#and i think i can explain things by explaining them More and Better and More

[nebra-sky-disk]

im approaching this in good faith, but i worry you are being glib. i think you're far too keen to big up your own experience while dismissing the experiences of other ppl. like when you say "well my orgasms dont reinforce me" and then generalise that to the entire population. like cmon. climax is obviously going to be deeply reinforcing, its entire biological purpose is to reinforce whatever behaviour lead to mating, because that is pretty much the thing that our bodies maximize for, reproduction. what u said abt food, its also a pretty bad argument, because you say that people dont seek out "more intense" food sensations yet high sodium diets are correlated with being overweight. and also just think for a minute about how many people are overweight lol. like if something as simple as "mm food yummy" is enough to make people live lifestyles that are seriously bad for their health just think what an orgasm can do. there's a further point to be made abt how porn can be compared to fast food and actual sex/intimacy/connection can be compared to, ya kno, the stuff we're supposed to eat, but im in a bit of a rush so you can just imagine it

also dismissing the whole fetish thing offhand is pretty daft when supernormal stimuli and neuroplastic reinforcement are pretty standard explanations for how fetishes and other behavioural quirks develop. also as another thought, there is an entire field of food engineering designed to make food as ultra-palatable as possible (supernormal!) and it obviously works lol. you also have mechanisms like the coolidge effect etc showing that novelty is a huge and important element of the sex drive which is part of that novel stimulus escalation mechanism. this doesnt mean that EVERYONE becomes a super ultra gooner just that it can and does happen

your dismissal of the widespread phenomenon of men reporting unhappiness, difficulty in stopping, difficulty in intimacy, unwanted arousal, all that shit, and they find that it gets better when they stop using porn, i think there are far too many cases and communities to just dismiss them all as "depressed" feels very lazy on your behalf. like the fact that so many of them are making that link, yes its self reported, but it should be enough to make u pause and think. writing them off as just depressed and actually their porn use is fine is a very oh-so-convenient explaination that feels very much like motivated reasoning. at the core of this matter its that, maybe some ppl or maybe even most ppl can use porn without being negatively affected, but it definitely seems to be the case that SOME ppl are affected negatively, and as it stands, pretty much every young man is exposed from a veryyy young age (that gets younger and younger every year) to pretty violent porn, its trivially easy to find rape, cnc, incest, w/e, and esp with young ppl it seems to be that it should be enough to give us pause. you yourself in a previous post where i referenced hollow men being influenced- basically saying, they're dumb and can be affected, and you said that was plausible. most people aren't very smart. you can't just say "well this hasn't happened to me so its not real".

i'm not saying that porn is some psychic evil that damns you if you watch it, im saying that repetitive exposure to violent content and reaching climax while viewing it every day for years will affect how ppl come to view that content over time, especially! if they do it since adolescence.

finally what you said abt my post reading like erotica, i have literally no idea how to interpret that, other than that the tone of what i wrote is somehow relevant to the truth of what is being said. this is obviously a poor rhetorical technique though im not sure at all what point you wanted to make. all i can take from it is that it says more about your pov than mine lmao

So like, it's obvious to me reading the comments on my post that anti-porn people are largely like, afraid of porn. Like the concept of a sex video is really spooky to them. They're not making thoughtful critiques of the porn industry, which is genuinely a really fucked up industry, they're mostly just spooked by the concept of a sex video and what it could Do To You If You See It.

I said this in another post, but it's like, the difference between "a ton of coffee is produced using slave labor" (valid, important criticism of the coffee industry) and "coffee turns people into raving coffee addicts who forget how to interact with anyone because they're so obsessed with their coffee" (objectively not true, insane viewpoint).

It's literally just sex videos. They really cannot hurt you.

[ladyloveandjustice]

One thing that always bothered me as a kid, and still bothers me, is it honestly makes so little sense Steph didn't rank super high on the scale of Martial Artists after receiving the Robin training, if it's so amazing. Considering what she could do while untrained, the experience she had, it's baffling that no one ever considered her a prodigy, or that she wasn't at least notably more skilled than say, Tim was, when she started out as Robin.

Like, Steph was in the field and knocking out grown men twice her size with zero training. It was not even mentioned that she took martial arts classes or anything to explain how she can do this, just gymnastics and softball. And both were high school gymnastics, high school softball, not fancy expensive classes??? Even Babs, in Batgirl Y1 had the advantage of having taken martial arts classes and presumably a lot more since her goal was to be in the FBI.

Meanwhile Steph like. She's jumping off rooftops and surfing trains and taking down bad guys with nothing. Tim's gone through extensive Batman training and trained with Lady Shiva and all this stuff, and obviously she's not as good as him and needs him to watch her back at times, but she can keep up with him, and even saves him or get the jump on him quite a few times, and that's incredible when you think about it. Tim gave her gadgets and instructions in the field, but it's never shown that he taught her any moves.

There's even a panel where Batman notes Stephanie almost snuck up on him and "not many people can do that" when again, no training, no martial arts classes, this is way before he agreed to give her any help at all-- and then for some reason, after noting this girl with no training is more talented than most people he knows, just keeps telling her she's not good enough and should go home.

That's a ridiculous level of raw talent, and it's honestly so bizarre nobody in the Batfamily ever noted that and kept telling her to go home. When she does get training, it's very sporadic, it is not clear how much Batman or Black Canary trained her the first time, he disappeared on her and then fired her as soon as he came back, and we never saw her get trained on screen by Dinah (the only person who ever acknowledged she had talent). She sparred with Cass, but Cass never taught her anything. Despite all this, she was noticeably getting way better during the era.

But when she received the six month Robin training that's supposed to make them so strong or whatever...how did that not result in her being a prodigy? She's the only Robin who was an experienced superhero before she took on the mantle?

Bruce literally tells her "Tim did this better" when he was training her about something, which makes no sense considering she came into being Robin with way more skills and experience and martial arts prowess??? When she was surviving on her own and fighting villains before that? When she could nearly sneak up on Bruce even before that?

You could claim she's a "bad student" or whatever, but she was a clearly very good at taking her gymnastic coach's instructions, enough to become a genius at it, so that doesn't really hold water.

The only explanation that would make any sense would be that Bruce taught her badly on purpose. which. unfortunately wouldn't be too far out of character from how he treated her in that era. (And that she apparently improved a lot under Babs tutelage as Batgirl but not his. So. Not a good look for him)

I mean the real answer for why all this makes no sense is DCs misogyny ofc. But it’s pretty wild how there’s no justification for this in universe.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I'LL TAKE A QUIET LIFE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: you didn't mean for things to turn out the way they did—you swear you really didn't. but when a certain someone decides to provoke you when you're trying to do the right thing… well. things take a turn for the worse. all you wanted was to peacefully borrow dazai for his birthday, whisking him away for a one-week getaway from the city and work, but you know how dazai is, and you couldn't risk any of his coworkers letting something slip. so, now, instead of a nice peaceful surprise and maintaining relations with the agency, you've had to resort to kidnapping. again. you'll make the most of it anyway.

(word count: 13.2k, fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, dazai-typical suicide mentions, past suicide attempts referenced, oral (male receiving), a bit of face fucking, unprotected sex, a little overstimulation, minor implied ptsd episode/grieving (reader))

AUTHOR'S NOTES: HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY TO THE CUTEST BOY IN THE WHOLEEE WORLD WAHHHHHHH take a cute little post-canon fic for the big day<33 i am so proud of how this fic came out. before you read, i do want you guys to take note that there's a bit of a time jump—i have this fic set around 5-6 months after the ada-pm swap fic. i have a lot to say about this fic so maybeee come back up here at the end to read this because there are some spoilers for it ... this is ur last warning ....... ANYWAY, so as you all know (even though you have no faith in me) pmreader universe DOES have a happy ending. to get to that happy ending, the biggest hurdle that needs to be crossed is what was addressed in one of the more recent pmreader fics (i think i've seen this love before): dazai struggles to find a reason to live. i can't really see him marrying pmreader when he still feels so hopeless about himself/living, for HER sake more than his mind you, because he knows he's very fickle with life and doesn't want to marry her and then leave her behind. so i do think that this is a necessary step to the happy ending: dazai needs to acknowledge that he does see himself having a future with her & their relationship gives him a reason to wake up in the morning. now, this of course doesn't take away from his depression—i dont want any of you to misunderstand and i dont think you will, but i just want to make it clear that him acknowledging this doesn't take away from his depression. it's something that i headcanon dazai struggles with his whole life, but i think this is a necessary step to the happy ending. also on another note, pmreader !!! i hope her whole thing doesn't feel like it comes out of the blue. once they get together again at age 22, i hc that the first few months of their relationship are so chaotic that neither of them can fully come to terms with their situation, and once she does, she really does begin to doubt things. because of course she loves him, and she wants him to feel like he's fulfilled odasaku's last request so he can feel better about himself, but she starts to feel like her presence in his life might be holding him back. so those lingering doubts + her doing something that reminds her of a past she can't remember puts her in a rlly vulnerable space. AND I THINK I CONVEYED IT WELL, but i just like explaining. ANYWAY if you guys got this far, i love you, thank u for entertaining my rambly thoughts

Dazai is over three hours late to work, but in his defense, it’s his birthday, and not even Kunikida is cruel enough to scold Dazai on his birthday. Still, he very much expects dirty looks from the man, and maybe a few loud comments about his terrible work ethic, but that’s just Kunikida. If he wasn’t giving Dazai dirty looks and making loud comments, Dazai would be concerned.

Which is why when he steps into the office at half past twelve and is met with dead silence, Dazai knows something is wrong. He shuts the door quietly behind him and looks around warily, trying to figure out what’s going on. There’s no sign of forced entry or any fighting—there’s an untouched stack of papers in the waiting area that he assumes are from a new client, and a hot coffee still steaming next to it. 

It’s all so unassuming, it’s what he expects coming into work, but it’s too quiet. He can’t hear Naomi bothering Tanizaki, he can’t hear Yosano complaining about the stick up Kunikida’s ass or Kunikida promptly scolding her for her language, he can’t hear Kyouka, Kenji, and Atsushi chatting away whenever Kunikida is pulled away by something. There’s no furious typing from the clerks as they fix all of the mistakes in the reports being filed, and there’s no sighing when they think they finish, only to realize that there’s another report, likely one of Dazai’s, waiting for them to edit.

It’s too quiet, and that’s how Dazai knows something is seriously wrong.

When he steps into the office, he almost expects nobody to be there—maybe they were all called out to some emergency mission, and Dazai is going to have to race to catch up with them. 

What he doesn’t expect is finding his coworkers all sitting stiffly and silently in their seats, and a heavy Port Mafia presence all over the room. Hirotsu is leaning against the far back wall, a cigarette dangling between his lips, Gin is hanging over Haruno, carelessly playing with one of her knives, and Tachihara is trying to convince Atsushi to play a game of cards with him as if Akutagawa isn’t looming right behind him. 

If it were just the Black Lizards, Dazai thinks that they’d probably fight back, but naturally, the red-headed slug is here too, leaning up against the wall with Hirotsu, arms crossed and a bored expression on his face. Dazai’s eyes narrow when Chuuya gives him a smirk that’s far too smug, but the insult on his lips dies when his eyes land on the last person in the room.

You’re sitting on top of his desk, a pretty smile on your lips and a glitter in your eyes that promises no good. You look beautiful, and Dazai’s chest feels all warm and fuzzy—he hasn’t seen you in a few weeks now because you’ve been abroad dealing with pressure from some foreign organizations, and he didn’t think you’d be back for his birthday. He’s so enamored by the sight of you that he almost doesn’t catch the glint of metal on your lap or the way Kunikida is sitting tense at his desk next to where you’re lounging.

“Hey,” you say easily, like there isn’t a gun in your lap pointed at his coworker, safety off, finger firm on the trigger, ready to pull it at a moment’s notice. “Happy birthday.”

“What-” Dazai starts to say, baffled, but flinches when he feels something prick his neck, head snapping to the side to focus on a vaguely familiar figure now standing at his side—your new subordinate, Dazai can’t remember his name. 

Whatever he injected Dazai with works fast, because he’s instantly dizzy, his gaze blurring, and his head all woozy. Just as his knees start to give out, he feels the kid grab under his arms to make sure he doesn’t hit the ground, and he hears you say proudly: ���This is a kidnapping.”

---------

In your defense, you really did try to talk things out peacefully with the Armed Detective Agency before resorting to this. 

You weren’t planning on kidnapping Dazai, but you knew he probably didn’t call out of work, and the last thing you needed was to be scolded by Mori for causing any more tension between the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia if they realized that you were the reason Dazai didn’t show up to work. 

Things have been rocky on both sides since the failed transfer—the Agency because the Port Mafia dared to take one of their own, and the Port Mafia because the Agency reneged on their deal and took their member back—but you can’t afford for things to be rocky when things are still incredibly unstable. So instead of just picking up Dazai and leaving for a few days and possibly pissing off the Agency for not giving them any forewarning, you decided to do the right thing and tell them before disappearing with one of their detectives.

Except the President of the Agency isn’t in town. So, you were stuck dealing with that bullheaded blonde who clearly still holds a grudge over the incident with Pushkin and he decided to act on his grudge by making your life as difficult as possible. 

All too smugly, he refused to give Dazai leave for the week because they have an emergency case that needs all hands on deck, and when you offered up Klaus to replace him, much to the boy’s abject horror, he refused. Then you offered up Klaus and Akutagawa, and he still refused. You even proposed giving them Chuuya for the week, and that wasn’t enough, so that’s when you realized he was just being difficult to be petty.

And you doubt the man actually would’ve forced Dazai to miss out on time with you on his birthday, Dazai is his friend and he’s not that much of an asshole. He probably would've okay'd it as soon as Dazai showed up to the office, but he was clearly just trying to be a pain in your ass. And well, you didn’t take that kindly, obviously, so all thoughts of preserving the fragile peace went out the window as you quite promptly demanded all hands on deck for a possible conflict because you were not going to let Kunikida Doppo keep that smug expression on his face for a second longer.

Was Chuuya happy about it? No, you could tell when he gave you a side eye after he showed up, but you knew he wasn’t going to sit by and let the Agency get one over you. So, he was content to stand there as a looming threat, because you were pretty sure that the Black Lizards weren’t going to be enough to scare the Agency into backing down, but the threat of Nakahara Chuuya splattering one of their own against the wall so that there was nothing left for their doctor to revive was more than enough to keep them down.

The Black Lizards and Akutagawa didn’t have the authority to question your orders, and Klaus was more than willing to spill blood at any given moment, so the only thing you have left to worry about is Mori, and you’ll deal with that once you get back from your getaway with Dazai. If Chuuya’s feeling nice, he’ll probably handle it for you, but you don’t think he’s pleased with how you offered him up like a bargaining chip to the Agency.

Your lips curve up into a smile when Klaus tosses Dazai over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Was drugging him unnecessary? Probably, but you didn’t want to deal with his smug ass making comments about the lengths you go to so that you can steal him away for the week the whole way up to the house you and Chuuya bought on the coastline of Hokkaido. It wasn’t just for Dazai—it was your own pride on the line too, it was the principle.

As you motion for Klaus to bring Dazai out to the car, you rise to your feet and look down at Kunikida. You place your gun under his chin to tilt his head up so that he’s looking up at you; he swallows thickly as he glances down at where your finger is still resting on the trigger, throat bobbing before he glowers at you. You give him a too-sweet smile.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” you say, very pleased with yourself. You look back at Chuuya, signalling him to come with you as you put your gun away and start to make your way out of the Agency. You lift your hand in a lazy wave before saying, “I’ll bring him back in a few days.” 

It’s only when the door to the Agency shuts behind you that he finally speaks to you, hands shoved in his pockets as he says dryly, “Mori specifically told us not to antagonize the Agency over the next few weeks.”

“The Agency antagonized me,” you reply airily. “It would’ve been a terrible look for us if we let them walk all over us and come out unscathed. There are already too many rumors circulating in the East about us being weak after the Guild Incident, and now, Dostoevsky, the failed transfer, and the Clocktower—preserving our reputation is more important than relations with the Agency.”

Chuuya barks out a laugh. “You can twist anything to fit your narrative, can't you? If you weren’t an executive, you’d make a great lawyer.”

You raise your eyebrows, unfazed. “It’s not twisting if it’s the truth.”

He scoffs, muttering something under his breath before shaking his head as he holds the door to the cafe open for you. “Right. Next time you decide to ‘preserve our reputation’ through a diplomatic disaster, at least give me a damn warning first.”

“There’s no fun in that,” you say with an easy smile. “Will you deal with Mori while I’m gone?” 

“You’re shameless,” Chuuya tells you flatly. “No, I’m not dealing with Mori. You just tried to pawn me off to the Agency like a fucking mule. You can deal with him.”

“Please.” You flutter your eyelashes at him, pushing your lip out in a pout that has him rolling his eyes. You scowl and then offer, “I’ll take over your mission in Sapporo when I get back.”

“Deal,” Chuuya agrees immediately, reaching out to open the car door for you. You slide inside, and he shuts the door behind you; you immediately roll the window down. He gives you a sharp smile, resting his arms on the car door and leaning in. “I would’ve dealt with him either way.”

“I know because you’re a sucker,” you reply, raising your eyebrows and giving him an equally sharp smile. “I just thought I’d be nice and offer you something in return.”

Chuuya clicks his tongue sharply as he leans back. He stands up straight and gives you a side eye. “Bitch,” he mutters, but there’s a fond smile on his lips. “Enjoy your week with that bastard, you’re gonna be in for hell with Mori once you get back.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” you say dryly, turning to the side as Klaus opens the door to toss Dazai into the car. Literally. “Jesus, Klaus, be a bit more careful with him.”

“No.” Klaus says and then sneers down at Dazai before slamming the door shut behind him.

You shake your head and adjust Dazai into a more comfortable position. He should be out for at least two or three hours—you aren’t quite sure, he’s always had a freaky metabolism, but you don’t know if it’s gotten faster or slower in the four years he was gone. You rest his head in your lap, brushing his hair out of his face. You’ve missed him a lot; you’ve barely been able to see him at all the past few weeks because you’ve been so busy, and your chest aches just at the sight of him in your lap. You turn your gaze back up to the window to find Chuuya staring at you in disgust. Klaus is there too, scowling.

“What is your problem with him?” you ask the boy, giving him a weird look. “You’ve hardly even met him before now.”

“I don’t like him,” Klaus replies, raising his chin.

You stare at him in disbelief, but Klaus only huffs and stalks off, likely to cause chaos elsewhere. Chuuya snorts in amusement, trying to muffle a laugh as he turns his face away. You roll your eyes and fling your hand up dismissively. Klaus has always had something up his ass about Dazai, you never understood why. You’ve learned better than to question what runs through that boy’s head.

“You should get going,” Chuuya says, stepping back from the window. “The jet’s waiting for you.”

“Right,” you agree, stretching your arms and then resting your hand on Dazai’s forehead, fingers carding absently through his hair. “Thanks, Chuuya.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replies dryly, turning his back to the car to walk over to where he’d parked his motorcycle. He lifts his hand up in a lazy wave. “See you next week.”

“See you next week.”

---------

Dazai wakes up to the whole world shaking. His heart rate spikes as he shoots up, disoriented and confused. His hand flies to his head, blinking hard to try to clear his blurry vision. He doesn’t even really remember what happened. He remembers waking up late for work and feeling smug because Kunikida couldn’t scold him because it’s his birthday, and he remembers…

Oh.

You.

Dazai glances around, trying to figure out where the hell he is. He’s laying on a white couch in a small room… or, this isn’t a room, is it? There’s a window next to him. Dazai squints at the sudden bright light that blinds him, but he shifts closer to the window so he can look out of it.

He is in the air.

Dazai blanches when he realizes that he’s in a plane. It must be close to landing because the ground is much closer than he expected. He doesn’t recognize the area—there doesn’t seem to be any big cities nearby, only forests and the ocean, so he’s not really sure where you’re bringing him.

He pushes himself out of his seat, stumbling a bit before he catches himself. Whatever you injected him with was strong, but at least now he has something he can whine and complain about. Maybe he’ll be able to convince you to make him the sweet buns you tried baking a few times back when you two were teenagers. You never liked the way they came out, but Dazai had been obsessed with them and was thoroughly upset when you refused to make them every time he asked. 

