#another day another poll of no consequence!!!!!!!

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

i just love a blonde lady who's kind of scary 💛

[mariacallous]

The first thing to say about the hate and scorn currently directed at the mainstream US media is that they worked hard to earn it. They’ve done so by failing, repeatedly, determinedly, spectacularly to do their job, which is to maintain their independence, inform the electorate, and speak truth to power. While the left has long had reasons to dismiss centrist media, and the right has loathed it most when it did do its job well, the moderates who are furious at it now seem to be something new – and a host of former editors, media experts and independent journalists have been going after them hard this summer.

Longtime journalist James Fallows declares that three institutions – the Republican party, the supreme court, and the mainstream political press – “have catastrophically failed to ‘meet the moment’ under pressure of [the] Trump era”. Centrist political reformer and columnist Norm Ornstein states that these news institutions “have had no reflection, no willingness to think through how irresponsible and reckless so much of our mainstream press and so many of our journalists have been and continue to be”.

Most voters, he says, “have no clue what a second Trump term would actually be like. Instead, we get the same insipid focus on the horse race and the polls, while normalizing abnormal behavior and treating this like a typical presidential election, not one that is an existential threat to democracy.”

Lamenting the state of the media recently on X, Jeff Jarvis, another former editor and newspaper columnist, said: “What ‘press’? The broken and vindictive Times? The newly Murdochian Post? Hedge-fund newspaper husks? Rudderless CNN or NPR? Murdoch’s fascist media?”

These critics are responding to how the behemoths of the industry seem intent on bending the facts to fit their frameworks and agendas. In pursuit of clickbait content centered on conflicts and personalities, they follow each other into informational stampedes and confirmation bubbles.

They pursue the appearance of fairness and balance by treating the true and the false, the normal and the outrageous, as equally valid and by normalizing Republicans, especially Donald Trump, whose gibberish gets translated into English and whose past crimes and present-day lies and threats get glossed over. They neglect, again and again, important stories with real consequences. This is not entirely new – in a scathing analysis of 2016 election coverage, the Columbia Journalism Review noted that “in just six days, The New York Times ran as many cover stories about Hillary Clinton’s emails as they did about all policy issues combined in the 69 days leading up to the election” – but it’s gotten worse, and a lot of insiders have gotten sick of it.

In July, ordinary people on social media decided to share information about the rightwing Project 2025 and did a superb job of raising public awareness about it, while the press obsessed about Joe Biden’s age and health. NBC did report on this grassroots education effort, but did so using the “both sides are equally valid” framework often deployed by mainstream media, saying the agenda is “championed by some creators as a guide to less government oversight and slammed by others as a road map to an authoritarian takeover of America”. There is no valid case it brings less government oversight.

In an even more outrageous case, the New York Times ran a story comparing the Democratic and Republican plans to increase the housing supply – which treated Trump’s plans for mass deportation of undocumented immigrants as just another housing-supply strategy that might work or might not. (That it would create massive human rights violations and likely lead to huge civil disturbances was one overlooked factor, though the fact that some of these immigrants are key to the building trades was mentioned.)

Other stories of pressing concern are either picked up and dropped or just neglected overall, as with Trump’s threats to dismantle a huge portion of the climate legislation that is both the Biden administration’s signal achievement and crucial for the fate of the planet. The Washington Post editorial board did offer this risibly feeble critique on 17 August: “It would no doubt be better for the climate if the US president acknowledged the reality of global warming – rather than calling it a scam, as Mr Trump has.”

While the press blamed Biden for failing to communicate his achievements, which is part of his job, it’s their whole job to do so. The Climate Jobs National Resource Center reports that the Inflation Reduction Act has created “a combined potential of over $2tn in investment, 1,091,966 megawatts of clean power, and approximately 3,947,670 jobs”, but few Americans have any sense of what the bill has achieved or even that the economy is by many measures strong.

Last winter, the New York Times columnist Paul Krugman, who has a Nobel prize in economics, told Greg Sargent on the latter’s Daily Blast podcast that when he writes positive pieces about the Biden economy, his editor asks “don’t you want to qualify” it; “aren’t people upset by X, Y and Z and shouldn’t you be acknowledging that?”

Meanwhile in an accusatory piece about Kamala Harris headlined When your opponent calls you ‘communist,’ maybe don’t propose price controls?, a Washington Post columnist declares in another case of bothsiderism: “Voters want to blame someone for high grocery bills, and the presidential candidates have apparently decided the choices are either the Biden administration or corporate greed. Harris has chosen the latter.” The evidence that corporations have jacked up prices and are reaping huge profits is easy to find, but facts don’t matter much in this kind of opining.

It’s hard to gloat over the decline of these dinosaurs of American media, when a free press and a well-informed electorate are both crucial to democracy. The alternatives to the major news outlets simply don’t reach enough readers and listeners, though the non-profit investigative outfit ProPublica and progressive magazines such as the New Republic and Mother Jones, are doing a lot of the best reporting and commentary.

