportunity. He snuck the occasional glance over at Klavier, who seemed to be back to his usual self - drumming his fingers against the steering wheel, head bobbing along in time with the classic rock they were listening to, lifting a hand every so often to fiddle with his bangs. If Apollo didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought this morning never happened. He found himself wondering, of all the countless number of times he’d been around Klavier before, if he really was as calm, cool, and collected as he seemed to be.

“Have a good weekend, Herr Forehead,” Klavier said once he stopped outside of Apollo’s building.

“You too,” Apollo said, getting out of the car. He hesitated the moment his feet hit the sidewalk; he turned back to look at Klavier. “Hey, Gavin? Good luck with your...someone. There’s no point in me telling you, y’know, that you should think about moving on to someone who actually cares about you, ‘cos…” He swallowed. “...that’s just not how it works. You just - you end up feeling your feelings before you even realize you have feelings. And it sucks. Like, a lot.”

Klavier smiled ruefully. “Eloquent as ever, I see.”

“Gavin - ”

“But I appreciate the sentiment all the same,” Klavier finished, grinning. “Speaking from experience, are you?”

Apollo glared. “Gavin,” he repeated, more bitingly this time. Klavier merely laughed, tossing his head back as he did. His blindingly white smile was even brighter in the sunlight; everything about it seemed familiar to Apollo somehow.

“Ja, ja, I hear you,” Klavier said, still chuckling. “Auf Wiedersehen, Apollo.”

“See you around,” Apollo replied, waving as Klavier pulled away from the curb. He let out a long, desperately-needed exhale, then turned and headed into his building. Their conversation still felt disjointed, unfinished, and he knew he had to be okay with that. He had to, or he was never not going to think about Klavier and his indifferent smile ever again. Right as he reached his door, his phone pinged, informing him that he’d gotten a text message.

maybe we’ll get to know each other someday, ja?

Apollo bit back a smile, then sent a reply before heading inside.

I think I’d actually like that.

_____

a/n: Welcome to my third entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the first of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. So...this got angsty. Someday, I'd like to write a fuller version of this premise; I feel like Dual Destinies implies that Apollo and Klavier are closer than the way Apollo makes things seem, so I can definitely picture this happening. Also, I've mentioned this before, but I weirdly enjoy writing Kristoph despite him being, you know, Kristoph.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 276: Our Turn to Save You

Previously on BnHA: In a refreshing change of pace from the usual “the adults refuse to tell the kids anything” shtick, Deku and Kacchan flew around trying to get Tomura’s attention while refusing to explain jack shit to Endeavor! Deku eventually thought to ask Kacchan why he was getting in on this, and Kacchan launched into a two-page Denial Speech which seemed expressly designed to prime him for losing his quirk any fucking second now! Tomura then showed up and the two of them were all “KJSDLFK” but thankfully Gran dove in to rescue them from dying INSTANTANEOUS HORRIBLE DEATHS, and reminded them that there are practically SIX WHOLE GROWN-UPS left who can definitely still fight Tomura and won’t die at all!! And one of those grown-ups is Aizawa! Who’s getting ready to fight Tomura now! Listen Horikoshi you fucker, when I asked for more Aizawa angst and badassery this ISN’T WHAT I –

Today on BnHA: Tomura is all “THIS QUIRK WON’T STOP ME BECAUSE I CAN’T READ” and sort of shrugs it off and continues to kick ass even though his Decay and AFO powers aren’t working. The pros all try to stop him with Endeavor taking the lead, and because THEY ALL SUCK, APPARENTLY, nothing they do is effective in any way whatsoever! Meanwhile Gran dumps Deku and Kacchan off and is all “YOU’LL BE FINE HERE” which is the most ridiculous thing anyone in this manga has ever said, and then pretty much as soon as he says it at least nine more High Ends (excuse me, NEARLY High Ends) just POP UP OUT OF NOWHERE and are all “RARR” and the heroes are all “oh shit” and Tomura is all “lol yeah I actually had more High Ends this whole time” and Ujiko is all “it’s true!” and, fuck. The chapter ends with Tomura charging in to kill Aizawa only to be intercepted by MY TWO PRECIOUS BABIES, MY DARLING LITTLE HERO HATCHLINGS, and...!! I blame Gran for this.

gotta say, my sense of time is distorted enough as it is these days without chapter leaks coming out A WHOLE ENTIRE DAY EARLY out of nowhere. not that I’m complaining, because I want to see Aizawa kick some ass & immediately lose his fucking quirk as much as anyone, but it is disorienting

anyway time to dive into this chapter which I predict will be titled “everything instantly goes horribly wrong.” I’ve had a lot of time these past two weeks to think about what is going to happen next, and I’m pretty sure I nailed it you guys

so we’re opening with a familiar sight

I like that Horikoshi thinks that helicopters go “chop chop.” well, close enough

anyway, so yet again we have a scene in BnHA of a town in the process of being destroyed by villains while a helicopter whirs (WHIRS, Horikoshi) and chuffs (SOMETIMES THEY CHUFF TOO) anxiously nearby. I wonder if this helicopter is going to fucking disintegrate. that’d be something new

ARE YOU GOING TO DIE, MISTER LIVE REPORTER SIR. OH MAN. OH GOD I’M ANXIOUS

dozens, you guys! there are dozens of them left! not to worry then. the good guys definitely still got this

oh hey it’s that news anchor with the cutely fucked-up backstory of chopping off his own horn so as to more handsomely report the news

oh god don’t tell me this whole thing is going to be broadcast live. that’s all we fucking need right now. I wonder what’s going to throw society into chaos more, the reveal of just how powerful Tomura is now, or the exposure of what the government-mandated child soldiers get to do during their super-educational practical on-the-job training! no coffee-fetching for these kiddos! we’ve got ‘em rolling up their sleeves and getting their hands good and dirty!

oh hey and it looks like this means that All Might will get to watch protege #2 lose his quirk live on TV -- HEY WHAT ARE YOU SERIOUS

BAD BABYSITTER!! MY GOD MAN, I KNOW YOU’RE THE INDULGENT GRANDFATHER TYPE, BUT MAYBE CONSIDER CHANGING THE CHANNEL TO DOC MCSTUFFINS FOR THE TIME BEING??!

also I know this is just a perspective thing probably but lmao his hand on her shoulder is fucking huge. All Might you been working out again

but seriously this is not good for either of them to witness. they don’t need more trauma in their lives! All Might doesn’t need yet another thing to blame himself over! and he has conflicted feelings about Tomura still on top of that which I’m sure isn’t going to make this any easier. ANGST ALL AROUND. EVERYWHERE YOU LOOK, EVERYWHERE YOU GOOOO

MOTHERFUCKER I --

is Mitsuki looking at fucking baby pictures of Kacchan. reliving the memories of the good old days, thinking about how far her baby boy has come and how proud she is. that’s just great you guys. that’s just fucking great. these aren’t even red flags at this point these are red fucking tapestries

(ETA: and this basically goes without saying, but I’m sure the fact that not one but THREE Todorokis are represented in this little montage means that Endeavor and Shouto are also going to be just fine.)