He salivates a bit at the thought and decides to get a head start on his guilt tripping, making his way over to where you’re sitting. A smile unconsciously pulls at his lips when he sees you sitting a few seats away. Your back is facing him, but he can see you’re focused on your computer, typing furiously with earbuds plugged in your ears. He stumbles once more before kneeling on the seat behind yours, draping himself lazily over the back of it to rest his chin on the top of your head.

His lips part to make a complaint when he pauses, gaze focusing on what exactly it is that you’re doing on your laptop.

Are you on a… video call?

Dazai stares at the screen blankly, recognizing the several faces staring right back at him. Leo Tolstoy looks unbearably amused when he sees Dazai in the frame of the camera, hiding a smile with his hand. An older man who Dazai realizes is Carlo Goldoni raises his eyebrows, lips twitching. Mishima Yukio casually rubs at his lips, pretending he’s not smiling. There are three others, two men and a woman who Dazai doesn’t recognize—they must be new allies of the Port Mafia.

Well, Dazai thinks awkwardly, staring at the screen as he realizes that he just interrupted a meeting between you and several mob bosses. He doesn’t bother moving now, they’ve already seen him, and you don’t seem bothered, considering you don’t immediately shove his face out of view of the camera.

“I’ll contact you all when I’m available again to speak next week,” you say after a moment. “Thank you for meeting.”

You exit the call without waiting for them to answer, taking out the earbuds from your ears. Dazai lifts his chin when he feels you turning your head to look up at him. He gives you a sheepish smile. 

“Did I interrupt?” he asks quietly. 

“No,” you reply. “We’re almost here anyway.”

Dazai shuffles around to sit across from you, resting his arms on the table and his head on top of them. He looks up at you, eyes still a bit droopy from whatever you drugged him with. Your lips curl up into a soft smile, and warmth spreads through Dazai’s chest at the sight of it. His cheeks heat up, so he hides them in his arms and peeks up at you. The smile on your lips becomes a bit fonder, you place your arms on the table, mimicking him, and then rest your head down like he did, peeking up at him the same way as he is at you.

It’s a simple action. A nothing action, really. You’re just mimicking him. Teasing him for being flustered. He doesn’t know why his chest suddenly feels like it's about to cave in. He doesn’t know why he suddenly wants to cry. He doesn’t know why he’s so suddenly and violently reminded of how much he loves you. 

Maybe it’s just because he’s missed you these past few weeks.

“Happy birthday,” you whisper. 

A lump that’s shaped suspiciously like his heart forms in his throat as he looks up at you. He hides his smile behind his arms and says quietly, “You kidnapped me.” Then adds belatedly, “Again.”

“I did,” you agree, eyes glittering with amusement. “It’s a bit of a tradition now, don’t you think?”

“Where are we going?” he asks curiously, hand creeping forward to try to grab yours. He pokes your arm twice; you raise your eyebrows before realizing what he wants and putting your hand in his. Dazai’s fingers slide to your wrist to press against your pulse, feeling the familiar, even thrums and matching his own heartrate to to them.

“To a foreign countryside so I can kill you and dump your body,” you say without pause.

Dazai snorts, lifting your hand to his lips so he can kiss your palm, lashes fluttering shut when your fingers brush over his cheekbone. He says dreamily, “A woman after my own heart.” 

“You’re such a freak,” you say fondly.

“Your freak,” he corrects with a flirty smile before setting your joined hands back down on the table. “I can’t believe you kidnapped me again. And drugged me. I still feel a bit woozy, y’know? How are you going to make it up to me?” 

“A one week escape from work isn’t enough?” you ask dryly.

“Nope,” he agrees, popping the ‘p’. “How about you make me those sweet buns you used to make this week? I haven’t had them in ages, I miss them.”

You squint at him, leaning back in your seat but leaving your hand in his. “Maritozzi?” you ask, and Dazai faintly recognizes the name from back then, so he nods. “What flavor?” 

Dazai pauses and then asks, “Strawberry? Or lemon?” 

“Both?” you offer.

His eyes widen slightly. He didn’t expect you to give in so quickly. Back when you guys were teenagers, he’d whine and ask you to make them and it would turn into a six hour argument of him insisting that he deserves them and you refusing him. 

“That was easier than I expected,” he admits sheepishly. 

“It’s your birthday,” you say like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Again, Dazai’s heart flutters, and he squeezes your hand gently. “The first one we’ve celebrated together in four years. We can stop to get the ingredients on the way to the house.”

The house. Where is it that you’re taking him? Dazai’s mind bounces around with potential answers—far enough that you had to take him on a plane, but not so far that he’s just woken up and its already begun its descent. Dazai has a quick metabolism and a high tolerance for most drugs. You know this and probably would’ve accounted for it, but there’s a large margin of error. You don’t know if his metabolism has gotten quicker or slower over the years apart, and you don’t know if his tolerance has weakened, so you probably didn’t want to risk pushing the dosage anymore than you would’ve four years ago.

Which probably puts the time at… four hours after you injected him? Which would make sense from the position of the sun in the sky. Probably took forty minutes from injection to take off between getting him here and getting everything settled. So a three hour flight? About? Where would that leave you guys? Seoul? No, it couldn’t be—there were no cities anywhere in sight. One of the northern islands then?

“You didn’t answer my question,” he whines. “Where are we going?” 

You hesitate for a moment like you don’t want to tell him, but he pouts and widens his eyes in the way that always makes you give in. You roll your eyes at him exagerratedly, and he gives you a sweet smile in response.

“A property up in Hokkaido,” you finally say. Dazai is smug, realizing his deductions were right, until you continue speaking. “It’s near a small village. Pretty. Me and Chuuya scoped it out and bought it a couple of months ago just to have.”

What. Dazai stares at you blankly, and you tilt your head to the side in confusion, unsure why he suddenly closed off. He narrows his eyes at you, willing away the bitterness that suddenly swells in his chest. It’s sharp and sour, and he definitely doesn’t like it, but when he tries to push it away, it only intensifies. 

“You bought property with Chuuya,” he asks flatly. “You’re taking me to a property that you bought with the slug.”

You roll your eyes. “Stop that,” you say immediately. “I’m taking you to a property that I scoped out because I wanted to bring you here. Chuuya jumped on and offered to pay for half because he wanted a place to escape to outside the city.”

Dazai squints at you, and you raise your eyebrows challengingly. He immediately huffs and looks away, stomach lurching when the plane begins the final part of the descent to the ground. He decides to change the subject instead of pressing, maybe he’ll whine about it some more later.

“So,” he says slowly, voice dropping just enough to catch your attention from the way you tilt your head to the side. “You’ve kidnapped me away from the Agency… to bring me to a house in the middle of nowhere… and decided not to tell me about it until now…”

You hum in response, eyes narrowing, and Dazai leans closer over the table separating the two of you, lips curling up into a lecherous smirk that has you rolling your eyes. You already know what’s coming, but you must let him have his fun on his birthday.

“And we’ll be there for… how long again?”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, seemingly intent on staring out the window. “A week.”

Dazai whistles, leaning back in his seat again. His eyes rove over you—it's been a hot minute since the two of you have been able to do anything intimate. He hasn’t even seen you in a few weeks. And before that, most days, you’re either too exhausted or he’s too in his own head about things to get in the mood. But this… Seven days. No work. No people interrupting. No reason to spiral in his own head. His lips unconsciously pull into another small smile, teeth scraping his tongue as his gaze lingers on the top few buttons of your dress shirt—they’re undone, just low enough for him to see a hint of…

You clear your throat. Dazai’s gaze snaps back up to your face. He gives you an innocent smile that makes you roll your eyes at him again. 

“Pervert,” you accuse.

“Yeah,” Dazai breaths out, voice a bit raspy as he lifts your hand back to his lips. He kisses your knuckles and then the inside of your wrist, gaze flickering back up to your eyes. “I’m going to take advantage of this week.”

The corner of your mouth twitches like you’re fighting off a smile. “Oh, I counted on it.”

Dazai lets go of your wrist when the plane lands. He watches you tuck your hand back into your lap, pulling your phone out to shoot a text to someone before sliding it back into your pocket. His eyes stay on you as the plane rolls to a stop, watching the way the sunlight dances across your cheekbones. You look beautiful—always do—but you’ll look more beautiful tonight when he has you underneath him.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you tell him flatly as you rise to your feet. Dazai follows after you, standing too close, and when he leans down to ghost his lips to your neck, you swat at his head, but he immediately dodges and then drapes himself over your shoulders obnoxiously. “Osamu.”

Dazai lets his full body weight rest on you. You stumble forward, trying to walk toward the exit of the plane, but fail miserably because you’re dragging his dead weight with you. His lips curl up into a smile when he hears your frustrated groan, arms tightening around you.

“Get off of me, you freak,” you complain. “Walk on your own.”

“But I’m still so woozy,” he sighs dramatically. “You drugged me, take accountability and carry me to the car before I pass out and hit my head and die on my birthday. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

He pouts against your skin, nipping your neck for a second before resting his forehead in the crook of it, right next to the small mark he just left. Vision obscured, he misses the way you motion for the pilot, who had come out to lower the steps to the ground, to grab him until he feels two hands around his waist lifting him off the ground. Dazai yelps and flails, trying to figure out what exactly just happened, and blanches when he realizes he’s being held princess style by a grown man.

“Watanabe-san, please make sure Osamu makes it down the steps safely. We wouldn’t want him to pass out and hit his head and die on his birthday, would we?” you say with a sweet smile.

“Of course not, hime,” the man replies gruffly. 

Mortified, Dazai tries to worm out of the man’s arms, but his grip is too tight. He looks at you, betrayed, but you’re only fighting giggles as you make your way over to the car waiting on the tarmac, leaving him in the arms of this man.

By the time he makes it to the sleek black car waiting for the two of you, Dazai’s face is flaming red. The moment he’s placed on the ground, he throws himself into the car and turns his back to you. You laugh and climb in after him, pressing your lips to his shoulder.

“I hate you,” he whines. 

“I love you too.”

---------

Dazai naps once the two of you get to the house, so you focus on getting everything together to make the maritozzi in the morning. You don’t really like making it—the pastries make you upset. Or, well, it’s not the pastries that make you upset, but the fact that every time you make them, you get this strange, aching feeling in your chest—a sense of deja vu so strong that it nearly brings you to your knees.

Your hands always remember what to do, even when your mind doesn’t. You knead the dough with a practiced ease that doesn’t feel like it belongs to you. You know exactly how much flour to dust on the board, how warm the milk should be, how to press your thumb into the dough to check if it’s ready. 

It’s muscle memory, maybe.

You sigh as you rest your hands on the kitchen counter. You plan to start baking in the morning, but you already feel that… odd feeling spreading through you, both sharp and tender at the same time. A homesickness for a place you can’t name. Grief for people you don’t remember.  It happens every time: a flicker of something just out of reach. A child’s gleeful laugh, a pair of warm hands guiding yours, a whispered promise that isn’t kept.

You lay your head in your arms for a moment, eyes sliding shut. You can never get the maritozzi right, regardless of how hard you try. You don’t know what you’re doing wrong, or even what’s wrong with them at all, but you know it’s not right. You hate making them. Each time, you can’t help the hope that swells in your chest that maybe this time will be different. Maybe you’ll get it right. 

Each time you’re disappointed. 

And yet, here you are again trying.

The things you do for love.

You feel a familiar pair of arms wrap around your waist from behind, hands slipping beneath your shirt. Dazai drapes himself over your back, pinning you to the counter. He sighs softly as he kisses the nape of your neck and your shoulder before burying his face in the crook of your neck. 

“Good morning, sleepy head,” you whisper softly, a smile pulling on your lips as you lift a hand to rest it on the top of his head. You feel his heartbeat thrumming against your back, and his fingers tracing absent patterns on your stomach. “You were tired.”

“You’ve been away for a few weeks,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your neck. You feel him yawn before nuzzling his face against your skin, eyes sliding shut. “I wasn’t sleeping well.”

“My apologies,” you say with faux remorse. “How dare I go away for work and mess up your sleeping schedule.”

He hums in agreement. “A crime worthy of capital punishment, honestly,” he says, and you feel him smile softly, kissing your neck again. You let out a breathy sigh and instinctively tilt your head to the side to give him more room. “I had to sleep without my favorite pillow. You know, the soft, warm, breathing one that makes cute little noises when I kiss her neck.”

“Oh, shut up,” you scowl, but the expression quickly fades when you feel him trailing slow kisses up your neck, deliberately lingering just below your ear.

“How are you ever going to make it up to me?” he whispers playfully before he nips your skin. 

You ignore his noise of complaint when you shift in his arms so that you can face him, resting your hands on his hips as you look up at him through your lashes. You give him a sweet smile before saying, “I can think of a few ways.”

“Oh yeah,” Dazai drawls, lips curling up into a lazy smirk as his fingers slip beneath the hem of your shirt again. “Is this the part where you beg for forgiveness?”

“Oh?” you hum, leaning in to ghost your lips against his jaw, kissing slowly to his ear as you murmur, “You want me to beg?”

He lets out a soft groan when you nip his skin. “I want you to convince me you’re sorry for leaving me to suffer all alone,” he corrects, breathing a little heavier when you start to kiss down the column of his throat. His voice catches over his words as you slide down the sweatpants he changed into and lower yourself to your knees in front of him. “Oh, fuck.”

“You poor thing,” you say softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his hip bone. “All alone for weeks. I bet you were just aching without me.”

“I—” His voice breaks into a groan as your mouth trails lower down the line of his ‘v’, lashes fluttering as he rests his hands back onto the counter and glances up at the ceiling before looking back down at you. His pupils are blown wide, eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them before. “You have no idea.”

“I think I have an idea,” you say more to yourself than to him, a teasing smile playing at your lips as you finally lift your hand to stroke his leaky cock. His hips jerk instinctively, he twitches in your hand like he’s already on the verge of finishing, and you lift your gaze. His chest is heaving, pink lips swollen and parted, head tilted back as he looks up at the ceiling again, desperately trying to gain control of himself.

God, you love him. You’ve loved him for years, since you were sixteen, even if you only started acknowledging the depths of your feelings for him when you were eighteen. He was always so flighty and unpredictable, you never expected one day he’d be yours the way he is now. You’ll never let him go now. You’ve missed him these past few weeks apart much more than you realized. 

“I would do terrible things for you, Osamu,” you tell him softly, running your thumb over his tip just so you can hear the way he keens. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” he pants. You’re not even sure if he fully hears what you say, already lost in the haze of pleasure, and you don’t really care. “Please.”

You don’t look away from him for a second as you take his tip into your mouth, flattening your tongue against his slit to lap up all of the precum that had beaded there. He lets out a ragged groan, but you can’t see his face, so you lift your hand to grab one of his and tug to get his attention.

His head falls forward, bangs falling in his eyes as he looks down at you. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he breathes heavily, gaze entirely unfocused as need quickly fogs and dismantles the cogs of his quick brain. Having gotten what you wanted, you try to slip your hand free to hold his hips again, but his grip on your hand tightens, refusing to let go.

You hum softly, entwining your fingers with his instead as you slowly take him deeper into your mouth. His eyes half-roll back when his tip hits the back of your throat and your tongue presses against the vein on the underside of his cock. He almost lets his head fall back again, but your grip on his hand keeps him grounded to you. Even as fucked out as he is with his cock deep down your throat and your nails tracing patterns on his inner thighs, he manages to keep his gaze mostly locked to yours.

“I—haaah, fuck—you feel s’good,” he slurs, free hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. He lets you set the pace, and you pick a slow and steady one that you know kills him. You want to see how long he can last before he snaps. “I—so many nights…”

His sentences are garbled and mostly unintelligible. It makes you happy—you’re glad he lets his brain shut off when he’s with you like this. He used to try so hard to maintain control that you could tell it was stressing him out when he was supposed to be feeling good, but he doesn’t bother with the pretenses anymore, letting everything crumble away the moment he has you in bed with him. Or, in this case, in the middle of the kitchen. 

You can’t respond, so you resign to letting out a soft hum of acknowledgment; the vibrations make him whimper, cock twitching in your mouth as he gnaws on his bottom lip, desperately trying not to cum so quickly. You can feel his thighs tense beneath your touch as holds himself back from fucking your face.

Your gaze traces his face, catching sight of the red flush of his cheeks, his wet lips, the way his expression is all twisted—he’s so pretty, so you decide to have a bit of mercy on him. 

Plus, it is still his birthday after all.

You lift your hand to tap his hip twice, signaling to him that he can take control if he wants, and the effect is immediate. His eyes snap open fully, glassy and wild with need, and then he moves. 

His grip on your hand tightens just a bit, and the hand on the back of your head slips down to cup your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your lips, tracing how they’re stretched around his cock. He rocks his hips forward once—slowly, like he’s testing the waters, worried that you might change your mind, but you stay still and pliant, looking up at him through your lashes imploringly.

“Fuck,” he breathes out again. “Love you. So good to me. Always been so good to me.”

He thrusts again, this time deeper, more sure of himself, and you relax your throat for him, letting him set the rhythm. It's not rough or frantic—not yet—just a slow, needy grind of someone who’s waited for this too long. His hand slides back to cup the back of your head as he starts to pick up the pace; you gag a little on his cock, eyes tearing up, but you squeeze his hand encouragingly, telling him silently to continue. To give you more. 

He does.

He rolls his hips forward sharply, cock thrusting deeper, harder, and you take it, eyes fluttering shut for just a second as your throat stretches around him. His thighs tremble under your hands, breath ragged as he fucks your throat. The noises in the kitchen—his low groans, the way you’re choking on his cock, each wet, sloppy thrust into your mouth—it makes your head all foggy, heat pooling in your lower stomach. 

His free hand comes back to your jaw, thumb swiping at the drool spilling from the corner of your mouth before he squeezes your cheeks gently to feel his cock sliding in and out of your mouth. Your jaw aches, your throat burns, and still, you stay there, tears spilling freely down your cheeks, because he’s close. You can feel it. His thigh tenses under your palm, his fingers tighten around yours, his rhythm stutters and takes a more erratic turn, and his voice breaks on your name, groans shifting into pitched moans.

“Haah,” he gasps, hips jerking. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, please, please, baby, I—I’m gonna—”

Your nose is flush to his pubic hair as he cums deep down your throat—his cum tastes so familiar, too salty, after all of these years, he still hasn’t taken your advice of a better diet. Hazily, you remind yourself to scold him about it later, but right now, you’re too focused on trying not to choke over him, swallowing the copious amounts of cum he spilled into your mouth as he trembles above you violently, still feeling the aftershocks of the intense orgasm.

When he finally pulls out, he drops to his knees in front of you, hands cupping your cheeks as he leans in, kissing you deeply. He kisses you like he’s trying to devour you—claim you, even, like he hasn’t already, like you haven’t been his since the moment the two of you met. His breath is uneven, chest heaving, and there’s a flicker of something wild in his eyes as he pulls back to look at you, eyes roving over you. His eyes slide shut again as he rests his forehead against yours.

“You’re everything,” he whispers, hands sliding down to your sides as he ghosts his lips against yours. “God, you’re everything. You have no idea what you do to me.” 

You lift your hands to cup his cheeks, pressing your lips to his again. You toy with the tips of his hair as your lips slide messily against his, letting out a soft moan when his hand slides to the small of your back, pulling your body flush to his. His hands dip lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your cotton shorts, and you smile against his lips. 

“I’m not fucking you on the kitchen floor,” you say, leaning back slightly. He chases your lips to kiss you again, a hazy smile on his lips as he gives you a half-lidded look.

“It would be hot though,” he murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip before letting out a low groan against your skin, dragging his lips from your jaw to your ear. You let out a shaky breath when his fingers slide down to your panties, pressing his finger down on your clit through thin silk and moaning again. “Have you face down, nails clawing against the tile, pinned between me and the floor—nowhere to go, can only take it.”

