#and that he was in fact influenced by him

[rin-may-1103]

The Wrong Robin Au (part five)

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Danny sat back with a wince, watching as Bruce and his butler (The man introduced himself as Alfred) collected themselves. Jason's book was now sitting on a shelf, displayed for everyone to see. Bruce's desk was moved back into place, and the chairs were repositioned. There wasn't any evidence of what had just occurred.

"would you like me to get you a rag, young sir?" Alfred asked, turning to glance at Danny with a raised brow.

Danny lifted his hand and gently touched his nose, hissing when it stung and throbbed. Pulling his hand back, Danny found his fingers covered in blood.

Well, that was going to be hard to explain later...

"yeah, thanks." Danny finally agreed, moving his hand back to hopefully keep more of his blood from staining his hoodie. His ectoplasm was just begging him to heal it, but he held back, watching as Bruce turned to face him.

The man was no longer crying his little emo furry heart out or blinded with rage. Instead, he was standing still with a calculative gleam in his eyes. Danny just knew the man was going to do a background check as soon as Danny left. (Or when Danny wasn't paying attention, he was Batman after all. Who knows what he was going to do?)

It's a good thing there was nothing that connected him with Phantom. Besides the drop in grades and convenient absences, but that can be excused by the trauma of his accident and all the ghost fights. Otherwise, Danny would be screwed.

No one besides Jazz and Wes has been able to figure it out, and he'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much. He's retired now, or well, was retired. He might be getting back into the crime-fighting part again, but he was going to do everything in his power to keep from getting pulled back into ghost-fighting and dealing with the occult every day.

He could handle following Batman around at night and punching a few goons here and there, but the ghost fights? The world ending catastrophes? The annoying cult summoning? He didn't think he could handle it again. And sure, if there was no other option he would go out and protect the world. (It would be very shitty of him not to if he could do something when no one else could. He lived here too, you know.)

But that's not his job anymore. No, that's what the Justice League is for. (was for... He had forgiven them for not being there for him when it mattered. They were here now. So it was fine. No, it wasn't) They're the ones who are protecting Earth now. They're the ones who have to drop everything and help save the world. Not him. Not anymore.

Maybe he could think of this as a really shitty vacation? Then once he's sure Batman is stable and that Tim won't do something stupid, Danny could go back to Amity and figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Maybe he could even go to college?

"Why are you here?" Bruce asked, his calculated eyes still boring into Danny's head. Danny, having gotten used to ghosts popping up and speaking to him at all hours of the day, didn't flinch as he glanced back up at Bruce.

"To keep you from killing yourself, seriously dude. Did you not hear when I told you earlier?" Danny spat, pointedly wiping the blood off his chin.

Bruce barely even moved, but Danny could tell he had winced. Sensing people's emotions was going to become one of the more useful powers he had, wasn't it?

...

How long was his nose going to bleed, again? Didn't broken noses stop bleeding after a few minutes?

His core flared in annoyance, finally making him remember a very important fact.

He was half dead. As in his body doesn't heal or change without the influence of his ectoplasm. This means he's going to keep bleeding until he either doesn't have any blood to bleed or he lets his ectoplasm heal it.

Great.

That's not going to make Bruce suspicious at all. Nope. Definitely not.

Focusing on his nose, Danny let his ectoplasm rush to the area and start healing it, but held it back before it could do more than stop the bleeding.

Alfred entered the room not even a second later, "here you go, young sir. Just hold it there for a minute while I prepare my med kit."

Danny grabbed the rag handed to him and pressed it to his nose, ignoring the sharp pain. He watched as Alfred placed his med kit on the side table and started digging through it. After a few minutes, Alfred leaned back and pulled on some gloves.

"let me have a look," he demanded, turning to kneel in front of Danny. Danny sighed, removed the rag, and leaned forward to let Alfred get a closer look. The man clicked his tongue, but gently grabbed his face and studied the injury.

Bruce shuffled awkwardly in the background, looking like a child waiting to get scolded. Good. He was a grown-ass man for crying out loud, he should get scolded for breaking Danny's nose.

"Alright, this will hurt," Alfred said, moving his hands to gently rest next to Danny's nose. Danny, having dealt with many broken noses before, looked away from the older man and stared Bruce dead in the eyes.

With sure but quick movements, Alfred straightened his nose with a loud crunch. Bruce's eyes narrowed as Danny bit his tongue, keeping any other sign of pain to himself.

"There," Alfred sighed, "it was a clean break, so you'll only have to keep some gause on it until you go to the doctor. Master Bruce?"

Bruce grunted, before finally looking over to his butler. "I'm fine, Alfred."

"good," Alfred nodded, "then I shall put on some tea. In the meantime, I recommend you two have a civil conversation."

Danny leaned back, taking the wet rag Alfred handed to him, and cleaned his face. Now that his nose looked normal, Danny allowed his ectoplasm to start healing it. He didn't plan on seeing Bruce again anytime soon, so any bruises or swelling he should have, won't matter.

Alfred finished placing his medical supplies away and held his hand out for the rags, once Danny gave them to him, the man swiftly left the room. bruce will probably want to test his blood later now that Danny thinks about it. Well, that's definitely something Batman would do, Danny thinks.

Oh well, it's not like his blood would reveal anything. It's literally just his human blood. Now if he was bleeding as Phantom? This would be a whole other problem.

"Who are you and how do you know who I am?" Bruce grunts, stepping closer to Danny in an attempt to be intimidating. And it would have been if Danny hadn't just watched the man breakdown ugly crying not even thirty minutes ago.

Rolling his eyes, Danny leaned back in his chair and huffed, "I told you this already. My name's Danny. I'm here to keep you from killing yourself. And it's pretty obvious who you are if you just think about it." Because it was obvious. Once Tim pointed it out to him, that is.

He wasn't about to just tell Batman that though, Tim didn't deserve to have the man breathing down his neck just for being smart enough to figure it out.

Before Bruce could respond, Danny's phone rang once, twice, then stopped. Glancing at the clock, Danny found it was only six. This meant, it was either Sam texting him to figure out where he was (which wasn't likely, since he usually disappeared in the mornings) or it was Tim.

Grabbing his phone, Danny unlocked it and was met with a message from Tim.

TIM: thanks for listening to me.

Before Danny could send a response, another text came through.

TIM: when did you want to meet up and discuss a plan? DANNY: tomorrow, after you get some sleep. TIM: I did! I took a nap! DANNY: not a long one. TIM: I'm not tired though! DANNY: Then pretend to sleep or something, I don't care. Could you just make sure you sleep before I text you tomorrow? please, kid? TIM: whatever. you're not even that much older than me, you know that right? Danny: sure kid.

"Who is that?" Bruce suddenly asks, making Danny glance up at him.

Shit, uh... "The kid I'm babysitting later."

You know what? That works. And it's technically true.

Bruce just hummed, allowing Danny to turn back to his phone.

TIM: I'm thirteen! DANNY: Yeah? Well, I'm seventeen, almost eighteen. Anyone under the age of fifteen is a literal baby. which makes you? that's right. a child. and what do children need? Sleep. They need sleep, Tim. TIM: I'm not a child! and if you've forgotten; I still have all the evidence proving that you're Robin. I'm petty enough to release it. DANNY: Go ahead. If it'll make you sleep at night.

Tim left him on read after not responding for a few minutes. Bruce had wandered over to his desk to work on something, probably Danny's background check.

Sighing, Danny sent a text to Sam letting her know he'd be busy for the rest of the morning and to let Tucker know. Once that was done, he shoved his phone into his pocket and stood up. Bruce glanced at him for a moment before going back to what he was going, leaving Danny to look around the office.

Pictures were hanging on the wall, books covering the shelves, and random objects covering everything else. Basically, Bruce's office was filled with all sorts of things. Things that could give Danny an idea of who Bruce was as a person. Something he was going to need to know if he planned to stick around and help him. which he was. because he'd promised Tim that he would.

Reaching out, Danny picked up one of the photos and examined it. It was Bruce, Alfred, and some boy Danny didn't recognize, though they looked eerily like him. They could even pass as his clone if you squinted.

"Hey, Bruce," Danny started, "Who's this?"

Next

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 CHAMPAGNE KISSES

FEATURING: pm!dazai osamu

SUMMARY: in a desperate attempt to try to get you to drink with him, dazai offers up a secret he's never told anyone... and how could you possible refuse that? AKA the first kiss fic.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: here is the promised second fic! another light hearted one :D (warnings: fem!reader, there are some implications of reader and chuuya being taught to use their bodies as tools - as implied in canon - but nothing else really, this is light-hearted as promised)

You don’t usually drink. 

In fact, you usually stay as far away from any type of alcohol as you possibly can because the one time you did drink, you ended up passed out on the floor of the Colonel’s office with no recollection of how you got there. You blame Nakahara Chuuya because he is a bad influence and stole one of Kouyou’s bottles of wine, sneaking it up to your office to convince you to drink with him to celebrate your sixteenth birthday. The Colonel was severely unimpressed with you and you were severely embarrassed, more so when you found out that he spent half of the night cleaning up after you. 

You blame Chuuya. 

Neither of you can recall how you’d gotten separated that night, but you’re certain that it’s his fault somehow.

“Just a few glasses,” Dazai complains, a pout tugging at his lips as he drapes himself half over you and half over your couch, dangling a bottle of champagne in your face as if to tempt you. “We just ended the biggest conflict Yokohama has ever seen. I was just promoted to executive. Celebrate.”

“No,” you tell him instantly, putting your palm to his face and shoving him away from you. 

Dazai instantly lets out a string of complaints, unbalanced as he rolls off the couch and onto the ground. He scowls up at you, disgruntled and irate as he pushes himself back to his feet and throws himself right back down where he was, perhaps even more on top of you than he had been before. You sigh, he looks distinctly pleased by the withering look you give him.

“You drank with Chuuya.” Dazai instantly throws the fact in your face, as offended about it as he was the day he found out you and Chuuya got drunk for the first time without him. As if it was your fault that he was sent away on a two-week mission in Sapporo to try to draw Murasaki and her men out of Yokohama and back to their homefront. 

He didn’t speak to either of you for days.

It was the most peaceful few days of your life.

No, you’re joking, you spent a whole week doing paperwork for him as an apology, but no matter how much he tries to convince you to drink with him so he can be even with Chuuya, you deny it because you have no interest in drinking again any time soon.

“You drank with Chuuya and you won’t drink with me. You hate me,” Dazai complains, dropping his head into the crook of your neck. “You want me dead.”

“Dazai,” you start, but he doesn’t even let you get out a second word.

“You can’t even deny it,” Dazai accuses, pulling off of you to glare at you. “I’m supposed to be your best friend. Not Chuuya. You’re trying to replace me with him.”

You give him a blank look right back, and distantly, you wonder how you ended up in this position, regretting that Mori ever pulled you back to Yokohama from Kyoto, desperately wishing to go back to the city just so you can escape Dazai’s dramatics. Maybe you’ll ask him now that the Dragon’s Head Conflict has ended. 

His expression shifts into one of offense, as if he can read your thoughts. 

“Take that back,” he demands.

“I didn’t say anything,” you say, appalled.

“You didn’t need to, it was all over your face. Take it back.”

You lean forward, hand lifting to his face to squish his cheeks together. He squints at you, aggrieved, but you don’t let him yank his face out of your grip.

“I am not drinking with you,” you tell him firmly, tired of this conversation, you’ve been going back and forth about it with him for almost thirty minutes. You duly ignore the way his eyes droop and the way he sticks his bottom lip out—a ridiculous expression considering you’re still squishing his cheeks. “You’re welcome to have a few drinks yourself, but I am not going to be cleaning up after you.”

You drop your hand back to your lap and relax back against the couch, raising your eyebrows when Dazai only continues to pout in your direction. At once, a glimmer of mischief flashes through his visible eye and instantly, you’re on edge, tilting your head to the side as you wait for him to speak. 

With no concept of personal space, clearly, he leans forward again, lips curling up into a suspicious smile. “What if we made a deal?” he asks, looking mighty pleased with himself when your eyes narrow onto him, interest piqued.

“What type of deal?” you ask dubiously, not entirely convinced that he has something up his sleeve that could convince you to drink again.

“If you drink with me, I’ll tell you something about me that I’d never admit sober.”

 Oh.

Dazai smiles like he’s won. 

You click your tongue sharply and then say, “Pour me a glass.”

This was a mistake. 

You don’t know where Dazai got his hands on two bottles of champagne, but you almost would’ve preferred his choice of whiskey to it. The bubbles have gone straight to your head, your entire body feels light and Dazai has become far more touchy than he usually is. It started out with subtle brushes—he moved closer to you, thigh pressed to yours as he spoke animatedly about his portion of the last mission, occasionally knocking his shoulder into yours. He’s no doubt over-exaggerating the grandeur of it all, but you find yourself smiling as he waves his hands around and describes the epic staging of his capture and how he almost died at the hands of the enemy because Chuuya ‘can’t function without Dazai there to order him around.’

You think Chuuya would punch him in the face if he heard Dazai say that, but you think you’ll let it slide this time because Dazai looks cute happy rambling on about the mission and boasting his feats. His cheeks are tinted pink from the alcohol and he’s talking so fast that you can hardly keep up.

Dazai had been weird the past two weeks. You thought he’d be excited with his promotion to executive and beating both you and Chuuya in the race to the open seat, but he’s been oddly glum. Hasn’t risen to the bait of Chuuya’s gibes, hasn’t chased you around headquarters to bother you about one thing or another; when people congratulate him for his promotion, his gaze slides past them as if they aren’t even there. You and Chuuya have been trying to figure out what’s wrong with him but every time you guys try, it’s like he knows to evade you.

This is the most ‘normal’ you’ve seen him in almost two weeks.

“What were you going to tell me?” you finally ask curiously when the conversation lulls as Dazai reaches to pour himself another glass.

He pauses, gaze cutting to the side to look at you. Your eyes narrow and for a moment, neither of you move, just staring at one another. Then Dazai pointedly continues to pour himself another glass.

Notably, not answering your question.

You scowl at him. “You are not getting out of this, Dazai Osamu,” you say, irate. If your voice is a little slurred, you ignore it. “You promised.”

Dazai makes a noise in the back of his throat—something caught between a complaint and a whimper—and you lean a little closer to him, intrigued, watching as his face steadily gets redder.

“Oh my god,” you say more to yourself than him. “You really are embarrassed. Come on, tell me, it can’t be that bad.” 

“I’m not drunk enough,” he protests, trying to physically turn his body away from you, but you shift closer to him, half leaning on his lap so you can keep your gaze trained on his face. “Stop that, get off.” 

“No,” you say instantly, delighted at the change in demeanor. “I’m drunk enough. Tell me. It’s time.”

The expression Dazai shoots at you is nothing short of withering, the look in his eyes hateful, you only give him a simpering smile in return. He pointedly turns his head away from you and mumbles something under his breath that you can’t hear. You frown as you lean in a little more.

“Speak up,” you tell him, nudging your shoulder into his and you can see him scowl, cheeks flushed, chin raised high. 

“I’ve never had my first kiss,” Dazai rushes out as if it’s his greatest shame, refusing to look at you.

You stare for a moment and then you snort.

“Did you just… laugh at me?” Dazai’s head snaps toward you, thoroughly offended.

“No,” you say immediately, forcing the smile off of your face as you look at him, but as soon as you catch the pink tint on his cheeks, your hand is flying to your mouth to muffle another giggle, this one far more obvious than the last.

Dazai looks entirely insulted. “You did. You’re laughing at me. You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m sorry,” you gasp through a wheeze. “I’m sorry, I just-you’ve got to be lying. There’s no way, I mean-”

Dazai bristles. “Stop laughing at me,” Dazai complains, burying his face in his hands, he covers his cheeks as he turns to glare at you. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised, it’s not like the slug has either.”

“Chuuya has had his first kiss, Dazai,” you say before you can think over your words and instantly Dazai’s brows are furrowing, eye squinting as he looks at you.

You think you’ve made a fatal mistake. The alcohol has made your tongue far too loose.

“How do you know that?” he asks suspiciously, staring at you intently as he waits for an answer.