:)

HE’S SO HAPPY just fucking try and tell me he doesn’t have a mental fucking link to Tomura and Deku you guys. this bitch knows exactly what is going down right now and he is LIVING FOR IT. that does it. someone please save my spot in the chapter for me I am going to go take a quick walk to calm down

and of COURSE that’s a fucking lie though, god -- [frantically clicks to next page]

LOL HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS

FUCKING MANUAL IS HERE TO SAVE THE DAY LMAO. YOU CAN ALL FUCKING RELAX NOW. and fuck me, I’m so fucking happy RockLockRock is still alive as well but WHY ARE YOU STANDING RIGHT NEXT TO AIZAWA IN WHAT I LIKE TO CALL THE “CAUTION: YOU WILL GET SHOT” ZONE. swear to god Horikoshi THAT MAN HAS A FAMILY don’t you even think about -- !!

sigh, anyway so then the rest of the page is panels of Gran & The Boys, Endeavor, and Tomura, along with the text “WHICH SIDE IS THE VICTOR”, which is not helping matters any! also the title of the chapter is “Cheating” which I assume is a reference to both the erasure of Tomura’s quirk, and the soon-to-happen permanent removal of Aizawa’s. I’m just an optimist like that

oh hey and Tomura’s sending out some quick orders to his squad as well

and to think this homicidal maniac is in my top ten favorite characters. sob. I do love you kiddo so please don’t take it personally that I have to unequivocally root against you here. maybe if you listened to me once in a while and would even just consider my radical alternate plan of not killing anyone in sight

anyway lol but here everyone including myself thought he was going straight for the bullets and instead he was pulling out his phone. shows what we know. [braces myself for the follow-up panel of him putting the phone away again and THEN reaching for the bullets!!]

meanwhile we’re being introduced to some new sidekick of Endeavor’s who’s probably going to set the record for shortest time in between being introduced and dying horribly. sorry Kido. I’m just jaded

don’t mind me I’m just putting up emotional walls in between myself and any new lovable characters as a means of self-preservation. mmhmm. he can manipulate the trajectory of things. that’s nice. he seems nice. wouldn’t that be a nice quirk for Tomura to steal and then trajector a bullet straight towards Aizawa ffffff

(ETA: watch this space, everyone. Endeavor’s Sidekick Kido. gonna fuck everything up for everyone, mark my words.)

so I can’t help but notice that now that Tomura can’t use his quirk anymore and is helpless, they have all decided to just sit around doing nothing again?

like. far be it from me to openly wonder why they are not immediately knocking him out or setting him on fire again or whatnot. I am just a lowly civilian. it’s not my job to question these things

(ETA: I must learn to be patient.)

also lmao at Manual saying Aizawa’s ankle is “twisted”, similar to how Deku is constantly “twisting” all of his arms and legs all the time. or did he mean “twisted” in the sense that his leg was pretty much literally wrung out like a fucking towel

anyway so Manual is waterbending liquid into Aizawa’s eyes like that’s supposed to help him NOT close them

has Horikoshi ever had water splashed into his fucking eyes. he and I have had very different experiences as to the effects of this apparently

there we go!!

at least someone out here is fucking trying. for a second there I was honestly worried we were going to see a repeat of “oh well he seems dead enough, let’s just leave, see you at the victory party this weekend, X-Less”

LMAO WHAT KIND OF NONSENSE

[GRABS THESE PANELS AND WAVES THEM IN FRONT OF THE UNCONSCIOUS HAWKS] DID YOU HEAR THAT. DO YOU SEE THAT, BOYO. FACTS. BEING WEAK TO FIRE IS, IN FACT, 100 PERCENT A CHOICE. IF YOU HAD JUST DONE MORE PUSH-UPS AND TRAINED HARDER YOU WOULDN’T BE IN THIS SITUATION RIGHT NOW. SMDH. YOU FUCKING WIMP. YOU RECREANT. YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED

hooooh man. hokay. whew. has anyone seen my suspension of disbelief. I’m so used to having it on me at all times when I read this manga that I must have let my guard down and now it seems I’ve spaced it out. well we’ll just keep a lookout for it

so now we’re cutting to Ujiko who is gleefully bragging that Tomura’s strength is on par with All Might Prime’s, which is just great. and now he’s also starting this sentence and then just... not... finishing it

that’s fine. you just trail off, then. hang those implications. whatever dude

meanwhile RLR and Manny are helping Aizawa limp away while he awkwardly has to twist his neck around to be able to still keep Tomura in his line of sight. I feel like there was probably a better way for them to do this but whatever

anyway thanks for confirming that Ujiko did make Tomura into a Noumu in addition to giving him AFO, though, Horikoshi! that’s very nice of you to unsink one of my theories like that. appreciate it

and hold up, so it occurs to me that “Being Fireproof” could still be a quirk, but just a mutant-type quirk rather than an activation type, meaning that Erasure would have no effect on it! aha! oh, there’s my suspension of disbelief lol it was in my pocket the whole time!!

anyway so Endeavor and Tomura are tussling but I really wish they’d be more careful because if Tomura is still capable of super strength and super speed then he could propel himself out of Aizawa’s line of sight really easily and I feel like this isn’t really helping

is it just me or do they look like they’re TRYING to jump in between Aizawa and Tomura, like?!?! GUYS

LMAO now Gran is just

SHUP. toss. dusts off hands. well that takes care of that

and apparently he’s under the genuine impression that a mere “now stay put you dumdums” is going to have any effect on these two whatsoever. lol okay. we’ll see

anyways YESSSSS, KACCHAN MEET GRAN, GRAN, KACCHAN

meanwhile Kacchan falls silent as he mentally tries to work out who tf “Toshinori” is lmao. I’M SO CHUFFED ABOUT THIS. YES THAT’S ANOTHER USE OF THE WORD “CHUFFED.” VERY VERSATILE AND REMINISCENT OF HELICOPTER BLADES WHIRLING

and now here’s a convenient map showing how far away Deku and Kacchan are from safety!

thanks for that. that’s so reassuring to have this nifty little visual

OH MY GOD GRAN

DO YOU WANT TO FUCKING DIE?? DOES EVERYONE IN THIS FUCKING ARC HAVE A DEATH WISH. MY GOD

“BUT FAR BE IT FROM ME TO LEAVE WITHOUT ANY OMINOUS FORESHADOWING!!” NO INDEED WE CAN’T HAVE THAT!!!

rather than focus anymore on how goddamn foreboding that is, I would instead like to take this moment to call attention to the fact that Gran apparently knows Bakugou’s name but not Present Mic’s. that’s amazing

sob

what good indeed. imagine if they couldn’t even do that. I imagine that would have some far-reaching consequences which might even be interesting to explore as part of a story

:O

I made the same face as them just now fyi

fucking Schrodinger’s High Ends. they only exist when the plot says it’s convenient for them to exist. maybe they’re like fairies and if you say you don’t believe in them they drop dead. where the fuck did these things actually come from?!