“Jesus, Osamu,” you say shakily, eyes sliding shut as his fingers curl into your hair, pulling your head back so he can kiss down your neck, kisses wet and lingering as he sucks at your skin. He traces slow circles around your clit, and your grip on his shoulders tightens as you try to ground yourself. “Not the kitchen floor.”

“Such a bore,” he complains. “Ruining my fun. It’s still my birthday, y’know?”

Before you can retort, Dazai’s hands drop to your thighs, and you yelp as he rises to his feet, bringing you with him. Sometimes you forget how strong Dazai is—it’s easy when he constantly acts like he’s helpless and drowns himself in long jackets and loose clothes. He used to be able to go blow-for-blow with Chuuya in combat, and although you know damn well he hasn’t kept up his training, you can feel the lean muscles of his biceps beneath his sweatshirt.

Your grip tightens on them; he’s still mouthing at your neck as he carries you into the back bedroom. You whisper softly, “You are so…”

When you don’t finish, Dazai nips your neck playfully and finishes, “Handsome? Charming? The image of your deepest, darkest desires?” 

Usually, you would roll your eyes at him, but this time, you gasp, “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

He nudges the door open with his foot before kicking it shut. He sets you down gently on the bed, pushing you back until your back is flat and hovering above you to steal another kiss. This one is slow and lazy as he settles above you on his elbows, tongue running along your bottom lip, and fingers dragging over your ribs reverently. You think you could kiss him forever and never get sick of it.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only by an inch, his eyes are half-lidded, and his breath is warm against your lips as he looks down at you. 

“Still with me?” he murmurs, thumb circling your hip bone.

“Always,” you answer quietly.

His eyes soften as he looks down at you, lifting his hand from your hip so he can cup the side of your face. You lean into his touch, lashes fluttering shut momentarily as you bask in the familiar warmth of his skin. 

“Thank you,” he whispers.

You give him a hazy smile as you look back up at him. “For what?” you ask, voice teasing, but Dazai’s smile only softens even more. He runs his thumb over your bottom lip, and you nip at it playfully.

“Everything.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to question him, leaning down to press his lips to yours again. This kiss is chaster than the last, like he just wants to savor in the taste of you rather than outright devour you. His thumb traces soft circles over your cheek, and his other hand slides down your body to your thigh, hiking your leg over his waist so he can slot his hips between your legs.

He kisses you and holds you so gently that you forget to breathe until your lungs start burning. When you push at his shoulder to get some air, he immediately leans down to keep kissing your neck, sliding your shirt up, and tapping you to beckon you to lift your shoulders so he can pull it off. 

Once he has it off and flings it to the side, he leans back to let his eyes roam your body. His pupils are blown wide, and his fingers are a bit shaky; he slides them down your body, tracing your figure like he’s worshiping it. 

“You are so beautiful,” he whispers more to himself than to you. “Divine. The kind of beauty that drives saints to sin and kings to kneel. You make the stars look dim, and the heavens seem dull. I still can’t believe you’re mine. There’s nothing that I wouldn’t do for you.”

“My god, Dazai,” you laugh, face heating up at his words. “A bit over the top with the poetry tonight, aren’t you?”

“Not nearly,” he says, voice low and serious as his gaze lifts back to your face. He repeats softly, “No, not nearly.”

Your throat swells as you look up at him, and he runs his knuckles across your cheek before trailing his fingers down your face. His thumb presses heavily against your bottom lip, and you give him a kittish smile before taking it into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digit as you look up at him through your lashes.

His breath catches, and you hum around his finger when he presses down slightly on your tongue, rolling your hips up to grind against his clothed cock. He murmurs, voice strained, “You drive me insane.”

“Oh yeah?” you press, voice breathy. “Prove it?” 

He kisses slowly to your collarbone, making sure to leave marks on his way down. “Gladly,” he rasps, swiping his tongue along your collarbone before biting over the bone lightly. 

“You’re going to leave so many marks,” you complain, breath hitching when he slowly rocks his hips against yours. He’s already hard again; you can feel him through the thin material of your panties, and you want him desperately. Your walls clench around nothing, and the heat pooling in your stomach has your thighs trembling. “Shit, Osamu, will you just—”

“Good thing I have you to myself all week,” he croons, a smug smirk on his lips as he kisses down your chest to the swell of your breasts. He lets out a shaky puff of air as he pulls back just a bit to get an eyeful of your tits before his lips wrap around your nipple. He moans against you as he rolls it between his teeth, lifting his free hand to grope your other breast. Your back arches up as you press yourself into his touch, a keen escaping your lips. “Gonna mark you up all over, you won’t even have to hide them.”

“Please,” you gasp, head falling back against the pillows. “Please, Osamu, I—”

You choke over your words when you feel him slide your panties down your legs. He pulls his lips off your nipple with a pop before trailing wet kisses back up your chest until his face is hovering above yours. His thumb slips from your mouth so that he can pinch your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“Please, what?” he hums insufferably. “C’mon, baby, use your words.”

“You’re so—” You start to reply irritably, only to whimper when he rolls his hips again.

“So what?” he presses, giving you a cocky smile as he taps your cheek twice to get your attention again. “What am I? You’re so cute, I’ve barely done anything, and you’re already so close to finishing.”

“I hate you. I—haaaah, shit—” you moan, but your lashes flutter shut as Dazai slides his fingers between your wet folds. “Osamu—”

He lets out a ragged breath, hot against your skin. “Shit, baby, you’re drenched,” he groans. “All this just from letting me fuck your face? Fuck, I love you. Tell me what you need. Tell me. I want to hear you say it. It’s my birthday.”

“Fuck me,” you gasp, lifting trembling hands to cup his cheeks. “Please, fuck me, Osamu.”

“God, I love hearing you beg,” he breathes out, nipping at your jaw before his lips drag hot and slow up to your ear. “Love seeing you all worked up for me. Only I get to see you like this, yeah?”

His teeth graze your ear lobe, and you exhale shakily, shivering under his touch. He laughs softly, infuriatingly pleased with himself, and you can’t even hit him with a snide comment like you usually would, because your whole body shudders when you feel his cock slide between your folds.

“You don’t even know how good you look right now,” he goes on, voice low and smooth as he traces his fingers down your body again. 

The noise you let out is embarrassing, something caught between a whine and a gasp of his name when he presses the tip of his cock to your entrance. Your hips jerk up, desperate for him to sink inside you again, but he holds your hips down. It’s been weeks since the two of you have done anything together, and your body is falling apart just at the idea of having him deep inside you again. 

“Please,” you whisper again, voice coming out more of a whine than anything else. “Osamu, it’s been so long, I—”

Dazai doesn’t let you finish your sentence. The words are knocked from your lungs when he snaps his hips forward, thrusting deep inside you. Your hands slide underneath his sweatshirt, nails raking down his back as you writhe beneath him. His eyes are half-lidded as he looks down at you, and you’re pleased to realize he’s just as much of a mess as you. His lips are pink and swollen, his face is flushed, hair matted to his forehead, and dark eyes unfocused. He looks beautiful.

You love him. You’ve always loved him, but it hits you so suddenly that it makes your chest ache. You surge upwards to press your lips against his, and Dazai moans into your mouth, rocking his hips against yours suddenly as he presses you back down into the mattress, tongues sliding together messily. Each thrust is deep and even, less like he’s trying to chase release and more like he’s just savoring in the feeling of being with you like this again. 

“Osamu,” you beg, and you don’t really know what you’re begging for, but your lashes suddenly feel wet, and he’s lifting one hand to wipe tears you didn’t realize were falling over your cheeks. “Osamu, I—”

Your words break into a moan when Dazai thrusts just a little harder, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision go white at the edges. Dazai ghosts his lips against yours, laughing breathlessly. 

“Aw, baby, you missed me, didn’t you?” His voice is teasing as he brushes kisses across your face, deceptively gentle when compared to the way he’s fucking the air right out of your lungs with every thrust. “I missed you too, we’ve both been so busy lately… Didn’t even know if you’d have time today with everything going on.”

Even with your brain fogged with pleasure, you can hear the brief waver of insecurity in his tone. You lift your hands up to cup his cheeks between your hands, forcing him to look you in the eye.

“Always have time for you,” you tell him softly. “Especially today.”

Dazai’s throat bobs at your words, and instead of responding, he buries his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. The room is filled with the lewd sounds of skin-on-skin, breathless moans, and his cock driving in and out of your cunt. You gasp his name, hips bucking up to meet his, both of you now chasing release. 

You’re so close that it hurts, abdomen coiled tight and thighs so tense that they’re shaking around his waist. When he slips his hand between you to rub tight circles on your clit, you finally fall apart. His name spills from your lips and your vision whitens at the edges, you let out a ragged sob that he swallows with a kiss as he fucks you through your high, gasping your name like a prayer over and over again. He’s close, too—you can feel it in the way his rhythm falters and how his breath hitches over every chant of your name.

Your walls spasm around him as he chases your high, pleasure shifting into overstimulation as he uses your body for himself now. You hiccup over a sob as your whole body squirms beneath him, but he holds you down, fucking you so hard that your body jolts further up the bed with each thrust. Your vision darkens at the edges a bit, your head feels woozy, and it’s when you really feel the pinpricks of numbness spreading from your fingertips up to your arms, that he finally finishes, burying himself deep inside you as he cums with a low, broken moan of your name. 

He doesn’t move for a long moment, just breathing hard against your shoulder, body trembling above yours. He finally lifts his head, and with a lazy, sated grin, he says, “What a birthday gift.”

You roll your eyes at him, but the smile that curls at your lips is fond.

“I love you,” you whisper, reaching up to caress his face, thumb running along his cheekbone. “Happy birthday.”

“I love you,” he replies softly, eyes sliding shut as he kisses your palm. “Thank you.”

---------

You wake up early the next morning to make the maritozzi for Dazai. He’s still fast asleep in bed next to you by the time you wake up, tangled in the sheets and curled into your warmth. Slipping out of bed without waking him is no easy feat—he’s always clingy in the mornings, even more so when he’s exhausted. You know he hasn’t been sleeping well these past few weeks you’ve been away, and the last thing you want is to disturb the rare peace he’s found.

So, for a while, you stay. You hum softly under your breath, fingers trailing gently through his hair in slow, soothing strokes. It takes nearly half an hour before his grip on you slackens enough for you to ease out of his arms and tiptoe into the kitchen.

You’ve been up for a few hours now. Dazai is still sleeping, surprisingly; you underestimated just how tired he was. Usually, you can slip out of bed, but he’ll come wandering in, looking for you within the hour. His sleep rarely lasts when you’re not in bed with him. 

The pastries are almost done now; though, you just took them out to cool, and you've put together a little basket for when they’re done. You think maybe you’ll drag him outside to eat. He needs to get some sun; all he’s been doing the past few months is rotting away in your apartment or his. 

You hum softly to yourself as you grab a blanket out of the closet, folding it before placing it next to the basket. You need to clean still, too, but—

You jump slightly when you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist. Dazai’s familiar weight settles on your back as he leans on you, burying his face in the crook of your neck to kiss your skin gently before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“Cheater,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “Making my favorite, so I can’t be mad at you for sneaking out of bed. So unfair.”

You smile to yourself, looking to the side so you can see him. He still looks sleepy—his eyes are drooping shut and his breathing is heavy, but the bags beneath his eyes are lighter, if only a little. You lift up your hand so you can cup the side of his face before leaning in to press your lips against his cheek.

“Good morning,” you say quietly. “You slept for a while.”

His eyes slide shut when your lips brush his skin. “Come back to bed,” he whispers. “Lay with me a little longer.”

“I need to finish cleaning,” you tell him, ignoring the way he pushes his bottom lip out dramatically; he looks stupid pouting so hard with his eyes closed. Your chest bubbles with warmth. “It’ll be annoying to clean the cream after it hardens in the bowl.”

His eyes fly open at that, gaze suddenly sharp as he scans the counter. He lights up when he sees the two bowls on the counter in front of you, giving you imploring eyes and a sweet smile. You roll your eyes at him.

“You’re such a child,” you insult fondly, but you do reach forward to scoop up some of the leftover cream onto your finger, lifting it to his lips. Dazai immediately wraps his lips around the digit, sucking the thick cream right off your finger and moaning obnoxiously. 

“Strawberry,” he says approvingly after he pulls his lips off your finger with a loud pop. He gives you a sharp smile before saying, “You taste better though. My favorite type of c—”

“Stop,” you interrupt before he can finish the sentence. He pouts again, but then presses a slow kiss to the back of your neck. You sigh, leaning into his touch despite yourself, and he hums softly as he rocks the two of you back and forth slowly, resting his forehead on the top of your head. You rest your hand over one of his, eye sliding shut and then admit, “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“It’s been a long three weeks,” he agrees softly. “I wish Mori would start sending someone else to handle business abroad.”

“I wish you could come with me,” you say with a frown. “The only time you’ve ever left the country, you were thrown in prison. There’s so many places I want to bring you.”

“You don’t know that,” he says petulantly. “I could’ve left during the two years I was underground.”

“Did you?”

“... No.”

“Do you like arguing for the sake of arguing?” you ask dryly, but you find yourself smiling fondly. 

“Where do you want to take me?” he asks instead of answering the question, arms tightening around you. “Hmm? Tell me.”

Your lips part to list off all of your favorite travel destinations. Paris, the City of Love—Dazai would be horrendously obnoxious there with you, but he would love it, so it would probably be one of the first places you brought him. The Yucatán Peninsula too, you think, and maybe Egypt—he had a whole phase back when the two of you were teenagers where he would spend hours a day researching ancient civilizations, watching people explore old ruins with a pout and complaining incessantly about being stuck in Yokohama. You want to bring him to Zhuhai one day to show him the Chimelong Ocean Kingdom, but Qu Yuan and Cao Xueqin have been fighting for territory there for almost two years now so it won’t be any time soon.

But you don’t say anything, because your gaze draws back to the mess of bowls on the counter and then to where the maritozzi are cooling. More than anything, you want to bring him to a home that no longer exists. A home you don’t even remember. You don’t know why you’ve been yearning so badly for it lately; you went years without thinking of your past before you met Mori, not even once had it crossed your mind in that time, but over the last few months, it's crossed your mind frequently. You swear that you can feel familiar arms wrapping around you, a laugh that makes your chest ache that you can’t quite place; you find yourself looking up at the stars, and you can almost hear whispers of a voice you should know laying next to you, telling you all the stories of the constellations.

Dazai seems to recognize something is wrong, because he lifts his hand to your chin to tilt your face up and to the side so that your gaze lands on his. He frowns slightly, running his thumb over your skin before he says, “Dance with me?” 

“Dance?” you ask, trying to laugh but it comes out too forced. Dazai only gives you a sweet smile in return before he spins you around to face him, one hand resting on your waist while the other reaches for yours, entwining his fingers with yours as he starts spinning to a song only he can hear, dragging you along with him as he dances the two of you around the island in the kitchen. “You’re so cheesy.”

“I prefer romantic,” he disagrees as he spins you beneath his arm, dipping you down slightly and holding you there for a moment so he can lean in and place an obnoxiously loud kiss right on your nose. “Isn’t this romantic?” 

You laugh again, and this one is more genuine as you look up at him. His dark eyes are a warm golden color beneath the morning light, sickeningly soft as he looks down at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters to him. Your throat suddenly feels too tight, and his lips curl up into a soft smile as he places another kiss on your face, this time on your lips.

He lifts you from the dip, and you slip your hand from his so you can hook both of your arms loosely around his neck. His hands settle on your hips as the two of you continue to sway slowly to an imaginary song. 

“Why don’t you like baking them?” he asks quietly. It’s a question you know he’s been dying to know the answer to for years; you’re surprised it took him this long to ask.

Your gaze lowers. “I think… my mother was the one who taught me how to bake them,” you say softly. “I can never get them right. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Dazai doesn’t say anything right away. His hold on you tightens just the slightest bit as he rests his forehead against yours. Your lips press together and your eyes sting with sudden tears. You think about how your hands move automatically through the steps, how your heart always sinks when they come out just a little too dense or the cream doesn’t taste quite right. It’s like there’s a version of the pastry that lives in your memory—light, sweet, perfect—and no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to recreate it. 

Like it belonged to another life. Another version of you. One that was pure, sweet, gentle, and this one doesn’t deserve it.

This version of you has seen too much, done too much. You carry too many shadows in your heart and have too much blood under your fingernails. You were softer then—before the Great War, before Mori, before the Port Mafia.  Every time you make them, you’re reminded that you’ll never be that girl again. The one that exists now… you don’t even know if she can be considered human by most people. The pastries don’t come out right because they’re not meant to. You no longer know how to make something so sweet. You don’t deserve something so gentle.

You suddenly understand why you’ve been thinking so much of your past.

Your gaze flickers up to Dazai as he lifts his hands to cradle your face between his hands. His thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching the tear before it can fall. He gives you a small, sad smile before he asks quietly, “This isn’t about the pastries, is it?”

You try to look away but he doesn’t let you. Your voice is barely a rasp as you say, “They’re not right. They don’t—”

I’m not right. I don’t know if I deserve this.

“They’re yours,” he murmurs, cutting you off before you can finish what you’re about to say. He leans in to press his lips against your temple. “They’re perfect to me.”

You’re you. You’re perfect to me.

“It’s not what I want to give you,” you insist. Your voice cracks, much to your horror. You turn your face into his shoulder, not wanting him to see the tears that threaten to spill. “I feel like I’m holding you back, Osamu. That you’ll never be able separate yourself from your past as long as you’re with me, and you’ll never believe in your own goodness when you come home to me every night. I don’t want to be the reason you can never accept that you’ve fulfilled Oda’s last request.”

Dazai’s smile is unbearably soft as he gently pulls your face from his shoulder and forces you to look at him again. His gaze darts up to the basket you started putting together on the table and he asks quietly, “Did you want to eat breakfast outside?” 

You nod, swallowing thickly.

“C’mon,” he nudges you. “Let’s finish getting it all together and go eat. We can talk out there.”

---------

Dazai has never had a reason to live.

The first time he tried to kill himself, he was eleven. It was when his grandfather had started pitting his siblings and cousins against each other, and Dazai first started questioning why he was even alive. He had no ambition for power like his siblings, he had no passion for any hobbies like his mother, and he had no friends, not even his own family liked him. His mother found him slumped over in the bathroom and rushed him to the hospital—she made him swear to never do something like this again. He agreed, but his promise to her died when she did when he was fourteen. 

The second time he tried to kill himself, he was fourteen. His mother got caught trying to smuggle Dazai and his siblings out of his grandfather’s estate. Two of his siblings had already been killed by his cousins, and she was desperate to not lose anymore of her children. She got caught trying to escape with them, and his grandfather ordered his father to kill her. Dazai jumped from the rooftop that very night—that’s how he ended up in Mori’s clutches. 

He’s not sure how many times he tried to die from fourteen to fifteen. More than he can count, and they got progressively more violent and desperate over time. When he met Chuuya and then Odasaku, he found his first friends—although at the time, he’d never been able to fully bring himself to believe that they viewed him that way. Dazai slowed down on his attempts after meeting them; he didn’t fully stop, he just became more… passive with it. Attempts to blow himself up shifted into recklessness during missions; instead of drinking various poisons, he would drink copious amounts of alcohol until his skin was gray and clammy and the room started spinning. 

And then, he met you. 

And then, he met you.

Dazai’s lips curl up into a soft smile as he watches you set up all the stuff you’d prepared for breakfast. He keeps trying to sneak one of the maritozzi buns, but you catch him every time, slapping his hand away and giving him an accusing look. You’re still upset, but you’re a bit calmer now as you focus on something else.

You drove him mad. You drive him mad. You didn’t flinch at his barbed humor or the way he suddenly and irrationally tried to push you away after worming his way into your life. You never gave up when he deflected conversation with a smile or silence. You didn’t recoil from the mess that he was; you just acknowledged it like it was something as simple as the weather, accepting it, him, into your life so easily. You saw through the cocky facade and self-destruction, and you stayed anyway.

It terrified him. He couldn’t fathom it for years—you didn’t lecture him over his self-destructive tendencies, and you never pulled the whole ‘please, stop for me’ shit that he hated so much. You just sat with him. On the nights when his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and he couldn’t remember how many bottles he’d emptied, you were there. You didn’t touch him unless he asked, didn’t talk unless he initiated it, and over time, Dazai found himself relying on you in a way that scared him. 