Shit. You stare at him for a moment, contemplating your options because there’s no way in hell that you’re admitting to Dazai Osamu that you were Nakahara Chuuya’s first kiss. But the longer you wait, the more suspicious he’s getting, you can tell, and you have a feeling that if you do lie, he’s going to figure it out right away.

“He told me,” you finally answer and instantly, Dazai’s gaze sharpens.

Fuck.

“Liar,” he accuses, and you can see that even under the influence of four glasses of champagne, his mind still works sharply—a bit slower, maybe, because even Dazai Osamu is not immune to the effects of alcohol, though he does clearly have a ridiculously high tolerance. 

You see his thoughts whirling, racing to put together the pieces laid out before him, and you watch as he suddenly straightens in his seat, eyes wide. “Dazai-”

“No,” he breathes out, horrified. “No. No. You’re lying. You must be lying.”

“Dazai,” you say again, but he doesn’t let you finish.

“Noooooo,” Dazai complains, louder, more aggrieved. He tugs at his hair, squeezes his eyes shut. “No. No. Noooooo, I can’t accept this. Revoke it. Revoke it immediately.”

You blink. “Dazai,” you start slowly, “I can’t just revoke it. That’s-It’s not how that works, what-”

“REVOKE IT!”

“Jesus Christ. Fine. Revoked. It's been revoked.”

Dazai lets out a long breath, leaning back against the couch as he turns another flinty look onto you. “You’re so disgusting.”

“Look in a mirror,” you snap back, irritated.

“No, you look in a mirror. You’ve kissed a-” he gags as if he can hardly bring himself to say the words. “You’ve kissed a slug. You’ve kissed a slug, you’re so disgusting, I can hardly stand to look at you.”

“You’re so fucking dramatic, Dazai,” you snort, rolling your eyes at the genuine repugnance painted all over his face. But you watch as the disgust suddenly disappears, melting into a conflicted expression that you have trouble reading. “You really haven’t had your first kiss?”

You don’t really know what you expected. Well, you would have thought that Dazai would have some experience—maybe not as much as you or Chuuya, the two of you have been trained in utilizing your bodies for strategic purposes, but you would’ve thought maybe he found someone to experiment with. 

Although, you suppose you shouldn’t really be that surprised. Mori is Dazai’s mentor, and he has the boy constantly swamped with missions and operation preparations, keeping him carefully under his thumb so that no one else can taint the control he has over his precious Demon Prodigy—Dazai likely doesn’t even have the time to even think of stuff like this, much less go out of his way to experience it himself. 

Dazai doesn’t respond, pointedly turning his face away from you. 

“So what if I haven’t?” Dazai snips, regaining his cool facade, even if it did take a bit longer while under the influence of the champagne. “Maybe, I’m saving it for someone special, ever think of that?”

You coo, reaching out to pinch his cheek, and Dazai gives you a look nothing short of affronted, pulling his face away just as you feel how warm his cheeks are. 

“Tell me about your dream woman then, Dazai?” You lean your elbow against the back of the couch, resting your cheek on your palm as you look at him. “I wanna know allll about her.”

“Well-” Dazai starts, clearing his throat as he takes another sip of his drink. 

You watch as he stares ahead for a moment, waiting to see what he says—a part of you is genuinely curious, a tight feeling of anticipation in your throat that you can’t seem to push away but don’t know why.

Finally, Dazai looks at you with a crooked smirk and a victorious look in his eye that makes you realize whatever he is about to say is going to piss you off. “You would like to know, wouldn’t you? I knew you had a crush on me. I bet you just want to know if you’re my dream woman.”

“HA!” you bark out a laugh immediately at the prospect, ignoring the weird tug at your chest. “You wish, Dazai, maybe when hell freezes over.”

You miss the way Dazai’s expression falters as you try to distract yourself from the tightness pulling at you by taking another generous sip from your half-full glass.

Dazai lets out an irritable puff, pushing out his cheeks as he looks away from you, making a show of being offended by your comment. You roll your eyes at him as you turn your attention back to him.

“So you’ve both had your first kiss then,” he says, voice clipped, and before you can make a comment about it, he continues, “Whatever. It’s probably not that great anyway. It’s just pushing your lips against someone else’s. What’s so special about that? Honestly, it sounds kind of gross.”

He’s not looking at you, and you have to gnaw at your bottom lip to not snort at the blatant bitterness in his tone as he speaks. You wonder if he’s that aggrieved by the situation, or if the alcohol is just making him looser with his emotions because he’d never usually be so openly bothered by this.

“Why haven’t you kissed one of Mishima’s daughters?” you ask curiously, tucking your knees to your chest as you watch him curiously. “Those three are always hanging around trying to get our attention.”

That’s putting it gently—Mishima’s girls are your age, and whenever the Sun and Steel host an event that the Port Mafia is invited to, the three are all over you guys. Whether it’s teenage rebellion against their father, or they’re actually interested in you, you don’t really know, but they make for better company than most of the other people in attendance and have loose lips, so you tend to find the oldest sister to entertain you for the night.

Dazai hesitates for a moment, an odd expression crossing his face. He finally says, “They’re not interested in me.”

You wrinkle your nose as you look at him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. “What do you mean? The youngest is interested in anything with two legs, pretty low bar to reach,” you try to joke but Dazai seems to find no humor in it, lips curling down as he stares ahead absently.

“Not me,” Dazai says after a few seconds. “... They think I’m weird. Heard them talking about it at the last event—Noriko and Michiko.”

You pause, lowering your glass from your lips to rest your hands down in your lap as you observe him. His expression is mostly blank, but there’s a conflicted look in his eye that makes your throat feel tight. You’d always wondered if Dazai cared about what people would say about him—they’re not exactly subtle regarding how they feel about the youngest executive. They find him odd and disturbing, most people evade him as much as possible. They think he’s inhuman, closer to a demon than man. You’re sure he’s overheard a lot of it: Dazai knows anything and everything that goes on in the Port Mafia, you can’t imagine he’s blind to people’s opinions on him, but if he is aware, he’s never let it outwardly bother him. In fact, you think he’s utilized it to his advantage for the most part.  

But… you’d learned quickly once you were back in Yokohama that Dazai Osamu isn’t alone by choice. He craves interaction with people, but finds little of it because people find his presence unnerving and the few that don’t are wary of the tight leash that Mori has him on. So, you suppose you shouldn’t really be surprised that he’s more bothered than he lets on about some girls your age, who are clearly hung up on both you and Chuuya, having no interest in him because of how they perceive him.

“Well, fuck them,” you finally scoff, already plotting out a way to humiliate the two that Dazai had overheard talking shit about him at the upcoming event in a few weeks. “They’re bitches anyway. And stupid too, clearly. You’re not weird.”

Dazai looks as if he doesn’t believe you, lips tight as he lifts his glass to his lips only to find it empty. He seeks out the bottle and sighs when he notices that it too is empty. He places his glass back down on the table, but doesn’t turn to look at you.

“You don’t need to lie,” he says, keeping his voice breezy but you can see the expression on his face even if he is trying to hide it from you. “I know that I am, I-”

“You’re not,” you repeat, getting increasingly more irritated. “Don’t piss me off. Stop saying that shit.”

“It’s the truth,” Dazai says simply, folding his hands over his lap. “I don’t know why you’re getting so upset about it. Even Chuuya thinks so.”

“It’s not the truth,” you snap, “and I’m getting upset about it because you’re my best friend. I’m sick of people acting like you’re some evil incarnate for doing what we all do. And I’m sick of you letting it feed into whatever complex you have about your humanity. And for your information, Chuuya has drop-kicked people for talking poorly about you—and you better not tell him I told you that, he said he’d kill me if I did.”

Dazai doesn’t react to what you say for a second, brows furrowing and a strange expression crossing over his face at your words, as if he wasn’t sure what he expected from you but it wasn’t that. But it’s the truth. 

Chuuya has beat the shit out of people for talking badly about Dazai—no matter how much he bitches and complains that Dazai is annoying and a freak, he doesn’t let other people say the same shit when he’s around. You don’t like getting your own hands dirty like Chuuya does, but you’ve had people killed for talking badly about Dazai—you won’t admit that to anyone even if there’s a gun to your head—but all it takes is a few words about a certain subordinate stirring dissent within the ranks and the Black Lizards are on the move to take care of the inciter. 

It’s safe to say that the Mafia subordinates are careful to not voice their opinions about Dazai around the two of you anymore. 

Then, he says firmly, “I’m not your best friend.”

Your eye twitches. “What?” 

“I’m not your best friend,” he says again, speaking in a calm, matter-of-fact tone. “Chuuya is your best friend. You hang out with him more than me, you go drinking with him and don’t drink with me unless I bribe you, you kiss him.”

“Why can’t you both be my best friend?” you ask, annoyed, feeling much like a child.

“That defeats the purpose of best,” Dazai says snidely. You roll your eyes at his tone. 

“Well, I only hang out with Chuuya more because you’re on missions more than both of us because you have that fancy executive title now. And I don’t go drinking with Chuuya. I drank with him once and never again.”

You pointedly don’t say anything about the last comment he made, but Dazai catches that, leveling a steady look onto you.

“You kiss Chuuya,” Dazai repeats, quieter this time. “You don’t kiss me.”

“I would kiss you,” you tell him, voice a little more hesitant than you intend for it to be. Nervous, even. 

This is different from when you kiss Chuuya—from when you do anything with Chuuya. Kouyou directed the two of you to each other a few weeks ago toward the end of the conflict, saying that if you ever plan to bring any of the tactics taught by your mentors about utilizing your bodies for strategic purposes to the field, it’s best for the two of you to practice with one another as training. 

It was work. 

It was training. 

It wasn’t whatever this is about to be.

Your heartbeat feels erratic in your chest as you stare at him, he hasn’t reacted to your words, staring at you as if trying to figure out if you’re being serious or if you’re setting him up to make a fool out of himself.

“… I would not mind if hime was my first kiss.”

You let out a flustered noise in the back of your throat at the sudden use of the title you’ve grown to loathe over the past two years, dubbed by none other than Mori himself. Usually, Dazai only uses it whenever he’s trying to goad you into an argument, knowing how much you hate it, but there’s something different about it this time—something that has your cheeks heating up. His voice is softer, breath a bit hitched as he speaks, as if he’s just as nervous as you are but is trying to hide it.

“I thought you were saving it for someone special,” you say quietly, looking at Dazai carefully.

Dazai finally turns his head to look at you, expression subdued. “... Hime is special to me.”

Your breath catches at the admission, wondering if he’s trying to say you’re special because you’re his closest friend or if he’s trying to hint at something more, but Dazai’s expression doesn’t betray any of his thoughts and he doesn't seem inclined to expand on his painfully cryptic comment. 

Nor do you have the courage to ask.

You take in a quick breath, gathering your nerves before Dazai takes your prolonged silence as rejection and flees. You shift closer to him, watching as he takes in a sharp, quiet puff of air, staring at you carefully. His fingers are stiff in his lap, twitching as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. You lift your own hands to cup his cheeks between them.

His bandages are rough against the pads of the fingers on your left hand, and absently, you think that you should maybe stock up on a softer brand, because you’re sure they must be irritating his skin. His skin is smooth in contrast as the fingers of your other hand brush along his cheekbone, you watch as he lets out a shaky breath, visible eye wide as it traces your face. He instinctively leans into your touch and for a moment, you can’t help but wonder when the last time someone has touched him gently. Even Chuuya didn’t have such a reflexive reaction to your touch.

You don’t kiss him for a second, gaze lingering on his face, searching his eye to make sure that he’s ready. His tongue darts out to nervously wet his lips, cheeks tinted pink, fingers still unsteady in his lap as he waits. It’s cute, you think—and it might be the first and last time you’ll ever see Dazai Osamu so plainly flustered over something, so you want to savor it as best you can.

Once you’re satisfied, you lean in to press your lips against his. His lips are chapped and taste like the champagne the two of you have been drinking and faintly like the cigarette he’d been smoking on the walk back to your apartment. Not the most pleasant taste, but for some reason, you can’t seem to get enough of it. 

As far as kisses go, it's definitely a bit awkward, but still, it’s nicer than kissing Chuuya. You tell yourself it’s because kissing Chuuya is like any other job or mission, but a part of you wonders if it might be more than that.

You disregard that thought instantly. 

You keep the kiss soft and chaste, lips moving only subtly against his own. Dazai doesn’t kiss you back—you can feel his lips trembling and you try to relax him by smoothing your thumb over his cheekbone, but it only seems to make him even more nervous from how his breath hitches against your lips.

You can’t help the smile that tugs to the corner of your lips and he can obviously feel it, so he pulls back and asks, “Are you about to laugh at me again?” His voice is edged with a whine, lips turned down and expression sullen.

You don’t respond, instead, you lean in to press another quick kiss against his lips, letting out a puff of amusement when he lets out a surprised noise but swiftly melts into it.

Then you press another, and another after that, and again, until you can feel his own lips curving up against yours. You don’t know how long the two of you sit there, sharing short, chaste kisses and giggles until you can hardly remember how the two of you ended up there. You blame the dizziness you feel and the way your heart flutters in your chest on the alcohol.

When you finally pull away, Dazai’s face is flushed. He tries to hide the way his fingers are shaking by sneaking his hands beneath his thighs to sit on them, attempting to save some face by raising his chin and giving you an arrogant look.

“I knew you had a crush on me.”

“Ugh! I do not, you’re so gross, Dazai.”

But even as you speak the words out loud, you know that it’s a shameless lie. 

[ln4smiamitrophy]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐅𝐓 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 ————— part 1

𐙚 summary; the one where lando norris reunites with his childhood love at the Monaco Grand Prix and is convinced he’s over her. after all, it’s been 7 years. he can’t still love her, right?

ʚɞ pairing; lando norris x influencer!reader

ᡣ𐭩 fc; jadeybird on ig

⭒ type; irl x smau (there will be more smau in later parts)

⟡ a/n; i’ve come to realise that there aren’t many stories on here where the reader is mid/plus-sized. as a mid/plus-size girl myself, i personally can find it upsetting when there is mainly only representation of the body types that society deems to be conventionally attractive and not a lot of representation of others, they are common body types and they are attractive. i have struggled with body image in the past and i still do on occasion, if anyone who reads this ever needs anyone to talk to about this or literally anything else, feel free to message me and i’ll always get back to you. love you all, you beautiful people xx

comment to be added to my tag list <3

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Lando Norris loved the Monaco Grand Prix. Who didn’t? The history behind the race, the atmosphere, it was overall an amazing experience every year. And best of all, he was able to stay at home. When travelling so often meant never staying in one place too long, he was grateful for one time a year he could sleep in his own bed the night before a race.

It was race day and, as per, the track was as chaotic as usual. From the mechanics frantically checking to make sure the cars were ready for the race to the fans filling the track to the brim, it was hard to get a moment alone. In fact, Lando had barely had one since he stepped foot on the track. He’d been pulled into meetings and interviews left, right and centre.

Amongst all the chaos he finally has some time to himself as he heads to the track for the national anthem. He’s walking in silence, head down as he makes his way over. He keeps going over the strategy for the race in his head, he’s starting in p4. Overtakes are hard on this circuit, everyone knows that. All Lando wants this race is to preserve his tyres and hold his position.

It’s like the universe made it happen. Just as he lifted his head up, he’s met with someone he never thought he’d see again. Y/n. His first true love. They were together for three years, but when it became abundantly clear that Lando would be joining Mclaren for the 2019 formula one season, they couldn’t deal with the consequences that brought for their relationship, and ultimately it ended.

She doesn’t see him, and he’s almost relieved she didn’t. It’s been seven years since the end of their relationship, and yet upon seeing her he couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she is. She’s changed, naturally, they were just teenagers when they separated. But she’s still as breathtaking as he remembers. He couldn’t be thinking about this. Not now. He pushes these feelings down, repressing them as much as he can as he finds his spot on the carpet and the national anthem begins. He needs to focus on the race.

———————————————————————

78 laps later and he was p4. Lando knew he probably wasn’t going to gain any positions during the race due to the circuit but he still can’t help but feel slightly disappointed in himself. Ever since his first win in Miami, since he was finally able to prove that he can win races, he’s craved it again. That feeling when he passed the checkered flag in first place, he wanted it again. It’s natural in his line of work to want to be the best, he’s surrounded by 19 other drivers who all want to be on that top step every weekend. But his teammate was p2, he was proud of him. Overall a good weekend for the team.