WAY TO DROP THE BOYS OFF IN THE MIDDLE OF NOUMU FUCKING CENTRAL MY GOOD MAN. MAYBE WE SHOULD SCROLL BACK UP AND UPDATE THAT MAP. GOOD JOB LMAO

WHAT THE FUCK

welp. they deleted Tomura’s quirk and then sent the strongest guy they had after him, annnnnnnd he went and beat him anyway in like two fucking seconds. so that’s. ... wowee. ...so do we have a plan b, or...

like, holy shit though?? and can you imagine the kind of psychological impact this is having on everyone watching this live on TV right now?? this is literally the anti-Kamino. holy fucking shit. also did Tomura lose an arm or am I just not understanding this image right?? NOT THAT IT SEEMS TO BE BOTHERING HIM IN THE SLIGHTEST??

(ETA: somehow I missed the fact that he is even calling attention to it lol. “I’ll raise [the other hand] when it’s back.” fucking look at Mr. Transcendent here who’s so powerful that when you tear his arms off all it does is make him more sassy. is he secretly related to Mirko.)

idk guys I really think my original chapter title was better

at least Endeavor isn’t fucking dead just yet. four more pages and you might actually make it out of this chapter alive my good man

blah blah blah flashback to Ujiko explaining that the Noumu could be activated by an electric current flowing through them, and that they’re programmed to move only on Tomura’s orders. you know. just more good news

oh hey but at least these ones are mindless so I guess it’s okay for the kids to kick their asses without feeling too conflicted. it’s just too bad “their strength is higher quality than the others” but you win some, you lose some

OH GOOD, THEY’RE GOING STRAIGHT FOR AIZAWA

I’M SURE THAT MIDORIYA “MY BODY MOVED BEFORE I COULD THINK” IZUKU AND BAKUGOU “I’M THE ONE WHO’LL GET PAYBACK FOR THAT DAY” KATSUKI WILL TAKE THEIR GRANDPA’S SAGE ADVICE AND GO AND HIDE WHILE THEIR TEACHER IS IN DANGER. IT’S NOT LIKE THEY’VE LITERALLY GONE TO SCHOOL FOR AN ENTIRE YEAR EXPLICITLY MAJORING IN NOT DOING THAT. YES THIS IS FINE THIS IS FUCKING FINE AND GREAT

NOW WHAT’S HAPPENING THERE’S LOTS OF RUBBLE FALLING AROUND AND STUFF MOVING AND SOMEONE IS TALKING

OH IT’S HIM

excuse me. EXCUSE ME. no, you are NOT. going to fucking die, Aizawa Shouta. HORIKOSHI KOUHEI!!! YOU’RE UNDER ARREST FOR THE CRIME OF DRAWING THIS FUCKING PANEL. THIS ONE, RIGHT HERE. YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE DOING. HOW DARE YOU. how FUCKING dare you sir

and if anything happens to RLR I SWEAR TO GOD!! you know what?! you know what?!?

STOP IT

[sitting curled up into a little ball with my knees drawn up to my chest, drawing little finger circles on the floor] I see. so he’s not even concerned about himself at all. it’s his two tiny little hero eggs, his problem children, and the fact that if he dies here there won’t be anything preventing Tomura from finding and killing them. ahh. okay. it’s okay. that’s fine

and goddammit what is he pulling out from his belt. everyone is on the same page here, right? Aizawa’s Not Allowed To Die. that was the deal. WHAT HAS THIS ALL BEEN FOR OTHERWISE

(ETA: yeah but he seriously did just pull a knife out of fucking nowhere though like the kid in that fucking vine lmao. APPARENTLY HE’S HAD IT THIS ENTIRE TIME?? “what if I just stabbed him” lulz. based on the way things were trending, I’m willing to bet it would have literally bounced off of Tomura’s chest at this point, but I’ll give him credit for making the effort.)

NOPE NOPE NOPE NO

(ETA: Shinsou being in the bottom corner... ;_; )

is anyone listening to me!??! I’m over here screaming myself fucking hoarse??! AIZAWA ISN’T FUCKING ALLOWED TO DIE??!! HELLO!?!?!

lol well at least RLR didn’t get steamrolled over

well everyone. we’ve reached page 18. one more to go. what are the odds we end with the boys arriving in the ta-da nick of time to defend their teacher. just who is watching over whom

THERE IT IS!!!

OH NO OH GOD AM I CRYING??! YOU HAD TO GO AND PUT THOSE FLASHBACK PANELS IN?? HIM SAVING DEKU AND CO. AT USJ, PLUS THAT ONE TIME HE DEFENDED BAKUGOU DURING HIS MOST VULNERABLE MOMENT IN FRONT OF A NATIONAL AUDIENCE??? “IT’S OUR TURN TO SAVE YOU”???

and they look so determined and desperate?? and the “Aizawa-sensei!” echoing in both their minds?? and meanwhile Aizawa looks fucking horrified though, because of all the... [gestures] you know? the Terrible Danger?? sob??

anyway. I really let this manga do this to me every damn week. let it just have its fucking way with me. at least Horikoshi didn’t end up breaking the law after all. I don’t know if I could continue to support a mangaka who is willing to commit an actual war crime. no touching Aizawa. OKAY?? OKAY

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: I Have Questions {2}***

Non-Bearded Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: Cursing, NSFW, SMUTTTTTT, DO NOT READ AT WORK

Words: 4.3

Summary: Steve is still acclimating to the twenty-first-century. It’s a simple fact that things in twenty-twenty are drastically different than things in the thirties. He’s been doing what he can to learn and thanks to you his go to source for answers his understanding of this time is setting in. Two and a half months have passed and it is Steve’s birthday. Again, he as a burning question for you.

Note: This was supposed to be for July 4th, Steve’s birthday, but because I don’t plan things and just fly by seat of my pants I started this super late and didn’t finish. With encouragement from @sonjashuterbugjohnson who says it didn’t matter if it was still is bday or not, here is a little Steve bday action.

Thank you guys for reading! 

***Loosely Edited/Proofread**

Previous Part: 1 |

????????????????????

   “You know he wouldn’t want a party to have all those eyes on him,” Wanda said.

 “Sometimes, it doesn’t matter what he wants. He needs this,” Tony added.

 “Him or you?”