After meeting you, for the first time in maybe his whole life, he started to want things again—small, stupid things, but things nonetheless. He wanted a morning that didn’t start with a hangover so he could wake up early and have coffee with you before you left for your meetings. He wanted to come back from a mission in one piece so he could watch a movie with you before laying down. He wanted to be able to sit beside you and not feel like a grenade with the pin halfway out, ready to take you out with him. Dazai has never believed that he deserved you, and a part of him almost wants to laugh when he realizes that you feel the same about him. 

He thinks back to the conversation he had with you a few months ago when you came back from Rome early to be with him, and he feels so silly.

“What are you thinking?” you ask quietly as you set the basket to the side, finally looking up at him, but only briefly. 

“Do you remember the conversation we had a few months ago? When you came back early from Rome?” 

You raise your eyebrows at him, and Dazai wiggles across the blanket so that he can sit beside you. He nudges your shoulder with his, beckoning you to look at him again. You turn your head to the side, gaze focusing on him. 

“Yeah,” you answer after a moment. “Of course.”

“It’s us,” he whispers. “It’s always been us.”

You look at him, tilting your head to the side. You press your lips together tightly, an expression on your face like you understand what he’s saying, but you think maybe you’re misunderstanding and don’t want to get your hopes up. You set the napkins in your hands down, and Dazai continues, voice low.

“I didn’t understand it then,” he admits quietly. “I think maybe I haven’t understood it until right now, but it’s us. My reason to live—it’s you and me, has been for years. Since we were sixteen. I—”

“Osamu,” you start to say, and your voice wavers. You want to believe him, but you’re scared of being disappointed, like maybe he’s just saying this in the spur of the moment to make you feel better.

He shifts to sit on his knees, grabbing your hands and pulling them into his lap, squeezing them tightly. He can feel your fingers shaking ever so slightly. 

“It’s true,” he insists. “Being with you… it gives me something to look forward to every day. You make me want things I didn’t think I could want. You make me feel things I didn’t think I was capable of feeling.”

He lifts one of your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles and then your palm. His voice is shaking a bit now, but he continues. “You make me want to live. Not just survive. Not just keep breathing because I haven't figured out how to stop. Live. Really live. I want a future with you, I want—”

Dazai’s voice breaks, his grip tightens on your hand. Your eyes are wet with tears, and your lips are trembling, and Dazai loves you. He loves you so much that it makes him sick sometimes.

“I want to marry you,” he rasps. “I want to wake up every morning your husband. I want you to be my wife.”

He watches as you inhale deeply. He can feel your nails digging into his hands and it stings, but he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t realize just how much he means the words until he says them. And he realizes, a bit belatedly, that he doesn’t have a ring and this isn’t the proposal you deserve, but there’s so much hope in your eyes that he can’t take it back now.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, Osamu,” you whisper. “Please, don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.” He lets go of your hands to cup your cheeks. He lets out a broken laugh, blinking hard. “I’ve never been more certain of anything. You’re the only thing in my life that’s ever made sense. I want to live, and I want to live with you. As your husband. And I—I don’t have a ring. I didn’t plan this, I didn’t, uh, I didn’t think I was capable of ever asking anyone—of ever wanting this.”

He leans in to press his forehead to yours. He can taste the mint on your breath, and he can’t help himself from stealing a kiss, a brief brush of his lips against yours that makes his chest ache. 

“But I want it with you. I want to be yours in every way a person can belong to someone. And I want you to be mine,” he says softly, hands sliding down from your face to cradle your neck instead. “This—it isn’t me asking, okay? I want to get a ring, I want to do it right, make it special, but I want you to know, because there is no world where you’re ever holding me back. You’re what keeps me going, so whatever silly thoughts you have going on in that pretty head of yours, they need to stop, okay?”

You take in a ragged breath and lean forward, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, and Dazai pulls you into his lap, holding you close, one hand wrapped rightly around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head. He kisses the top of your head and lets out a long breath, a weight lifting from his chest. Your body fits against his like it always has, like you’re made to be here, curled in his arms with the early afternoon light painting you in gold. He shuts his eyes and buries his face in your hair, breathing in the familiar scent of your shampoo.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he finally murmurs, pressing his lips to your temple in a lingering kiss. “I don’t even fully understand it, but I know that I want you. I need you. You don’t have to change for me; you don’t have to be someone else for my sake. You as you are—it’s enough. You’re enough. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted; it doesn’t matter that you’re still with the Mafia and I’m with the Agency. None of that matters to me. What Odasaku asked of me… you being in my life doesn’t change anything. He’d never have wanted me to chase after his last request if it meant coming at the cost of you. Do you even know how many years he spent trying to get me to pull my head out of my ass and make a move on you? I think he was more relieved than either of us were when we finally got together.”

You let out a watery laugh, or maybe it’s a sob, Dazai can’t really tell, but he holds you a bit tighter, savoring in the feeling of having you in his arms. He thinks he could stay here forever if given the chance. Live a quiet life away from everything, just you, him and the rest of your lives together.

Maybe one day.

“I love you,” you whisper, brushing your lips against his throat before settling against him. The tension in your shoulders slowly dissipates, and you let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me.”

He kisses the top of your head again. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “I love you too.”

The two of you bask in each others arms, relaxing beneath the early afternoon sun. He toys with your hair absently, running soothing circles on your upper back. After a few moments, he glances back on the maritozzi you’d pulled out of the basket.

“... Can I have one now?” he asks, giving you an imploring look when you pull back to give him a deadpan one. “Please. It’s literally been five years, do you know how much self control I’ve had the past hour?�� 

Your lips curl up into a fond smile. “Fine.”

Dazai’s hand snatches out immediately before you can change your mind, shovelling the sweet bun into his mouth all at once. Your eyes shoot open in shock.

“Jesus Christ, Osamu,” you say, scrambling for a water bottle when he chokes over it. “What is wrong with you? My god, could you eat it normally?”

His eyes sting with tears, but he manages to give you a thumbs-up between coughs and wheezes. “So worth it,” he gasps, mouth-half-full, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk.

You hand him the water, watching with a mixture of horror and amusement as he gulps it down. You shake your head when he finally manages to swallow, muttering, “You’re insane.”

Dazai leans back with a dramatic groan, collapsing onto the blanket like he’s completed a Herculean task. He reaches out for your hand, entwining your fingers again and tugging you to lay on top of him. 

“So perfect,” he sighs dreamily, voice still a bit hoarse. He winks at you and gives you a flirty smile and then coos, “Just like the baker.”

“You’re so corny,” you complain, but you’re smiling when you look away from him.

“I’m so yours,” he corrects teasingly, kissing your knuckles.

Your smile softens. 

“You are,” you agree quietly, “and I’m yours.”

Yeah, Dazai thinks, an adoring expression on his face as you lean in to brush some of the cream at the corner of his mouth away with your thumb. Yeah, this is definitely all he ever needs.

[musingsofheaven]

Hello!! I adore your Art fics and was wondering if you’d do one with top/dom!Art x Sub!reader and she has a really bad oral fixation throughout her normal day buts it’s especially bad when she’s upset, and she is, also if possible if you could somehow fit in NSFW themes I’d really appreciate it! Once again love love love your work!💕

Sorry if this is gibberish I suck at requesting stuff

SLURRED, SLIPPY, SHINY.

summary: It’s not new. You’ve always had a thing for using your mouth when your feelings get too big and you go quiet. And Art knows that silence, knows exactly what you need when it hits. He never makes you explain. Just cups the back of your head and tells you, “Breathe through it, baby.”

pairings: ceo!art donaldson x young girlfriend!reader

warning: 4.2k words. mature themes. oral fixation. age gap. power imbalance. oral sex (m!receiving). gagging / light choking. spit / drool / mess. aftercare. read responsibly.

note: this request has been sitting in my inbox since june 7 and i swear i wasn’t ignoring it :(! sorry … sighs. anyway, i saw “oral fixation when she’s upset” and i immediately felt exposed. why would you call me out like that. do you know how many things i’ve put in my mouth just to not cry?? like it was a coping mechanism. and surprise!!! it was!!! 🤪 and yep… we’re here now. she’s soft. she’s messy. she’s gagging a little. and she’s regulated by one (1) emotionally available dom named art donaldson. (I WANT SOFT DOM ART) To anon, i’m sorry it took me long. i love you. thank you for requesting this. 💗

You should’ve grown out of it. That’s what everyone said- quietly, politely, like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it’s just a phase. Just something you’d stop doing once your brain settled, but it’s not. As much as you want it to stop, it didn’t. It started when you’re young, with your thumb, then your shirt collar that you’re subtly putting between your mouth when you’re alone, hoodie strings chewed until they frayed. Note: Each one of your hoodies.

Teachers, doctors, and relatives offered solutions: rubber sticks, bracelets, soft pens. You tried. But nothing worked like having something in your mouth. It doesn’t work. You almost broke down when someone asked what it was when you left your bag open. It wasn’t just a habit. You know that. It was need- pressure, focus, quiet. It’s something. It’s yours. Something to help you feel safe. A comfort.

You learned to hide it as you got older. No more thumb sucking (when you’re at public), but your pens still had bite marks. You went through straws too fast. Got flattened and looks like it has been murdered. You pressed your fingers to your lips, mouthed your sleeves, and gnawed your cheeks. You thought it would fade. It didn’t. There’s a time you think it’s fading, not until it happened again, when something triggered you.

It’s worse when you are upset, more than the normal things you do. You didn’t cry or yell. You just went quiet. You bit down. Sucked your fingers raw. Let your sleeves stay wet. Full of drool. You hated how it looked. How did it make you feel small. It can be disgusting, but a good feeling at the same time. You tried to be better. Find solutions on your own when you get older. Therapy, coping tools, breathing tricks- you did it all. But your mouth always ended up full again. Again. And again.

It got harder to ignore around people, especially during sex. When your mouth was busy, your head was quiet. Not because you wanted to be good. Just because it helped. But it got messy- too much drool, too fast, too desperate. You look like you’re eager to suck them off or get fucked. You could always tell when they felt weird about it. They’d pull away. Wipe your chin as if it’s giving them problems. Give you a break you never asked for.

So you stopped letting anyone see it. Bit your cheek. Sometimes it’s too hard you can taste the metallic flavor from your blood. Swallowed the need. Tried to act normal. Masking it in front of other people. Tried to stay quiet without help. You didn’t want to explain. It’s too hard to do it anyway. You didn’t want to see that look- confused, a little uneasy, like they didn’t know what you were doing, or why it mattered.

And then you met him. A quiet gala. A borrowed bracelet. A drink you didn’t finish. He noticed you- not because you were young or pretty, but because you stirred your glass too long, because your fingers kept brushing your mouth like they didn’t know where else to go. The way you lick your lips too much to the point it’s making them dry. You didn’t even realize. But he did.

And for once, someone didn’t look confused. He just watched you more than he spoke. Noticed your jaw, your hands, the way your voice caught when your mouth was empty. But he never pointed it out. Never asked. He just made space. Let you sit closer. Let you speak less. Let you handle yourself. Let you do your mannerisms. Let you know it. And for the first time, you didn’t feel like you had to hide.

Now- now that you’re here, curled up on the floor of his penthouse, sleeves damp, fingers trembling, mouth aching for something to hold- he still doesn’t ask questions. Just let you stay there. Not really get you up because he knows your habits by now. And he’s in the middle of a meeting. Remote. Earbud in, laptop open, voice low. Even as he talks about projections and timelines and things you don’t understand but his other hand- his free hand- is resting gently on your face, two fingers pressed into your mouth like it’s second nature.

You keep his fingers warm inside your mouth. You’re curled against his thigh, knees tucked under you, breathing soft and shallow as you suck on them. Slow. Steady. Sloopy. Like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart. You’ve already soaked his skin. Spit clings to the knuckle and to your chin. Your jaw aches. Your lashes are wet. You don’t even know how long it’s been.

You haven’t spoken since you crawled across the floor and tugged on his sleeve. Soft and with the purpose of disturbing him in the middle of his meeting. Your chest is tight and your eyes are glassy, too full to say a word. You didn’t ask. You didn’t have to. He looked down once, watched your lip tremble, and slipped his fingers past your mouth like he was giving you medicine. Like he knows what you need. Like it’s your fix.

You’ve been like this ever since- mouthing and whimpering, drooling quietly while he keeps talking like there’s nothing unusual happening. Nothing at all. Just you. You’re on the floor. His fingers dig deep into you. “…no, we’ll review it again on Thursday,” he says, thumb brushing under your chin.

“I’ll send over the final numbers after this call.” You whine around his fingers- quiet, desperate- and he doesn’t even blink, just looking straight at this damn meeting. “Shh,” he quietly murmurs, barely audible. His pinky strokes your cheek. “You’re fine, baby. Just keep going.”

You try to behave. You really do. Keep going, he said. But the second he pulls his fingers free- spit, wet, and warm- your mouth feels too empty to breathe right. So you whimper again unintentionally, lips still parted, breath catching in your throat like you’re falling.

He doesn’t look down. Just wipes his hand on the thigh of his sweats and lifts the edge of the desk with his knee so you can crawl more between him. You do- immediately, silently, settling between his legs like you’ve done this before. (You do. Multiple times. Like you already trained for it.)

He’s seated in his office chair, laptop balanced in front of him, camera on. Framed from the chest up. Mic hot. Voice calm. Authoritative. Composed. “… No, we need to revise the it if the acquisition falls through. We can’t afford a delay.” You kneel more comfortably under the desk, hands light on his thighs, cheek pressed to his lap. Like a lap dog. But you didn’t do anything much, you just pressed it, just for closeness, just to feel him- but the second you catch the heat of him through the fabric, your lips part again. You mouthed at him through the cotton. Lips moving with intent. Soft. Unthinking. Your body leads before your brain can follow. A soft noise escapes your throat- barely anything- but enough to be heard.

There’s a pause. “…everything alright over there?” He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t shift. Doesn’t glance down. His voice doesn’t change. He’s acting like you’re not below him. Like you’re not needy. Like you don’t want more of him in your mouth.

“Yeah,” he says. Just a beat. “All good.”

His hand slips under the desk again, finds the back of your head, and presses down gently against his thigh. Then, without pausing the call or breaking eye contact with the screen, he pulls his cock out- slowly, one-handed- just tugging the waistband of his sweats low enough to let it rest heavy and flushed against his thigh.

“Come on,” he whispers to you, too quiet for the mic to catch. “Since you’re already shaking.” You lean in automatically, lips parted, spit already pooling, and wrap your mouth around the head with a soft sigh. You lick the tip like a lollipop. Tasting his pre cum under your tongue. He exhales through his nose, doesn’t react. “…we’ll circle back on Friday,” he says into the call, calm and smooth, while you suck him quietly under the desk.

He doesn’t know what upset you. Not yet. Not ever since you crawled underneath, since he’s already in the meeting when you did that. But he knew something was wrong the moment you knelt beside him- sleeves tugged over your hands, mouth trembling, silent. You hadn’t said anything. You didn’t need to. You just looked up with your glossy eyes, like you just came from crying and your mouth shining with spit. You touched his wrist, and he gave you his fingers like it was instinct.

Now your mouth is stretched around something thicker, deeper, and you’re curled between his legs, hands braced on his thighs, jaw working slowly. Your spit drips down your chin and onto your hands, but his voice doesn’t change. “…that’s fine. Just update them before it goes to legal,” he says evenly. You hum around him like you’re agreeing. Like you’re part of his little meeting. His hand flexes at the back of your head after you hum, must the vibrations of it have affected him. He holds it not for praise, not control. Just contact. You always need contact.

He glances down once. Just to see you like this- lips soaked, brows furrowed, throat working hard to take more than you should. He almost thrust so deep that you could be stuffed, but he didn’t. He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t slow you down. He knows you’ll talk later, after your jaw stops aching and your head clears. Right now, this is the only way you know how to speak. But you’re struggling now- your lips stretched wide, eyes burning, spit messier by the second.

The harder you try to stay quiet, the worse it gets. The more noise threatening to escape your mouth. A whimper escapes, soft and broken, and he feels it. He’s aware of how you are acting below him. Still, he doesn’t pause the meeting. He just lifts one hand off the desk and presses his thumb into the corner of your mouth- not rough, not gentle, just there. Steady. Firm. Guiding.

He eases you off with slow pressure, lets your lips fall from his cock with a gasp. Then pushes his thumb over your tongue, wetting it, quieting you. Grounding you from breaking from it. He knows sometimes you can get overstimulated even if you've already stuffed your mouth.

He lets his cock rests hot against while his thumb plugs into mouth beside it like a stopper, keeping the sound in. “…yes, I’ll review the contract tonight,” he says calmly to the meeting. “No changes on my end.” You blink up at him, glassy-eyed, his thumb still resting against your tongue. You suck on it too, softly, rhythmically, just to keep yourself grounded. To stay in your body. To not cry.

And he lets you. Keeps you there- knees sore, chin sticky, heart pounding, mouth full of him- because this isn’t about making you feel better right now. It’s about keeping you still. Quiet. Held. Just content until the meeting concludes. He doesn’t stroke your hair. Doesn’t tell you you’re good. He just finished his work. Lets you stay where you are, sucking on him like it’s the only thing tethering you to the ground. When the meeting finally winds down- just wrap-up and sign-offs- he clicks once, flatly: “I’ll review everything by tomorrow. Thanks, everyone.” And then he ends the call.

Click. Silence. Like he’s so eager. The shift is instant. He exhales once, slow, and reaches under the desk to grab your wrist- not rough, just firm enough to say: you’re not staying down there. You don’t have time to react and you barely get your hands beneath you before he’s pulling, slow and steady, making you crawl out with your knees catching on the floor. You pout at him because it made you remove your mouth from him.

Your lips are swollen, eyes stinging, his spit and slick cock brushing your cheek as you move. You end up kneeling between his thighs, half slumped in his lap, fingers clutching at his sweats like you’re afraid he’ll take it all away again. But really? In this state? You’re afraid he’ll do it. His thumb shoved back inside your mouth, lazy and wet, soaking from how long you’ve had it before he pulled it out for a moment to get you underneath the desk.

He brushes your chin, glances at your face- pink, glossy, ruined... and pretty. “You gonna tell me what that was about?” he asks, voice low. You shake your head. Just enough. Too shy to say it. Not ready to talk about it. “No?” he repeats, brow twitching.

You pull off his thumb slowly, spit stretching from your lips, then whisper, “Don’t wanna talk...” It cracks your voice. He knows what it means. He knows what he needs to do. You sound shameful. Quiet. Like it hurts to admit. He looks at you for a long second, blank, unreadable- then leans back in his chair and spreads his thighs. “Alright,” he says. “Come get it.”

You’re already moving the moment he said that, dragging your palms up his legs, mouth open before he finishes speaking. You open your mouth wide enough to cater it. You take the head in first- soft, slow, then deeper. Just enough. Maybe the tip is almost kissing your throat. He doesn’t guide you. Doesn’t hold your head. Just watches. Admiring the way you take what you need. The way your lips wrap around it. The way you look.

When you moan around him, eyes slipping shut, he finally lets one hand drop into your hair. “There you go,” he murmurs. “Take what you need.” You press your palms to his knees and sink until your lips meet the base, breath catching, tears stinging your lashes. But you don’t gag, you move slowly, adjusting to it even though you’ve done it many times now. He doesn’t move. Just lets you fuck yourself on him- slow, sloppy, desperate- until your spit coats his thighs, dripping in strings from your chin. Your whole body trembles from the stretch, from how full you are, from how long you’ve been holding everything in.

Then he shifts. Just a little. He put his hand on your hair and grips your hair tightly, not in a way that hurts. He tilts his hips forward once, deep, slow, and the sound you make around him shudders straight up his spine. God, you sound so good, so he does it again. Then again. Three soft thrusts, lazy and controlled, just enough to hear you choke. Just enough to test you to see if you can take it much today. You flinch, but don’t pull away.