Earlier this year, when Alabama senator Katie Britt gave her loopy rebuttal to Biden’s State of the Union address, it was an independent journalist, Jonathan Katz, who broke the story on TikTok that her claims about a victim of sex trafficking contained significant falsehoods. The big news outlets picked up the scoop from him, making me wonder what their staffs of hundreds were doing that night.

A host of brilliant journalists young and old, have started independent newsletters, covering tech, the state of the media, politics, climate, reproductive rights and virtually everything else, but their reach is too modest to make them a replacement for the big newspapers and networks. The great exception might be historian Heather Cox Richardson, whose newsletter and Facebook followers give her a readership not much smaller than that of the Washington Post. The tremendous success of her sober, historically grounded (and footnoted!) news summaries and reflections bespeaks a hunger for real news.

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #16

Your stalker has a severe problem.

That's the conclusion you came to as you opened the door for the fifth time that day to another mailman handing you three more packages. Your living room had become unlivable, a space cluttered with cartons and the unopened remains of packages. At some point, you stopped opening them, but now they were collecting dust and destroying the comfort in your own home.

At first, curiosity had gotten the better of you. Amongst inappropriate gifts like underwear and... toys, there had actually been some useful presents. You secretly kept all the gifts that had been on your to-buy for a while and openly threw away the disgusting ones. You knew better than to accept the stalker's gifts, but since they were valuable, you couldn't help but hold on to some of them.

That was your mistake.

But looking at the neatly stacked packages, spreading from wall to wall, floor to ceiling, you realized your stalker had lost all control. You noticed brand names on the brown packages that you had only glanced at briefly while scrolling through your phone—expensive ones, too. At this point, you feared you couldn't look at anything anymore without it inevitably being sent to your home. You thought you had this situation under control, but apparently, you hadn't.

>> did you like the new necklace?

Heaving a deep sigh you looked at the countless messages, a new one popping up right on time of the delivery. Whoever he was, he was always watching. Though you ignored his constant string of texts—asking about your day, how you were feeling, confessing his love to you, wondering if you would wear his latest gifts—you knew this couldn't go on for much longer.

<< please stop

>> you finally responded :)

<< this needs to stop, I don't need all this junk!

>> but do you like it? i know you kept some of them

Biting your lip, you cursed yourself. Of course he'd notice that you didn't discard everything. That probably only encouraged your stalker to keep sending you more and more, wherever he got the money to afford it. Part of you thought, "Whatever! If he wants to blast through all that money, so be it! Might as well enjoy it!" but what about your morals?

You've been fighting so hard to live a normal life despite having this stalker. The police had given up since he was just too good at hiding his tracks, but he seemed to know everything and always be present in your life. If you let him continue like this, who knows what kind of trouble—legally and morally—you'd get into. What if this was his way of making you dependent and comfortable? This person had no qualms about intruding on your life, but what if he finally snapped? What would happen then? How much worse could this situation get?

<< anyway this needs to stop NOW

>> fine. let's make a deal: i'll send you one more gift >> if you hate it, i'll stop. but if you like it...

<< then what?

>> you'll see ;)

Your finger hovering over the keyboard of your phone, you thought about what your stalker could possibly mean. There was a good chance it would be a gift you liked, and he'd feel confident in the choices he made regarding you. But at the same time, what if it was a god-awful present? What if it was downright horrible? How far would he go, and could you possibly stomach the consequences of his actions because you allowed him to?

<< what if I refuse?

There was no answer this time. It was strange. You were starting to really get paranoid that he was plotting something terrible.

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[thedamselzelda]

Two Hearts Torn

Featuring: Fyodor Dostoevsky & Dazai Osamu

Summary: Broken, beaten, battered, and bruised. What keeps a heart from beating as one? For two, it's torn between losses and consequences of years past. However, in this twisted game, only calculated moves will stitch these hearts back together.

word count: 7.7k+, fem!reader, HOTD!reader, nsfw (oral sex m! receiving, unprotected sex, quick moment of domestic abuse [possessive Fyodor, very unhealthy relationship]), reader referred to with other names (no use of y/n), Russian words used (general meanings at the end), reader dissociates.

Author Chat: After an overwhelming poll, I have written another part of this story (tbh, I was a little too happy for it to win)! This part isn't as dark as I originally wrote it, as I couldn't bring myself to slander Fyodor too much. What can I say, the man is my #3 (behind my b-day buddy Chuya and my #1 Dazai ofc).

I also feel the need to mention before this part that this is an installment apart of the Beast AU. Yes, reader is married to Fyodor, however, the story is primarily a Dazai x reader story.

Hope you guys enjoy!