 All eyes landed on Tony because everyone knew how Tony was. He scoffed and crossed his legs again. “Ha, you’d think everyone would appreciate the fact that I have enough money to make anyone’s dreams come true, including the great Captain America,” Tony huffed.

 “If you knew him you’d know he doesn’t give a damn about your money,” Sam slid in.

 “Fair enough. Still, none of this has amounted to anything. What exactly is the plan? What does he want?”

All eyes landed on you. Mid chew, you stopped and took all of them in. They thought you knew what Steve wanted. After you swallowed and took a sip of your ginger ale, you straightened.

 “Uh—how exactly am I supposed to know?”

 Nat, Bucky, and Sam smirked to themselves before they looked down. You wondered if they knew. You hadn’t uttered a word to anyone, and you and Steve had been very, very careful. You made sure not to act like you’d seen each other naked. You pretended like you didn’t know how to make his toes curl and he pretended like he didn’t know how you tasted. He did a shit job of it to you, but to others, it was believable. You snuck into each other’s rooms late and usually through the balconies because there were cameras everywhere. You made sure to keep as quiet as possible even though it was the hardest thing you’d ever done. Though Steve was a novice, he had an incredible ability to make your back arch.

 “Okay, you don't know, so how are we going to figure it out?”

 Tony’s impatience was shining through. It was evident once again he was used to getting what he wanted and getting it quickly. You knew what he would want, and a party wasn’t it. Steve liked his solitude, but as of late, he liked something even more than that.

 “A party is definitely not what he wants, though,” you said as you rose and walked out of the conference room, leaving them to deliberate while you found somewhere quiet to finish your food.

 After a quick walk, you found yourself on the room sitting at the ledge with your legs dangling over, just staring out at the most beautiful sunset. It was easy to get lost in it and get lost you did. You didn’t know how long you stared at it, but it was long enough for you to finish your crab salad and move on to your croutons.

 “I knew I’d find you here.” Looking back, you saw Steve walking to you.

 “If it isn’t the birthday boy—or man—or grandpa?”

 Steve rolled his eyes but smirked before he sat beside you. “You’re not funny.”

 Laughing, you popped another crouton into your mouth to loudly crunch on it. “I kinda am.”

 The two of you sat in silence for a few moments before you offered him a crouton. Steve took one and thanked you in his polite century-old way. You smiled and rested your head on his shoulder to finish watching the sun disappear.

 “Happy Birthday Steve.”

 You felt his lips brush your forehead for a tender kiss. “Thank you, sweetheart.” Your belly did backflips.

 “Everyone is looking for you wondering what you want to do for your birthday.”

 Steve sighed before he spoke, “They shouldn’t bother.”

 “A party was brought up,” you informed.

 “Not my style. I’d rather spend it with you quiet, relaxed, and cozy.”

 You smiled and looked at him. “Quiet, relaxed, and cozy, huh?”

 Steve smiled, and again, your belly did flips. “Yes, ma’am.” His lips met yours for a sweet kiss that remained that way. He didn’t try to intensify it at all. It was him saying he was content even if you didn’t have sex.

 The two of you hadn’t defined what it was that you were doing. You hadn’t sat down and talked about it or even come up with a title. You just went with the flow and enjoyed the time you had together. Two and a half months in, and you were still enjoying each other’s company and bodies.

 “I actually have a question,” Steve began.

 You slowly lifted your head. In the last two and a half months, he’d say this every time he was confused about something. Some times it was something easy and like why women showed so much skin now or why men seemed okay to disrespect women. Other times, they were about technology that seemed useless to him, like an electric bottle opener. It took him point two seconds to twist off any top. Then there were times when his questions were reminiscent to the ones that led the two of you down this path. His deep blue eyes met yours, and it only took seconds for you to know just what kind of question it was that he had.

 “I’m all ears, Mr. Rogers.”

 “So I was in Brooklyn passing by a gypsy shop,” Steve began.

 “Gypsy? You mean fortune teller?”

 “Right, that’s what they’re called now. Yes, a fortune teller. I went in and looked around.”

 “Why’d you go in? Did you want to get your future read?” Steve stared at you with a look you couldn’t read.

 “Curious,” he said as he looked away from you. “Anyway, I saw this book that I didn’t know what it meant.”

 “Do you have it?”

 “No, I was going to take it down, but the gyp—fortune-teller came out and recognized me. I had to make a hasty exit,” Steve explained.

 “Okay, what was the book called?”

 “Kama Sutra.”

 Again, your belly flipped, but it didn’t stop after a few seconds it persisted. You actually were having trouble catching your breath.

 “The—Kama Sutra. Wow,” you struggled out.

 “You’ve heard of it?”

 The only thing you could muster was a head nod.

 “What is it?” You just stared at him as everything you knew about the Kama Sutra rushed through your head. There was no way of knowing where to start. You must have been minutes because when you focused again, his mouth was moving.

 “Are you okay?”

 “Oh yeah, totally. Eh-em, the Kama Sutra is um, it’s uh—a oh boy.” You took a deep breath and slowly released it.

 “It’s an ancient Sanskrit text on sexuality, eroticism, and emotional fulfillment. It was translated and made into a book, several actually, and a lot of people use it as a way to enhance their intimate relationships.” You were shocked how professional you made it sound when everything in your head kept echoing “sex, sex, sex, sex.”

 “Sooo, it’s a dirty book,” Steve surmised.

 “No, not dirty. Okay, back in the early nineteenth century, and maybe in your time, it would have been considered scandalous it is not so frowned upon now. Now many people around the world use it as a reference. A lot of people even use it’s—teachings to enhance sex.”

 Steve’s eyebrow shot up, showing his burning curiosity. You smiled and made the decision.

 “Text everyone and tell them you’ve made other plans for your birthday,” you instructed.

 “Just what plans are these?” His smirk was utterly sexy, and you didn’t bother hiding his effect. When Steve saw you bite your bottom lip, he took out his phone and did as you asked. You held your hand out for it, then took yours out and dropped them onto the graveled ground.

 “I think this is also something that is best understood by doing.” You swung your legs over the ledge, planting them on the gravel then stood holding your hand out to him. Steve didn’t hesitate taking your hand and smoothly swooping his legs to plant them on the ground.

 “How will you--,” Steve began before you placed your finger on his lips.

 “Shh. Take off your clothes. I’ll show you.”

 Steve hesitated a moment as he looked around you.

 “Here?”

 “Right here,” you confirmed. Steve scoffed but reached for the buttons of yet another button-down shirt, but once there, he hesitated again.

 “Are you shy, Steve?”

 Your teasing had him unbuttoning his shirt. You watched as he undid button after button until he was peeling it off, showing you that beautifully toned flesh. Sucking your bottom lip into your mouth, you admired every inch of skin then dropped your eyes to his pants. You continued to watch as he removed those as well and kick off his boots. Soon he stood before you in all his glory. Your eyes slowly drank him in and appreciated every inch of him in the new darkness of dusk.