After the race was just as chaotic as the start, between interviews and press conferences and briefings, the only quiet time Lando gets is in between them. So that’s what he’s doing. Walking in silence towards the interview pen as his pr manager talks in his ear. He’s not paying attention to where he goes and so of course he has to walk into someone.

“Sor-“ He says looking up at them, expecting to send a small smile their way before continuing but that’s not what happens. “Y/n..”

“Lando…” Her voice is still as soft as it was all those years ago. He just gazes at her and neither makes a move to look away. That is until she clears her throat, looking down.

“How’ve you been?” Lando asks, a feeble attempt to get her to stay just a little longer. He doesn’t want her to walk away just yet. Just a moment longer.

“I’ve been well,” Glancing back up at him and he can tell she’s hesitant, he doesn’t blame her. Breathing out, she sighs before she speaks once more, “I watched Miami, congratulations on your first win.”

She still watched, she’d watched him win. He doesn’t quite know why he thought she wouldn’t; she’d always had a love for motorsports. It’s one thing they bonded over as teens.

“Thank you,” He can’t help the soft smile that graces his face. Lando mentally curses himself for glancing over her shoulder, being met with the slightly annoyed face of his pr manager. He should be in the pen by now.

He looks back at her, nodding. “I should probably go… it was good to see you.” She just nods at him, smiling softly, watching as he walks away.

Arriving at the pen, Lando takes a deep breath, forcing himself back into the driver headspace.

———————————————————————

Five hours later and he’s stood in a club, music blasting, bodies dancing all around him and he’s stood nursing the same drink for the past 20 minutes, taking with George. Normally Lando loves a party, out of the whole driver grid he’s the one you’re most likely to spot coming in and out of clubs on a Sunday night. But tonight he’s just not in the mood and he just can’t figure out why. Though he has reason to believe it’s got something to do with the girl he can spy dancing over George’s shoulder.

He can’t help but let his eyes dart towards her every couple minutes. He watches as she dances surrounded by people, laughing and smiling without a care in the world: he used to be able to make her do that. The countless nights they’d spend wrapped up in each other, talking about whatever came to mind, the soft giggles she’d let out anytime Lando said something even remotely funny as his hands would occupy themselves in her hair. They all came back to him as he watched her.

Clearing his throat and downing the rest of his drink, he turns to George, dismissing himself before heading to the bar and deciding he was going to drink away the thoughts of the girl that was seemingly occupying his mind like a plague. He certainly does just that and three hours later, Lando is black out drunk basically lying down in the back of a taxi as Carlos sits there with him, making sure he gets home safely.

———————————————————————

A groan immediately falls from Lando’s mouth as he wakes up with a hangover straight from hell. He buries himself under his duvet until he finally decides he needs something for the pain. Peeling the duvet off of his body, he stands up, jumping slightly at his phone ringing. It’s Carlos.

“Please remind me to never drink again,” Lando states the moment he answers the phone and he’s met with Carlos laughing into his ear.

“It’s that bad?” The spaniard asks and Lando can hear his smirk down the phone. Letting out a grumbled “yes” Lando drags himself into the bathroom where he keeps his painkillers.

“What even happened?” Carlos questions him, “Didn’t you say you weren’t gonna drink much?”

“I don’t know,” Lando sighs, swallowing the painkillers, finishing the glass of water. He’s lying. He knows why but he’s not going to tell Carlos that.

His mind drifts back to the short conversation he had with her the day before. The way she danced in the club. The way she laughed. Her smile. Shaking his head, he pushes it down. He ends the phone call with Carlos, making the excuse he’s going back to bed, hoping to sleep off the hangover.

But he can’t get back to sleep, he’s never been able to fall back asleep after waking up, envying people who find it so easy. After 10 minutes of trying, he finds himself hauling himself into his living room, sprawling out on the sofa and watching whatever Netflix recommends him.

He has no clue what he’s watching but then again, he’s not really paying attention. His mind kept travelling back to her. No matter what he tried. He told himself it was just shock. The shock of seeing her again. And before he knew it, he was opening instagram, typing in her name and clicking her most recent post.

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y/nusername

liked by yourbff, landonorris and others

tagged yourbff, scuderiaferrari

y/nusername monaco, you are so sexy

thank you @scuderiaferrari for the invite <3

comments…

yourbff girls trips with you are the best <3

⤷ y/nusername i love you <3

user1 y/n being an f1 girlie is literally the best thing to ever happen to me

user2 y/n just proving “hot girls love f1” to be true

scuderiaferrari loved having you around

*liked by y/nusername*

⤷ y/nusername loved being around

alexandrasaintmleux loved meeting you, we need to hang out again!!

⤷ y/nusername you’re an angel, we need to!!

user3 i wanna party with y/n so bad

⤷ user4 me too!! she’s deffo the most fun ever

yourfriend1 missing you :/

⤷ y/nusername missing you more honeybun

user5 lando in the likes??

⤷ user6 he’s in the likes but they don’t follow each other

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part 2 soon !!

taglist; @soamericn @urfavwelshie @realcherryjam @danielshoe @coastalrainae

[featheredashes]

— ☆ “IT SHOULD BE ME, YOU LOOK AT — NOT HIM.”

#. — synopsis. this, he has to admit — is entirely on his part, for foolishly falling for such baseless fantasies, for stupidly expecting an ever-changing person to stay the same as he had intently molded to his desired shape.

#. — content warning! jealousy and possessive behaviour, handjob, some clumsy thigh job, lots of ‘darling’ and ‘doll’ thrown around, best friend yandere robin that may or may not be out of character, pushover male reader and mentions of whitney who robin claims is undeserving of you.

#. — word count? 3.0k words.

#. — extra extra! ashes snippets. : “..yeah, normal stuff.”

This, he has to admit — is entirely on his part, for foolishly falling for such baseless fantasies, for stupidly expecting an ever-changing person to stay the same as he had intently molded to his desired shape.

Yes, Robin should’ve known better than to mistakenly assume that despite the difficult circumstances at hand, you would’ve remained the same old you as he has always intricately known. Wouldn’t have long grown past the distant, forgotten memories you’ve shared alongside him in that filthy town you both grew up in. That vivid moment of instant connection as he so happily recalls back on it, the eventual development of your childhood friendship that gradually took on a completely different meaning for him. Inevitably bloomed into.. as embarrassing as it is to bashfully admit, an innocent crush. Love, in the cheesiest of terms.

All of which he so deeply cherishes, blissfully reminiscences upon, only to be thoroughly ruined, savagely ripped to shreds by one person, and one person only.

Whitney. Your newly found friend, you’d say. That local bully famously known for terrorizing a variety of poor students reluctantly attending the school. Yes, whatever is his name as if he’d bother to properly memorize it, whether or not it’s rightfully articulated in his mind. Not that he gives two shits about who is who, just that, well, beneath his evidently awful influence, you’ve seemed to have taken on that same shitty behaviour in turn, too. As younger friends usually do, following forth in their admiring, older figure’s footsteps, right? The instinctual need to impress, to seek out sweet approval from others nearby, yeah?

But, you’ve gotta understand, you’re really heading off in the wrong direction, here.

That nauseating scent similar to that of used cigarettes, the swirling cloud of smoke that should’ve surely surrounded your curled frame when standing so closely — far too close, in fact — next to the blonde. Disgusting, makes him wanna vomit to visualize the mere thought of you two comfortably acting so intimately around each other. Fag snugly tucked between the delinquent’s accommodating lips, friendly arm casually thrown around your shoulder all the while sweetly whispering utter filth in the shell of your delicate ear. Is that why you’ve been crudely stinking of cigarettes lately? Been frequently remarked by several acquaintances and other friends that the fabric of your attire smells awfully familiar? Because you and Whitney, your little, new ‘friend’ by the way, are in constant close proximity at all times, are sneakily concealing a hidden, sinful relationship underneath that underlying facade of an amiable bond? Is that it?

Would’ve that been in part, used as a reason for your noticeable shift in the absence of your calls? Cmon, your best friend or so-called one, isn’t a moron and y’know better than to have him decisively fall for such tactless excuses hurriedly tumbling out of your lips on the other end of the line. Busy, you unnaturally stammered. Had to tirelessly study for an upcoming exam was the next on the list, which he has to mask the subtle smirk of disbelief briefly marking his lips since you’ve never been much the studious type, have you? Huffing out a sigh of disappointment as you expectantly decline to another one of his proposals, an occasional offer to possibly hang out further down the line of this weekend, maybe?

‘Course not, a family outing had already been planned long before, stubbornly blocking his initial intentions simmering deep within the back of his mind, no matter how twisted it is to fervently lust after his supposedly close friend. Contradicting the very words you had dutifully uttered out on the day you were faithfully bound to depart, move out of this cramped place— “Promise I’ll call you everyday.” Yeah, whatever happened to that shared commitment the both of you had enthusiastically agreed upon?

Liar, you had easily given up on the engagement, hadn’t you? Hence why the lack of calls-in he awaited to receive were gradually declining to none at all, accompanied by the already limited interactions between each other. It was becoming increasingly clear you weren’t going to return his persistent check-ups for another update.

To say, he expected better of you. After that beaming grin you happily shined him back with time and time again, the one he had grown used to seeing whenever he came out of that run-down orphanage, only to be greeted by the sight of your form patiently awaiting for his arrival. Hand in hand, habit having thickly settled in, walking forward to the nearby school all while the years steadily passed by. Meant nothing to you, did it?

And truthfully, under any other position, the sanest decision to be made would be to simply let it go, to move past this unfortunate situation and obliviously pretend like none of it had taken place to begin with. Not whatever he has done— Consequently arriving to your doorstep out of the blue, hastily pushing past your exclaimed questioning as to why or how he’s suddenly decided to show up here. Why? Is there any real reason for a best friend to happily visit his distant own? Ah, another coated lie to plainly convince himself that whatever he is doing at this moment isn’t wrong, isn’t downright immoral to be sullying a dreadful stain upon your precious friendship like this.

Still, isn’t this what he’s been due lately for having been such a good, willing and patient friend for you? The ushered praises he’d like to intimately exchange with you in turn, falling short due to his drooling mouth currently being occupied by the tender flesh of your neck. Always been so soft— so damn fragile within his well-intentioned grasp, how he’s been longing to finally be given a taste of you. And now, he has.

Whether to greedily relish in your hitched gasps or muttered series of words in utter bewilderment of what he’s currently doing is beyond Robin’s feeble mind. Too caught up in the fact that you’re comfortably sat upon his lap, well— not necessarily the most convenient of seats, but he can contentedly make up for such a trivial matter, can’t he? Solely focused on pleasuring you over here, like a good friend properly should when occasionally visiting them, no? Cmon, he’s just being fortunate with the fact that he gets to witness this firsthand, beneath his watchful guise and heated palm steadily jerking you off. So, so cute..

Really make the cutest of expressions when you’re being so cruelly stimulated like this, but not without some hint of affection sneakily laced in his careful movements! After all, despite having been such a filthy, ungrateful friend on your part, he’s still faithfully serving you as best as he can.

Slippery glides of his tight held fist rhythmically stroking up and down, thumb discreetly hovering above the leaking tip to rub along your dribbling slit and coax out more beads of pre. Look at you, stupidly losing your mind over a mere handjob like some virgin prude who’s never been generously given the addictive touch of another in his life. Familiar fingertips desperately clutching at his shoulders for proper stability, as if that might actually reel your hazy mind against his softened coos, lazily circling at your sensitive head all the while.

“Does it feel good?” Huskily muttering in the shell of your flushed ear, acutely aware of the dizzying effects he holds upon you right this moment, this instant and, god— It feels so right. As if faith itself had initially intended for this to play out precisely as he had originally anticipated. Endlessly thanking the divine deities from above, not that he truly believed in religion to begin with, with his bleak upbringing up till now, but today, perhaps he will for lovingly gracing him with the adorable sight of your fucked dumb face.

Scrunched up features, furrowed brows deepening in pure concentration with the sole intent to hungrily drink in every minor detail, commit them to memory. The quivering of your rosy, pouty lips, scarlet flush adorning your cheeks to prettily match with the faintest of tints along the nape of your neck. Sheer embarrassment rendering your form immobile beneath his cupped palm, writhing legs deftly locking themselves further around his slouched waist.

And, the sounds— fuck, the sounds are honestly the best part he gets to excitedly experience with every steady stroke of his tightening fist, breathlessly gawking in awe at the staining mess of sticky slick smearing across the softened pad of his thumb. Strangled whimpers involuntary exiting past your lips, your helpless blabbering unfortunately muffled in the crook of his neck, that laidback demeanour of yours he’s grown used to knowing, now stupidly reduced to a mumbling mess. “R-Robin— ah, fuuu— s-slow down—“ Pleas falling upon deaf ears, gets his cock all achy underneath the tightening confines of his pants, straining bulge undoubtedly twitching against your sat ass who isn’t helping matters here.

That’s fine, though. Not only does he get to selfishly jack you off, there’s also the downright desperate opportunity to tentatively roll his hips upwards, frantically grinding his hot, soaking tip between your widening thighs to his content leisure like a dumb mutt in heat. Fuckin’ feels so good just to mindlessly hump away against your plush ass— wonder if you’d even offer him a thigh job in return if he were to consequently ask, ah— shit, he’d like nothing more than to be enveloped by that soft, warm heat, sneakily slide his throbbing cock in between the slim gap of your cum coated thighs and relish in your muted moans.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? By the looks of it, eyes instinctively rolling to the back of his skull with a pouted huff since it isn’t fair, y’know? Not fair at all that you’ve been secretly hiding those pretty expressions of yours and adorable noises from him all along, selfishly depriving him of such a pretty picture he’s repeatedly visited in his perverted mind. Deceitful friend, aren’t you? It’s merely logical to reach for what was initially his from the start after all, besides what Whitney has flimsily offered you in the past.

Oh, but he can be so much better than that brute who savagely takes what he so pleases, gentler in his careful strokes to loyally get you off. Promise he’ll make you feel so, sooo good— hah, just give him a chance and that’s all it’ll ever take to decisively prove himself to you. Promise to provide you with nothing but utter pleasure as long as it means he gets to be only one to gaze upon you like this, witness your helpless ruin beneath his moving hands.

And, ah god— the things you do to him, no better than Whitney with how they collectively both leer at you in the same hungry manner. Impulsively shifting positions so at to hover above you, pin you further underneath his tight held grasp willingly refusing to loosen any more cuz’ no way is he letting you go from now on, ‘kay? Bitterly huffing over the crook of your neck, savagely panting like some dog in heat as he instead settles on spreading your legs apart for his viewing enjoyment and specially, with the intent of fucking himself between those soft, milky thighs and rub against that swaying cock. A whimpering boy, but you have the thighs of a girl— not that he’s necessarily complaining about that minor aspect.

“S-Sorry, I wanna— ah, make you feel so good. Make you feel so, so good for me.” Truth is, he isn’t sorry in the slightest nor does he feel any ounce of creeping remorse for his downright, desperate behaviour. Tumbling off in another direction entirely, a whiny mess just as much as you in his frantic thrusts accompanied by a shuddering gasp, clumsily fumbling with the hem of his jeans— stupid zipper, really — stripping himself bare before finally, plainly kicking his pants off to carelessly land amongst the messy heap of already spread clothes. There you are, darling. So good for patiently awaiting his next move, supple fingertips timidly curling in the softened fabric of his shirt. Needy baby needed Robin that bad?

He’d be nothing more than content to quell that quivering ache pooling in the pit of your tummy, leaking cock springing free, hefty weight resting against your own drooling dick to smear the melding globs of pre-cum together in a gasped moan. Effortlessly slipping his slicked length between the squish of your thighs, overly sensitive tip oozing pre and provokingly peeking out from the warm enveloping of your soft flesh tenderly wrapped around him. Just being neatly nestled in the welcoming heat of your thighs has him dizzy, hitching a held breath. What would it feel like to be fucking your hole instead? Ah, he’d cum on the spot simply from shoving it in, rendered dumb from the feel of those slippery walls tight around his throbbing girth.