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

You stared at your reflection in the ornate vanity mirror, the face looking back at you feeling strangely unfamiliar. With delicate movements, you began to remove the bobby pins from your hair, allowing each strand to cascade onto your shoulders. Your eyes, a striking violet, searched your own gaze in the mirror, desperately grasping for clarity amidst the whirlwind of memories from the night. A weary sigh escaped your lips as you closed your eyes and rested your head in your hands, succumbing to the flood of memories about him. The lingering effect he had on you was both frustrating and thrilling, a contradiction that left you feeling dizzy.

There was no doubt in your mind about the reason for his visit - he came solely to see you. The realization sent a shiver down your spine. Yet, his unexpected question about what it would take for you to leave the House of the Dead, to abandon your husband, had caught you completely off guard, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

You extended your arm forward, observing the glistening ring on your finger. The alexandrite stone caught the dim light of your boudoir, its colors shifting mesmerizingly from a deep emerald to a rich purple as you turned your hand. Regret washed over you like a cold wave, seeping into your bones as you contemplated your choice of gem. The stone, his birthstone, now felt like a silent betrayal, a constant reminder of the man you couldn't forget, couldn't refrain from loving despite everything. Disgust rose in your throat, bitter and biting, as you berated yourself for not choosing a simple, neutral diamond instead. The realization that your heart had once again acted without your conscious consent left you feeling raw and exposed.

Your mind drifted to the circumstances of your marriage to Fyodor. The decision felt rushed, almost impulsive in hindsight. It served no real purpose for either of you beyond Fyodor's antiquated notion of propriety. His timid words echoed in your memory, tinged with an air of pious restraint:

"I could not lay with you unless we were wed..."

You rolled your eyes at the thought, irritation prickling beneath your skin like tiny needles. Initially, aligning yourself with Fyodor had been a calculated move, a way to strike back at Dazai and the unfair hand of cards you had been dealt in life. But over time, it had evolved into something more complex, a relationship built on stolen moments - chaste kisses on hands and lips, always restrained by his devout adherence to religious principles. His unwavering commitment to God frustrated you; for what cruel deity would curse you with such an ability?

The irony of your situation wasn't lost on you. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined yourself married, not even to Dazai. Life within the Mafia, and now in the House of the Dead, seemed incompatible with such conventional milestones. You had been content in your life with Dazai, before his gradual descent into whatever labyrinthine plans now consumed him.

Now, you found yourself in a precarious position. Isolated, you focused your efforts on seizing The Book from Dazai, the key to Fyodor's grand plan of overwriting this hellish reality. The weight of this mission hung heavy on your shoulders, a constant reminder of the complex web of loyalties, desires, and regrets that now defined your existence.

A soft click of your bedroom door stole you from your thoughts, your eyes shifting in the mirror to the figure entering your room. Fyodor's reflection appeared behind you, his rich purple eyes tired, as if he had paused his work to come and deal with you.

"Oh, moya lyubov', I wasn't expecting you." The lie slipped easily from your lips, even as you knew he would see through it. You had expected him, especially after how easily Nikolai had caught on to the change in your demeanor. Damn Nikolai...

"Moya zhena, I hear you've had quite the exciting day." His voice was smooth, yet laced with an undercurrent of something you couldn't quite place.

You made no indication of moving from your position as you looked up at Fyodor in the mirror. His weary smile was laced with fondness, yet you could detect icy undertones beneath the surface. He drifted over to you, his movements graceful despite his apparent exhaustion. His hands, cool and slender, came to rest upon your shoulders as he leaned down to place a kiss upon your undone hair.

His warm breath caressed your scalp, his lips parting as if on the verge of speech. Before he could utter a word, you smoothly began recounting your evening, carefully omitting any mention of Dazai's appearance.

"It was so tedious," you sighed, reaching for your makeup remover. "And now I'll have to get the carpet replaced." You dabbed at your face, the cool liquid erasing the traces of the night. Fyodor merely hummed in response, his intense gaze following your every movement.

"I suppose I'll have to search for a new group to take on the Port Mafia," you continued, your tone deliberately casual. "Maybe I should seek help from that Detective Agency. Perhaps they would work for the right price."

"No," Fyodor interjected sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. You turned; shock evident on your features. He had never disagreed with your suggestions before, always supporting your efforts to obtain The Book.

His knuckles grazed your cheek, sending an involuntary chill down your spine. His lips curled into a malicious smile, violet eyes glittering dangerously in the dim light.

"Moy dorogoy, you've never been a terrible liar," he purred, his voice silky smooth yet laced with venom. "However, the secrets you keep have always been so apparent."

Your eyes narrowed as you searched the storm brewing before you. Suddenly, his hand wrapped around your throat, swift and firm, forcing you to your feet. The pressure increased, making each breath a struggle.

His face hovered mere millimeters from yours, his breath fanning over your lips. "You forget yourself, moya zhena. You belong to me. I know every move you make here, malen'kaya mysh'."