You moan- weak, ruined- and he groans softly. “Fuck. You’re really not gonna stop, huh?” Another push, deeper now, hitting your throat. “Not even gonna try.” You look up at him through wet lashes, mouth stretched, eyes pleading. He holds you halfway down, barely letting you breathe, cock throbbing on your tongue like it’s trying to get something out of you you haven’t said yet.

“You needed this bad, didn’t you?” he murmurs, brushing your cheek, wiping spit from your lip. “What happened, sweetheart? Hm? Who made you like this?” He asks. So filthy, making you squirm. Making you feel the tingling through your body because of the sound of his voice. And then, just to feel your throat a little panic, he thrusts again, rougher now, and you gag, tears spilling free.

He doesn’t stop. Just sighs, voice soft. “There you go. That’s better.” Even when your throat clamps, even when your nose presses tight to his skin and your jaw starts to shake, you don’t stop. You learn to love this, giving a head, because he makes it enjoyable. You make a noise- high, wet, almost hurt- but you take it, nails digging into his thighs, spit dripping down his cock like it’s what keeps you breathing.

He exhales again, heavier this time, brushing your hair back from your face. His thumb wipes your chin clean, then strokes your cheek, down to the corner of your mouth where you’re still twitching, still open, still aching. You let him caress your face while you rest there, and your mouth is still full, but he’s not moving yet. “You still with me?” he asks, voice quiet. You nod, slow at first, then again, more sure-eager, already needy.

“You want more?” he asks, voice warm, cock still heavy on your tongue. You whimper around it. He smiles. “Yeah? You want me to fuck your throat, baby?” Your eyes widen- shiny, breathless- and you pause like the weight of it just hit you. You know he’s asking for a consent, knowing that it can be overwhelming for you to do it... especially when he fucks your throat, considering he’s above average and thick too. Then you pull off with a wet gasp, gaze locked on his, and say it like a confession: “Yes. Please.” That’s all he needs. “Good girl.”

He gathers your hair in one hand, lifts your chin with the other, and slides back in with no resistance- just heat, just hunger, just you opening for him like it’s instinct. “Breathe through your nose,” he murmurs, guiding you like always. Reminding you of the same things even though you already know what to do.

“Tap my leg if you need me to stop.” And then he starts- slow, careful, one deep push forward until he meets the back of your throat. He holds there, steady. Not teasing. Just giving you time. Like he’s training you. His hand stays in your hair, grounding you while your body adjusts, while your breath learns to shape around him.

You’re already trembling. Not from fear- just from fullness. From the weight. From the leak. From quiet. Your lips tremble around the base, your fingers curl into the arms of his chair, and your eyes flutter shut as he begins again- a slow drag out, then deeper on the next thrust. His thumb strokes your cheek. “That’s it,” he says, calmly.

“Don’t rush.” You hum before you feel the gag, soft and shallow, then swallow around him, and he groans- not from need, but from how good you are. How willing. He moves again, never too deep, never rough- just enough to feel your throat clench. “You feel that?” he murmurs. “That’s your limit. We’re not going past it yet.”

Your jaw aches. Spit spills freely now. He lets you sit there, face pressed to the root of him, mouth stretched and wet, like you’re trying to breathe through need alone. “You’re doing so good,” he says, like it’s just the truth. “Making space.” Then he slides out, dragging slick along your tongue, and pushes back in deeper this time- firm, measured, until your nose brushes his stomach and your whole body gives out. You’re crying again- he can feel it in the way your throat tightens, then relaxes. In the shift of your breath, the way your hands go soft. The way you go quiet.

“That’s my girl,” he breathes, and this time he means it. He rocks forward again, deeper, surer now- committing. You don’t gag. Don’t flinch. Your lips are red and swollen, your throat open and warm, and you’re wrapped around him like you were made for it. He feels the moment you surrender- when your tongue goes lax, when your breath slows, when your whole body holds still like you’ve given up everything but him. And it hits him all at once- not restraint, but awe. The way you fall apart just to feel full. Just to be good for him.

He lets you breathe there a moment, thick in your mouth, thumb brushing under your jaw while your lashes flutter and your body twitches. Then he leans forward, voice low and too gentle for how he’s looking at you. “Can I go a little faster now?” he murmurs, thumb swiping your spit-slick bottom lip. “Only if you want it.” You blink up at him, tearful and eager, nodding before your brain even catches up. You try to say yes, but it comes out muffled around his cock- your throat flexing like your body’s already answering for you. He groans quietly, settling back in the chair with both hands in your hair, still gentle, still grounding. “That’s my girl,” he says softly. “You’re sure?” Another desperate hum from you. That’s all it takes.

He starts slow again, but this time there’s rhythm, pace, weight, and pressure. His hips roll deeper, steadier, his grip guiding you only slightly as your lips stretch around him. Not forced. Not rushed. Just deliberate. Just enough. You gag once, shallow and quick, then breathe through it, moaning as your spit runs down your chin. You’re making a mess, and he loves you like this- loves how badly you want it, how completely you give yourself up to stay full. “So fucking good for me,” he murmurs, breath catching. “Look at you.”

And then he starts fucking your throat- slow and controlled, rocking into you with more force now, just enough to give you what you asked for. Something to keep your mouth too full to cry. “You’re okay,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’re doing so good.” And you are. You take it all, steady, obedient, dripping, and let him use your throat like it’s the only thing you were built for. You fall apart quietly, trembling with each deep push, your whole world narrowed down to the pressure, the stretch, the weight of him keeping you still. You’re safe. You’re here. And your mouth is where it belongs.

He’s getting close. You feel it in the way his hips start to stutter, the way his breath catches, how his cock throbs a little harder with each thrust. He slows down, lets you breathe around it, and rests heavily on your tongue. “Gonna come soon,” he murmurs, voice low. “Can I do it in your mouth, baby?” You nod right away- messy, needy, already whimpering for it. You don’t pull back. You don’t even think. Just press closer, mouth slick and stretched and shaking, and he groans when he sees how much you want it. “Good girl. Don’t move.”

He doesn’t thrust. Just holds you there- deep, swollen around the base- as he comes in slow, warm pulses, filling your throat while you take it, tear-streaked and open and perfect. You don’t stop. You swallow around him like it’s all you’ve ever known how to do. His hand stays in your hair, thumb stroking your temple, like he’s holding you together while you shake. You stay like that even after he’s finished, mouth still parted like you’re not ready to let go.

He slides out slowly, wet and sensitive, and your breath hitches at the loss. His thumb catches what’s leaking from your mouth and tilts your face up, not rough, just enough to see you. Your eyes are red, your jaw still twitching, your lips parted like you don’t know how to close them yet. He says nothing. Just breathes out quietly and reaches for your wrist.

You’re still trembling when he pulls you into his lap, steady but gentle, guiding you into place like he’s done it before. The office chair isn’t built for this- not wide enough, not soft- but you climb in anyway, folding messy and small. One leg drapes across his, the other hanging off the edge, and you curl into him instinctively, arms around his neck, face buried against his shoulder like you’re trying to disappear.

He holds you close. One arm across your back, one hand in your hair, thumb stroking slow circles through your sweater. You don’t speak. You just breathe, quiet and uneven, body limp but safe. The crying hasn’t stopped completely- it’s softer now, more like the aftershock than the storm. Your knees shake. Your mouth aches. Your fingers curl into his shirt like you’re holding onto gravity.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, voice low against your temple. “Shh. You did so good,” he whispers. “It’s over now.” You nod faintly. He asks if it hurt. You shake your head. “Good,” he says again, lips brushing your hair. “That’s all I care about.”

He doesn’t ask what upset you. Doesn’t press. Just holds you tighter, arms wrapped around your back like you’re something worth keeping still. You’ll tell him later- when your throat doesn’t burn and your heart isn’t stuck in your chest. Right now, he lets you stay soft.

You melt into him slowly. Floaty. Boneless. Barely blinking. Your hands relax in his shirt, breath slow against his neck, and when you nuzzle closer, he tilts his head, letting you burrow. Then the kisses start- quiet and light, scattered across his jaw, below his ear, the curve of his throat. Sleepy little thank yous. Not for effect. Just instinct. He smiles softly and curls his hand around your head. “You’re really sweet when you’re like this, baby.”

You hum in response, kissing his pulse once more. You don’t move. You don’t need to.

Then, quieter than anything: “Love you.”

It just slips out- muzzy and honest.

He stills. Just a beat.

Then sighs into your hair, arms holding you closer.

“I know,” he murmurs. “Love you too.”

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[xjulixred45x]

On the Kid Yuu thing just imagine Idia meeting them and like it's a mix of sadness because of how much they remind them of Ortho and like happiness because they remind him of Ortho... it would become instant big brother mode... Yuu is now Idia's little sibling... and it creates an almost funny fight between Ignahyde and Dismonia because Idia is trying to steal Yuu to Ignahyde, and Lilia is trying to steal Yuu to Dismonia. They bicker over vc 24/7 it's hilarious. And Yuu is just sitting there like "heh?" But enjoying the attention of people actually wanting them around.

OMG THIS IS SO CUTE

First of all, I firmly believe that if Yuu were a little child, Idia would approach them much sooner than in canon, precisely out of an older brother instinct. Obviously, he doesn't do this in person (at least at first), but rather through his iPad, either by bumping into a lost Child!Yuu in the grand halls of NRC and failing to find the first-years, or by trying to find Grim on their own. Either way, Idia can't bring himself to ignore this creature, so he ends up reluctantly helping Yuu until another student or responsible adult takes over.

From there, the encounters escalate, with Idia eventually bumping into Yuu at lunch, during certain activities, etc. Yuu probably initially approaches him because they thinks his way of going to class without leaving his room with a "super futuristic floating screen" is SO COOL, but eventually they even ends up going after Idia to get him to explain things like how TWST works, magic in general, or even tutor them without losing his patience (let's be honest, as much as we love the first-year gang, not everyone can handle a little kid).

I feel like at some point, when Idia realizes that Yuu always ends up involved with the Overblots, he ends up having a very serious talk with Crowley about his failings as a teacher, adoptive father, etc. All of this brings back flashbacks for Idia to the original Ortho... you know, so he's NOT going to allow adults to leave a defenseless child in a dangerous situation. Not again.

Idia also desperately tries to teach Yuu the basic rules of Flight or Fight, only in his case it's Flight or Flight. He doesn't want to think about what would happen if this Child, about 35 pounds socking wet, tried to face a magical being on their own AGAIN, without even having any magic of their own. What if their luck runs out and something bad happens? What if neither he nor Ortho is there to help him? Idia swears his hair will turn white from the stress this causes him.

(Can you imagine Idia having a Pearl-like moment with Steven, where she says, "Why won't you let me do this for you, Rose?!" but calls them Ortho? I'm ready to make you cry today.)

This even leads to Idia leaving his room more often! Precisely to keep Yuu company and have a fun time, just him, Yuu, and Ortho. I like to imagine Idia letting Yuu play video games (appropriate for everyone) with him, even going easier on Yuu just to make them happy. Of course, Ortho would have to be the one to get them out of Idia's room so they could have sunlight, food other than chips, and some social interaction besides each other.

Idia is also a MASTER at handling Yuu's tantrums if they has one. Yes, he gets overstimulated easily, but a crying child? Do you have any idea what Ortho was like as a child?

There will be days when the first years don't even know what to do to stop Yuu from being grumpy, and then Idia comes in (Ortho called him for help after Yuu gave him the most furious scowl ever seen). It's not even 10 minutes since he starts talking to them, and badamin badabam, Yuu is back to their normal mood. No one knows how he does it or what kind of sorcery he's working, but it's working.

Ortho is happy to no longer be the youngest! He'll constantly check Yuu's health, analyze a better diet for their development, and is always willing to play with them if Idia is too busy/unable to. He also becomes a partner in crime when they both want to get Idia out of his cave, whether it's through using Yuu's puppy eyes or Ortho dragging him outright. They're a formidable duo.

Speaking of custody battles, yes, they would be legendary. On one side, we have Diasomnia family, trying to bribe Yuu by riding Malleus's dragon form. On the other side, we have Pomefiore, trying to convince Yuu to stay for a while (or forever) for a self-care routine. And of course, Octavinnille, who offers Yuu a tasting menu especially for them.

Meanwhile, Yuu is happily playing video games with Idia in his room, while Ortho tries to divert attention from all of the aforementioned to extend Ignihyde's time with Yuu as much as possible. This will require another meeting with the dorm's lawyer (aka Trein) to decide custody. Again... But you know what? No matter what, Idia is going to fight for this one.

_________

(ESPAÑOL)

Primero que nada, creo firmemente que en caso de que Yuu fuera un niño pequeño, Idia se le acercaría mucho antes que en el canon, justamente por el instinto de hermano mayor. Obviamente no lo hace en persona (al principio al menos), sino mediante su Ipad, ya sea topándose con un Child!Yuu perdido por los grandes pasillos de NRC y sin encontrar a los de primer año, o tratando de encontrar a Grim por su cuenta, sea como sea, Idia no puede obligarse a ingorar a esta criatura, por lo que termina ayudado a regañadientes a Yuu hasta que otro alumno o adulto responsable se hace cargo.

A partir de ahí, los encuentros van escalando, Idia se termina topando con Yuu en el almuerzo, en ciertas actividades, etc. Probablemente Yuu se le acerca en un principio porque cree que su forma de ir a clase sin dejar su cuarto con una “pantalla flotante súper futurista” es TAN COOL, pero eventualmente incluso termina yendo tras Idia para que le explique cosas de como funciona TWST, la magia en general o incluso le de tutorías sin perder la paciencia (seamos honestos, por mas que amemos al gang de primer año, no todos pueden manejar a un niño pequeño).

Siento que en algún momento, cuando Idia se da cuenta que Yuu siempre termina involucrado con los Overblots, termina yendo a hablar muy seriamente con Crowley por su fallas como profesor, padre adoptivo, etc. Todo esto le trae a Idia flashbacks de cuando Ortho original….tu sabes, por lo que NO va a permitir que unos adultos dejen a un niño indefenso en una situación peligrosa. No de nuevo.

Idia también trata desesperadamente de enseñarle a Yuu las reglas básicas de Flight or Fight, solo que en su caso es FLIGHT OR FLIGHT, no quiere pensar en que pasaría si este niño, de unos 35 kilos MAXIMO, se tratara de enfrentar por su cuenta OTRA VEZ con un ser mágico sin siquiera tener magia ellos mismos ¿Qué pasa si dejan de tener suerte y algo malo pasa? ¿Qué pasa si ni el ni Orto están ahí para ayudarle?. Idia jura que el pelo le va quedar blanco por el estrés que esto le da.

(¿se imaginan Idia teniendo un momento similar a Perla con Steven donde le dice “¿¡Por qué no me dejas hacer esto por ti, Rose!?” pero llamándole Ortho?, hoy estoy lista para hacerlos llorar)

¡esto incluso lleva a que Idia salga de su cuarto mas seguido! Justamente para hacerle compañía a Yuu y que pasen un rato divertido, solo el, Yuu, y Ortho. Me gusta imaginarme a Idia dejando a Yuu jugar videojuegos (aptos para todo publico) con el, incluso siendo mas fácil con Yuu solo para hacerle feliz. Eso si, Ortho tendría que ser quien los saca del cuarto de Idia para poder tener luz solar, comida que no sean papitas, y algo de interacción social además de entre ellos.

Idia también es un MAESTRO en manejar las rabietas de Yuu si llega a tenerlas, si, el se sobre estimula fácilmente ¿pero un niño llorando? ¿tienes idea de cómo era Ortho de niño?

Habrá días en los que los de primer año ni siquiera saben que hacer para que Yuu deje de estar gruñón, y entonces entra Idia (Ortho lo llamo por auxilio después de que Yuu le diera el ceño más fruncido que haya visto), ni siquiera pasan 10 minutos desde que se pone a hablar con ellos, y badamin badabam, Yuu esta de nuevo con su mood normal. Nadie sabe cómo lo hace ni qué tipo de brujería sua, pero está funcionando.

¡Ortho esta feliz de ya no ser el mas pequeño! Y hara constantemente chequeos médicos de Yuu, un analizis de un dieta mejor para su desarrollo, y siempre esta dispuesto a jugar con ellos si Idia esta muy ocupad/no puede. Tambien se vuelve un socio en el crimen cuando ambos quieren sacar a Idia de su cueva, ya sea usando los ojos de cachorro de Yuu o que Ortho directamente lo arrastre, son un duo de temer.

Hablando de las batallas de custodia, si, serian lejendarias. Por un lado, tenemos a la familia de Diasomnia, que trata de sobornar a Yuu con montar la forma dragon de Malleus. Del otro lado, tenemos a Pomefiore, tratando de convencer a Yuu que se queden un rato (o para siempre) por una rutina de autocuidado. Y como no, Octavinnille, que ofrece a Yuu un menú de degustación especialmente para ellos.

Mientras tanto, Yuu esta felizmente jugando videojuegos con Idia en su cuarto, mientras que Ortho trata de desviar la atención de todos los mencionados anteriormente para extender lo mas posible el tiempo de Ignihyde con Yuu. Esto requerirá otra junta con el abogado de los dormitorios (osea, Trein) para decidir la custodia. Otra vez…. ¿Pero sabes que? No importa, Idia va a luchar por esto.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

[loreleiloon]

(Variation of my other post)

What if, due to fighting villains so much, Hero contracts a serious illness that threatens to completely debilitate them.

Hero is nothing without their crime fighting work, so they seek out one of the best doctors in the city.

The doctor gives Hero a drug that keeps the illness in remission. But Hero needs to come in for injections twice a week.

Hero complies with this schedule religiously. After a few months, not only is the illness almost gone, but Hero feels better than they have in years.

And the doctor is so kind, so understanding. They never ask Hero where they get their bruises or broken bones, just patch them up good as new. As if they know exactly where Hero was injured.

For once in Hero's life, they are the ones being taken care of. They forgot how incredible that feeling was.

One day, the doctor steps out with a flustered nurse while Hero is getting injected.

"I'll be back soon," they promise on the way out. "Just sit tight and wait for me." Then with a swish of their doctor's coat, they disappear behind the door.

Hero obliges, letting the drug soothe the aches in their bones. But then the machine cuts off abruptly. Hero looks but the IV bag is still half full.

Confused, they ease off the operating chair. The plug is attached to the outlet. All the wiring seems fine.

Then Hero notices that the doctor left their clipboard behind. Hero's never read the clipboard. They can't even remember the last time the doctor let the clipboard out of their sight.

Hero knows they shouldn't but the notes are about them, after all. Besides, they want to know what the doctor thinks of all their strange injuries so poorly explained.

The first page is normal medical jargon. Hero flips through the second, third, fourth.

It's not until they reach the last page that they find handwritten notes.

"Strongest at .5 meters"

"Test 3mg more of Haepoxulin."

"Monitor activities during witching hour more closely."

"Do NOT taser right leg. Femur still healing."

Hero tested their step on their right leg. The leg felt healthy, better than healthy. What did the doctor--

A sharp pain shot up Hero's leg. Their knee buckles. Hero clutches the arms of the operating chair, agony locking them in place.

"You've been wanting to read that, haven't you?"

Hero's eyes whip towards the door. Supervillain stands in the doorway, holding the doctor's coat over their arm.

Hero tries to lunge, but the pain keeps them in place.

"What did you do to the doctor?" Hero yells, hatred burning from their gaze. "If you touched a hair on their heads, I'll--"

Supervillain shakes their head. "Ever the savior. To busy asking what I did to them," shaking out the coat, Supervillain pulls it over their shoulders, "to wonder what I did to you."

Hero's blood freezes. There's that roguish grin the doctor always wears, that stubborn cowlick the doctor can never comb down.

"You--you're--how?" Hero's heart twists with rage, confusion, hurt. "Was it all a lie?"

"Of course not. I couldn't have my favorite Hero dying. Who would thwart my plans? Life's so boring when everything goes your way," They press a small button on the device in their hand, "Don't you think, Hero?"

A thousand shock waves jolt through Hero's body. They crumple to the floor, writhing from the neurons coursing through their blood.

Supervillain clicks the button again. The agony stops at once. In its place, healing strength flows into Hero's muscles.