“Push your thighs together for me, please— yeah, just like that. Good boy.” Wistfully whispering praises to you ever so sweetly, a tentative thrust of his and it’s all he truly needs to have him going. Quick, steady snap of his hips following suit with a shared whine spilling past each others parted lips, one hand securely placed around your hip to absentmindedly pinch at while the other rests atop your knee to easily guide himself deeper. “You really feel so good like this.. Ah, I should’ve done this sooner— hah, should’ve done it before he did.” Drooling mutt humping himself stupid between your shivering thighs, reflexively tightening in return from every sloppy buck of his hips against your backside, fat balls repetitively meeting yours in a sickeningly loud slap! to both audibly groan at.

If Whitney is the big, bad wolf deftly awaiting for your clumsy self to consequentially fall into his open maw, then Robin must be nothing more than a huffing puppy in a rut, practically mounting your heaving frame beneath his. Taking advantage of this cherished bond you’d dumbly call friendship when ultimately, a good friend probably shouldn’t be out here openly taking advantage of his own convenient status to slide himself between your legs. Crude, isn’t it? Yet, feels so fucking good— can you possibly blame him so for shamelessly moaning down the curve of your shoulders? Baring teeth instinctually seeking for the nearest source of relief which merely happens to be your sweat slicked flesh underneath his lolling tongue. Not wanting to be too rough either with your quivering figure, instead settling upon peppering warm kisses along the edge of your collarbone.

Plus, how could he so bitterly refute you when you hazily gaze upon his scarlet cheeks with glazed over eyes, glistening lips glossy with spit parted lightly just begging to be intimately kissed and pleasantly tended to. So very responsive in your every shivering twitch, cautious fingers carefully shifting up to cup your warming cheeks in his heated palm to have your pouty mouth eagerly accept his. Pink, wet tongue tentatively swiping along the puffy flesh of your bottom lip in a silent plea to further open up for him, mingling saliva pervertedly dripping into your wanting throat as you two share spit. The surprisingly soothing gesture of his thumb tenderly rubbing across your skin, sneakily coaxing you out of those crumbling walls you’ve narrowingly built around yourself, bit by agonizing bit.

Sometimes, one can’t help, but to eventually cave in when faced with ushered platitudes and cooed niceties wistfully uttered into his ear. Only human to break, isn’t it? Little doll. So— “Hah, shit— I think, I’m gonna—“ Helplessly sputtering off into a broken moan and maybe, it’s the way you breathlessly call for him in a meek ‘Robin’ like he’s all you could ever need — ah, what is he thinking? Evidently, he would be! — that has his hips stuttering, drawn further back where his sopping tip coyly rests at the edge of your plush thighs only to sloppily shove himself in one last time before sticky cum comes to coat at your tummy. Honestly, he didn’t mean to! It was an— ah.. accident that his cock automatically squirted out white strings of cum for you to pitifully whine at, intent on getting you off too as he deliberately reaches down to take ahold of your poor, neglected cock between his soft fingers. Just a bit more, a bit more.. Poor baby didn’t get to cum, huh? He can easily fix that, absently squeezing at the base of your cock, whining just as stupidly as you once he luckily catches sight of your contorted features, the wet squelch drawn forth from every clumsily made stroke of loosely tugging at the tip.

The things you do to him, shakily moaning in tandem with you from the sheer, puppy love his thudding chest occupies for you, bent over in a hasty need to finish you off and fuck, look so pretty when cummin’, darling— drawled out whine of a pathetic ‘wait!’, pulsing squirts of your cock shot out to add onto the already sticky mess staining your bare stomach, head dumbly thrown back in which he can’t help, but etch to his memory for later use. Isn’t this proof enough for you? Of his unrelenting devotion, sweetly planting a brief kiss upon each of your sticky with sweat fingertips in another display of his unwavering loyalty, need to throughly worship you for what you so prettily are.

“Only look at me from now on, okay?” And, if your wandering gaze does ever dare to stray too far away from his unmoving one, then, he could always forcibly direct it back to its rightful place, can’t he? You, in his loving embrace, supposedly where you truly belong in his wishful mind, deserving of every ounce of giddy affection he has to gleefully offer you with a tender kiss of his own. Cupped palm earnestly stroking along the length of your heated cheeks, so prettily pink for his selfish eyes to dote upon only. As it should be, little doll.

So, when he does boldly utter out an easy order for you, one meant to be readily followed and faithfully promised to— don’t break it this time, alright?

Because it’ll only offer him another, self-serving reason to continuously break you in return.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 22)

Uzi did finally get that baby bag.

It wasn't much, a glorified swaddle made from a purple blanket that wrapped around her torso so that Tera could rest at her side without pulling while she walked around. It had been almost scary, she'd seen new mothers walk around with them all the time when she was younger.

And now… here she was, baby strapped to her side as she went home. Home as in, her dad's apartment, her apartment, or maybe not anymore, after today.

N had gone off to pick up the newly made crib early that morning, yes morning. Neither of them had needed to go outside for a least a week, and they're schedules were starting to cycle back into what other drones would consider normal.

But even then it gave them a little time to talk about how raising Tera was going to work.

Her room in her apartment was too small to raise a baby in, it was almost too small for her, with stuff just shoved unceremoniously wherever there was room. It was too messy, and dangerous! Her railgun was still in peices on the couch, and while it was broken there were still several parts that could discharge and hurt someone.

Which left N's apartment, which had plenty of room, as it was nearly empty, he'd brought in the very little stuff he owned (blankets, pillows and plush toys) but all of that easily fit in the bedroom with plenty of room to spare.

Plenty of room for her stuff.

And that thought on it's own made her fluster, they'd spent plenty of nights together, especially recently. But it had always been under the pretense that she'd be going back home eventually. That she didn't live there.

Robo-god she was about to see her dad. Her dad which had zero context for what she was about to unleash on him. That her and N were together now, that he had a granddaughter, that she was… moving out.

So much had happened this week. Hell, so much had been happening almost every week. And all of it was stressful, wether it be life threatening or just life changing, it seemed like after years of nothing happening, it was all catching up with her with everything happening at once.

“Doorman?” A voice she recognized, a voice she really didn’t want to see, preferably ever, but especially not right now, with Tera awake and babbling from her bag.

“What is it Lizzy?” She deadpanned, not bringing any attention to the baby strapped to her side even though that was clearly what caught the other drones attention, her pink eyes locked to the bag in surprise.

“Oh shit, that was actually your kid?” Lizzy immediately asked, making Uzi roll her eyes as she remembered that Lizzy was the one that had initially exposed her.

“Yup. This is Tera.” Admitting it at first felt strange, like her tongue had wanted to reject it, but it quickly settled into contentment, yeah, this was right. And honestly, trying to make Lizzy feel bad about something felt too good to say anything else.

“I had wanted to keep some things private, but somebody took a picture of us bringing her home.” Yeah she wasn't going to let Lizzy get away with that without a jab or two, she'd caused a bigger headache than what was already happening, and Uzi was itching for some revenge, even if it was just light teasing.

“Oh come on! Like you wouldn't have done the same thing.” She snapped back, although she sounded less bratty than usual, although wether that was V's influence or the fact a baby was present was unclear.

“Snapped a picture, totally, blackmail is blackmail, immediately post it to every inbox in range… No.” She replied, not wanting this conversation to last much longer than it had to, she didn't particularly like Lizzy, her being a main source of her suffering for a long time.

She just needed to get that jab in.

Lizzy just scoffed, looking her up and down and crossing her arms as if searching for something, probably something else to mock her for, Uzi found herself rolling her eyes again, turning to walk away from her and the conversation before Lizzy started talking again.

“Sorry or whatever, I thought you were just babysitting or something. Didn't think it'd be a big deal.”

Holy Shit, was Lizzy apologizing?

“Uh.” Honestly Uzi wasn't sure how to respond, she'd wanted her to feel bad sure, but she wasn't sure if that was even possible, and she'd never in a million years think she'd be hearing Lizzy apologize.

“Yeah, sure.” Is what came defensively out of her mouth as she walked away, Tera blew a raspberry at Lizzy from the bag, giggling when she got pink hollow eyelights in return.

Okay, so maybe she could keep her edginess and still be motherly figure to Tera, that hadn't occurred to her as an option, a part of her thought she'd become a different person, and maybe she was around N and Tera behind closed doors, but here? She didn't feel soft, she felt like she always did, slightly bitter, like licorice.

She passed more drones on her way, some didn't seem to notice her which was absolutely fine with her, but some definitely did, stopping and staring at the neighborhood goth carrying around a giggling baby in a cute little purple swaddle.

She could understand why they were staring, it was quite the image, but it didn't mean she had to like it.

Tera on the other hand was loving the attention, each set of eyelights on her produced another laugh and some rolling that had Uzi holding the side of the bag so she wouldn't roll out onto the floor.

One drone was a little too obvious for Uzi's liking, staring at the bag like it would suddenly come to life and harm him.

“Hey! Stop staring and mind your business!” She turned to the guy, who immediately looked scared out of his mind, his purple eyelights hollowing as he nodded.

“Yes ma’am sorry!” He raised his hands before scampering away with his tail between his legs, if he had one, that is.

She smirked a little before moving on, it was a powerful feeling, to scare someone off, and it was satisfying as well, she didn't like the way he was looking at her baby.

She finally, finally reached where she wanted to be, well not wanted, she wanted to be anywhere else. But where she needed to be.

She knocked. Which was weird because it was her door, she had the key to get in whenever she wanted. But it still felt like the right thing to do at the moment, she heard shuffling from the other side of the heavy steel, great, her dad was home.

Her dad, the one who'd left her to die, the one who left her alone to cry herself to sleep after her mother died, the main reason her core had such heavy shielding protecting the softness inside. Why her first instinct to any problem was to yell at it, or turn to science to better choose violence.

She held a lot of resentment towards him, something she'd shown time and time again, a part of her wanting to hurt him the same way he'd been hurting her. But she could never bring herself to hate him, not when she did still have memories of him being a halfway decent father, holding her when she'd have nightmares, giving her piggyback rides, being the first one to teach her about mechanics, and give her her first toolset.

“Coming!” Khan shouted, he'd been drafting of some blueprints. Not of doors, but of something for N, if he wanted it.

A cap for his tail, made out of solid steel and form fitting, so it slid right over the needle, it was just a concept for now, he didn't have the exact measurements of his tail and he wasn't even sure N would want something like that, he seemed to have good control over it. But if Khan had a tail with a stinger, he'd want to make sure his infant daughter couldn't accidentally grab it, just to be safe.

So really it was gift for Tera, but, nonetheless.

He opened the door, surprised to see his daughter of all drones knocking, she never knocked, she lived here!

“Uzi? Why'd you knock? Did you lose your key?” He tilted his head in confusion before his eyes followed the strap of the baby bag, he blinked, and tiny purple eyelights blinked back.

“I-is that?” His voice almost immediately turned warbly, he didn't hadn't ever seen Tera before, he didn't realize how much she looked like his daughter, at least when she was also a pillbaby.

“That's Tera Dad, can I- can I come in?” Her voice sounded muted, not like the fiery rebellious drone he'd come to know as his daughter, he moved out of the way wordlessly, eyes still trained on the tiny droneling at her side.

She was giggling at him, rolling madly in an attempt to escape her confines, Uzi dipped her arm into the bag and lifted her up into her arms.

“Stop squirming Jellybean, or you're gonna fall.”

Tera was just happy for the attention attempting to roll more even though she was trapped in Uzi's hands. She sighed.

“Sorry, she has a lot of energy.” She smiled warily at her dad, who looked like his core had been ejected and thrown halfway across the room.

All he could see was his wife, the first month or two they had Uzi and she was a cryer, there were no moments of silence in the Doorman household, if Uzi was left alone for even a millisecond she'd begin to wail which meant either Nori or himself would have to be with her at all hours.

And Uzi shared her mother's stress lines, looking a little bit worn out but satisfied and happy, eye's shining with so much raw affection for the child in her arms that Khan knew, without another word spoken, that he had a granddaughter.

“That's quite alright dronelette…” He managed to force out the words, hopefully without sounding too strained, he wanted Uzi to feel comfortable enough to talk to him, to tell him things. Even if she thought he didn't like it.

And a part of him didn't, she was 18, not quite even an adult yet but her birthday was coming up soon. And dammit she was still his daughter, watching her grow up this much in such a little amount of time was harrowing, and only reminded him of how much he'd missed while wallowing in his grief.

Another part of him was almost giddy, a granddaughter, a granddaughter, it was honestly something he never even hoped to have, Uzi had never been one to make freinds, much less romantic connections.

“Yeah- uh, this is Tera, N's daughter.” She repeated, obviously nervous and tired. Khan wondered if N looked equally run down. And if perhaps Tera was the same level of clingy Uzi had been.

“I wanted you to meet her, since I've been spending so much time with the both of them…”

He could only bring himself to smile and nod, but wanted to freeze as Uzi came toward him and outstretched her arms, he clumsily stepped forward and took the tiny droneling into his arms, core stopping for a moment.

“She learns names pretty quick, oh, and she's a hugger, so uh, beware.” She warned, still seemingly nervous, he was sure he'd know exactly why soon, although he had a feeling he might already know.

Khan looked down at the baby, which felt like lead in his hands as she smiled up at him, weirdly silent considering all the babbling he'd just heard.

“Tera, this is Khan.” Uzi spoke softly to the baby, standing beside her father as he looked like he was about keel over. “He's my dad.”

Tera's smile grew bigger, although she didn't attempt to say his name, perhaps more than a single letter was too much for her. Instead she blew a goofy raspberry, rolling around in his arms for a moment before rolling into him, giving him a hug.

Tears sprung up in his eyes as something in his core snapped, he held her closely, and a sniffle escaped his voice box before he could stop himself.

“Dad?” Uzi sounded slightly worried for him, she'd known he'd might have some kind of reaction to seeing Tera, but this was a little more then she'd expected.

“I-I'm alright! I just-” He blinked away the tears and tried to steel himself, thoughts running a mile a minute. “I see why you warned me. Hah…”

“Yeah… you should have seen V, you could see the exact second her core melted.” Khan only could nod, the droneling now pressed up against him made a chirping noise, happy and content at any love given to her.

“But ah…that's uh, not the only reason I came here, just to… introduce you to a droneling that… that you're not gonna see often. You are gonna see her often, A-at least I hope you do, C-cause she's not just N's… she's-she's mine… too.” She rambled and sputtered as she tried to find the words to say, Khan felt himself smiling as she continued, she was expressing a want to have him around, that he wouldn't be mad. That'd he'd want to be-

“She's your granddaughter… dad.” She finished, looking more stressed then ever, like he could ever possibly tell her that he didn't want to be in her life anymore.

He winced as he remembered all the times he did indirectly. Leaving her alone so he could throw himself into another project, neglecting the one person he still had as family simply because she looked too much like Nori to look in the eye.

And she really looked like her now.

He looked back down at Tera, at his granddaughter, and felt himself begin to tear up again. She was smiling at him, babbling and cooing up at him as he launched forward and hugged his daughter with all his might.

He felt her tense, then, thankfully, she relaxed, mindful of the child as she curled up in his arms much like she did when she was little, and she'd needed comfort from a nightmare. He felt her visor press against his chest, breathing shaky, like she herself was about to cry.

How could he have left her, how? What kind of parent was he that he left his own daughter? What kind of man?

And how could she have ever forgiven him? He knew he could never forgive himself.

“I'm sorry dronelette, I'm so so sorry.” He cracked out, petting her hair, he felt some kind of pressure on his back, her hand most likely, and she almost laughed, though it sounded pained.

“I'm still… so angry at you.” She admitted, slowly, though not pulling away. And he felt more pained steel settle in his core, he deserved this… whatever she needed to say. If she needed curse at him, to hit him even, he'd deserve it, although he hoped she wouldn't in front of Tera.

“But I missed you more.”

And thats all it took for them both to sob like newborns, her face burying into his shoulder as she let years worth of coiled pain escape her, despite all she'd done, how much she'd grown, she was still 18, still much a kid herself.

And they remained like that for some time, at least until Tera got uncomfortable being sandwiched between them and began to fuss, which finally ended the long overdue hug between father and daughter.