A desperate squeak escaped you as you gasped for air, your fingers clawing at his hand. "I know, please," you managed to choke out.

"He was here tonight," Fyodor hissed, his eyes blazing. "And I hear you two did more than just talk."

He released you abruptly, causing you to stumble back. You massaged your throat, gulping in fresh air. After regaining your composure, a smirk played on your lips. "All this because I danced with him?"

In a fluid motion, the back of his hand struck across your face, swinging back up to grasp the back of your head firmly. His voice dropped to a menacing whisper, "He is still in love with you. From how you feign the mere mention of him, I would suspect that you, moya lyubyashchaya zhena, also still love him."

A pain sparked upon your lips as you smirked, a breathy laugh escaping as you slipped into Russian, "Budto. It's as you suggested; I have initiated another plan by indulging him in a dance is all."

His eyes softened slightly, his grip on your scalp loosening. "Speak."

"He wants me to come back, to rejoin the Mafia," you explained, the words flowing effortlessly. "We can use that. Let me slip back into his good graces. He's bound to eventually have me up in his office. There, I can do what none of those assassins could, and take The Book for ourselves."

His anger was quickly replaced at your obedience, a soft smile reappearing. "Chudesnyy, moya lyubov'. I believe that is a great plan."

His eyes darted to your lips, urging you to quickly grasp the collar of his white buttoned shirt and pulled him into a kiss. His eyes fluttered closed as he kissed you lightly. You could feel him reveling in your compliance. His hand drifted from the nape of your neck, down to your waist, pulling you flush to him. His lips danced among yours, fervently melting.

Your fingers deftly toyed with the hem of his pants, coaxing a chuckle from your lover’s lips. He hummed as your body pressed against his, your hands slipping past the cloth to grasp his hardened cock. You smile at his breathy moan by your mere touch, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth.

"What you do to me, ty lisitsa." His eyes trailed you as you dipped down to your knees. His fingers combed into your hair, pulling every last strand from your face. Your eyes panned to his as you pulled his pants down slightly to free his hardened, leaky member. One hand rested upon his hip, the other supporting him as your tongue slips out, barely brushing against his tip, tasting the salty cream from his slit. He hissed, rocking himself forward slightly to you. You hum, releasing his gaze, closing your eyes as you opened your mouth to fully take him in.

"Ugn, so beautiful, moya lyubov'." His praises reach your ears; his lips uttering your name, like a thankful prayer to his God above.

His tip reaches the back of your throat, and your eyes squeeze together to feign from gagging. You draw back slightly, barely parting your lips to allow your tongue to trail behind. Your hand pumping in your lips wake, applying gentle pressure. 

He gathered your hair into one hand, using the freedom to brush a dripping tear from your cheek. "Takaya khoroshaya devochka."

Your lips close around his cock once more, dipping yourself to push your nose flush with his hips. You suppress a gag once more as your throat spasms against his length. 

"I must have you, moya lyubov'," his voice shaky, nearly causing you to laugh at his submissive behavior. You don’t release him just yet, however, gently sucking as you bob upon him. His knees slightly buckle at your defiance, earning a tug of your hair, pulling you from him.

He pulls you to stand by your hair, a slight burn forming from the aggressive pull. He releases you, grasping at the vanity seat to shove it out of the way. You were next on his brief redecorating of your room. Grasping you firmly by your hips, eagerly pulling at the skirt of your formfitting dress and forcing it up to your waist. His hands roughly grip onto you before pushing you into the vanity. 

You’re lifted by Fyodor to sit upon the cold surface, legs slotting open as he aggressively grasps your face to kiss you once more, as if it was his last dying breath. His member plays at your clothed cunt, slightly dripping from your arousal. His hand leaves your face, his fingers tugging at the cloth to pull it aside, aligning himself. He pulls at your waist once more, fixing the angle to allow himself to slide between your plush walls.

“Fuck!” You sharply exhale, your eyes slotting closed. Instinctively, you lurched forward to grasp onto him, and to rest your chin upon his shoulder. Your hands rested upon his nape and back, holding onto him as his hands gripped yours in a way that would leave bruises behind. His lips grazed your neck, leaving behind a trail of kisses and soft bites. 

Your eyes slowly opened as his thrusts grew sloppier, evident of his impending release within you. Across from you, you saw your reflection in the closet mirror, allowing you to observe the explicit moment before you. However, your mind saw and heard different; the black hair entangled within your hands was brown and curly, the muffled, breathy moans against your neck were replaced with lowly grunts and words of praise, and the suit of the man before you became stained black. 

You wanted to utter his name as you felt your release, like a call out to him to stay far away from the danger you would inflict upon him. Yet, you stifled the moan by biting your lip as you felt a warmth fill you to your core.

Fyodor sighed contently, releasing you from his harsh grip. He pulled his softening cock from your cunt, his seed dripping from you. He stepped to the side, observing his appearance within the mirror as he begins to fix himself before leaving you.    