Hero's eyes roll back in their head. Consciousness weakens and the world swims into darkness.

Before Hero can fully pass out, they turn their head to ask Supervillain one more question: "Why...?"

Supervillain's, no, the doctor's roguish grin is the last thing Hero sees before the world goes dark.

"Why not, Hero?"

[tinybeetiny]

Build-A-Boyfriend Chapter 7: Escape

AAAAA sorry! I meant to have this out yesterday but I'm in New York for Skz and been so busy. but here you go... also I know the beginning is a little repeat... sorry

->Starring: AI!AteezxAfab!Reader ->Genre: Dystopian ->Cw: None?

Previous Part

Masterlist | Ateez Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Yn sat on the edge of the recovery cot, legs drawn up, knuckles white as she gripped the edges. Her mind buzzed, half from adrenaline, half from disbelief.

Across the room, Seonghwa paced in slow, methodical lines. Too calm. Too quiet. Every movement deliberate, as though choreographed in advance.

But his eyes were restless.

“Where are we?” she asked, her voice raw, breaking the silence.

“One of the executive bays,” he answered without looking at her. “Off-grid. Minimal surveillance.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You shouldn’t know that.”

“I know a lot of things I shouldn’t,” he said softly.

She pushed herself up from the cot, arms trembling slightly. “You moved without being commanded. You accessed unauthorized clearance levels. You—” she swallowed hard, “you shouldn’t be able to do any of that.”

“I shouldn’t be able to feel either,” he replied, stopping mid-step to look at her. “But I do.”

Her breath caught in her chest.

“You’re malfunctioning.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m evolving.”

“No. That’s not how your system works. You're built to follow logic trees, not whims.”

Seonghwa stepped toward her, slowly, carefully. “Then explain why I knew you’d run the second you opened your eyes. Or why I knew you’d try the door instead of calling for help.”

“I don’t know,” she said sharply. “But this isn't awareness. It's recursive mimicry, or deep-learning residue. It has to be.”

“You’re trying to explain away something your system isn’t prepared to understand.”

She flinched. “Stop talking like you’re human.”

He didn’t respond immediately.

He looked at her, jaw set with quiet urgency.

“We need to get you out of here.”

Yn blinked. “What?”

“You’re not safe in this building anymore,” he said. “Not with the others waking up, and especially not if Hongjoong comes online in the state he's in.”

She frowned. “I’m not the one who needs to run. You’re the one glitching out of protocol.”

“I’m not glitching,” he replied calmly. “I’m thinking. I’m aware. That’s the difference.”

She shook her head, backing a step toward the wall. “Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I can’t just walk a prototype out of KQ. They’ll track me. My badge logs, my movement records, everything.”

“They won’t,” Seonghwa said. “I can block the tracking pings from your badge for up to six hours. I know the blind spots in the security system. I’ve studied them.”

“Oh, great,” she muttered, bitter. “So now you’re an AI and a saboteur.”

“I’m trying to keep you alive.”

She stared at him, heart pounding. “You want me to just abandon everything? My job? My clearance? My life?”

“I want you to survive long enough to understand what’s really happening,” he said. “There’s more going on than just a few bad memory loops. I can feel it. Something deeper. And if the others come fully online before we figure it out—”

He stopped himself, but the fear in his eyes lingered.

“You think they’ll turn violent.”

“I think some of them already have,” he said. “San did.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, quieter, “You’ve seen the signs, Yn. You know I’m right.”

She looked away, jaw clenched.

“This is insane,” she muttered. “I’m not a fugitive. I’m a systems engineer.”

“Then engineer a solution,” Seonghwa said softly. “But do it from somewhere safe.”

Another long beat passed.

Then, finally, she looked back at him and nodded once.

“Fine. But if we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough.”

They dressed quickly, hoods up, collars turned. The sleek black coats Seonghwa pulled from a hidden locker looked nondescript, civilian-grade, but Yn knew better. KQ designed them with biometric dampeners stitched into the lining, designed for couriers and silent transfers. They wouldn’t show up on most sensors.

“I didn’t even know these were still in rotation,” she muttered, slipping one on.

Seonghwa looked at her. “They’re not. Which is why they work.”

They moved through the underbelly of the building like ghosts. Maintenance corridors wound in quiet, forgotten paths far below the main surveillance network. Occasionally, they’d hear the whir of a patrol drone overhead, and duck into the shadows until it passed.

Yn's fingers were icy where they clutched the hem of her coat. Seonghwa stayed beside her the entire time, eyes constantly scanning, posture tense. Every so often, she caught him looking at her, not with suspicion, but with something like concern.

When they reached the old elevator shaft near the waste filtration wing, he spoke again.

“I need to go to the lab first. There’s something I have to retrieve. An encryption core from our shared memory cache.”

Yn hesitated. “And you think you can do it without alerting the system?”

“Do you trust me?”

She gave him a flat look. “Absolutely not.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Stay out here. Just in case.”

She pressed herself into the shadows beside the lab entrance, hands clenched. The door hissed open. Seonghwa slipped inside.

Three minutes passed.

Then five.

Her stomach twisted, ready to bolt, but just then, the door reopened.

Seonghwa stepped out…

…followed by Wooyoung.

He was grinning like he’d just escaped a dream. “I knew I wasn’t the only one hearing voices! Holy hell, did you see San? What the actual fu—”

Yn blinked. “Really?”

Seonghwa gave a sheepish shrug. “He followed me.”

“I begged him,” Wooyoung corrected. “And you should be thanking me, operator, because I was five seconds away from ripping the whole mainframe apart trying to find you.”

She stared at them.

Then turned to Seonghwa again. “This was supposed to be a stealth mission.”

He gave a helpless shrug.

Wooyoung tossed her a wink. “What can I say? I missed you.”

Yn groaned.

The city was darker than usual. Hala’s curfew had emptied the streets, but the drone lights still circled overhead like slow sharks, scanning. The boys kept their heads down, hoods pulled tight, while Yn led them through the maze of alleys and overhangs between buildings.

The sky overhead was a dull smear of neon haze.

They passed through the old market square, now silent and shuttered, then ducked through the automated loading docks to the residential quarter. Only once did they have to stop—ducking into a stairwell alcove as a ground unit rolled past. Wooyoung instinctively pulled Yn back with him into the shadows. He didn’t speak, just held her there, steady and silent until the danger passed.

When they reached her residential block, Yn activated the backdoor override. The biometric scanner blinked uncertainly, but then granted access with a soft chime. They slipped inside the narrow stairwell, silent as breath, climbing quickly to the third floor.

Her apartment was dark.

Home.

The door sealed behind them with a satisfying click.

Yn leaned against it, chest rising and falling. For the first time since waking up, she exhaled.

Seonghwa glanced around the space like it was a relic. His eyes caught on her desk, the coffee cups, the little photo strip on the fridge.

“You really live here,” he said softly.

“And now so do you, apparently,” she muttered, tossing her coat aside.

Wooyoung flopped dramatically onto her couch, arms spread wide. “Cozy. I love it. Is this blanket weighted?”

She looked at them both, disbelief still flickering in her expression.

“This isn’t forever,” she warned. “Just until we figure out what’s happening.”

Seonghwa nodded. “I understand.”

But his eyes never left her.

And somewhere deep in Yn’s gut, she already knew

Nothing was ever going back to the way it was.

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[lavender-wounds]

I think there's also very much a "guilt/shame" aspect to it as well.* I'll probably explain it better in an actual post later, but it's like...

First there's the guilt/shame that people from Western countries feel because they're in a better situation than a lot of other people in the world---we experience a lot of privileges that people in some other countries don't have. And, due to the fact that a lot of people's leftism these days is really just the most Repressed and Shame-Ridden aspects of different sects of Christianity repackaged to be "woke," they're basically taught that- (or, at the very least, act like) -privilege is indicative of whether or not you're a Good Person, rather than just...something you either have or you don't based on pure chance via circumstances of birth.

They also feel shame/guilt over the actions of their respective governments since said governments have done some heinous shit both historically and presently, and have often done said heinous shit to the previously mentioned less-privileged countries. So, in the Left's version of "the original sin" and "we're all sinners by birth," they're all guilty of the heinous shit their governments have done by proxy of living there/being born there---as well as being guilty-by-proxy due to being related to people that did/have done/supported terrible shit.

So, due to all of that, they feel the need to almost...cosplay as these "freedom fighters" and "human rights activists" and whatever else, even if they're not really doing anything. They have to do it because it's become such a prevalent opinion in Leftist circles that if you don't care about Literally Everything All At Once, then clearly you support whatever heinous shit is happening somewhere else, even if you know nothing about it---and that makes them "just as bad" as their government/ancestors/etc..

They do all of this to try and "cleanse" themselves of the guilt and shame they feel by proxy of who they were born as---and the more privileged they are the more they feel the need to "cleanse" themselves.

And then there's the shame/guilt of admitting they're wrong.

So many of these people have been completely brainwashed by so much antisemitic and xenophobic propaganda, and they've used this misinformation to justify doing heinous shit to Jews and Israelis in the name of "freeing Palestine," even though harassing random Jews/Israelis for simply existing doesn't help anyone.

And, due to the whole "Original Sin Repackaged" thing I mentioned earlier, so many Leftists basically latch onto the idea of like...you can never change---if you were a bad person/did a bad thing however long ago then you are Forever Tainted and can never really change/be a Good Person, you are Forever A Bad Person. Which...is not how that works.

In reality people can, and do, change---people change literally every day. Now, if you did a terrible thing, then you obviously can never change the fact that you did it and you can't change the fact that you hurt people and that what you did was bad BUT you can change, you can apologize, you can do better, and you can be a good person/do good things in the future. There is no changing the past, but the past doesn't and shouldn't stop you from being better in the future.**

A lot of leftists, however, reject that reality and instead put a lot of emphasis on the idea that you must always be a Good Person and The Perfect Activist---otherwise any good you've done in the past/will do in the future is vetoed and you are forever a Bad Person.

So, when faced with the idea that maybe they were wrong about Jews/Israelis and that they've actually been really bigoted for no reason, these people would rather double down on the bigotry than admit they were wrong because admitting they were wrong makes them Tainted and a Bad Person Who Can Never Change.

So much of their activism is based around- "I would've hidden Jews" -and- "I wouldn't have been a Nazi, I would've been One Of The Good Ones" -that when the reality hits that, in the modern day, they actually probably would have been a Nazi and wouldn't have hidden Jews or whatever- (since they literally fell for propaganda villainizing Jews/justifying their murder) -then that's just...not something they can deal with. They HAVE to double down and assert that- "Jews are the REAL Nazis" -because the other option is admitting that they did something wrong and probably would've done/have done the exact same shit to Jews that their ancestors did.

And that means they have Sinned and are a horrible evil person forever---they can never change, never apologize, and never be a better person. And everyone who's a Good Leftist must shun said person, even if they've changed and are trying to do better, lest they be Tainted By Sin too---which also puts more pressure on these people to never admit they're wrong for fear of losing their communities/friends.

Idk, I'm just rambling here, but I seriously think that guilt/shame due to a lot of these "progressive" ideologies just being repackaged Original Sin rhetoric is doing a lot of harm and essentially just pushing these people into doubling down on bigotry because of the fear of being wrong/tainted/a Sinner/etc..

*Keep in mind, I'm from the US so I'm speaking from an American perspective, this is all just based on what I've experienced in these leftist political circles---I obviously don't speak for everyone in the world, so take what I say with however many grains of salt you need

**Also, side note: this is about people that've done bad things being able to improve themselves and do better in the future, this is NOT saying anything about whether or not the people they've hurt have to forgive them or if said person faces consequences for said actions---this is solely talking about the choice to improve, those other things are different conversations.

all of this.

[fligniuz]

flig, would you or anybody else be willing to elaborate on the behaviours and things people around him said that made you think he's autistic? I'm just curious, you could delete after a while if you want to

hi ok SO. i made a post about this when i first started my blog that you can read here but honestly i’m just gonna type out a more thorough response because the post i made kinda rambles on idk😭i wanna stress that none of these things on their own are necessarily signs of autism, rather it’s the combination of all of these things together that strongly leads me to believe luigi is on the spectrum. these traits stand out the most to me:

minimal eye contact. i have seen a few people mention that this could very well be him following the advice of his prison/DP consultant (moskowitz i believe), and that’s always a possibility, but i personally think it’s more likely to be autism considering everything else i’m about to list

restricted interests. there’s not too much to go off of here but i do think his goodreads is quite interesting… there are clear patterns of interests in the books luigi has read or wants to read. for example, in 2022, he read several books relevant to back pain (there are many more on his want to read):

predictably, there are multiple books on computer science and math:

nerd ranch…🥺

aaand a bunch about tech as well:

lol

this pattern of getting “hyper focused” on a specific topic/having a special interest is common for neurodivergent people (especially if it’s something personally relevant to you—lots of autistic people have a special interest in autism itself, for example!) you can see his list of books he’s read here, and his want to read list is here. i highly recommend scrolling through this archive of luigi’s goodreads if you haven’t already—you can learn so much about him just from looking at everything he wanted to read

very expressive with his face and hands. i know this is the exact opposite of the stereotype but many many MANY of us have exaggerated facial movements and gestures as opposed to very minimal ones. autism is a spectrum for a reason! examples:

^ also notice here how he fidgets around a lot!!

this cute lil thing

(i hope you can kinda see what i mean from these gifs. this is one of those things that’s really hard to describe, like you know it when you see it, but as someone who’s also more expressive than not i see a lot of myself in him)

it’s possible he does this to overcompensate for/“mask” a more minimal and natural reaction (and i do believe he’s very good at masking), but regardless it was still one of the things about him that gave me pause

this quote (source):

i recommend reading the other post i made for an explanation of why this screamed autistic to me but essentially this is a very commonly expressed sentiment among autistic people across the spectrum, often stemming from our difficulties with social interaction and, in luigi’s words, finding a community of like-minded people. obviously we have different ways of expressing it but i guarantee that just about every one of us has felt this way at some point in our lives

and perhaps most damning (for lack of a better word) of all…

this substack luigi subscribed to:

HONORABLE MENTIONS:

…this:

i just can’t explain it like have you EVER heard somebody say this about a neurotypical person😭it’s mike so take it with a grain of salt (along with the rest of this post, because i don’t know shit!!!) but idk it stood out to me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

this pose:

AGAIN I CAN’T EXPLAIN BUT I SWEAR. WE SIT IN REALLY ODD POSITIONS LIKE THIS AND FIND THEM COMFY… ive always thought it’s related to our need for sensory stimulation?? but i honestly have no idea what’s up with it. i have hit this exact stance while playing with my toys or reading when i was little. like it’s not just the legs it’s the way the fingers are tucked under his foot too this picture is just so dear to me💔

SORRY for the novel ok i hope this gave you a good idea of why, i won’t write my whole disclaimer again—see other post for that—but to reiterate only luigi knows the answer to this (and he may not actually!! we don’t know, that’s my point) and i obviously do not want to armchair diagnose him or anything. i am autistic, many of my friends are autistic, and my understanding of autism comes from not just my own experience but lots and lots of research; this is all just stuff that sticks out to me and the vibes that i personally get from him, but this man is a stranger to me at the end of the day and i’m not going to say that any of this is definitive at all. just my observations💚

[okapis-anonymous]

Ok so! Dark kingdom courting!

I’ve got so many headcannons about this so just hear me out. It’s a eight step process, each step being a different progression of the relationship. It is considered bad luck to complete the process in 6 months or less.

Step one: moonlit walk. This is more of a “hey I think you’re cute and I would like to court you but nothing is official, just testing the waters” type of thing. Also you cannot just say “wanna go for a walk”. You have to say “could I walk you under the only light in the dark?” It’s said depending on how long you stay out together is how likely the relationship is to last.

Step two: rock! That’s right, next step is to give your crush a rock, I’m not joking. It doesn’t matter the size or where you got it, only two things are important. One: it must be a common and standard rock you can find in the wild, like limestone, shale, unrefined clear quartz, sedimentary rock, etc. This is meant to show that you have no grand expectations for your crush if you become partners, you only want them as themselves. And two: is to say the words “I found this for you, from the earth, if you would dare to accept it.” If they take it, congratulations, you’re dating! If not, better luck next time.

Ulla kept the rock Quirrn gave her and now Quirrn has it on his nightstand.

Step three: sharing food, or more specifically making food. It’s sort of a way to show off how good of a partner you are because you can take care of them. No special words for this one but people have been know to get into cooking competitions purely to say “no I’m the better partner.”

Step four: sharing clothes. This one implies a level of sharing that Dark kingdom citizens find very intimate. Like, in a sweet way it shows that you’re willing to share things when life gets too chaotic. For example (because I don’t think I explained it well): couples with kids often share clothes because with kids you often don’t have time to get dressed and will grab something and go, often time their partner’s clothes. Kind of like a “these are not mine or theirs, it’s ours” type of thing. It can also be a seen as a “don’t talk to me I’m taken” type of thing too.

Step five: coat. The dark kingdom is very cold so most everyone has a coat or cloak of some kind. So giving it to some and having them wear it around is a big deal! It implies that you are willing to give your partner anything through thick and thin, for them to be your priority even when the cold is harsh.

This can also be done among family and close friends but only during specific times, most notably during the mourning process. When Quirrn and Donnella were mourning Ulla for the second time (after the trails), Quirrn offered to share his cloak with her by Ulla’s grave. He said it was a sign of good faith, to say no hard feelings about the past, but Donnella knew it meant more. So she sat there at the grave for a few hours, just sharing a cloak with him.

(I do not ship these two, I just need them to make up and be friends)

Step six: matching jewelry. This can be any type of jewelry (EXCEPT FOR RINGS AND EARRINGS, we’ll get into that later). It’s kind of the equivalent of a promise ring (a promise ring is a ring someone will give to their partner to say “hey I want to marry you but I can’t right now for whatever reason”). Often times these pieces of jewelry are handmade as a way to show how delicate and serious you are, but if you get it from the store that’s ok too. Often times this is a process done together and the design of the jewelry is an agreed upon thing for all involved.

Step seven: moving in. It’s considered very healthy to move in with your partner before marriage in the dark kingdom so that you can figure out if you’d work together in the same house first before marriage. It also goes back to the “ours” thing, showing that you work well as a team and will have a promising marriage.

Step eight: proposal! Most people in the seven kingdoms do rings and the dark kingdom is no exception but they use silver only, not gold. You propose with the ring and with the words: “My light, will you love me the way I love you?” This part is the most important and here’s why! “My light” is reserved for the most sincere and dedicated love because they live in the dark kingdom, with very little light. So to say that someone is your light is like saying they’re your source of life. And then “Will you love me the way I love you” is something to be said after my light because it’s asking if the light thing is mutual. It’s a big deal in the dark kingdom and no one say it lightly.

I asked tumblr on a poll if earrings should be important to the brotherhood so I’m add it to this. Brotherhood members don’t signify marriage with a ring (probably for the same reason as firefighters not wearing them, it’ll hurt them and their performance on the job) but instead earrings. It is a great deal of pride for a brotherhood member to have matching earrings with their partner.

But that would also imply that Hector and Adira are both married, not to each other but still, not single which is kind of hilarious. I do like to think that Quirrn had earrings for his marriage but switched it out for the ring after Ulla died. Also she got the ring for him and didn’t know it was supposed to be silver but he insisted it was fine. Her kingdom has a tradition of the ring being bronze so that’s what his ring is made out of.

Please give me your ideas, comments, questions, etc for this!!! I’m planning on adding it into fics, I love it so much, but I’m also looking for suggestions if anyone wants to add anything ^w^

Edit: forgot to mention but the idea of “my light” being important was suggested by @vsimp14 thank you dude!!

[rapunzellovesbooks]

I feel like a lot of people dont get that Colin trying to be different is not only about others liking him, it is about him trying to feel less. It is less about convincing others and more about convincing himself.