“H-here, give her to me.” She stammered out, either slightly embarrassed or still a little emotional, and Khan did as he was told, handing daughter back to mother.

She rocked her until she stopped fussing, and Khan led them both to the couch with his hand, still recovering himself.

She flopped on the couch like she carried the entire weight of the world on her shoulders, Tera held gingerly until she was placed between them do she could freely roll around, which she did happily.

“I'm assuming that means N is my son in law now?” He chuckled out, trying to lighten the somewhat oppressive mood that had settled over them. She blushed heavily, sputtering out a surprised response.

“We're not- he's- uh… He's my… boyfriend now yeah.”

He laughed, even though he saw it coming a mile away, he thought he might be more upset about it then he was, but N had more than proven Uzi was his priority, even over himself at times.

“And you need help moving your stuff out?” He continued, smiling through the small amount of pain the thought caused him, she was growing up, but if that hug had shown him anything, she still needed her dad, and he couldn't ignore that, he wouldn't, not anymore.

[youremyheaven]

Krittika: The Tarzan Complex & Survival Strategies

TW: murder, rape, genocide, euthanasia, death, violence, misogyny

This is part 2 of my ongoing Krittika series. This research was commissioned by the wonderful, angelic and patient, @rscelestia-blog . Being commissioned to do nakshatra research by you guys makes me feel like I'm a renaissance artist and you guys are my Medici family ✨🥺🫶💛 I'm so grateful for it.

For this post, I wanted to look into how this nakshatra often manifests in men. Whenever I talk about how naks manifest irl, I am talking about a tendency not a rule. Astrology is not a perfect science and it is very much possible that someone could have these placements and not behave this way. Also there are hundreds of different tendencies for each nak, since every astrologer is a mere human being with limited knowledge, what they derive from their studies is perhaps only a handful of such possibilities. Therefore every nakshatra has vast room for interpretation.

All that said, I have often thought that Krittika men were a bit unrefined and mannerless for a long time. I think this broadly applies to Solar men in general because they're a "guy's guy". However, this observation was further cemented by an ask that I received a long time ago where an anon pointed out how many actors who have played Tarzan or Tarzan like characters have Krittika nakshatra.

I will be making a separate post about the 'feral child' trope and how its most acutely manifest in a different planetary type but for this post I want to focus on the 'uncivilized' nature of Krittika/Solar men.

I had mentioned in my previous Krittika post about how since Krittika nak follows Bharani where creation takes place, Krittika is about survival.

In fact, the theory of 'survival of the fittest' was put forward by another Solar man aka Charles Darwin, Uttarashadha Moon

The term was originally coined by Herbert Spencer, Ketu in Uttaraphalguni after reading Origin of the Species

 Alfred Russel Wallace, whose own theory about the mechanics of evolution was almost identical to Darwin's, had a Solar stellium (Mercury & Venus in Uttarashadha and Jupiter in Krittika)

In Nazi Germany, they appropriated Darwin's "survival of the fittest" to eradicate anybody who wasn't Aryan or 'fit'. One of the key proponents of the same was an officer named Alfred Rosenberg, Uttarashadha Sun who was hanged to death after the war. He helped advance involuntary euthanasia to eliminate mentally ill and disabled individuals.

Now, lets go into Tarzan.

Tarzan is from an aristocratic British family and after losing his parents, he is adopted by the leader of the ape tribe, among whom he is raised. He later experiences civilization, rejects it and returns to the wild.

Many actors who have played Tarzan have either Solar influence or Venusian influence. In the 2 dozen actors who have played this character, the majority are Venusian tbh but I'll explore that more on a separate post about Venusian men. I think its interesting how different aspects of this character fit these two planetary types.

Here are some men who have played Tarzan

Johnny Weissmuller, Mercury and Venus in Krittika

He played Tarzan in 12 films and Jungle Jim in another dozen films and its TV adaptations as well.

Bruce Bennett, Krittika Sun (unrelated but i find this pic so funny lmao)

Tony Goldwyn- Krittika Sun and Venus (atmakaraka)

He voiced Tarzan in the 90s film

Tarzan has always been played by other Solar natives like:

Wolf Larson- Uttaraphalguni Moon

Alexander Skarsgaard- Uttaraphalguni Stellium

Now when we think of Tarzan, what do we most associate with him? He is a man who was raised in the jungle by apes since he was a baby, so he is "uncivilized" and by most standards "lacking manners", he is wild, messy, uncouth, improper and defies all kinds of social norms. We usually associate "mannerlessness" with belonging to perhaps a lower class in society but here is where Krittika and Solar men surprise us. They behave this way despite all that they have. They could be from immensely privileged backgrounds and still act like jungle freaks.

They lack social charisma, grace or "politeness". Tarzan is very independent because he was raised in the jungle where he had to learn how to fend for himself. Similarly, Solar individuals also tend to be very socially independent which means they're often not the best at interacting on a group level. In order to be sociable, you have to emotionally connect with others, Tarzan's early life is not something anybody else can connect to, even if he adopts a more "civilized" behaviour, he's still going to stand out because of how he's lived his life. Even if they're welcomed into and accepted by society, Solar individuals struggle to relate to and emotionally connect to them.

Sun naks are generally known for being a bit emotion-less but in Krittika this manifests in a very "each for himself/herself" mentality that ISNT self-serving. I would say Krittika natives are the least selfish and most service oriented of all the 3 Sun nakshatras. They know that its a dog eat dog world, so they almost have a tendency to be the one who does all the brunt work so that their loved ones can be spared of it?

I'll mention some examples of "mannerless" Krittika men now:

Howard Stern, Uttarashada Sun Krittika Rising

This guy straight up is so RUDE and crass and vulgar with ALL of his guests????

Here is him talking to Matthew McConaughey about his father dying and Matt is no better in this clip either but like wtf?? who talks like that???

Lowkey Solar individuals LOVE to gossip and start shit between people.

Here is a compilation of him being creepy and disgusting to women on his show.

Dana Plato, the actress, committed suicide a day after appearing on his show in 1999. The humiliation she endured is said to have been her breaking point. Her son committed suicide on the 11th anniversary of her death.

When I tell you Solar men are emotionally abusive, either by being avoidant and ignoring you or by being condescending, patronising, openly mocking you and treating you like shit, BELIEVE ME.

Jordan Peterson- Krittika Rising

I dont know if I need to explain why Jordan is a mannerless misogynistic asshole.

Here are some remarks made by Kate Manne, a feminist expert, who critiqued Jordan's work:

"There’s an interesting moment in the book where Peterson talks about resentment as a “revelatory” emotion that can mean one of two things. One, you feel it because you’re immature, in which case you just need to buck up. Two, you feel resentment because you really are being oppressed or taken advantage of somehow. Your resentment shows you that something needs to change or that you need to assert yourself in relation to other people.

But there is clearly a third possibility. People often feel resentful because they appear, based on historically entrenched social norms, to be getting a bad bargain, when what’s actually happening is that others are getting a somewhat fairer deal. When you’re accustomed to unjust privilege, equality feels like oppression, as the saying goes." (link to the whole article)

This is such a classic example of the way Solar individuals think. They don't really think in terms of privilege, justice, fairness etc??? They just think you can work hard enough to erase all the other socio-economic-political barriers that make things harder for others?? This is of course until they've had first hand experience of difficulties of this sort lmao but they are naturally not wired to think too much, they're very simple minded, like Tarzan, that's why Sun is the most Yang of energies. Its a very action-goal oriented line of thought. They are almost incapable of thinking in abstract or trying to see things within the context and subtext in which it has occurred.

This is also why they are often very academically gifted. Naturally intelligent people struggle the most in school because their brains are not wired to endure the structure and mechanical system of learning that our education system enforces. Intelligence by definition necessitates that the person possessing it is capable of thinking unconventionally and that means finding the school environment really limiting or restrictive bc schools fr be killing the joy of learning.

Solar individuals thrive within these systems because they seldom, if ever, question the system itself, they just learn their material and write the exam. They do not think "unconventionally" or beyond the binary in any way. They accept what they learn to be true and they are more focused on working within the system to climb its ranks. If this is the system we're in, they want to be THE BEST in it and they will master all of its rules to work with it to beat it??

This is why all Solar naks are at the very top of the caste hierarchy, Krittika is a Brahmin nak whereas Uttaraphalguni & Uttarashadha are both Kshatriya naks

Solar individuals are lowkey one of the least empathetic types. I dont mean this to be harsh but they're not very emotionally intelligent and its really hard for them to read a room or intuitively pick up on how someone's feeling/what's on their mind. You reallyyyy need to spell things out for them. It does not come to them naturally to understand how others think or to put themselves in the shoes of others because for Solar individuals everything is kind of a competition and when its a battle of survival, you dont stop to think how your opponents are feeling? this is not to say that they're in "survival mode",, Solars are too unbothered to be in fight or flight 24/7, its just the Tarzan mindset tbh. If you're an animal in the jungle, the jungle is your home, you understand how it operates, how you must hunt or starve, you know what your odds are, you cant be here feeling too empathetic towards other creatures knowing full well that you have to hunt them down and eat them or otherwise starve yourself to death. Animals are comfortable, secure and chill in their habitat but they also understand the stakes so they're always survival minded? Because it truly is each for his/her own out there.

Mark Wahlberg- Krittika Stellium (Mercury, Venus AK and Saturn)

Wahlberg is an A class asshole. In the 80s he assaulted two elderly Vietnamese men and a group of black children all the while hurling racist abuses at them.

Here is a clip from one of his movies:

I know its a film but this is for real how Solar men view the world. They see everything as a "conquest". (Tarzan mentality)

The simple minded Tarzan mentality is also why in the books and movies, Tarzan is unable to cope with civilization and returns to the jungle. The author said it's because Tarzan saw the world as too corrupt which is perhaps true but it's also because having lived in a jungle where the ruled are pretty simple and standard, being a member of society means adhering to many unspoken ruled and conventions. Solar individuals find it THE hardest to do so and when they're actual being true to themselves, they act like apes of the Howard Stern school.

Salvador Dali, Krittika Stellium (Sun, Mercury & Mars)

To make matters worse, he was UBP Moon (the influence of multiple malefic planets makes one more prone to being an asshole) and I have extensively covered his wrongdoings in my post about Saturnian men

However, for now I want to focus on how Dali was a Nazi sympathizer,

He was also obsessed with Hitler in a perverse way and apparently had homoerotic fantasies of him lmao??

He was once quoted as saying:

"I often dreamed of Hitler as a woman. His flesh, which I had imagined whiter than white, ravished me… There was no reason for me to stop telling one and all that to me Hitler embodied the perfect image of the great masochist who would unleash a world war solely for the pleasure of losing and burying himself beneath the rubble of an empire; the gratuitous action par excellence that should indeed have warranted the admiration of the Surrealists."

He was a big old fascist who also supported the Spanish dictator Franco which made Picasso stop talking to him for the rest of his life.

In 1975, when General Franco executed many people, hundreds and thousands of fascists gathered in support of Franco, chanting his name and making fascists salutes. When the world condemned this appalling act, Dali praised Franco and called him the “greatest hero of Spain.”

George Orwell, a strong critic of the fascist rule in Spain, despised Dali and wrote —

“During the Spanish Civil War, he astutely avoids taking sides and makes a trip to Italy. He feels himself more and more drawn towards the aristocracy, frequents smart salons, finds himself wealthy patrons, and is photographed with the plump Vicomte de Noailles, whom he describes as his ‘Maecenas.’”

Salvador Dali was nicknamed ávida dollars (“eager for dollars”) by his former surrealist friends for selling his consciousness and idealism for money and fame.

Average Solar behaviour

When I talk about Tarzan mentality, I'm referring to how lions dont feel remorse at the thought of killing deers. Its not in their nature to feel remorse. The hierarchy of the eco system is such that lions are predators and its their job to hunt. They are by biological design, carnivores. Its a bit sickening to think of how like animals, who have no choice but to be brutal to survive, Solar individuals often have this ruthless ambition to do absolutely anything to get ahead in life. The world we live in, is a capitalist, patriarchal world and the people who thrive in it are ones who are willing to overlook or dont see the faults in the system at all.

The ones who sit at the very top of the pyramid did not get there by being compassionate angels. 3/4 Brahmin caste naks are "ugra" or violent nakshatras, Krittika is the exception, as it is a "mishra" nakshatra (mishra means "mixed"). The ones at the very top are the most brutal and fierce. There is no other way to get to the top in this world.

Carrie Fisher, Krittika Moon

The singer James Blunt (Shatabhisha stellium) who was besties with Carrie, wrote in his memoir:

“I was closer to Carrie than almost anyone else in the world, except my wife. She told me which girlfriends weren’t suitable, was the first person I told when I met my wife, and we chose engagement rings for her together.

She also knew where every unmarked grave of mine lay and where every guilt stemmed from. She was complicit too. When I arrived home one morning with a love bite on my neck, and my girlfriend of the moment about to arrive, Carrie grabbed her 16-year-old daughter and gave her a love bite as well.

Then Carrie summoned me over, offering her own neck, and told me to give her a love bite. When the girlfriend arrived, we all had love bites.

There was also an issue with drugs. Carrie had long been open about her addiction, but at some point it was obvious enough to be of concern.

I stood many times at the foot of her bed at 3am listening to the laboured breathing of someone sounding close to death on heavy medication. Not long before she died, I asked her to be godmother to my son, telling her that I wanted her to take care of herself so that he might know her when he grew up.

Charlie, her best friend, confronted her more directly and told her she needed to quit drugs, but was ostracised by her as a result. I took a different approach and did them with her, pretending to myself that I would guide her to redemption one day – just not today.

The lies we tell ourselves are the ­hardest to forgive. As a result, her ­daughter Billie blames me in part for her death, and no longer speaks to me. They buried Carrie’s ashes in a giant ceramic Prozac pill. You can see a picture of it on the CD disc of my first album. There are only two of them in the world, and the other one is my most treasured possession.”

Krittika being a "mishra" or mixed nak means that its just as capable of being tender as it is of being destructive. There are only 2 mishra naks. The other one is Vishaka.

Carrie took James in before he had even made his debut and he lived with her and recorded the songs of his first album in her house. They had a long lasting friendship, all of this points to the kind, nurturing, almost maternal nature of Krittika but the other behaviour he mentioned, including the love bite giving lmao?? Krittika is a Solar nak and they wouldnt be who they are if they weren't competitive for no reason lol and ostracizing people who mean well??? Solarcore AF

I assure you trying to give advice to a Solar is pointless because like the Sun, they too are blinded by their own light, they see nothing, they comprehend nothing except their own projections. Plato's allegory of the cave was about Solars, I swear lmao. The truth can be very very obvious to absolutely everybody else but a Solar WILL NOT SEE IT

They embody this meme:

They're very low on emotional intelligence tbh. You could tell a Solar that someone almost murdered you and they'd be like "oh he's not very nice, is he?" 😭😭😭 I think it's also part of their simple minded Tarzan thinking. They take everything at face value and are straightforward to a fault. They just don't know or understand how crooked people can be.

I have Krittika Moon friend who is dating a Hasta Moon man (Solar x Lunar couples 🤧) and he was disgusting to me IN FRONT OF HER and he's been nasty af to many other women we all know and she wasn't his girlfriend at the time. But even after she knew all of this, she went on to date him and now they've been together for over a year lmao 🤮🤢🤮

They do not see the faults with themselves or with people they love. They live in a bubble of delulu and completely believe that all that glitters IS GOLD. They can be soooo naive, its insane. Theyre naive girls in bad bitch packaging.

Solar individuals struggle more than any other type to understand that things are not always black and white and that real life is veryyy complicated because people are complicated. In the jungle, such abstractions do not exist, things are very black and white, you can easily arrive at solutions by thinking in a very binary way. Sun nakshatras are focused on survival and this mentality warps their mindset from perceiving things in a more complex and nuanced way.

I want to emphasize once more that survival mentality is NOT being in flight/fight mode,, its more so about operating from a place of maximum efficiency and cutting out all the unnecessary bullshit. But being in survival mode is not living. We are not animals and there is more to life than just...surviving.. and thriving..