“I will get started on that plan tomorrow, moy dorogoy.” You utter as you slide from the vanity.

“Ochen' khorosho,” were his parting words to you as he began to leave for the door. You slip your dress back down, not worrying about the state of it. You notice as you look up that he is awaiting your attention before amending his last words. “See you in my next life, moy angel smerti.”

You give out a plain breathy laugh, “Till true death do us part, moya lyubov'.”

The pulsing energy of weekend nights had faded, replaced by the more subdued atmosphere of a weekday evening at The Midnight's Caress. Yet, even on these quieter nights, the club maintained a steady flow of patrons - a mix of devoted regulars and wide-eyed tourists drawn to its allure. Tonight, however, held special significance. A special visitor had arrived, someone who held a place in your heart from the days before Dazai's induction into the Port Mafia.

You made your entrance with practiced grace, descending from the second-floor terrace. Your presence commanded attention, drawing admiring glances from across the dimly lit space. Ignoring the adoration, your gaze remained fixed on your destination - the sleek bar opposite the sunken dance floor and stage.

A solitary figure occupied one of the barstools. Even from a distance, you recognized the familiar shock of unkempt auburn hair and the well-worn light brown overcoat. As you approached, you watched him raise an ornate crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid to his lips.

"And here I thought," you began, your voice carrying a hint of amusement as rich chocolate eyes met yours, “that you avoided lurking around Mafia territory at all costs, mister detective”

A warm smile spread across the man's face as he spoke your name, his tone tinged with fondness. “Well, if it's to see an old friend, I'm willing to take my chances.”

You feigned offense, placing your hands on your hips in mock indignation. “Sakunosuke Oda, did you just call me old?”

His head fell into a gentle shake, accompanied by a soft laugh that seemed to momentarily erase the tension from his features. You joined in his laughter, sliding onto the barstool next to him. While maintaining a careful distance, you positioned yourself to face outward, keeping a vigilant eye on the space between you and the stage.

Glancing sideways, you studied Oda's familiar profile, your gaze lingering on the amber liquid swirling in his glass. A mischievous glint sparked in your eye as you asked, your voice a playful whisper, "Did you pay for that?"

Oda's eyes met yours briefly, a flicker of amusement passing through them before he looked back down at the tumbler. His voice was steady, tinged with a hint of pride. "Of course."

You sighed, rolling your eyes in exaggerated exasperation. Leaning across the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you beckoned the blonde bartender with a subtle, elegant gesture. "Reimburse him," you commanded, your tone leaving no room for argument, the words crisp and authoritative in the dimly lit space.

"No, you don't have to do that," Oda protested, a faint blush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

Your response was swift and sharp, cutting through the ambient noise of the club. "He does if he would like to keep his job." The words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play in this world you both inhabited, albeit from different sides. You softened your tone slightly, adding, "My friends do not need to worry about such things here."

A teasing glint returned to Oda's eyes as he accepted his reimbursement. "Oh, you have friends now?" he quipped, his voice warm with familiarity."Oda!" You laughed, the sound genuine and unguarded. "I almost do want to make you pay now."

"That was the goal," he replied, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. He stuffed the money into his pants pocket before grasping his glass once more.

The bartender materialized behind you, placing an identical tumbler filled with amber liquid onto the bar. You gave the glass a cursory glance before turning your attention back to the club.

Oda's voice drew you back from your reverie, curiosity evident in his warm tone. "So, how is it, being a club owner?"

"Boring," you replied dryly, a hint of amusement in your eyes. "How is it, being a detective?"

"Anything but boring. I'm always doing something, it feels like," Oda responded, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction.

You nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing your face. Memories of your shared past flickered through your mind, a reminder of the complex relationship that bound you both.

Oda's voice softened as he continued, "We just recently recruited this boy."A breathy chuckle escaped your lips. "So, you've taken in another orphan. I swear, are you raising an army over there?"

Oda's rich laughter echoed within the glass at his lips, the sound warm and comforting. "It does seem like that, doesn't it?" He paused, his expression growing more serious. "I worry about this boy. I picked him up on the riverbank, and he attempted to attack me."

You listened intently, grateful for the chance to lend an ear to your friend's concerns. The ambient noise of the club faded into the background as you focused on Oda's words.

"I don't know what it is about this boy," Oda continued, his brow furrowing slightly. "He's in search of his sister... harbors the unruliest plans for this man that he describes as 'the man in black.'"

Your eyes widened slightly, and you turned to meet Oda's intrigued gaze. "This boy," you began cautiously, "does he have black hair? Two little tufts of white on the ends?"

Oda gave a hesitant nod, his hand now outstretched to offer you your glass. You accepted it carefully, the cool crystal a stark contrast to the warmth of realization spreading through you.