 You bent and used his discarded clothes to make a blanket to cover the gravel. When you stood again, you walked to him then around him. Slowly you trailed your finger along his skin, and slowly, you took in every muscle indentation and every smooth line. He was perfect. You wondered if anyone else would have had these results with the serum. You’d spent countless hours lying awake while he slept just touching him.

 “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

 “Not at all. The Kama Sutra is a lesson in sensuality and erotica. It is not all about racing to the finish line for instant gratification. It teaches patience and trust.” You stopped behind him and placed a kiss right under his shoulder blade and brought your hand down to squeeze his taut ass.

 “Y/N,” Steve warned. You smiled and hugged yourself to him when feeling his abs.

 “What, don’t trust me?”

 “I trust you with everything, including my life,” Steve corrected. Your eyes met, and again, the butterflies fluttered in your belly.

 Stepping in front of him, you kissed him softly once, then twice. Steve immediately intensified the kiss wrapping his arms around you to rest on your ass. You stood there giving him a taste of the sensuality the teachings stressed. Slowly you swirled your tongue around his and sucked it. Steve’s moans awoke the need in you that you’d kept in check for the last two days. When he firmly squeezed your ass, pulling you closer to him, you could feel his need pressing against your belly.

 Steve pulled his lips from yours and unzipped the jacket of your tracksuit then pulled it off of your body. As soon as he let it go, his hands were raising your tank top over your head. In seconds he had your bra off and was peeling off your pants. You could tell you were going to have difficulty with the patience part. Once you were standing before him in nothing but your underwear, he made a move to take that off of you, but your hands on his stopped him.

 “Slow, Steve.”

 “How can I when you look like that?” His lips connected to your shoulder to suck the skin there. You quickly got lost in how good it felt.

 In the last two months, he’d found each and every one of your spots, and he ruthlessly used the knowledge against you. The day you felt his lips here on your neck in the middle of a mission, you knew you were in trouble. Stepping away from him, you took a few calming breaths.

 “Close your eyes,” you ordered. Steve obeyed without protest. You liked that. He was still eager to please.

 Standing there, you got lost in his beauty for a few moments before you stepped close to him and peppered kisses across his chest and down his sternum. When you reached his abs, you gave them the salute they deserved. As you licked and kissed your way down each eight well-defined muscle, Steve’s breathing quickened. His anticipation was increasing. He was anxious to feel your mouth.

 Knowing that you decided to tease him more. When you were close to where he wanted you, you pulled away and kissed your trail back up his body. Steve groaned, and you knew it wasn’t one of pleasure, but displeasure.

 “In the Kama Sutra, it taught on the proper art of seduction. It’s usually a multi-night process of touching, kissing, rubbing, licking, and holding each other with no finish. Each night the couple would do this until they’d reached the pinnacle of need for one another. Once there on that night, there would be a special space for the act of lovemaking to happen. It was supposed to be somewhere that exuded sensuality. We’re improvising just a bit.”

 As you spoke, you kissed each part of his torso leading down to his pulsating member, but you never settled before him; instead, you focused your attention elsewhere.

 “Once at this special place, there was no mad dash for the finish line.”

 You stood, took his hand, and placed it on your breast. He didn’t move, though, he waited. Pleased, you moved his hand for him directing him how to touch you—not that he needed it. Steve had become an expert in your body in such a short time. It was incredible. He gently kneaded your flesh in circular motions before he changed direction only to forcefully pinch your nipple. A moan escaped you.

 In this place, both parties would do everything to increase intimacy, connection.”

 As you spoke, you moved his hand lower across your body, until his fingers teased the waistband of your underwear. He dipped his hand inside and quickly found your soaking core. Fighting the urge to moan again, you bit your bottom lip and allowed him time to explore. Steve pointer and middle fingers spread you while his thumb strummed your aching bud.

 A moan was strangled in your throat, begging to be set free. You fought it to speak. “There are even mentions that if done properly in the sensual act at the highest point of pleasure, a couple can transcend to another plane of consciousness where they could see the stars together.”

 His fingers felt so good, you were close, and he knew it from the subtle way your body trembled. When he moaned, you gripped his biceps to steady yourself. Though you spoke of going slowly, everything in you wanted to go against that and take your pleasure. Steve’s thumb stopped only to have his two fingers delve into your well-coated heat. You gasped out and threw your head back while holding onto him for dear life.

 “Shit,” you whispered. As soon as you said the words, Steve slipped his fingers out and removed his hand. Your eyes and head flew back to him. His eyes were watching you, intently.

 “Teach me more.” He lifted his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean of your juices. He wasn’t playing fair.

 Pulling yourself together, you stepped from him doing your best to steady yourself. “In the Kama Sutra, there were drawn and described positions that were meant to help with a particular function. For instance, there were a few to help with intimacy, some to help with pleasure, and so forth. The best way to learn the Kama Sutra’s teachings on eroticism is to experience them. Come to me, Steve.”

 Slowly Steve walked to you but didn’t touch. “Your first objective is intimacy.”

 “What should I do?”

 “Whatever you like, but keep the objective in mind,” you cautioned.

 Steve’s fingers began a trail at your wrists and brought them up your arms to your shoulders and then down across your shoulder blades to your tailbone. He didn’t stop there. Steve brought his hand around, tracing your hip to your stomach and up to your breasts. Once there, he rolled them between his fingers, making your eyes droop lazily. That was when Steve came in for the surprise kiss that took your breath away. If he was a man that had no experience whatsoever, he was now a man who had all the experience in the world. He swirled his tongue around yours and sucked on it before he nibbled your bottom lip and sucked onto it.

 Fuck, you thought. The man was not fucking around. Steve wrapped his arm behind you and held you flush against him sharing the searing heat of his body and the steady thumping of his heart that matched your own. Steve then dipped you down to your shared clothes blanket and gazed at you as if you were the most precious thing to him.

 “You’re so beautiful, sweetheart.”

 That damn nickname was going to be the death of you. He kissed you once, then twice, and trailed kisses down your body. His lips wrapped around your nipple, and it felt like an out-of-body experience. He languidly pleased you, teasing your flesh, making you pant as if you’d run a marathon. Steve kissed lower across your belly to nip the skin at your hip. The action had your thighs spreading and dropping back, giving him full access.

 Steve groaned. “You’re going to be the death of me,” Steve huskily groaned out before he dropped his head between your legs and showcased everything he’d learned in the last two months. His movements didn’t speak of urgency; they were the opposite. He moved as if he had all night, and there was nothing more important than your pleasure. When he sucked your throbbing bud into his mouth, your back arched and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. As you felt your release, Steve pulled back.