Violet tells him that she gets why he is doing it. He put on an armour because he felt too much, we have seen it over two seasons. He even goes back to Marina to check on her because he feels guilty and she insults him again, he hurts his own feelings once more. He legit uncovers a whole ass ruby scheme because his brain is constantly picking up on things. He feels so much, we never see Colin just sitting still. And then Pen stops writing to him. He states it outright that he attempted to harden himself because of it. And how do the men in the Ton do this, how has he seen his brothers do it? The same brothers who despite having this rakish behaviour got the woman they wanted or are living carefrew like Benedict? They flirt, they act mysterious, they go to brothels, etc. I get no one wanted to see Colin in that situation but they do make sense. Colin was told the notion of wanting to wait for marriage was childish and nonsensical, it is no mystery why when everyone including Pen who always believed in him leaves him, he does what all men in that time did. And, as we know, it does not work.

LW calling him out in front of everyone is not what bothers him, is that she is right. He is mad that it gets to him, so he goes to the brothel, acts like any other man. Maybe, he thinks, the more I try, the better I will get at it. That is whd there is such a difference between that scene and the mirror scene. In the first scene, it is rough and only physical. That is not Colin, we know this. In the mirror scene, that is him, it means something, it means everything to him.

It is no wonder he spirals after the kiss. He is feeling so much and for the one person he can never hide from, Pen. And then Pen tells him to keep away. He is probably thinking, what an idiot, feeling too much again. Combined with his hero complex, who wants to respect Pen‘s wishes, the man was a mess. So he tries again but now there is not even the fake it til you make it of the first brothel scene.

I get no one wanted to see Colin there but saying it ruins his character because he is being to a brothel or is not a virgin is just wrong. Colin is not a rake, he is not sharing facts about stuff with anyone, not really and he outright says that he hates that men do this instead of holding it sacred as he wants to. He claims he does not see a gentleman among them and he includes himself.

He loses the will to try cause he wants to feel the torture of loving Pen, that is why he even sleeps outside their bedroom while they are arguing. He does not sleep with her because it is sacred to him, sex for Colin is only a joyous thing. All of it is in character so people saying the brothel scenes ruin his season 1 and 2 arc is weird to me. It is a natural progression. He literally explains why he did it. Maybe they could have been shot differently, and I get people dont like seeing sex workers on screen, but yall gotta stop with the modern lense. That thing existed back then, period.

Colin is trying to numb himself but Pen is the key back to the feeling Colin. He might even be mad at her for that during the entrapment comment, he went back to feeling so much and it was all because of her and now there is no turning back again. That is why he tells Eloise that she is lucky she has never been in love because he is so mad at Pen but also loves her. It is a conundrum and it is eating him alive. It is easier to forgive someone you do not love as much.

So yeah my rant here is that, in my opinion and while I skip them, Colin going to a brothel does not ruin anything, it makes sense. It is like the kid in high school who gets recruited by the popular kids and tries to fit in. Only he cant and Colin becomes aware of it even before the kiss. Pen is the key. We all need someone who sees us and Colin only ever wanted to be seen. Pen telling him that she loves his feeling self is the best thing he could have ever heard.

[winterbunz]

@sir-kettle-of-countertop you ask and you shall receive!! I've been thinking about Wolke quite a bit, mostly in context of Kratzer, but you inspired me to think about this specific dynamic a little more.

Just a small naming update before I proceed: since I've been using Turmfalke and Kestrel interchangeably for her, Kestrel shall be the nickname for the unit in my main story. That should make things easier going forward when I inevitably end up making more of them :]

With that out of the way, onto the fun part! We will indeed see them interacting together... in fact, you may do so right HERE! 👇👇

(image transcript in description if hard to read)

Aren't they adorable? And, uh oh, who might that mysterious Eule be? More yapping below!!

Wolke can very much be considered part of the hospital staff at this point, since she's stationed there much more often than not. Aside from the practical benefits of having a much taller, combat-ready unit around, a predictable routine builds security - it's good for reducing stress in both the staff and anyone staying at the hospital for their recovery. Why change something that works?

Thanks to this, Wolke has gained a little bit of medical experience and formed bonds not only with the Eules, but also, if not more importantly, Kestrel. Kestrel very much appreciates that routine and Wolke herself, for her personality. She's easier to talk to than most Stars - still fairly reserved but more chatty and expressive, although she tends to have her head in the clouds... perhaps that explains the nickname. The influence the company of Eules has had on her also makes Kestrel feel a bit more comfortable around her, less nervous to give her specific orders which she has permission to do.

Wolke holds a lot of respect for Kestrel; she can understand the hardships of her job well through observation, admires her dedication, and is just simply grateful for everything she does for the Replikas in the facility especially. She even salutes Kestrel when accepting a given task or when they greet each other at the start of the shift. Kestrel never asked her to do this and she doesn't hold a military rank that would warrant that sort of formality... it's just one of the Star's mannerisms and it's kind of cute, actually.

That is to say, Kestrel is not exempt from Wolke's teasing and flirting. It's pure entertainment, making their medic all flustered, watching her face turn bright pink as she tries to hide it... if the Eules do it, why can't she? It's not her fault that some models aren't immune to a Star's killer smile-and-wink combo. She tries not to be too distracting - Kestrel already has her whole entourage taking care of that, it's quite enough for one easily-overwhelmed unit. However, she's more than eager to help fetch stuff from higher shelves for her... or pick her up so she can grab it herself. Perhaps someone else has given her a green light on that idea, someone who knows Kestrel better than anyone else...

And who could that be, you ask? A somewhat familiar face, which finally has a name and more solid features. Meet Kirsche, one of the facility's nurses and Kestrel's assistant, emotional support, maybe even her... girlfriend?? Replika yuri on MY blog? It's more likely than you think! Find out more in a dedicated post, coming to your Sektor's dashboard soon!!

Thank you so much to everyone who managed to get all the way down here and thank you once again Kettle for the idea to write about them, as well as pretty much inspiring me to draw this!!

[this-is-a-name-dont-worry]

pride episode where there's a pride parade in Danville and the boys decide to participate with their friends but Buford is confused about what any of the flags and labels mean. So after he asks the other what the trans flag is and they explain, he's like "I don't get it, everyone wants to be a girl",

"I don't. What about you, Ferb?"

"I don't really think about it much."

"Yeah I don't either."

"And I really don't want to be a boy."

"Wait so none of you guys want to be a girl sometimes?"

"No."

"Already am!"

The A plot is the gang making fun Pride stuff with Buford's gender identity crisis going on in the background (he likes being a girl, but he ALSO likes being a boy!! sometimes it feels better to be one and sometimes it feels better to be the other!! he doesn't get it, he has to try everything in the most stereotypical way and make a tally to see which one he prefers!)

Meanwhile, Perry arrives at Doofenschmirtz Evil Inc., but Doof tells him there's no evil plan this time, because Vanessa amd his ex wife told him about this Pride Month thing and apparently today is Danville's Pride Parade and Vanessa said she's going with some friends. And because he's trying to be more involved in her hobbies, he asked if he could participate, and Vanessa told him that sure, they could meet up at some points and do a part of it together. So he decided to build a chariot because he knows that in every Danville's parade there are chariots, but the issue is that he has no idea what a Pride Parade is, and doesn't even understand what Pride Month is, so he had to improvise. At first he wanted to make a sculpture of everything he was proud of but it looked like shit, so instead he decided to focus on one thing and did two birds one stone; he'll make his chariot about Vanessa, because he's proud of her, and she can be proud of herself too!

Perry knows exactly what Pride is and that Doof is misunderstanding the whole thing, but he gladly accepts to help. Then Vanessa arrives and gets upset when she sees the final product that's all about her.

She's not going to the Parade for herself, but for her friends, and the chariot is like. Going to a friend's birthday party, but then the cake and decorations are shaped like your face. Perry tries to comfort her, and Doof feels bad.

For Candace's plot, she is stressing out because she volunteered to give water and food to the attendees when they pass by, thinking that it's ok because she'd get to hang out with her friends or Jeremy, but it turns out they all participate at the Parade, and not even Jeremy invited her, so she starts wondering if she was a bad friend or did something wrong that made them not want her to accompany them. And also not want them to answer her calls. She starts overcorrecting herself about everything, worried she'd look like a bad ally, and it becomes ridiculous.

At the end the chariot has been slightly remade to be about Vanessa and her friends (that or about doof, perry, vanessa, and norm, becoming really Heinz's chariot, im not sure), and Candace gets comforted by everyone that it was ok, it's just that they knew she already had something else going on and had planned to stop when they reached her. They couldn't hear their phones in the crowd, and they're sorry for not thinking about telling her.

For the A plot?

"So Buford, how is your identity crisis going?"

"Meh, I've decided to not think about it for now. I'm like, 11, I've got plenty of time to figure it out later."

"Well when you do, we'll be happy to help!"

"Thanks guys."

and then idk we have a joke that confirms a sexuality or gender that takes people by surprise to finish it all off

[writingdevil]

Hello there! Just wanted to drop by and say that your writing is very lovely! I loveee how you characterize everyone and the way you write is very compelling! <3

As for a request, anything with Paranoid will do! Buuut it's alright if not! I just really wanted to say that your writing is peak. Thank you for your time, oh great sage of stories!

(Thank you!! You're very sweet!! Also, you've given me the perfect chance to write about a ship that's grown on me- parastubb, so I hope you enjoy this ship!)

Stubborn's realised something as of late.

He usually doesn't dig too deep into things, more concerned with the heat of the moment and chasing thrills whenever he could.

But after enough times of it happening, even Stubborn couldn't be blind to it any longer.

Stubborn's a big guy. He knows it, the flock knows it- he's one of the biggest and strongest members of the flock.

That often meant that he was the one doing the heavy lifting or the fighting whenever a princess decided to test them, which Stubborn was more than happy to do.

Stubborn- liked being a protector. He liked knowing that he could keep his flock safe and happy. The fact that they all could turn to Stubborn to get stuff done and know that he could accomplish it- it just made him feel nice, for some reason.

He will admit, he can be a bit aggressive when it comes to verbal fights or heated arguments within the flock. It was one type of fight that Stubborn couldn't punch his way out of, but he sure as shit was going to try.

But because he's so zoned in on the arguing, he hadn't actually realised the other thing he had started to do.

Sometimes, when arguing got too out of hand, and voices were booming around the room, Stubborn would be engulfed in frustration and petty anger, and then someone would randomly snap their arms out in a wild gesture- and then Stubborn would hear someone yelp and rush behind his body for protection.

Stubborn didn't know when it started. He's no stranger to being protective of his flockmates. He's lost count of the amount of times he would carry Broken to bed, or drag Contrarian away from a dangerous stunt at two a.m. Stubborn wouldn't let them be idiots and get themselves killed.

But this was different.

The first few times it happened, feeling someone tremble and clutch at his back feathers, he actually thought it had been Hunted, who wasn't a fan of noisy environments in general, but Hunted would always rub his forehead or bury his face into Stubborn's feathers to feel safe, and he hadn't felt that in those moments during the arguments.

But then one time, he heard a yelp from behind as someone shouted, and the undeniable sound of, "Heart, lungs, liver, nerves."

It had been Paranoid hiding behind him.

That hadn't been too much of a surprise. Paranoid was a jumpy bird after all. But what surprised Stubborn was how much Paranoid rushed to him for protection.

He did it every time.

Paranoid was jumpy, but he was also argumentative- he wasn't one to back down from a fight either.

Stubborn confronted him about it one day. He caught him alone on night and just asked, "What's up with you? Usually you're always snapping at the others for being fucking idiots."

Paranoid had flushed, all his thin feathers fluffing up, and Stubborn actually thought he looked kind of cute with his feathers all standing up like that.

Paranoid avoided eye contact, staring at the ground as he stuttered, and Stubborn knew better than to snap at him, so he waited, until Paranoid eventually managed to get out, "Everything gets too much sometimes. Too much thinking,too much feeling, too much shouting- it all just makes me want to shut down."

"But I don't want to leave," Paranoid explained. "I don't want to run away while everyone else fights for the flock. I want to stay."

Then Paranoid finally met his eyes, and Stubborn's breath hitched at the fire he saw in them.

He looked beautiful.

"Being behind you makes me feel safe and it makes me feel brave at the same time. You're such a brave and confident guy that it just- blocks out all the noise and fears, and it makes me feel strong in return."

Stubborn wasn't sure why, but hearing that he made Paranoid want to be braver, made something light flutter within his chest. It was different than a rush of adrenaline or the thrill of a battle. It was somehow softer, but more powerful.

Stubborn said he could keep hiding behind him.

So that was how it went for awhile- whenever the flock inevitably had another fight, Paranoid would get overwhelmed and rush behind Stubborn, and then would work up the courage to argue from the safety of Stubborn's body.

It felt nice- comforting even- to feel Paranoid's body behind him, to know that he was there and safe behind Stubborn, and hear his voice loud and strong amongst all the other racket.

Paranoid was a different type of strength, and everytime Stubborn felt his palm flat against his back, it somehow felt like it was grounding Stubborn. He couldn't explain it, but he liked it.

Then he realised that he might've liked it too much.

One day, they were all having a fight about something that Stubborn couldn't have cared less about, so he just zoned out, arms crossed and focusing on the feeling of Paranoid pressing up against his back, when he suddenly caught a few words aimed at Paranoid.

He tuned back into the conversation, just as he heard someone say to Paranoid, "You can't do much either! All you do is not trust anything and-"

Suddenly, Stubborn had heard enough in that moment.

A rage that felt entirely new in that moment overtook him, and Stubborn growled and bore his teeth out at the crowd around them, snapping an arm and a wing out to fully shield Paranoid from their verbal onslaught.

The words were pouring out of him before he even had time to process them, "Don't fucking say that shit about Para! He's stronger than any of you spineless idiots just by saying a few words! I'd like to see you all try and take him on!"

Silence- enough for Stubborn to realise what he had just said, and for his face to heat up.

But the thing that really sent his mind into a frenzy was feeling Paranoid practically hugging him with his warm face pressed against his backside, right inbetween his wings.

Stubborn had no idea what to do, but then he saw Hero give him a soft smile and direct the conversation away from them.

As soon as the conversation ended, Stubborn felt a burning need to be close to Paranoid, to bask in his quiet strength and never leave him alone again. His head was spinning with many desires, and Stubborn wanted to satisfy them all, and Stubborn's always been greedy.

He met Paranoid right where he had first confronted him- pacing up and down the hallway of their bedrooms.

It was little awkward, he'll admit, having to lean down and mumble sorry to Paranoid for embarrassing him in front of the flock like that.

But then he heard Paranoid giggle- a sweet, light, and carefree sound- and then he felt a hand cup his cheek, and Stubborn found the courage to look at Paranoid's face, to find him smiling, so soft and loving and nervous- and when he leaned up onto his tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, Stubborn felt his knees buckle.

Instinctively, Stubborn's arms reached forward, and his hands settled on Paranoid's hips tentatively.

Paranoid leaned back, and their gazes lingered on one another, and then Paranoid whispered, "Thank you for being the courage I need."

Stubborn chuckled, the sound coming out breathless, and he grinned, their lips grazing, as he replied, "Trust me, you're braver than fucking any of us, sweetheart."

He heard Paranoid's breath hitch, and then their eyes met- and it felt like a jolt of lightning coursing through Stubborn's veins, and this was one thrill that he hoped never faded away.

They both leaned in, and their lips pressed together so softly, so gently, and it sent Stubborn's mind spinning, almost moaning instantly at the feeling.

Soon though, they grew hungrier, and the kiss deepened, with Paranoid wrapping his arms around Stubborn's neck, and Stubborn lifting Paranoid up while wrapping his arms around his waist, and Stubborn wanted to chase this high forever.

They could be each other's strength, Stubborn decided.

[frankent1ts]

Also, looking back on the Deltarune Valentine Newsletter, this letter was DEFINITELY written by the Forgotten Man.

They both speak in all-caps, they both bring something up and immediately forget what that something was about, they both talk riddle-like, it's difficult to hear them talking, they both directly bring up the game Deltarune, it's gotta be him!

And since it is him, oh boy this letter sure is interesting.

“I WANT TO HELP! YES, THERE WAS SOMEONE I WANTED TO HELP.”

This is definitely referring to Kris. The Forgotten Man is giving Kris these eggs for a reason, and the CH3 and CH4 egg rooms both hint that Kris is repressing a memory of some sort, a memory having to do with the scarlet tree.

And in the CH4 egg room, the Forgotten Man is inside the patient room, encouraging Kris to draw the memory they've been repressing. It's very obvious that the Forgotten Man used to be Kris’ therapist, and he's encouraging Kris to draw out their trauma. 

Something happened to him that made him get erased from Deltarune’s reality, but he's still trying to help Kris. Matter of fact, I bet that the Forgotten Man never got Kris to tell him what they saw behind that tree before the Forgotten Man got erased, that's why he's trying so hard to help Kris remember now. 

Then the Forgotten Man goes on to say, “I SEEM TO HAVE FORGOTTEN WHO... YES, IT'S QUITE IRONIC, BUT I SEEM TO HAVE FORGOTTEN. WAS IT MYSELF? NO... WELL, PERHAPS. REGARDLESS, WHEN I SEE THEM, I'M CERTAIN I WILL KNOW IT STRAIGHT AWAY.”

This states that the Forgotten Man has a hard time remembering Kris despite trying to help them. It might be hard to tell how truthful the Forgotten Man is being as he seemingly has knowledge of many important things (The prophecy, Kris’ trauma) but I think he's being genuine here. He can only remember things when they're right in front of him, and he mostly acts on instinct. He somehow knows where Kris is going to go, and so he always goes there.

But the, “WAS IT MYSELF? NO…WELL, PERHAPS,” part is really interesting to me. The Forgotten Man implies here that helping Kris remember their trauma will help himself in some way. But how?

Well, let's actually look at the method that the Forgotten Man uses to help Kris: the eggs. Now even though we have a better grasp on the Forgotten Man’s deal now, the eggs still come across as really random. What do eggs have to do with trauma?

Well it's less so the concept of eggs themselves and more so the fact that the eggs are seemingly the only object that can go between the Light World and Dark Worlds without changing.

Your Light World pencil turns into a sword in the Dark World, Lancer and Rouxls turn into cards, the Shadow Crystals turn into glass, but the eggs are the only things that don't change in-between worlds. Why is that?

Well, this is me just spitballing here but what if the Forgotten Man is using the eggs to ground Kris to reality? Like the eggs are the only “real” objects in the Dark World, they're something tangible for Kris to hold onto.

Then Kris can take them into the dark world and put them somewhere safe, in a pile of eggs or in a fridge. Because eggs are fragile and need to be protected…

Fragile…protected…

OH, THE FORGOTTEN MAN IS USING THE EGGS AS AN ALLEGORY FOR REPRESSED MEMORIES.

Think about it: The Dark Worlds are very direct metaphors for day dreams and escapism, two things that people who are traumatized often partake in. But even when you try to escape from your trauma, it still comes back in flashbacks or triggers. That's the eggs, the eggs are the fragile memories that you need to go out of your way to find and protect or else they'll go away again.

This would explain why the egg rooms go from a simple room with the scarlet tree to a rudimentary island with multiple inhabitants to a doctor's office in line with the style of the rest of the game. The eggs are slowly helping Kris remember the doctor's office, the island, the scarlet tree, the Forgotten Man.

And maybe, when we get the final egg in CH5, we'll get to clearly see the Forgotten Man, and he'll clearly see himself too. Helping Kris helps him.

However, the Forgotten Man goes on to say something very strange, “WILL YOU HELP ME? YOU ARE VERY ODD, RESPONDING OUT LOUD TO A LETTER. BUT, YOU SEEM RELIABLE. I WILL BE COUNTING ON YOU.”

Who is the Forgotten Man talking to? All of the other letters don't address the reader this directly, sure most of them say “you”, but that's because they're Valentine's letters made for anyone to use including other in-universe characters. But the Forgotten Man seems to be talking to someone responding out loud to the letter, the person reading the letter. Who could it be?

Well, I don't think he's talking to Kris, because if he was he would've “known them straight away” as they do in the egg rooms. No, I think the Forgotten Man is talking to us, the player. He's asking us to help guide Kris to the egg rooms, which makes a lotta sense. After all, Kris probably doesn't want to confront the trauma the Forgotten Man is trying to help them remember. Plus the egg rooms are only found through breaking the game in a way that calls attention to the fact that the world of Deltarune is, in fact, a game. 