"Be careful of that boy. I remember his name clearly. Akutagawa Ryūnosuke." Your voice lowered, heavy with the weight of memory. You looked down at your glass, tapping your fingers along its surface rhythmically. "I was there when the Port Mafia found him, shortly before I left for Italy. There were plans to recruit him. However, it was determined... that he was unfit to join us."

Your eyes rose to meet Oda's, his face a careful mask hiding his thoughts. "There is a beast inside of that boy, Oda. I pray that you teach and guide him, to learn to tame it."

You paused, bringing the crystal glass to your lips for a sip. As the whiskey touched your tongue, your eyes widened in surprise. You pulled the glass back, glancing towards the shelves behind the bar. Your gaze settled on a familiar bottle, its amber contents glowing softly in the low light. You eyed it with a mixture of suspicion and resigned amusement. That snake, you thought, recognizing Dazai's handiwork in the choice of spirits.

Shaking your head slightly, you made a mental note to address that matter later. Your voice grew heavy with warning as you continued, "Or that beast will one day consume him. I've seen it near happen to the boy they did take in."

Oda's brow furrowed in concern. "I can agree; I share those thoughts exactly. Do you, by chance, know what happened to his sister?"

You gave a curt shake of your head, the movement causing the dim lights to dance across your features. "I know that the Port Mafia took her, however, I don't know what became of her."

Oda finished off the rest of the whiskey in his glass, the ice clinking softly as he set it before the bartender for a refill. "I see," he murmured, his voice tinged with disappointment.

A moment of contemplative silence fell between you, the ambient noise of the club fading into the background. You could feel Oda's gaze studying your face as you surveyed the array of guests for the evening, your eyes scanning the crowd with practiced ease.

"So, what happened with that?" Oda's question broke the silence, his hand gesturing towards his own lip and the side of his face.

"Oh," you replied, feigning ignorance about your appearance. You had attempted to cover the cut on your lip and the small bruise that had formed across your cheekbone from the night before. "Just an unruly guest. Unfortunate, and obviously for him, he didn't make it."

Oda hummed, a note of skepticism in his tone. It was clear he didn't fully believe the story you had fabricated. You huffed as you finished the rest of your glass, the warm liquid burning a path down your throat. Turning to him, you shifted the conversation once more. "What about your book? When will I be able to read the first draft?"

A soft smile graced Oda's features as he looked back down into his glass, swirling the amber liquid absently. "I've been having horrible writer's block. I know what I want to say, it's just getting it to paper that's the problem."

"Well," you gave a breathy chuckle, rising from your seat with fluid grace. His eyes met yours, a shared understanding passing between you. You both knew these encounters were rare and precious, a stark contrast to your shared youth. "You know where I'll be, ready to receive and critique. But to love it all the same."

"For the long wait, how about I dedicate it to you?" Oda offered, a hint of warmth in his voice.

You gave a warm smile, placing your hands upon your chest in dramatic adoration. The gesture was playful, but the emotion behind it was genuine. "Awe, Oda. You do care!"

Oda's head dipped down once more, his shoulders shaking with muffled laughter. You took a deep breath, the familiar ache of longing settling in your chest. More than anything, you wished you could embrace him, to feel the comfort of his brotherly affection that had been so freely given in your childhood. You knew deep down that he wished the same; on several occasions, he had forgotten the limitations of your ability, only to be reminded by Flawless.

"I have business I have to attend to, but you may stay as long as you like," you said, your voice softening with regret at having to cut the reunion short. You tapped the polished bar top twice, a silent signal to your bartender. He understood immediately, preparing your glass as well as a secondary pour of the whiskey you had been drinking.

Grasping the two crystal tumblers, the amber liquid catching the low light, you gave a final look to your dear friend. Your eyes lingered on his face, committing every detail to memory. "See you around, Odasaku," you said, the nickname slipping out unexpectedly.

Oda's eyebrows raised slightly, a quizzical look crossing his features at the unfamiliar moniker. You found yourself equally surprised, giving him a small shrug in response. The corner of his mouth tugged upward into a warm smile, and he raised his glass in a silent toast as you began to walk away.

Your heels clicked softly on the polished floor as you made your way back toward the staircase leading to your office. The weight of the glasses in your hands was a tangible reminder of the responsibilities waiting for you, pulling you away from this brief moment of connection. As you ascended the stairs, you could feel Oda's gaze following you, a bittersweet mixture of fondness and longing that mirrored your own emotions.

Dazai's keen eyes followed your figure as you made your way back up to your office. His gaze then darted to Oda, who was nodding to the bartender, offering thanks and sliding money across the polished bar top. A wry smile found its way onto Dazai's face as he admired Oda's persistence in compensating the man. He felt a familiar twinge of jealousy watching you two interact from afar, reminded of the bond you and Oda shared which transcended any version of yourselves.

Turning away from the window, Dazai met your gaze as you entered the office. The soft click of the door closing behind you seemed to punctuate the sudden shift in atmosphere.