 “Objective reached?”

 A slow smile spread across your lips as you nodded. “Although I’d say you skipped ahead to your second objective.”

 “Which is?”

 “Pleasure,” you filled in.

 “Question, do you have objectives?”

 “Besides your full comprehension of the topic? Yes. Lie down.”

 Steve changed positions with you giving you access to straddle his abdomen. You could feel his cock pressing against your ass. His hands cupped your breasts and squeezed. His smile was still so innocent and pure. It must have been part of his charm. You kissed him and bit onto his lip. his guttural groan was the response you wanted, as was the nudge against your ass.

 “Be careful how far you tease me, sweetheart.”

 “Can’t take it?”

“I just worry for you when I am finally able to bend you over that ledge,” Steve sexily cautioned. You’d never wanted anything as badly as you wanted him to fuck you into unconsciousness.

 “Long gone is Captain Steve “Language” Rogers of old who didn’t know how to use the power he possessed to make a woman quiver,” you teased.

 “Thank fucking Christ for that, Steve sat. Your gasp had him laughing under the night sky. It was a sound you loved.

 “Captain Rogers,” you feigned shock. You knew damn well how filthy his mouth was behind closed doors. He was not the language police anymore. Steve sat up, wrapped you in his arms, and kissed you like a man confident in his ability to steal the breath from a woman—his woman.

 Your moans were in competition, his wanted full dominance while yours contested for that power. In the end, the battle continued even as his mouth sucked your breast into his mouth yet again. You hugged his head to you and stared at the sky. Thanks to the bright lights of Manhattan, the stars were invisible, but the beauty of the night sky was still easy to see. Pushing Steve back down, you slinked down his body until you came face to face with every eye-bulging inch he possessed.

 The man grew over a foot in height once injected with the serum and packed on over ninety pounds of muscle. The serum hadn’t stopped there, though. Your mouth watered in anticipation, and you could tell he was holding his breath. Deciding not to torture him any longer, you lowered your mouth over his engorged head and moaned when you felt it pulsate inside your mouth. Steve grunted loudly as he nudged up, sending several more inches into your mouth. Nearly gagging, you surprised the reflex and began bobbing on his need.

 Steve didn’t hide how good you were making him feel. He released moan after moan and curse after curse. It was thrilling to hear thee captain America overcome by pleasure and letting it show. You’d never thought about if he were a moaner or not, but you were pleased he was. After a few minutes, Steve’s hands were on your head, directing you, showing you just how far gone he was. When the velvety smooth tip of his cock touched the back of your throat again, you suppressed your gag and took all he offered.

 “Aaaah, fuck—yes!”

 In seconds he’d pulled your head from his length and was sitting up to turn you to the ledge he’d probably been making plans for. He kissed you along your spine before he sucked your earlobe into his mouth.

 “What’s next?” Steve’s voice was rough, but you knew it was just him being less in control of his desires. You could feel his need bobbing at your opening as he smeared your wetness across himself.

 “Connection and pleasure,” you moaned out just as Steve thrust forward, connecting you just as the first crack of fireworks erupted in the sky before you. The thunderous clap engulfed your shout.

 Steve didn’t go slow, and you were glad for it. He hammered into you, clearly needing every inch of your heat. As he fucked you, the fireworks lit up the sky. It was like it was planned just for you. After a few minutes, Steve’s thrusts slowed and became more passionate and sensual.

 “Sit back,” you moaned out. Steve did as you asked and sank back onto his knees in a sitting position. Looking over your shoulder back at him, you couldn’t help but lick your lips seeing his thick need standing right up like a gift waiting for you to receive it.

 “In the Kama Sutra, they call this the cave. It is to enhance intimacy, connection, and ranks high on the pleasure meter,” you explained before you lowered onto his cock. Every inch you sank, Steve groaned deeply. Before he filled you completely, you rotated your hips. When you did, you felt him nudge into you, filling you to the hilt.

 “Oh, sweetheart,” Steve whispered, pressing his forehead to your back. You moved on him first slowly then gradually picking up the speed. You rocked back and forth on him to the rhythm of how the fireworks erupted.

 Steve held you firmly against him and whispered the sweetest things to you, things that had your heart racing for a different reason entirely. When the fireworks picked up, you leaned forward and held onto the ledge then rode him with every intention to have him get as loud as the fireworks. Like clockwork every time you dropped onto his need, he gripped you tightly and let out a loud “ghha.”

 After a few minutes of you in control, he whispered in your ear. “Teach me more.”

 Rising off of him, you laid down. He wasted no time assuming the position and connecting your bodies again. You showcased your acrobatic and raised your legs until they were bent beside your ears.

 “My God,” Steve whispered.

 “A beautiful view,” you said.

 “Damn right it is.” Steve thrust into you, giving you all of him, and it was way too much.

 “Fuck, Steve!”

 The way he plowed into you had you feeling every sensation in the book. Every time he connected your bodies, the thunderclap of the fireworks was the rhythm he moved to. It was seconds before your orgasm overtook everything in you. You gripped him with every muscle you had, forcing a loud shout from him.

 “I’m coming, Steve!”

 As if that was what he needed to hear, he sped his thrusts and never slowed again even when you clenched around him again from yet another orgasm. He changed his angle as he arched onto his knees and dipped down into you.

 You could see his control was completely gone, and you knew he was close. Each encounter he was lasting longer and longer, but no matter the length of the session, he’d leave you exhausted. He thrust once, twice, and third time and you felt his release. As he did, you screamed out together.

 It took a few minutes for both of you to come down from your shared release. Once you did, you laid cuddled together, just watching the rest of the fireworks. It was the perfect night.

 “Happy birthday, Steve.”

 You looked at him as he looked at you. He kissed your nose and then your lips.

 “Thank you, sweetheart.”

 Again you settled in, watching the conclusion of the fireworks and enjoying the intimacy and connection you between you. There was no need for words. You were sure he knew what he meant to you.

 “Did you transcend and see the stars?”

 Steve groaned as he stretched a little. “I always see stars with you.” Your belly fluttered again. He wasn’t the only one who saw stars.

 “How’d you learn all of this?”

 You smiled and looked up at him. “I read a lot.”

 “I bet you do,” Steve responded.

 “You should be happy I have book smarts; otherwise, these lessons wouldn’t be nearly as informational,” you teased.

 “I am happy, incredibly happy. You make me happy.”

 You looked at him again and smiled. The man was on a mission.

 “Same here, old man. What’re you a hundred and two?” You snickered, knowing he hated the poked at his age. Steve rolled onto you.

 “I may be a hundred and two, but I sure can keep up with you young thing.”

 You laughed as he connected your bodies again, but as soon as the pleasure hit you, your laughing ceased immediately.