Solar individuals are the type for whom every kind of experience is a status symbol of some sort. Be it being desired, succeeding at school/work, making x amount of money, they dgaf about "enjoying" things, they are absolutely not the "stop to smell the roses" type, they want to be like the people who they envy or look up to, they want all those markers of success. Ask them about their motivations and you'll seldom hear of an emotional one.

They're mostly driven by a need to do well in life just because. We live in a world where money is king, and where certain things are conventional indicators of success and even if they have absolutely no desire for a certain kind of house, or car or brand or relationship, they do not want to be perceived as someone who is incapable of having it???? so they work hard to get it?? They get it for show, basically.

There is a reason why the ONLY nak without a yoni consort is a Solar nakshatra (Uttarashada). The height of Solar energy is such that its truly each for his/her own, no partners whatsoever.

Jack London, Uttarashadha Sun

He wrote books like a The Call of the Wild and numerous other adventure stories which are all about surviving in the wild by yourself lol

Its funny how literally the themes of certain naks and planetary influences are made manifest

 Richard Gadd- Krittika Sun and Venus

He is the star and maker of Baby Reindeer, which, if you really think about it, is a survival story. You have got to ask yourself is someone subject you to brutal stalking of the kind Gadd was subject to, would you spend YEARS of your career performing and reliving it? There could be many reasons why he chose to do so and many have found it highly problematic how a man whose privacy was so brutally invaded for so long would do so little to properly hide the identities of the real people he's talking about (his stalker was found out by netizens and she's been receiving death threats etc).

I feel like it points to the nature of the Sun. They will have the last word always and even when they're losing, they'll drag you down with them. But beyond that, I feel like it points to the ambition and tenacity of Krittika and their sheer will power.

Pitbull, Uttarashadha Sun, Krittika Moon & Rising

His life story is extremely Solar

The "American dream" tbh is a very Yang one and a very Solar one

He was born in USA to immigrant parents.His family has a history of fighting against the Castro regime in Cuba. When he was three, he could recite the works of Cuban national hero and poet José Martí in Spanish. He learned English by watching Sesame Street as a child. His father was largely absent from his childhood; his parents separated when he was young, and he was raised mostly by his mother, later stating: "my mom is my father and my mother." He briefly stayed with a foster family in Roswell, Georgia. His parents struggled with substance abuse; as a teenager, he was also involved with drug use and dealing, which eventually led to him getting kicked out of the family house.

Divorce, war, natural calamities, destruction of any kind is veryyy common for people born under Krittika, Ardra, Uttarashadha, Jyeshta, Ashlesha nakshatras.

Pitbull's parents were separated, they fled Cuba, he was kicked out and was literally left to fend for himself.

He said he chose his stage name of Pitbull because the dogs "bite to lock. The dog is too stupid to lose. And they're outlawed in Dade County. They're basically everything that I am. It's been a constant fight". Literally so Solarcoded??

I'll end this post here, I have more posts to come about Krittika and Solar naks so stay tuned. I hope this was insightful

I am sooooo sorry that I have been soooo slow with my uploads lately,, I just have a lot on my plate atm 😭😭😭I am going to try my best to be more consistent cause I want to finish this series asap as I have several other pending posts to make UGHH

[squoxle]

✏ TNAIT 003: Do. Not. Get. Attached l.at fanfic

✰ pairing: nerdy!bandboy!anton x cheerleader!fem!reader| ✰ wc: 2.9k | ✰ cw: profanity, angst, sexual themes, kissing | ✰ plot: your friends catch on to the fact that you might actually be falling for this nerd, but their reaction to it sends you on a wild mission to try and convince them otherwise... [Series Masterlist]

"So...how'd everything go with Ponytail?" Dongmin asked Chanyoung at the cafe, after his shift.

"It actually went alright. That cheerleader isn't too bad," he shrugged as he sat in the chair across from him.

"Did you make any progress?"

"With her assignments? Not really. We had a little incident and just ended up hanging out for a bit after that."

"Well, don't get too cozy, alright."

"What do you mean? You're the one who got me hooked up with her in the first place."

"I know man, but just be careful. Remember that we're a part of different worlds."

"So what? Are you trying to say she's out of my league?"

"I-I just don't want you to get your heart broken again..."

"What are you talking about. We literally just met."

"I know but--"

"You're acting like I proposed to her. We're just friends. Relax," he said before taking a bite of pizza. He picked some up for the two of them to eat here.

For the next few weeks, you continued to see him. First, it was only 3 days out of the week, but by now it had escalated to 5 days. Your feelings for him grew, but you had to keep your little crush a secret, at least for now.

"I'm telling you right now. Do. Not. Get. Attached," Xoey said. She decided to join you at the cafe today. "I can see it in your eyes that you like him more than you're letting on."

"Let's just say I do like him. Is it really that big of a deal?"

"Are you insane? You're literally just using him to get your grades up. Any type of romance is out of the question," Xoey snapped.

"Can you believe she hasn't given him anything to help her?" Abigail chimed in.

"Nothing?" her eyes widened. "Hmm...interesting. Do you think he likes her back?"

"Eww. He better fucking not," Abigail rolled her eyes. "I swear if these two ever start dating, I'd actually vomit..."

"He's really not that bad," you shrugged.

"They have so many hot guys on the football team that you could easily pull. Don't settle for that dork," Abigail spat. You knew very well that she meant every word she said.

"Relax! I don't even like him like that. I already told you, I'm just being his friend so he can pull my grades up," you spat.

"Wait, wait, wait! So let me get one thing straight," Xoey interjected. "You two have just been buddy-buddy this whole time? You've never slept with him? Not even once?"

"Nope."

"Anything sexual at all? Maybe even a kiss?"

"She hasn't opened anything but her laptop for that geek," Abigail sighed as you shook your head.

"Okay, well if you really don't like him and it's all about the grades how about you prove it to us by kissing Nicholas," Xoey smirked.

"Omg, he is so fine," Abigail nearly moaned at the meer thought of him.

"Yeah, I know. And a little birdie told me that he's been looking at our girl. So this is gonna be a piece of cake," she grinned folding her hands together.

"Oh and to make it even better, you have to tell him that you've liked him forever," Abigail added.

"In front of sweet little Channie," Xoey spat.

"Girls, this is ridiculous," you wailed. "I already said I don't like him. I'm just using him for my grades. I seriously only see him as a friend," you lied.

"Do it and we won't hunt down your fanboy and tell him that you couldn't care less about him," Xoey raised an eyebrow as she leaned over the table, lowering her voice.

"And that you're just using him for the semester," Abigail added. "You've already told us how you're just gonna drop him anyway. So why not rip off the band-aid now?"

"Fine, fine! I'll do it," you exclaimed. "But not in front of him...that'll be too awkward."

Maybe it was the peer pressure of wanting to be accepted that influenced your decision. But whatever it was, there was some damage control you had to do first.

"So, what are we working on today," Chanyoung smiled as you sat down next to him.

"Hmm... well I finished writing one of my English assignments last night. Maybe you could just look over it for me first and then we can work on something else."

"Alright," he nodded as you slid your computer over to him and began scrolling through the contents of your essay.

“Umm…Chanyoung?”

“You can just call me Chan. It sounds less…formal,” he smiled.

“Okay. Well, do you have anything planned this weekend?”

“No, not really. Why?” He asked, turning away from the screen to look at you.

“I was wondering if maybe…you wanted to go out with me. N-not like a date or anything,” you chuckled. “Just as friends.”

“Yeah sure. It’s not like I’m doing anything anyway.”

“Great!” You smiled. “How do you feel about a movie at…I don’t know…6?”

“Yeah, 6 sounds good,” he laughed, admiring how sweet you were with him. Even though you said this would be a friendly date, you wanted to be more than that with him.

So what if your friends don’t like him. They’ll just have to get over it. After all, you just had to kiss Nicholas one time. It's not like you were signing yourself over in marriage, right?

"Well, umm...let's get back to studying and maybe we can hang out before you go to practice," he said, returning to the screen.

After cheer practice, Abigail dropped you off at home as usual. You waved to your parents and went straight to your room to clean yourself up for the night.

"Honey," your mom's voice called when you were in the bathroom. "When you're finished, your father and I would like to have a talk with you."

"Okay, I'm almost finished," you replied, before you heard her footsteps trail down the hall.

You had a very good feeling about what this conversation would be about. Lucky for you, you had the right answer.

"How are your grades looking?" your father asked as you sat on the couch.

"I'm actually doing a lot better," you nodded.

"Can you go get your laptop so I can see how they've improved?" he asked.

"Sure," you said before leaving the room. This conversation was just about as stale as you expected it to be. "Here it is," you turned the laptop to him, revealing your grades.

Politics — 85.97%

English — 94.81%

Math — 78.12%

Geography — 89.54%

"I have a few more assignments due this week that should bring my grades up even more," you smiled.

"This is great!" you mother chimed.

"I know we put a lot of pressure on you, but it's because we want you to succeed. I'm just glad to see that you're taking action on your own," your father began. "Without a tutor," he added.

You knew that wasn't completely true, but it's the lie you had to tell to keep everyone happy.

"Thanks," you said, closing the computer.

"Oh, before you go I wanted to address an issue," your father said as you were about to walk away. "I'm sure you've noticed by now that I froze your cards. Well, since you're obviously doing better I think you've earned that privilege back."

"Wow...I've never seen my dad so proud of me," you thought to yourself. "Then again, I've never let my grades drop like this."

"Goodnight, honey and keep up the good work," your parents smiled before you walked back to your room.

You wished that Chan was in your room right now so you could hug him. He's taken so much pressure off that you've even completed some of the assignments on your own. Meeting up with him has forced you to delegate time to your studies and giving him your login information was one of the best choices you made.

The next day at practice, you walked in to see one of your cheer mates in tears.

"What's going on?" you whispered to Janice. Abigail and the other girls were busy trying to console her.

"Word got out that Reina had been sleeping with another student to help her pass classes. Which is obviously a breach of the student code of conduct," she sighed leaning against one of the red lockers.

"So what's gonna happen to her?"

"Well, she's being suspended for the rest of the semester and will have a zero in all her courses, effective immediately. On top of that, she'll be on academic probation. Meaning, she'll be kicked from the cheer squad until she can complete a semester on her own with a GPA of 2.5 or higher."

You thought about the situation you were in right now. "That could've easily been me," you thought to yourself as you looked down at your feet. "If my parents ever found out about my little rendevous with Chanyoung they'd never trust me again..."

"Chanyoung," you gasped as you bumped into him in the halls.

"Heh, I didn't expect to see you here," he smiled.

"Well, it was nice seeing you Ponytail. But we kinda got somewhere to be," Dongmin spat as he grabbed onto Chanyoung's arm.

"Oh sorry, I wasn't trying to hold you up," you replied.

"No, it's alright. We were just going to grab something to eat before heading over to my place," Chanyoung said, turning back to you. "You can join us if you want."

"No, she can't," Dongmin interjected. "I'm sure she has something else to do."

"Dude--"

"No, he's right," you smiled, cutting him off. "I was just on my way to meet up with the girls. But maybe next time?"

"Yeah, definitely," he smiled, which just made Dongmin roll his eyes. "Oh, we're still on for this weekend right?"

"Yeah, totally," you chimed before jogging off to catch up with your friends.

"Eh hm? This weekend? What are you doing with her this weekend?"

"None of your business," Chan teased.

"What do you mean none of my business? You wouldn't even be talking to her if it weren't for me."

"Okay? I don't even see how that matters right now," Chan scoffed.

"Because you're falling for Ponytail and I can tell. I thought you didn't like cheerleaders. I guess everything's different now that you're holding hands with one?"

"Pft, what!?"

"Don't start playing dumb. It's written all over your stupid ass face. Every time she comes around and every time you talk about her you have that dumbass grin."

"Okay? So, what?"

"So you admit it? You do like her?"

"Yeah, I do. What's wrong with that?"

"She's so out of your league it isn't even funny."

"We're not in high school anymore. We can date whoever we want. Cliques don't exist here."

"Yes, they fucking do, but ever since you've been working for that high-strung cheering ditz you haven't been able to think straight."

"This is so fucking stupid. I'm not doing this with you, okay."

"The old you would've never been so blind."

"What are you talking about?"

"That bitch is two-faced as fuck," Dongmin spat.

"Whatever, man. You're just saying that because you're jealous."

"Jealous? God, you sound so much like those cock sucking sluts," Dongmin shook his head. "Wait, I just remembered that you're not even getting that from her, huh?" he chuckled. "She's just using you. She can't even bring herself to have romantic feelings for you. She's just pretending to be your friend so you can keep being her lovestruck slave."

"If you're gonna keep acting like that, I'd rather you just shut the fuck up."

"What? You don't believe me?"

"Fuck no and I'm honestly tired of hearing you bitch."

"Fine, you can go back to living out your little fantasy, but don't come crying to me when you find out I'm right."

"I think I'm gonna go home on my own tonight," Chan shook his head before walking off, leaving Dongmin behind. "See ya tomorrow, man."

"Yeah...later..."

Remembering the dare from yesterday you decided to go find Nicholas and "confess" to him. This really just meant setting up a situation where a kiss wouldn't seem so awkward. You just weren't really the type to randomly put your lips on someone.

"Hey, Nick," you smiled as you approached him in the hallway.

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Well...I heard from someone that you've been looking at me," he smirked as he anticipated the next thing you were gonna say. "So..."

"So?"

"So, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out this weekend?"

"Umm lemme just check my schedule real quick," he chuckled, pulling out his phone to swipe his thumb across the screen. "Yep, this weekend sounds perfect. I'll pick you up at 5, okay."

"5?"

"Yeah, I have football practice until 3:45 and I still gotta shower and stuff."

"Oh...okay. Well, 5 sounds good," you smiled feinly.

"Alright, well I'll have to catch up with you later. I think you already have my number so if you wanna talk tonight we can," he smirked before pulling you in for a hug.

"Okay, I'll try to call you tonight if I'm not too busy," you said as he hugged you one more time before jogging to high-five the group of boys that waited at the other end of the hall.

As much as you wanted to see Chanyoung today, he was busy taking care of something with his brother. This gave you a little more time to bond with Nicholas...or Nick as you liked to call him.

"Hey, ____," Nicholas waved as he walked into the courtyard. "I got out of practice early today. If you're not busy did you wanna catch up a bit now?"

"Yeah, sure," you smiled.

One thing your friends didn't know was that you had a past with Nicholas. The two of you went to school together from Pre-K to 5th grade--middle school is when you both went your separate ways.

Though you never moved, Nicholas' father was stationed outside of the country. Fate had it that the two of you reconnected.

You thought back to the time he gave you a candy ring for your "wedding" in 1st grade. Even though you were just kids, it still felt so special.

It really sucked when he moved away that summer, but he made sure to send you a card on your birthday every year.

"Okay, so I have one question," he began as he walked beside you.

"What's that?"

"Did you really wanna go out with me? Or is this part of some master plan?"

"Uhh, why would you think that?" you scoffed.

"Come on, ____. I'm not stupid. I know when someone's trying to jerk me around."

"He always was quick," you thought to yourself. "Okay, fine."

"Yup, I knew it," he chuckled. "So what was it? A dare? A competition?"

"It was a dare...some of the girls from my squad think I like this guy--"

"Well are they right?"

"Yeah, but they don't really approve of him."

"So what? If you like him and he's a great guy who cares what your friends think?"

"Hmm...yeah I guess you're right."

"Ooooof course I am."

"Well, I still gotta do the dare...I already agreed to it."

"Okay," he laughed. "But what exactly do you have to do?"

"You're not gonna like this...."

"Just tell me."

"I have to kiss you..."

"That's it?"

"And tell you that I've liked you forever," though you were dared to say this, at one point (before you got to know Chanyoung) that was true.

"Easy-peasy," he smiled before pulling your in by your waist for a kiss.

"Nick!" you exclaimed as he burst out into laughter.

"Relax, I just wanted to get a reaction out of you," he smiled. "Here, I'll do it properly this time," he leaned in before gently placing a kiss on your lips. "How's that," he asked.

"Much better, but you can do it on my cheek next time," you tapped the plush of your cheek.

"Like this?" he playfully pecked your cheek.

"Yes!" you laughed. "You're enjoying the hell out of this and I know it," you smiled as he wrapped his arm around you.