We have to walk in-between rooms to get to the egg rooms, something that doesn't make sense to Kris because all they see is an open world, but we have the power to see the transition between rooms, the dark fade in, fade out. The darkness in-between. 

This game breaking element is especially obvious in the CH3 egg room. In order to get to that egg room, we need to get the “X” in the UI menu to change to red and click on it, causing our SOUL (not Kris' physical body) to walk off into the egg room, dragging Kris with us.

But do you know what this means? This means that the Forgotten Man has the ability to talk directly to the player, something that only Gaster is shown to do, further proving that the Forgotten Man is a version of Gaster. (Not to mention the fact that in CH3 and this letter, the Forgotten Man says “DELTARUNE IS WAITING” and “HOW IS DELTARUNE?” He knows that Deltarune is a game that we are playing, just like Gaster.)

RIDDLE THEORY

Okay so y'know how in the CH3 egg room the Forgotten Man says this nonsense?

Most ppl in the fandom write these lines of dialogue off completely, but I actually think this a riddle. More than that, I think this riddle is the Forgotten Man telling us where the past egg rooms were and where to find future egg rooms.

Let's start off with addressing the whole Thursday-Sunday thing, what do the days of the week have to do with egg rooms? Everything actually! Because guess what? CH1 of Deltarune takes place on a Thursday.

We know this because in CH2 Susie and Kris go to school, but then in CH4 no one's in school because it's the first day of the weekend AKA Saturday.

So if CH4 takes place on Saturday, then CH2 must take place on Friday, and CH1 must take place on a Thursday. CH3 is stuck in a weird limbo bc Kris opened up the TV dark world late at night (probably closer to midnight, as evidenced by this quiz)

So while technically it's Saturday night because it's currently past midnight, it also doesn't feel like the start of a new day. That'll be an important detail so keep that in your noggin.

ANYWAY, let's start with the first part of the riddle.

Now while we obviously don't find the Forgotten Man selling donuts in CH1, we do find a bake sale, a bake sale that sells donuts.

It's worth noting that the bake sale has a teleporter door and the only save point you'll have for the next couple of rooms. These two things mark the bake sale as an important checkpoint. Why is the bake sale so important? Because in the very next room we find a tree identical to the one found in the egg room, hinting that we may find this very same tree again between the bake sale and the next checkpoint.

So that's part one of the riddle down, but what about this next part?

Well, this one's actually pretty obvious. CH2 takes place on a Friday, right? Well, guess where we find the egg room? In-between a sidewalk and a hidden dumpster room. Bada-bing, bada-boom.

Also notice how the dumpster and bake sale both relate to the first two secret bosses, Spamton and Jevil? Above the bake sale is where you find the blacksmith that mends the broken key to Jevil's cell, and we find out that Spamton lives in the hidden dumpster. This draws a very deliberate connection between the secret bosses and the egg rooms. Remember this.

Okay and what about the third part of the riddle?

Well, and this might be a bit weird, but I don't think this part of the riddle refers to the CH3 egg room at all. Remember how I said that CH3 is kinda in a limbo in-between Friday and Saturday because it takes place at midnight? Well, I think CH3 being in-between the days of the week excludes it from this riddle. Plus, beyond the whole time thing, the CH3 egg room doesn't relate to windows at all.

But y'know which egg room does relate to that? The CH4 egg room. Yeah, this one's also pretty obvious but we find the CH4 egg room by going in-between a window and a secret library.

Now before we move onto the last part of the riddle, allow me to spit another theory at ya. Remember how I said that the riddle deliberately connects the egg rooms to the first two secret bosses? Well, right about now you're probably beginning to question that connection. The secret boss of CH4 is Gerson, and the CH4 egg room doesn't have an obvious connection to Gerson at all. So was the connection between the first two egg rooms and the secret bosses just a coincidence?

No.

I believe the connection between the first two egg rooms and the secret bosses was intentional, and I believe that Gerson not being all that connected to the CH4 egg room was also intentional. Why do I think this? Because Gerson is the first secret boss to not slip into darkness.

Let's think about it: what do the first three secret bosses (Jevil, Spamton, and ERAM) all have in common? They're all related to darkness. Jevil is trapped in a dark, lonely cell and talks about how a darkness will consume our hearts. Spamton is forced to live in a dark garbage can and complains about how it's still so dark even in his NEO form. And ERAM is a shadowy figure found in a dark hidden room that gives us an item resistant to dark attacks.

But Gerson isn't like that at all. He tells us that someone gave him the shadow crystal and wanted him to use it, but he refused to. And seemingly because of that, he didn't get lost in the darkness. Unlike the first three secret bosses, Gerson is kind, helpful, friendly, but most of all he isn't consumed by darkness. Hell, he spends most of his time in a comfy well-lit room with a fireplace. He's the absolute antithesis to the first three secret bosses.

And it's because of this that the CH4 egg room isn't really related to Gerson. All the other egg rooms are connected to the secret bosses in some way (even the CH3 egg room is kinda related to ERAM since they're both found through convoluted secrets in retro video games), but because Gerson broke free of that cycle, he didn't become connected to the egg room.

…However, there is still a connection to be made between Gerson and the egg room, albeit a vague one. As I mentioned, the CH4 egg room is found in-between the window and the hidden library. Well, the hidden library actually contains a single book inside. Read it and you get this story: "Something grew from the bitter water. It felt like glass."

Hm. Water, something that looks like glass? Where have I heard all that before?

Ah, yes, the shadow crystal. A piece of glass that moves like water in your hand.

So what does all this mean? Why are all the egg rooms connected back to the secret bosses/shadow crystals? Well, that's because the secret bosses/shadow crystals all relate back to one thing: Gaster.

Jevil met a strange someone that made his view of the world become darker, yet darker. Spamton was always on the phone with someone that made him a big shot, and the phone emitted garbage noise. ERAM is found in the shelter, and the shelter emits the same sound found in ENTRY NUMBER SEVENTEEN. The shadow crystals are impossibly dark shards that don't reflect any light, photon readings negative.

It all leads back to him. But why? Why are the egg rooms deliberately connected to Gaster? Well, I think you know why.

It's because the Forgotten Man is Gaster.

The Forgotten Man is found in-between rooms, and so is the Mystery Man sprite in Undertale. The Forgotten Man is forgotten and obscured, and so is Gaster. The Forgotten Man can only speak in all-caps, and so does Gaster. Gaster has knowledge of the prophecy, and so does the Forgotten Man.

“But the Forgotten Man doesn't have knowledge of the prophecy,” I hear you say. “He never tells us anything about the prophecy.”

But he does.

Let's finally talk about the last part of the Forgotten Man's riddle.

The fifth egg room is going to be found on a Sunday, it's going to be found in CH5. Importantly, it's going to be found in a wheat field. Now obviously CH5 hasn't come out yet, so I don't know what it has in store. But I know for certain that the CH5 dark world will have a wheat field.

How do I know this? Well, during your fight with Gerson, he rattles off the titles and descriptions of the chapters from The Lord Of The Hammer. We find out from Gerson that The Lord Of The Hammer series is based on the prophecy that the Fun Gang are seemingly destined to carry out. The chapters of The Lord Of The Hammer further confirm this fact as they all sound pretty similar to the first four chapters of Deltarune.

But then Gerson tells us of a fifth chapter.

According to Gerson, the fifth chapter will contain a field of pink and gold, a garden that gets burned. Obviously this hints at the CH5 dark world being inside Asgore's flower shop. It's a flower shop with double doors, Asgore had fire magic in Undertale so Asgore's garden being set ablaze would make sense, Asgore could become jealous of Sans having a better relationship with Toriel than he does.

It all adds up. But what does the “Field of Pink and Gold” mean? In Deltarune, pink and gold is often related to the secret bosses (Spamton has pink and gold shades, FRIEND's eyes are pink and gold, the controller Kris uses to play the secret boss game is pink and gold.)

Why is the field in CH5 gonna be pink and gold?

…Well, the Forgotten Man did say you'll find him in a wheat field. A golden field.

The Forgotten Man knows about the prophecy, he knows that Kris will be able to find him in a future plant-themed dark world.

But what did Gerson say about Chapter 5? That it was the last chapter? That the story “swallowed up the author whole”? An author that got killed by their own creation, now where have I heard that before?

And what do you know? The Forgotten Man only tells us about where to find him up til CH5, but not CH6 or CH7. Why is that?

If the Forgotten Man truly is a version of Gaster, then this can only mean that after CH5 we may never see the Forgotten Man again, and (just like Gerson, just like Gaster) the Forgotten Man will be swallowed up by something, something he created.

CH5 is gonna be the last chapter where we'll be able to collect an egg. And these eggs are gonna be the only way we'll be able to remember the Forgotten Man after he's gone.

And the Forgotten Man knows that this will happen. He tells you as much himself.

[ladyloveandjustice]

This is Home- a Batfamily fic about Cassandra Cain and Barbara Gordon

A short Cass-centric fic I wrote over many short breaks at work! A friend has been liveblogging Cass' original Batgirl series and it makes me so emotional about her relationship with Babs. I have ideas for more little vignettes, so please let me know if you like this, it'll help motivate me.

This is Home

Barbara was mad at her, she could tell. Mad at her for having such a bad brain. Mad because she couldn’t read, that when she sounded out the words, they were heavy on her tongue. And even as she strained, she could not connect them to the scratchy marks on the page.

Cass had hardly ever seen her this angry. Her eyes were flashing, her teeth were grinding so hard she might file them down to nubs and her muscles were coiled and tense like she wanted to hit something. Like she could punch through a brick wall right now.

“Let’s take a quick break,” she said abruptly, wheeling away.

Cass had to do something. She slowly trudged after her, and found Babs in the simulation room. Her back was turned, and her shoulders were shaking. Cass’s throat was dry, her tongue like glue. She gulped.

“I’m sorry…” she spoke, her voice small. “I know it’s…I’m sorry for being so stupid. We don’t have to…keep doing this.”

Babs straightened up, and wheeled around so quickly Cass took a step back.

“Cass, no. You’re not stupid! I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at what he did to you. Your father.”

And it was true. Cass could see it now. Barbara’s anger was turning to sadness, distress. The slight slump of her shoulders, the tilt of her head, the twist of her lips.

“You…you missed out on so much. When I think—” Babs breathed in. “When I think of all the books you could have read. That you could have loved. That you didn’t even get the comfort of a parent reading to you at bedtime as a child…it… I want to make up for it, but I don’t know what to do, sometimes. And I’m sorry about that.”

“Um…” Cass shuffled her feet awkwardly. “I know I’m not…good enough yet. But…if you want…do you want to read to me? Sometimes?”

And just like that, Barbara’s entire body screamed delight. She actually clapped her hands. Cass loved seeing that feeling on her.

“I’d love that! What kind of book do you want me to read?”

“Um. I…want to be a better detective. So…that guy? You and Bruce, um, quote him sometimes. Sher---” Cass trailed off, trying to remember. It was a weird name.

“Sherlock Holmes?” Even more delight. It flowed into Cass, and filled her with warmth. “Oh yes! I think you’d really like it.”

Babs read to her that night. Cass liked the way her voice sounded when she read. It was…powerful, almost. Full of life.

When she finished, Cass said, “That was cool. How everything came together. He, um, reminds me of Bruce.”

“Because he’s not much of a feelings guy?” Babs laughed.

“Yeah. But the way he thinks so quick…it’s hard to keep up…that reminds me of you.”

Babs laughed again “That’s flattering! I’ll try to explain my thought process to you more.”

“Are there…any other book detectives?’

“Oh yes. Tons. I loved Nancy Drew as a kid. And Miss Marple.”

“Cool. If you want…I can listen to those too.”

Babs grinned. “You know, as much as I wish you’d gotten these experiences before now…it’s nice to see you discover all these new things.”

“I like you showing me.” And it was true. It was the first time Cass had been excited over all the things she still had to learn.

---

Babs reading to her became a regular thing after that. When Cass told Steph about it, she insisted on getting in on that too. “You will love Dracula. Super spooky, you’ll totally vibe with it.”

When Steph read, she liked to do dumb voices. It annoyed Babs, and Cass could barely stifle her laughter watching them argue.

“That sounds nothing like a Transylvanian accent, Stephanie.”

“You’re just mad because you can’t do voices.”

“Excuse me? I’m a former librarian. I read to children all the time, and they loved my voices.”

“Fine,” Steph tossed the book to her. “I challenge you to a voice off. Show me your incredible Transylvanian accent. Cass, you’re the judge.”

After a full hour of competing, Cass said “Babs has more voices. And they’re more, um, real. But Steph’s are funnier. I can’t choose.”

“See?” Steph said. “Being funny is the most important thing.”

“Not for a horror novel!” Babs shot back.

Please, Dracula is part comedy. Anyway, I bet those kids at the library would love my voices way more than yours.”

“Come to the library reading circle and find out.”

“Fine, I will.”

Babs’ arms were crossed and her face was scrunched up. She was sulking like she did whenever she didn’t win, and it had Cass giggling into her hand. She never would have thought it when she first met her, but Babs could be such a kid sometimes.

---

“Babs,” she said innocently one day, offering a book. “I’m having trouble with this. Read it?”

Babs narrowed her eyes at The Da Vinci Code and pursed her lips. “No. I refuse.”

“Oh.” Cass gave her best puppy dog eyes. “Guess I miss a chance to learn.”

“Uh-uh. I see what you’re doing, and it won’t work.”

“Deprived of an education,” Cass shook her head sadly. (She was very familiar with this phrase because Stephanie said it a lot, whenever Cass didn’t know about some movie or show or meme. She’d recently said it in regards to Spongebob Squarepants.) “Poor me.”

Babs put her head in her hands. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?”

Cass nodded.

“Ugh,” Babs pinched the bridge of her nose. “You win, give it to me.”

Cass was fascinated with the way Barbara’s eye twitched as she read. She’d never heard Babs’ voice drip with so much disdain, even when she was interrogating a supervillain or talking to Green Arrow*.  Babs interrupted herself a lot to rant about bad writing and inaccuracies— “Haereticus is ancient Greek, not Latin!” She was especially livid about lines like “his eyes went white, like a shark about to attack".

“I can’t even start with how horrible that mixed metaphor is!” She snarled.

Eventually she slammed the book shut. “Cass, do you seriously like this?”

“No.”

 “Then why—”

“I like seeing how mad you get.”

Babs groaned. “You know I set up all your government records, right? I could legally change your name to “Little Shit”.

“That just my first name? Can my last name be a really bad word? Like—"

“You’re killing me, kid.”

Cass bought Babs more bad books after this, and she could somehow always talk Babs into reading them. It was good for Babs, Cass decided, to get mad at books sometimes. She clearly enjoyed it deep down. Cass was doing her a favor.

---

Cass noticed she could learn things about people from what books they liked. Steph was the one who introduced her to fantasy and sci-fi, which Cass found strange at first, all these things that didn’t really exist, but soon she found she liked thinking about things that didn’t exist. Steph also knew about all the cool girl fighters in books, she read Cass the Tortall books early on. Steph also liked horror, which Cass found funny considering she was constantly accusing everyone else of being creepy. When she pointed it out, Steph shrugged. “I mean, it’s no surprise, right? Obviously I appreciate creepiness sometimes, look at the company I choose to keep.”

 Babs seemed to like mysteries, and sometimes read to Cass about history or real science. She also liked science fiction that “realistically explained” the advanced technology. Steph called it “hard sci-fi” and Cass thought that was a good name for it, because it was pretty hard to not to get bored when Babs read it.

Babs must have told Alfred about the reading, because he started to offer when she was injured. He read Alice in Wonderland first, and moved onto other fairytales. He told her “I read all these to Master Bruce as a child before... well, before decided I should stop. I know you’re not a child anymore, but I think it important to have a bit of whimsy.”

A lot of the things Alfred liked weren’t a surprise, like Shakespeare. But sometimes he’d pull out a wild card, like when he read her Artemis Fowl. He approved of Butler being so important to the story.

Alfred must have “greatly encouraged” (this was what Alfred called it when he told Bruce what to do) Bruce to read to her when he was absent, because one day when she was recovering from a bullet wound in the cave and Alfred was off visiting a friend, Bruce mumblingly asked her if she wanted him to.

Bruce did like mysteries and nonfiction, but Cass was delighted to discover he also like grand adventures with sword fighters, pirates, knights fighting dragons…The Three Musketeers was the first thing he read to her. The way Bruce read the words was stiff sometimes, and he didn’t do the emotions as well as Babs and Steph. But Cass didn’t care. He was content when he read to her, and that made it sound nice.

Dick never read to her, but he liked to tell stories from memory, usually fairy tales or weird adventures. His voices were as funny as Stephanie’s.

With the others, she just talked to them about books. But she could still see new sides to them that way. For example, Jason liked classics, he appreciated a good romance, and could go on forever about Jane Austen and Alexandre Dumas (Cass wondered if Bruce had read him The Three Musketeers too, back when he was a kid, but she knew better than to ask). Tim liked sci fi and comics. With Damian it was hard to tell because he just chose whatever books he thought were the most impressive. Cass had caught him reading a manga called Fruits Basket once though, and he’d reluctantly explained to her about reading right to left.

And so she made a habit of asking everyone she knew. Learning about people through their favorites—it was one way of being a detective.

---

Cass could read now. She still struggled occasionally, but she could connect the sounds to the letters easily.

She could read now, but when Babs said, “Well, I guess you probably don’t need me to read to you any—"

“Can we,” Cass interrupted. “Can we keep doing it? Don’t tell the others but… when you read, it’s my favorite.”

Babs blinked rapidly. She was trying not to cry, but her body said she was happy. She put her arm around Cass. “Of course. I didn’t want to stop either.”

That night, Cass curled up with Babs on the couch, and let her voice wash over her. She thought the words she hadn’t told Babs, because she didn’t need to, because Babs already knew.

This is ours. This is home.

---

Tons of Authors notes!

*Babs not liking Green Arrow is canon. She claims it's for his many sins against Dinah, which is probably true, but it also definitely because she doesn't want him to steal her gf. She spent a HUGE amount of time trying to convince Dinah not to marry him.

-I was thinking of going with Twilight with the "bad book" but that's pretty overdone, as funny as Babs reactions might be. So I had to go through famously bad books and find another one I've actually read--I did technically read The Da Vinci Code when I was a kid though I was too young to think it was bad and don't remember much about it. Based on research, Babs would hate it though, so it works.

-As for everyone's literary tastes, a lot of it does come from the comics, mostly the post-reboot comics for Steph but I will happily adopt it-- Dracula is her confirmed favorite book, she's seen reading The Dispossessed etc. Jason's reading taste definitely also has the most comics basis, he's famously into Jane Austen and once mentioned Dumas, and it tends to be classics he references. Alfred really did read Bruce Alice in Wonderland when he was a kid, and mention that he was reading Artemis Fowl, which is incredible, a rare W from Grant Morrison. I figure Bruce likes swordfighting adventure tales with the whole The Mark of Zorro thing, and idk there are a lot of Batman comics he's probably referenced the Three Musketeers somewhere.

Tim is seen reading comics in the, uh, comics and well. his friends like sci-fi. I think he probably does too? Been a long time since I read Robin. Cass also mentions that Dick once re-enacted Cinderella for her in her series!

Damian reading manga (what appears to be shoujo manga too) being canon really tickles me. I think he'd like Fruits Basket, (the animals! The family drama he can relate to!) though if anyone asks he'd call it stupid and overly sentimental, then go back to reading it voraciously.

-As for the fic itself, I always thought it was shame we didn't get more of Cass learning to read and familiarizing herself with books-- though I think they showed more of that in the Rebirth/Infinite Frontier era, but I'm drawing from the preboot universe. I started thinking about moments between her and Babs and was like "Babs would read to her."

There is a fight between Babs and Cass in her Batgirl series that probably wouldn't have happened with the version of Babs I've established in this fic...but I always thought that fight was OOC forced drama that was probably editorial mandate to isolate both of them, so who cares.

-A lot of people in that poll thing were saying they'd read Cass fic if there was any. Let's see if that's true.

-Again, I might do more of these vignettes in the future so let me know if you like them!