 “Not laughing anymore, I see,” Steve teased as he rekindled the fire deep within you. It was going to be a long night.

*******************************

[our-wargame]

when you say nothing at all

Summary: Dazai isn't called a genius for nothing. No one can self-sabotage better than he can.

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs) Characters: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Oda Sakunosuke (Bungou Stray Dogs), Minor Characters, Sakaguchi Ango (Bungou Stray Dogs) Rating: M (to be safe. In reality it’s T except for the swearing and references to sexual stuff but there’s no actual sexual content) Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Dazai Osamu is a Mess (Bungou Stray Dogs), Developing Relationship, Trust Issues, Slice of Life, Friends With Benefits, Light Angst, Self-Worth Issues, References of Sexual Content, As in 0 sex happening, although not for lack of trying on Dazai's part, That's Also His Biggest Mistake, I HATE THAT TAG BUT THAT IS THE FIC, Dazai's pretty trash but his greatest accomplishment, was getting Odasaku to love him Word Count: 2500 Notes:

co-written with SwordintheThrone (they have some ridiculously good shit, check em out.).

can be read on ao3

reblogs are appreciated ty

---

It's a shame that he has commitment issues, Dazai muses to himself. Because Odasaku isn't just the best fuck of his life, Odasaku is good to him.

Too good to him.

That's most of the problem. Odasaku will look at him, expression so gentle, so brilliantly sweet and patient and trusting, as if he doesn't think Dazai will rip him apart at the first sign he sees that as necessary. (Still, sometimes Dazai can stand it. Sometimes he even gives into it and the peace that comes with it hurts like a hell he could learn to adore.)

Is this self-sabotage? He doesn't know. And he's still fucking trash for pushing the issue away and ignoring it as he sends Odasaku a text to ask him if he's still not busy tonight.

Odasaku replies within the hour. I'm not, he confirms. Can I come over?

Dazai tries not to laugh, self-deprecatingly amused rather than annoyed at Odasaku's attempt to save him face. He's not that proud, he really isn't. 

He imagines if Odasaku were here, he'd tell Dazai that it has nothing to do with that. That Odasaku really does just want to spend time with him, and that's why during their last encounter, Odasaku casually, lightly mentioned the fact that he was free for the next week. Should they want to do anything. 

It is self-sabotage, Dazai comes to decide. Because no matter what Odasaku's intents were, Odasaku is going to end up in Dazai's bed, because Dazai desires it. And then Dazai won't be able to fool himself into either deciding the reason for this outcome is because Odasaku thinks Dazai knows himself well enough to make the right decision, or that Odasaku wants to give Dazai the choice to make bad ones.

Both options are better than thinking Odasaku just wants to fuck him. If he minded, which he doesn't, it'd be his own fault too. Everyone knows that you start texts with can we talk and not are you busy unless you want to bang.

Dazai closes his eyes, already tired of himself, even without having to pretend around Odasaku. He thinks about calling it off but that's rude and it'd make him look weak and it's all a lot more troublesome than going through with what he has so far. It's freezing but somehow, the heater is the one thing he doesn't have the energy to bother with as heg gets off his ass to fix up the apartment. He turns the TV on, keeps the volume nice and low on that channel that only replays old movies. Neither of them are wine people but that's what you're supposed to have for these kinds of occasions, aren't you? So he leaves a half empty bottle of sake on the coffee table. Lounges on the couch as he sips from his glass.

How classy is he.

A knock at the door. Odasaku knows it's already open and only does it to alert Dazai. But he still waits outside until Dazai calls, "Come in." It's so unnecessarily considerate of him, Dazai shivers. And hates Odasaku a little bit, even as he thinks about pushing Odasaku against the door and kissing the gentleman right out of him.

"Hey," Odasaku says as he closes the door behind him gently. He smells like takeout. Looks as rugged and handsome as ever. Dazai wants him so badly.

He moves his eyes to the TV as he puts down his glass so he can refill it. His hands are shaking, fuck. "Day go okay?"

"Yeah." Dazai listens for the sound of fabric shifting, Odasaku hanging his coat up on the hat rack. Soft steps signal Odasaku having taken off his shoes and switched them for slippers, walking light out of habit so they don't clack against the tiled floor. "And yours?" 

Dazai's half-distracted with trying to remember the last time they had sex for fun instead of thinking he needed Oda's body to make his own shut up. "It went okay," he replies to Odasaku, and it's a miracle he doesn't add, 'it's about to get better, I think.'

That would just be tacky.

He shifts on the couch, still a little chilly, but trying to signal Odasaku should come closer. 

"I brought you curry. And soup in case it's too spicy. Can I put it in the microwave?" 

Dazai blinks. His mouth starts curving up. "Odasaku, has anyone told you you're too polite."

"You probably haven't eaten." Odasaku easily ignores his teasing jab, placing the takeout on the kitchen counter but not quite walking behind it. "It's crab soup."

He hasn't eaten and yeah, he's a little hungry, and of course Odasaku knows all of this and brought him his favorite. But he doesn't like to eat before sex. It just makes him feel bloated and a little repulsed by himself.

Crab doesn't go with sake, he could try, only it does. He could try 'not in the mood for curry or crab', only Odasaku will probably ask him if it's okay to take a look at his fridge and make him something.

"I'm not hungry." He sips at his glass again. Isn't alcohol supposed to make you feel warmer? "Can I have a kiss?" He wants Oda's tongue burning up his mouth, wants Oda pinning him down and chasing the darkness out of him. It's a stupid thought. He humors it and waits for a reaction from underneath his lashes.

Odasaku's surprise is practically audible in the silence. Dazai starts to move over so the length of his gangly body stretches across the couch, then puts his elbows on the armrest and props his head up to watch Odasaku. Please?

Odasaku closes in slowly, but Dazai finds himself holding his breath, nervous anyways. He can feel his heart in his throat, feels it pulse when Odasaku bends down, warm hand sliding up Dazai's face, cupping his chin. Dazai tilts it up as his eyes fall closed.

And then his breath catches, when Odasaku kisses his forehead instead.

He blinks and Odasaku's already straightening. Retreating to give Dazai space.

"Odasaku...." That's not what he wanted, but-

Odasaku prods his elbow and Dazai takes the cue, pulling his limbs back and sitting up straight. Odasaku takes a seat besides him, their shoulders a couple of inches from touching. Looks at the TV as he says, "Can I hold you for a bit?"

He has to think about this one. Says, "okay," even as he thinks about how he doesn't really want to be touched, at least not if it isn't Odasaku pushing Dazai onto his back.

Odasaku shifts his weight forwards so he's sitting on the edge of the couch and able to comfortably reach for the coffee table. He pushes Dazai's  glass inwards- farther from Dazai- and then picks up the remote. When he readjusts his sitting position again, he's still sitting a few meaningful inches away from Dazai. And now he's left his arm stretching over the top of the couch.