"I'll drop you off at home tonight."

"Hmm? Why?"

"Well I kinda wanna go raid the gas station and I think I'd like you to be my partner in crime. I mean it's only fair. After all you're just using me to complete a dare."

"Hmm, okay. Well, let's get started now," you smiled as he walked you to his car.

"Hey," Chanyoung said dryly.

"Look, I know you don't wanna hear this, but there's something you gotta know about Ponytail."

"What is it now," he sighed.

"Earlier today, I saw her getting all gushy over this jock. And I don't mean some silly conversation. I saw them kissing. She's duping you, man."

Chanyoung sat in silence for a short while before finally speaking again. "You're not gonna stop, are you?"

"What are you talking about, Chan? I just gave you proof."

"No, what you gave me was some more bullshit stories you sat around concocting all day."

"Dude, I--"

"I don't wanna argue about this again, okay. Just drop it already."

"Chan..."

"Forget it...I'm going to sleep."

Later that night, after Nicholas dropped you off, you laid across your bed, staring up at the ceiling as you though to yourself...

"How the hell am I gonna be in two places at once?"

Thanks for reading the second episode of my series. [Series Masterlist]

Click this link to go to my main masterlist and stay tuned for the next episodes.

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[hwere]

Sydney and the winds of change.

Expanding on some thoughts of mine that I mentioned here.

Syd and Tina:

Starting with them ‘cause their friendship fills my heart with so much love and warmth.

Tina’s initial stance of animosity towards Sydney derives from the fact that not only she’s used to being the only woman in the kitchen, but the same generational fear as Richie: of being replaced by someone new, younger. When Syd arrived at The Beef, the crew viewed her as one of Carmy’s peers. While the others (Ebra, Marcus, Sweeps, etc.) seemed curious about her, Tina braced herself for the worst; she treats Sydney harshly because she believes that Syd – young and a professional chef – will either replace her or look down on her.

Sydney, though, viewed all of them as equals (except for Carmy). That is why it is so beautiful to watch Syd disarm Tina by complimenting her food and encouraging her to do better in the kitchen, instead of joining the dick-measuring competition. Syd showed Tina that there’s no need for competition; there’s room for both and they can be friends who uplift and inspire each other.

Later, we see Tina outright saying this to Ebra when he came back to the restaurant after going AWOL due to his insecurity regarding the school; passing down the lesson.

Syd and Marcus:

Their friendship has a different vibe since they’re closer in age.

Marcus feels inspired and supported by both Syd and Carmy to chase his dreams, to put himself out there, to experiment, to learn and to fail/make mistakes. Which is only possible because Syd’s goal and mindset is to provide this type of environment in the kitchen (“I think this place could be so different from all the other places we’ve been at. But, in order for that to be true, we need to run things different”).

In turn, he inspires her to be more considerate (“There was just a hat in it?”) and calm/patient (that’s the way he carries himself in general, which makes his outburst after being rejected so much worse), showing to her since The Beef that she’s no longer alone in her garage running a business all by herself, she has people to rely on now and that is fine to accept/ask for help.

Syd and Richie:

I do feel at times that he’s a bit of a misunderstood character. Of course, there’s no excuse for his actions towards Syd – that’s not even up for debate. His apology to her, as he did to Natalie, is overdue.

Like Carmy, he’s dealing with a lot: the end of his marriage and being a co-parent; the suicide of his best friend (which could be seen as some sort of betrayal, made worse by the fact that Michael left the shop to Carmy, not him); his creeping fear on being left behind, on old age and aimless existing under capitalism and all its implications (“I'm about to have this kid. I don’t wanna be wrapping up sandwiches for the rest of my life”).

He can be a massive asshole when he wants, but he’s not a bad person at his core (his strongest features are his love and loyalty). Most important: he can change. Watching him stepping up to offer Sydney help, after Carmy got stuck in the walk-in, meant a lot to me, honestly. He still has a long, long way to go, but he’s finally trying and opening himself up to learn (which doesn’t mean the road there will be clear and linear, as we glimpsed in the trailer).

It was Carmy’s idea to send him to Ever, but his growth was only possible because of Sydney’s positive influence all around them.

Syd and Carmy:

Then, there’s everything between her and Carmy. How they mirror each other at times; their parallels; yin-yang and all that jazz (I’m not about to recapitulate the entire show). The man said so himself and I couldn’t summarize better, “I couldn’t do it without you. I wouldn’t even wanna do it without you. You make me better at this.”

He wasn’t lying, though.

If Sydney never came back, of the two, one: either he wouldn’t even try to open The Bear – just use the money to improve The Beef (after all, his dream was to open a restaurant with his brother); or he would try, but for obvious reasons it wouldn’t be the same thing – with Syd around he didn’t think twice before slipping back to his old mentality and persona, imagine if she wasn’t around at all?

Carmy has spent far too many years working out of spite, chasing the approval of his brother, centering cooking as his life (something something porcupine dilemma something something the Berzatto curse). Sydney reminded him that there’s more to cooking than this (“I’d look at them like they were competition, like I’m gonna smoke this motherfucker / […] the deeper into this I went and the better I got. And the more people I cut out, the quieter my life got” vs “You love taking care of people / It is a partnership agreement, so that you can push me and I can push you”).

He gave her a second chance with The Bear and has been pushing her to be a better chef since before they met (“it was Carmy’s”) and also be more patient (both directly “Chef, it’s not ready yet” and indirectly [as in dealing with him and his bullshit]). But like Richie, he still has a lot of work to do with himself (as someone with similar mental issues: you have to put in the work to become better and you have to find healthy ways to cope with yourself and the world around you; mental illness explains some things, but doesn’t excuse them).

For their partnership to become perfect, they need balance.

And lots of love.

Sydney Adamu:

As to what makes Sydney so beautiful as a character: she’s so human and alive on our screens. She’s awkward, bit of an asshole/messy, creative and funny; eager and talented, but still harbors insecurities; isn’t afraid to speak her mind or stand her ground when necessary; although she doesn’t shy away from arguing/bickering, she’s not a conflict-driven person; her initial reaction is always to shut in, but if you know how to approach her, she’ll open up to you (as we saw so many times with Carmy); and she, overall, has such a beautiful heart (“Why can’t we put everything that we have into everything that we can?”).

As the seasons progress, we watch all those characters (both main and secondary) evolve and unravel right in front of our eyes. To me, that’s the beauty of The Bear and Sydney is right in the center of it.

[yazzzmints]

Duty and Sacrifice

[ Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader x Alys Rivers ]

[ Warnings: angsty af, bipanics, polyamorous, cuss words, death, blood, age gap, Aemond being a simp, future smut, (y/n) being done with everyone.

More will be added as the story progresses.]

Duty and Sacrifice

Chapter 1: The Beginning 

WC: 705

Driftmark 122 AC

Lord Corlys loved his granddaughter deeply, seeing in her the living embodiment of his bloodline and a testament to his influence over the realm. In the rigid hierarchy of Westeros, daughters traditionally held subordinate roles, expected to dutifully obey their fathers and prepare themselves solely for marriage and motherhood. Yet, such conventions held no sway over his (Y/N). She was destined for a  greater purpose, to wield authority, to express her convictions. Though she would inevitably fulfill her duties in the birthing chamber, she would also carry forth his legacy and that of his wife, the Queen who never was.

He looked onto the children hugging with his wife, the contrast between the princess and her younger brothers was starkly apparent. Despite this distinction, Laenor claimed them as his own, a fact that seemed unimportant when the heir boasted Valeryon blood. Lord Corlys found contentment in the unspoken understanding between his son and Princess Rhaenyra. There was no one who dared challenge their legitimacy, lest they risk losing their heads.

The children's trip to driftmark was brief, Laenor had expressed his desire to spend some time away from the court, an excuse to dalliance with his lover from prying eyes. The children spent a fortnight learning of their fathers heritage, hearing stories of the sea and such, today they will go back to King's Landing. Little (y/n) with her dragon eyes hugged her grandparents with her tiny arms, although sad to leave she was happy to return to her mother. And so there stood the Lord and Lady of Driftmark stood on shore, watching their legacy sail back home. 

.

.

.

Princess Rhaenyra awaited her children eagerly. Though they hadn't been gone long, her motherly instincts fueled her concern for their safety. Lucerys was the first to run to her, followed by (Y/N) trailing after her younger brother.

"Mama!" they all shouted in unison.

Rhaenyra gathered her children in her arms. "Oh, my loves, how I have missed you all."

"Even me?" Laenor joked as he joined his wife in hugging their children. The ever-watchful green eyes of the court were everywhere; they could not afford to give anyone a reason to doubt.

"The King has arranged a private dinner to welcome his grandchildren back," Rhaenyra said, smiling at Laenor. "I hope the break was sufficient."

A knight behind them coughed at the princess' words.

"Oh, it was," Laenor replied, a knowing smile in his eyes.

.

.

.

Back at the castle, Princess (Y/N) eagerly searched for her only friend, trailed by servants carrying an assortment of gifts. She finally found him in the library, engrossed in a book and unbothered by the world. She decided to disrupt his peace.

"Aemond," she smiled, "I got you gifts." She sat next to him, her excitement palpable.

"Look," she gestured, and the servants displayed the gifts brought back from Driftmark. "I got you plenty of books and this pretty seashell."

Prince Aemond smiled at his niece, sweet and innocent as she was, so different from her brothers. They chatted about her travels to Driftmark and his activities in her absence until it was time for dinner. The dining table was lavishly set, overflowing with food and wine, which Prince Aegon was quick to reach for. On the right side of the table sat Princess Rhaenyra's family, and on the left, Queen Alicent’s. The King presided at the head of the table. They began with a prayer to the Seven, led by the Queen. 

“Children, how was the trip?” The King asked after the prayer. Jacerys and Lucerys looked at their sister.

“It was wonderful grandfather, it was nice to see the place where my father grew up.” she smiled.

As she recounted their activities, the princess couldn't help but notice the Queen's subtle attempts to mask her distaste when Driftmark was mentioned. Princess (Y/N) felt a shift, sensing the delicate balance of power and loyalty that defined their lives. She held her grandfather's gaze, drawing strength from his presence. The tension simmering beneath the surface, the family continued their meal, each lost in their own thoughts. However, (y/n) stared at the queen, making her feel uneasy. After all, Queen Alicent was no fan of her dragon eyes.

taglist

@snh96 @dahlias-and-marigolds @galactict3a @mandiiblanche @heavenly1927 @watercolorskyy @toodlesxcuddles @ellieabby @oxymakestheworldgoround @laura-naruto-fan1998

[A/N: sorry for posting this late af. Spring semester kicked my ass but I am back. Chapters will start flowing.]

[twisting-echo]

It's time to talk about some things that have been on my mind since the two final episodes of Monsters at Work season 2 dropped.

Despite how much I loved seeing Randall in Monsters at Work, I couldn't help but feel that Randall was out of character and super extra, to be honest. I know that I'm not the only one who thought that Randall's change in character was due to Johnny's asshole influence.

Now this may be my personal headcanon, but going off of what we were given in Monsters University, Randall, better known as Randy at the time, was a sweet, polite, and self-conscious monster who lacked confidence. Yes, he wanted to “get in” with the “cool kids,” but who hasn't given into peer pressure or wanted to hang out with people who seemed fun and popular? What kind of guy tries to make friends through sharing cupcakes? Sweethearts, that's who!

When Randall first revealed that he joined Roar Omega Roar, Johnny ordered him to “do the thing,” and Randall obeyed his command like a trained dog and turned invisible for Johnny and friends to gawk at. At the moment, I assumed that Randall was the group punching bag.

I always thought that Randall's cruel actions were based solely on Johnny's approval and the validation from his peers because that made him feel seen. Little did Randall know that Johnny was just using him for his unique abilities.

Later at the Scare Games, Randall lost control of what I considered to be his bodily functions and accidentally camouflaged his skin into a humiliating pattern of pink with red hearts, which was criticized by Johnny, Chet, and other members of his fraternity. After that, I always assumed that Johnny saw no more use in Randall because his camouflagic abilities are what got him into ROR, and it's what got him out of ROR.

You want me to really believe that Randall actually liked being in ROR and flourished?!

My point is that what I saw in Monsters at Work doesn't line up with what I saw in Monsters University. The only thing that did line up was the fact that Johnny was using Randall, just like he did back in college.

I had always thought that Randall had lost pieces of himself in an attempt to become a member of Johnny's fraternity. To be honest, I was never fully intrigued by Randall until I saw this alternate side of him in Monsters University. However, I can't really explain away his actions in Monsters Inc., but gosh, do I love thinking about the emotional journey he went through to get to that dark place.

Sshhh, Do You Hear That? belongs to @assrtdj

I Just Wanted a Friend... belongs to PumpkinSoup on DA.

Reflection belongs to Planet-Spatulon on DA.

Randall seemed perfectly happy with his friendship with Mike. He was so secretly desperate to appease his new friend that he discarded his prescription glasses just because Mike offhandedly noted that his glasses gave away his invisible camouflage. Mike didn't tell him to get rid of his glasses. Randall did that himself because he made a self-conscious decision. It's like getting a haircut that you really didn't want, but your friend offhandedly said that they thought that you would look good with short hair or dying it another color. That's how low Randall's self-esteem was!

Mike was the perfect friend for him! They spent time together; they lounged on the grass while studying their homework together; they had playful banter, and it was adorable! Mike accepted Randall for who he was, and I'll never forget that. Mike is Randall's true bestie. 🥺

I refuse to believe that Johnny and Randall are “besties” because Johnny is just using him again. Randall literally said that because Johnny saved him from the swamp people, he “owed him one.”

I refuse to believe that Chet of all people was bullied by Randall during his college days, and that's why he's no longer Johnny's number 1. I love Chet as a character, and seeing what he was reduced to in Monsters at Work broke my heart. He was a former shell of himself, and he was literally walked all over by Randall.

It's almost like they retconned, or should I say, Chet-conned his character and his friendship with Johnny by forcing Randall into his spot. I mean, Chet was a loud and obnoxious guy, but in a lovable way. He brought a lot of funny moments and had a couple of good one-liners in Monster's University. But what stood out in his character the most was his devotion to Johnny.

He literally screamed, "Johnny, you're my hero!" during the Scare Games. Johnny is Chet's boy, damn it!

Roar OhMyGosh belongs to J-Spence on DA.

Full comic by @j-spencer15 right here.

[cedarxwing]

Hello!!

What do you think made Will bluebeard's last wife? And how did Will understand that Hannibal was in love with him when he had the bluebeard discussion with Bedelia?

Hello! I see that someone already answered this question here, but I'll try to put my own spin on it.

Some context:

In the folktale, Bluebeard is a wealthy man whose wives keep mysteriously disappearing. He gives his seventh wife the key to all the locked doors in their house, but tells her not to open the door to the basement ("Secrets you're not to know, yet sworn to keep"). Of course, the wife goes snooping and discovers the corpses of all his former wives. It's a classic Pandora/Psyche myth with a horrific twist.

Key point: Bluebeard's seventh and final wife survives, inherits his fortune, and lives happily ever after.

The Bluebeard analogy is honestly perfect for Hannibal's character because it highlights the way he destroys everyone he loves. He brings a series of "wives" behind the veil (Miriam, Abigail, Gideon) and all of them end up maimed, mentally broken, or dead. This pattern echoes his childhood behavior, originating with the consumption of Mischa and developing with his mind games with Chiyoh. "Every family loves differently. Every love is unique." Hannibal expresses love through destruction and consumption.

Bedelia understands this. When she says she would've preferred to be Bluebeard's last wife, she means that she would've preferred to be the one who escaped Hannibal and lived happily ever after. She does not want to be on the receiving end of Hannibal's "love."

There's a deleted scene in the Antipasto script where she says the same line to Dimmond:

Basically, "Help me lock this monster up, because I'm not going to be one of his victims. I do want his money, though."

The same line, said accusingly to Will, takes on a different meaning. Hannibal is courting a new partner, and if Bedelia isn't his final wife anymore... well, she's going to end up in the basement with the rest. @genufa wrote an interesting analysis on this concept here.