"Thank you, Dimitri," you called out, your eyes never leaving Dazai's. He could tell by the set of your jaw that he was in trouble, especially noting the two crystal tumblers in your hands. You raised an eyebrow questioningly, holding up the glasses. "We've only reconnected for one night, and you decided to take it upon yourself to amend my liquor choices?"

Dazai suppressed a small laugh, gratefully accepting the offered glass. The crystal was cool against his fingers. "I only had Chūya go up to the bar and request a drink. When the bartender replied that you don't supply this brand, I had it ordered and shipped to you immediately."

He watched you roll your eyes, unamused but continuing to listen before objecting. The light from the desk lamp cast dramatic shadows across your face, emphasizing the slight furrow of your brow.

"What can I say? Something just told me I'd be back here sooner than expected, so I made a few liberties—"

"Liberties?" You scoffed, though there was a hint of amusement in your tone. You glided past him, the subtle scent of your perfume lingering in the air. Settling back into your chair, you continued, "You quite literally had my bartender stock something without my knowledge, most likely due to knowing it was the Port Mafia Boss's favorite."

Dazai savored the rich, smoky flavor of the whiskey as he took a long sip, a contented sigh escaping his lips. He gracefully lowered himself into one of the chairs facing your desk, his keen eyes noting how they seemed slightly out of place in the otherwise meticulously arranged office. During your absence, he had seized the opportunity to explore the room, his observant gaze catching details that others might overlook.

A rug, he deduced, had once adorned the space before your desk. Now, a faint square of fresh wood flooring, spanning no more than six feet, stood in stark contrast to the worn, darker planks surrounding it. At the center of this cleaned area, Dazai's sharp eyes detected a slightly darker outline. His mind, ever quick to analyze, immediately recognized the telltale signs of a bloodstain that had been hastily, if not entirely successfully, concealed. The discovery sent a small thrill through him.

"You enjoy the drink, too, don't lie. I saw you down there drinking it with Odasaku," Dazai said, his voice carrying a hint of familiarity he hadn't intended.

You gave Dazai a puzzled look, your brow furrowing slightly as you processed his words. He realized his slip immediately, watching as a flicker of confusion passed across your features. The usually composed demeanor he wore like armor had cracked, revealing an experience he hadn't been granted in this life.

"My apologies," he quickly corrected himself, his voice regaining its usual smooth rhythm. The words flowed like silk, masking his momentary lapse. "I had only heard you call him that a few times before you left. You always spoke fondly of the man who defected."

He observed intently as you silently began to question yourself, your hand reaching back to scratch your head in recollection of more than four years ago. The gesture was subtle, but to Dazai's keen eye, it spoke volumes about your inner turmoil. However, much to his relief, you quickly moved past the topic without dwelling on it further.

You set your drink down upon the polished surface of your desk, the crystal making a soft 'clink' against the wood. Clearing your throat, a confident smirk coated your peach-stained lips, the color a striking contrast against your skin in the warm light of the office.

"Besides the topic of my apparently new inventory," you said, emphasizing the word with a hint of playful accusation, "did you want to continue your losing game?"

Dazai chuckled, the sound low and rich. He leaned forward, the leather of the chair creaking slightly under his shifting weight. "I think you've forgotten, but I was winning."

A light laugh escaped you, the sound filling the room with a momentary lightness. "I had your queen for the taking. Without it, what even is the game?"

Dazai hummed thoughtfully, his mind racing through possibilities far beyond the chessboard. In his mind's eye, he saw not just chess pieces, but the intricate dance of allegiances and betrayals that defined their world. Indeed, his queen was cornered - both in the game and in life - but Dazai was nothing if not a master strategist. Just as you had been hasty to claim victory, he knew exactly how to turn the tides. His plan wasn't just to save a piece on a board, but to reclaim the Queen before him that he had lost to Fyodor's trickery.

His lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile. This game was far from over, and Dazai intended to win back what was rightfully his, piece by carefully manipulated piece. The anticipation built within him, not just for his next move in chess, but for the grand strategy that would bring you back to his side, away from Fyodor's influence.

Dazai's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned back in his chair, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Ah, but you've overlooked something crucial," he said, his voice smooth and confident. “It's my turn, remember? And with just one move, I'll not only save my queen but put you in a rather precarious position."

He set his glass down and leaned forward, his fingers tracing invisible patterns on the desk as if recreating the chessboard. "My knight to F6. It simultaneously blocks your attack on my queen and threatens your bishop. Now, you're faced with a dilemma – do you capture my knight and leave your bishop vulnerable, or do you retreat and lose your advantage?"

A sly smile played on his lips as he continued, "In chess, as in life, it's not just about the pieces you have, but how you use them. Sometimes, a seeming disadvantage can be turned into a powerful opportunity with the right strategy."