It's such a date move, except it's them. Odasaku is doing this for Dazai.

He hates Odasaku a little more in the moment. He hates feeling inconvenient, because it's a reminder he cares about what Odasaku thinks. The desperation of his attachment- he's so fucking weak, it's pathetic. God, he disgusts himself. 

"Are you getting enough sleep?" Odasaku asks. Dazai is still leaning away from his arm, but he's not breathing as hard and so he supposes, this is good.

"No." He hasn't. Before they started their arrangement, Dazai would have answered that with a smirk, an 'is Odasaku coming on to me or am I still daydreaming?' 

The stunt actors throwing themselves across the TV screen are alright. If this were also back then, Dazai would poke Odasaku, tease and bet that he could do it better. Oda would consider it in his seriousness and Ango would scold them both into the next year. Everything's different now and he's not sure if he likes it or loathes it, even though having to ask himself which one it is, is pretty determining. 

Five minutes is how long it takes for him to finally calm down, enough to shift and holds himself against Odasaku's side. Odasaku radiates warmth. The rise and fall of his chest is steady. Dazai tries to ignore it. His neck prickles.

Some more minutes trickle by before Odasaku murmurs, "Can I take you to bed?"

"No," Dazai blurts out immediately, because he understands what Oda is saying, but the answer is no because it'd stress him out, be even worse than the little fiasco going on right now. He'd have to try and force himself to sleep around someone who should be a source of comfort and failing that would just be gloriously useless of him-

"Okay." Odasaku says, gentle. "No worries." A pause. "Would it help to invite Ango over?"

Dazai breathes. It would. He can put on a front if it's for people, if it's for friends. It's harder to put on a show if it's for individual people; he has to make sure their gears mesh together but they're so damn complicated. Odasaku more so, than most. 

"We should drag him out of the house a little more."

Dazai opens his mouth. It's not you, he wants to say, urgent, needy for someone else to know what he does. Odasaku, you're not the one making me uncomfortable, it's me.

"Maybe you can teach us how to make hot pot?" 

Dazai wants to yell. Fall apart out loud for a change. They're monsters, not shadow puppets on the wall, and they don't go away when the sun comes up or what their parents say it's bedtime, for real this time. Oda's trying too hard, and it aggravates him. 

Odasaku can't wrap his arms around him and make him okay. That's never going to be him. He's afraid that Odasaku still doesn't know that, and he doesn't know what Odasaku will do when he really, really understands this. Even if Odasaku doesn't leave, Dazai can't stand the thought of Odasaku suddenly thinking less of him. It'll be just like losing him.

"Dazai?"

He shakes himself out of it. "Yeah. Call him." He pauses. "Can I have the crab soup after all?" He's still not completely ready to hug it out with the idea of eating, but it'll give him something to do.

Oda rises. Dazai stares at the grace, the strength in the lovely curve of his back. He feels cold all over again.

Oda glances over and holds his hand out. Dazai stares at it for a second before he lets Oda lead them away, carrying the two empty glasses with him in his free hand. Dazai pulls away to work on transferring the takeout into bowls to send them off to the microwave while Oda runs the glasses under tap water, swishing the residue round and round before drinking it down and then washing them clean.

The smell of reheated curry overpowers the room. Oda watches Dazai drop into a chair and then watches Dazai plop spoonfuls of curry rice into his soup, stirring this way and that.

"Did you know," Odasaku says, and Dazai looks up at him. "You have happy-cat face."

Dazai sputters. "I'm sorry, I have what?"

"Happy-cat face."

"Odasaku," He purses his lips, but he can't stop his shoulders from shaking. "Odasaku, that's not a thing."

Odasaku keeps his gaze, the slightest rise of his eyebrow explaining yes it is because you have it.

"You're so silly. Did you know that?"

Odasaku hums. When he dials Ango, he places his phone on the dinner table. Dazai's eyes gleam as he shouts like he's from the next city over.

"Oh my god," Ango's voice is very grumbly. "Odasaku-san, please remove me, I think he broke my ear."

Oda turns off loudspeaker and brings the phone against his ear. "So when are you coming over?"

"Ugh, give a man twenty-minutes. I still have work to do."

Dazai throws himself into Oda's side, squashing his face against Oda's other cheek as he chirps, "Tell him all work and no play makes Ango grouchy. And that he has old-man energy."

"Tell Dazai-kun, I think his Brat Card should have an expiration date."

"Tell Ango, there isn't an expiration date on fun~"

"Tell Dazai-kun-"

Oda disentangles himself from his executive, passing him the phone and letting them go at it. Dazai sits back down, adjusting himself so he can bring his knees up to his chest and leave his feet on the chair seat. Even as he chatters away, he keeps his eyes on Oda, who moves to wash out the takeout containers. He reuses everything because he's an environmental dork. Dazai would be more of one if he wasn't interested in dying before the planet. Still, watching Oda so patient, quietly determined to withstand the overpowering...it makes Dazai soften.

"Hey, is Odasaku-san still there?"

"Nope." Dazai says, popping the p. "Odasaku is busy. Being perfect."

"Yeah, yeah. Why don't you two just get married already? Make it official and everything."

He doesn't recover as quickly as he'd have liked. "Ango, weddings are not good places to pick-up women. They're all crazy. And non-sober. And crazy. We'll find you your little lady elsewhere, don't you worry." He watches Odasaku shake off the excess water into the sink, wiping the counter dry and putting the containers to the side. Then he dries his hands, he drifts over to the living room and picks up the remote.

"Ha. Not that I wouldn't reject your delightful request to be your best-man, but are two groomsmen allowed to be each other's best man? I think so." 

"Has anyone ever tell you not to drink on the job, Ango?"

"Speaking of which, you'll have alcohol waiting for me, right? I had to train a new accountant today. If it was there, you would have fainted from the painfulness."

"Delightful. So. How much longer?" He'd really like for there to be someone other than Odasaku around him.

"That depends. I don't want to walk in on you two fucking."

Dazai sighs into the receiver. "It's not my fault. Odasaku has a really nice dick."

He can practically hear Ango roll his eyes. "Don't expect me anytime soon then."

"So. Fifteen minutes?"

"Yeah, alright. See you dumbasses then."

There's no immediate beep! Ango is waiting, letting him end the call. Dazai shakes his head. His friends are really something.

Odasaku keeps flicking through the TV channels, only looking up when Dazai leans over the couch from behind, gently resting his chin on the top of Odasaku's head.

"Hi."

"Odasaku's hair is really soft."

"Thank you."

"Odasaku smells very nice. Like mango-watermelon. And curry."

"Thank you." Oda sits very still so he can hand Dazai the remote without jolting him. "What do you want to watch?" 

Dazai breathes. In, out. "Anything is fine."