Now, let's zoom out and view the whole conversation from Will's perspective:

Will can't let go of the fact that Bedelia emerged from Hannibal's influence completely unscathed, whereas Hannibal took--and continues to take--everything from Will. He's operating on his understanding of the Chesapeake Ripper: "Contrapasso. You play, you pay." So why does Hannibal make Will pay again and again and again, while Bedelia got away with mere psychological torment? According to Chesapeake Ripper logic, that would mean Bedelia is preferred, right?

Before this conversation, Will doesn't understand how Hannibal expresses love ( @suchawrathfullamb wrote a lovely post about this). He thinks that everything Hannibal did to him (encephalitis era, prison era, honeytrap codependency era, Mizumono, the Primavera human heart, the attempted brain-eating in Dolce) was out of pure sadism. If Hannibal found him more interesting than Randall, Margot, and his other violent patients, it was only because his empathy and involvement with the FBI made him a rare specimen.

[BOOK TANGENT TIME! Oh boy, my favorite!! :D]

Will's misdiagnosis of Hannibal's ability to love was inspired by this piece of hack psychoanalysis in chapter 51 of Hannibal:

^ This is clearly posed as an incorrect interpretation of Hannibal Lecter:

Yes, Hannibal is excited by distress, but he loves those who bear distress beautifully, with strength, courage, and discipline. This is how he comes to care for people like Abigail, Jack, and Bella. And, of course, Will suffers the most pornographically beautifully of all.

[END BOOK TANGENT]

"It's distress that excites him," Will thinks. So it catches his attention when Bedelia says of his forehead scar, "It excites [Hannibal] to see you marked in this particular way." Why? Why this particular way? Is it a mark of ownership (the metaphorical facial theory)? A symbol of the permanent effect Hannibal had on him? This is Bedelia's first hint that Will's distress means more to Hannibal than punishment or sadistic entertainment.

When Bedelia turns the Bluebeard analogy back on Will, it finally clicks for him that distress/destruction/consumption is the pattern of Hannibal's love, and the fact that Hannibal tortures Will more than anyone else means that Will holds a place of honor in his heart. With this context, Hannibal's attempt to eat his brain becomes an act of adoration. The mark on his forehead becomes a laurel wreath.

To answer your first question, I don't think "Bluebeard's last wife" is a great analogy for Will.

First of all, Bedelia never called him that. She implied that Will was becoming the next wife, emphasizing the threat associated with Hannibal's affection. Bluebeard's last wife would've ended up in the basement too if she hadn't been clever enough to escape, and Will doesn't seem particularly clever to Bedelia at this point. Even Will admits his surrender: "I don't know if I can save myself, and maybe that's just fine."

Second of all, Bluebeard's last wife betrays him to the authorities, and Will does the exact opposite in TWOTL. I guess you could interpret "I don't intend Hannibal to be caught a second time," as "I'm planning to kill him myself," but passionately embracing Hannibal before gently dragging him off a cliff in a failed murder-suicide doesn't read as "Bluebeard's last wife" behavior to me.

If Will is to be Bluebeard's last wife, it's because Hannibal's love for him breaks the pattern, meaning Hannibal is no longer Bluebeard. A true fairytale ending. <3

[terresdebrume]

Prompted by a fic I was reading: would Charles be likely to have learned Punjabi at home ? (As in, enough to actually be able to sustain a conversation in it, even a simple one, to say nothing of actual proficiency in the language)

My instinct is to say no for a couple of reasons

(Note: This is not to discourage people who want to write bilingual Charles! I just like thinking about people's relationship to languages and also it's relevant to my prep for my down on my knees series)

Rowland Sr. is a violent man who hit his son on the regular. Charles' dialogue implies that he did not hit his wife, but with a man like that the threat of it is never gone

Mrs. Rowland, per Charles, was "just quiet". This, plus the glimpse of her we have in the mirror and in Charles' trauma flashbacks implies a woman who likely survived in her house through self erasure and deference to her husband

Rowland Sr is explicitly likened to Devlin Sr, which suggests a controlling man who constantly found fault in Charles for varied and likely nonsensical reasons

All this leads me to think that for Charles to speak/understand Punjabi in canon would require his mother to be allowed to use Punjabi with him to a degree where he could have built actual fluency which to me seems... Unlikely to say the least.

First of all, like I said, Rowland Sr is a controlling asshole who wants to know everything going on in his house, which makes it unlikely that he would be fine with his wife and son having a "secret language" of their own, which means the first step to get bilingual Charles in canon would be to have bilingual Rowland Sr. Not impossible, but given the way people thought about language in the 60s/70s when he would have met his wife, unlikely imo.

Even IF Rowland Sr was somehow bilingual in Punjabi (which you could have if you wanted) I think it's important to remember that the way bilingualism is perceived right now on Tumblr is not necessarily universal. Assuming Charles spoke Punjabi at home, on top of all the assumptions above, also assumes:

His parents didn't subscribe to the wisdom of the time, which is still widespread, that hearing more than one language at home would impede the acquisition of speech for children

His parents felt that Punjabi would be important and/or useful and/or not an obstacle that he would have to overcome when trying to fit into British society at large. I don't know what would have been the consensus in the UK in the early 70s when Charles was born, but I can tell you that people of Charles' generation in France generally don't speak the immigrant parent's language because the attitude of the time was that to do so would be detrimental to the child (that said, the UK does integration differently so I could be missing something there)

There are other factors that can influence practice and understanding of a language: I imagine Charles' relationship with his mother would play a huge role there, as well as people's reactions to his usage of Punjabi outside the house (would he have people to practice with beyond his mother? If so, would he have wanted to?) and tbh you can probably make sense of a lot of permutations

But between the above and the fact that Charles' costume design makes no reference to his heritage that I could spot beyond the cricket bat* I think if Charles does learn Punjabi it's more likely to be a choice he makes as a teenager/after he dies than something he was taught at home

*He does have visible antiracist politics but those are not the same thing as a particular connection to India and Punjab, which I think would be a bit of a requisite for him to actively learn the language later on

[longing-for-rain]

Playing Soldier: How Sokka’s Arc is Misunderstood

Katara: Ever since Mom died, I’ve been doing all the work around camp while you’ve been off playing soldier!

There seems to be this idea among certain fans that Sokka acted as a “father” or “older brother” figure throughout the series, but this is a very shallow read that neglects Sokka’s arc and the intricacies of it.

While yes, on the surface, Sokka is literally the older brother of Katara, I think her description of his role at the beginning of the series as “playing soldier” is spot-on accurate. I also think it’s significant that this is said directly after the audience is introduced to Sokka’s misogyny, another key part of his mindset at the beginning of his arc. These things are very much related, and I don’t think this gets discussed enough. Misogyny isn’t a minor character flaw; it’s a toxic mindset that influences how a person acts.

You see, much like the fans who perceive Sokka as the authority figure of the group, Sokka himself perceives his role this way. He holds himself as the protector and leader of his tribe, despite doing hardly any of the real, tangible, day-to-day work to support the tribe in comparison to Katara. He’s the man, so in his mind, this means he holds the authority and that his ideas and tasks are inherently more important. We even see this in the opening scene—he ignores the fact that Katara has pretty much already caught a fish using her waterbending because his way is correct, he’s more important, he’s the man, then he messes up and disrupts Katara in the process. And then, promptly jumps into a sexist rant against her blaming her for ruining his moment.

Before someone jumps on my back about bashing, I’m not. I’m addressing how Sokka’s canon character was in the beginning. There cannot be growth without a suboptimal starting point. I’m addressing the fact that initially, Sokka has a misogynistic attitude which fuels his idea that he’s the leader and the most important person despite…not doing a lot.

What we do see Sokka doing is very much what I would describe as playing soldier—just like Katara accused him. He ultimately is just a kid, he has no idea how to actually lead, so he’s emulating behaviors he’s observed.

This is pretty blatant in the show. His “soldiers” and “watchtower” are a bunch of kids and a snow fort. He quite literally is playing. It seems silly at first, but we see the tragedy in this when a real threat actually arrives.

This is Sokka’s moment. His first real test. He dresses up in full regalia, prepared to fight and defend his tribe as the great protector he’s professed himself to be. And then…he gets effortlessly swatted aside by Zuko. He’s so little of a threat that Zuko doesn’t even need to firebend to defeat him.

Because, at this point, all Sokka had ever done was play soldier. He hadn’t faced a real threat, and as a result, could do absolutely nothing when one arrived. He’s fortunate that Zuko lacked the cruelty of other Fire Nation commanders like Zhao and kept his word that he cared about finding the Avatar only. If it was Zhao? Sokka and many of the villagers would have been killed.

However, despite this initial humiliation, Sokka clings to this idea that he is the “leader” and should be listened to by virtue of being the oldest…and being male.

I do like the Kyoshi Warriors arc and believe it’s significant, but “Suki beat the sexism out of Sokka, he’s all better now!” is far too simplistic. It’s not realistic at all for a deep seated attitude like that to change, and it continues coming up throughout the series.

There are many incidents of this throughout the series. For example, in B1E10: Jet, where Sokka demands that the group travel on foot because he’s the “leader”…and promptly leads them straight into a Fire Nation army camp. It’s the same theme of the very beginning—Sokka puts himself into a role he isn’t prepared for, and makes a blunder. He’s still playing soldier.

While, again, often played for laughs, this behavior is fairly consistent with Sokka. He has his moments, but more often than not, we see him trying and comically failing at his supposed role of protector and provider.

Meanwhile, as I’ve discussed in much more detail before, it is Katara who is truly carrying the group, despite Sokka generally having a dismissive attitude towards her and the work she does for others.

However, on some level, even Sokka himself recognizes that Katara is truly the one serving the parental role.

Sokka: I'm not sure I can remember what my mother looked like. It really seems like my whole life, Katara's been the one looking out for me. She's always been the one that's there. And now, when I try to remember my mom, Katara's is the only face I can picture. (B3E7: The Runaway)

This is closer to the end as well, and even though it isn’t particularly explicit, I do believe that Sokka gradually learning humility gave him a compelling arc to become the person he was at the end in comparison to the insecure misogynist in the making he began as.

It’s gradual, but I think the best representation of it is in the Sokka episode: Sokka’s Master.

Sokka: And I know one thing for sure: I have a lot to learn.

This is what ultimately convinces Piandao to accept Sokka as his student, and narratively it is significant to Sokka’s character. In order to truly grow and develop true skill, Sokka has to acknowledge that he isn’t the person he has been holding himself to be. He has to acknowledge that he isn’t his father. He has to acknowledge he’s been…playing soldier.

And that’s the beauty of Sokka’s arc, to me. Because he wasn’t a father figure, despite the fact that he was very clearly trying to emulate his father. He was forced to grow up too fast, but he wasn’t parentified like Katara. He tried and failed to assume that role and this made him insecure.

Sokka’s arc isn’t about parentification, and it’s certainly not meant to show that he actually was a father figure. No; Sokka’s arc is learning that he has his own worth because of who he is, not from trying to measure up to someone else. He finds his own unique identity and skill set in a world of magic and benders. That’s an insightful and interesting arc, and feeding into Book 1 Sokka’s delusions that he truly was a father figure looking out for everyone else really overlooks that.

[yuurei20]

Epel Facts Part 4: Assumptions and Cater

Despite how much pride Epel takes in his humble upbringing he is often dealing with assumptions by others that he comes from an elite family.

Students in his potionology class mock him for being “a rich little brat” and “daddy’s fancy little lad,” while a 2nd year bully calls him a pretty boy who thinks he’s special, telling him to go back to “hoity-toity” Pomefiore and do some embroidery.

During his first evening at the school his fellow dorm mates assume that he is “the son of some noble” and that his family must employ a skilled weaver when Epel says that he does not have a favorite brand of carpet.

Both Deuce and Sebek assumes that Epel must come from “a real rich family,” while Idia greets Epel for the first time with, “Pomefiore fancy pants has joined your party.”

Epel and Cater overlap in a vignette where Cater—like most students—seems hung up on Epel’s physical appearance without knowing anything about him, calling him a “cutie-pie” despite Epel’s displeasure and trying to convince him to start a Magicam account.

Cater invites Epel to Mostro Lounge to get a picture with him for Magicam but Epel turns him down. Interpreting Epel’s determination to please Crewel as fear, Cater offers to go with him to apologize for a mistake that Epel made in class so that they can face Crewel together.

Epel reveals that he has compensated for the mistake he made in class on his own, surprising Cater with his homemade fertilizer, using horse manure from the Equestrian club. (Cater: “That’s the last thing I’d expect from dainty little Eppy...you’re not just a pretty face.”)

Cater again tries to get a picture of Epel for Magicam, convinced that he could easily become an influencer, but Epel again turns him down in favor of going to the library to study. Cater goes with him.

[wolfofcelestia]

Despite being a man of science, raised in a family of science, Zayne sure is very familiar with religion and fortune telling

And now with him being so cryptic here, I'm starting to wonder if Dr. Zayne has access to his other selves. So far, both his myth selves have the ability to see people's futures. Maybe Dr. Zayne is able to see his own? Or at least, maybe he knows what will happen to MC outside of his medical knowledge

He looks troubled here, more than we've ever seen before. He looks lost in thought and shakes his head while MC is talking as if he's only half listening because he's trying to decide if he should tell her what he knows

That breeze and floral scent that passes by is no doubt a sign of the Master of Fate (and possibly his MC). But this really does not help deny the thoughts that Master = Dr. Zayne

My main criticism about how Master was written is that I couldn't separate his personality completely from Zayne's. They feel incredibly similar to me to the point where Master isn't distinct enough for me to call him a complete character that stands on his own

But are they now hinting that Master and Dr. Zayne are one and the same? That their way of writing Master was intentional?

I don't want this to be the case tbh. But Zayne is extremely suspicious here, speaking as though he IS Master.

Why would he go into such detail about the motives of gods when all MC said was maybe they're busy? He even takes the flower petal from her hair just like Master did in the myth. And he suggests that a god, not even plural, A god only takes one person, female, as his priority, despite the yearly rituals of sex with priestesses and gods in mythology tending to have multiple lovers?

I'm usually the one out here with conspiracy theories but this time it's Zayne himself being the source of it all

If Foreseer is able to see the memories of all Zaynes, and they're kept all in that book... maybe all Zaynes have the ability to tap into that too and see all the memories that Foreseer's wraith keeps in his garden

It could explain the voices haunting Zayne in that promotional video. The voices could also be just from his timeline alone, but none of this is confirmed yet

The only thing that saves me from drowning in this conspiracy theory is Dawnbreaker

If Zayne doesn't recognize Dawnbreaker, that means he doesn't have access to memories from ALL other versions of him.

(But the fact that Dawnbreaker has the ability to see into Zayne's life might suggest that he has an easier time tapping into the other Zaynes BUT THIS IS A WHOLE OTHER CAN OF WORMS THAT I SHOULDN'T OPEN HERE)

That throws one theory out but the main one that unsettles me the most is still up in the air

Dr. Zayne being the Master of Fate is still possible and still heavily suggested. Their mannerisms are very similar. The only difference is that Master tends to smile more. But is that not just a consequence of Zayne getting used to MC's influence?

Zayne's ability to smile is still there. He's still human. But if Master lost his ability to smile when he lost MC, and he... reincarnated as Zayne?? He'd still carry those wounds but he'd learn to smile again with MC's help

Sure, Master tends to use more wind than ice, but Medic Zayne's green ice is very reminiscent of Master's powers taken shape

Anyway, I don't know where I'm going with this

All I'm saying is that "Zayne in cosplay" might not be just a joke anymore asdflkjadklfn

[the-starlight-project]

Hm, Sonic is a teenager but he's also been in the role for far too long to logically still be a teenager if he was aging normally. That feels like an important piece of information for figuring out what's going on. What could cause Sonic to not age? Experimentation done on him by someone? Chaos energy? Maybe there's some sort of power Sonic has that he's not even aware of and *he's* the one keeping himself a teenager, unintentionally. Not sure about that one though because if he's accidentally influencing his own reality would that not make him able to change his own appearance to fit the image he has in his mind? Idk. Throwing spaghetti at the wall here.

Don't worry! One of your pieces of spaghetti is, in fact, correct! I can't answer which one, but of the questions you've asked, one of these is correct.