His eyes met yours, the intensity in them suggesting he might be talking about more than just the game. "So, shall we continue? I'm quite curious to see how you'll respond to this... unexpected development."

You leaned back in your chair, a mixture of amusement and respect flickering across your features. A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you shook your head slightly, your eyes meeting Dazai's intense gaze.

"Well played, Dazai," you conceded, your voice carrying a note of admiration. "I should have known better than to underestimate you. Your knight to F6 is indeed a clever move."

You paused, your fingers drumming thoughtfully on the armrest as you visualized the board in your mind. After a moment, a sly smile crept onto your face. "However, you're not the only one with tricks up their sleeve. I'll move my rook to E4. It puts pressure on your knight and maintains the threat to your queen. Plus, it opens up a potential attack on your king's flank."

Leaning forward, you picked up your glass, and place it against your plump bottom lip. "In chess, as in our line of work, it's all about adapting to the unexpected, isn't it? One must always be prepared to shift strategies at a moment's notice."

You took a sip of the whiskey, savoring its rich flavor before continuing, "So, Dazai, what’s your move?"

Dazai's eyes narrowed slightly, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips as he considered your move. "Interesting," he murmured, taking a thoughtful sip. “In that case, I'll move my bishop to D3, threatening your rook while maintaining defense of my queen.”

The game continued, each of you calling out moves, the imaginary board shifting in your minds with every declaration. The office fell into a rhythm of quiet contemplation broken by decisive statements, the clink of ice in glasses punctuating each turn.

"Knight to C6," you said, your voice steady.

"Pawn to A4," Dazai responded smoothly.

As the imaginary pieces dwindled, the tension in the room grew. Finally, after what felt like hours compressed into minutes, you both fell silent, a mutual realization dawning.

"Well," you said, a mix of frustration and admiration in your voice, "it seems we've reached an impasse."

Dazai nodded, his expression mirroring yours. "Indeed. By my count, we each have a king, a rook, and two pawns left. Neither of us can make a legal move without putting our king in check."

"Stalemate," you both said in unison, then shared a quiet laugh at the synchronicity. As your laughter died down, Dazai couldn’t help but admire you. While it seemed much had changed about you within the last four or so years, you were still sharp, quick on your feet, and though your encounter before last with one another within the confines of his penthouse was heated, it was as though it never happened.

Dazai raised his glass in a toast. "To a game well played. It's not often I encounter an opponent who can match me move for move. I’ve missed doing this with you."

You clinked your glass against his. "Likewise, Dazai. This was fun."

Dazai's intense gaze bore into your violet eyes, searching once again for a shred of the girl that once loved him. He knew you had to still harbor something, given your willingness to allow him into your office just one night after reconnecting, although you had resisted at first. A heavy sigh escaped your lips amid the charged silence, your eyes darting down to his lips. He mirrored the action, his tongue unconsciously brushing across his top lip.

In the days of your shared youth, the victor of these mental chess matches would be granted one request, no limits ever set. Trust and honesty were once pivotal, sacred even. But after touching The Book, everything changed.

Dazai watched intently as you shifted in your plush leather chair, leaning forward to examine the documents he had laid before you earlier. Your slender fingers opened the tan folder, eyes scanning its contents. Nervous anticipation built within him as he awaited your reaction.

A scoff broke the silence. It was somewhat expected.

"You want to buy The Midnight's Caress?" You looked up, an exaggerated eye roll accompanying your words.

"You're already paying us to leave you and your business be. I thought it would make more sense to annex your club since you already serve many mafiosos," Dazai explained, his voice smooth and persuasive.

Your eyes returned to the proposition. Dazai had been uncharacteristically considerate; you would remain owner, permitted to run the club as you saw fit, retaining eighty percent ownership.

"Ninety," you countered, your gaze drifting up from the paper. With practiced ease, you opened a drawer within your ornate desk, fingers grasping for a sleek box of cigarettes. The soft scrape of the box opening filled the quiet room as you extracted a single cigarette. The flick of your lighter cast a brief, warm glow across your features as you lit it. You inhaled deeply, the ember glowing bright orange in the dim office. Exhaling a plume of smoke, you placed the cigarette delicately between your index and middle fingers before uttering your next argument. "Giving you twenty percent would be grossly over what I already give you, which I've already been quite generous with."

Dazai raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Given the club's popularity and the financial records he'd meticulously reviewed, he'd calculated that twenty percent ownership would be a small sacrifice. Yet, he'd anticipated some resistance from you.

You held the box out to him, one cigarette poking out invitingly. He leaned forward, long fingers grasping the rolled tobacco. Rising smoothly, he placed the cigarette between his lips. Leaning over your desk, he pressed his unlit cigarette to yours. His eyes, intense and searching, locked with yours as he contemplated his counter.

"Giving twenty percent would include more than just protection, Bella," Dazai remarked, his voice low and smooth as he relaxed back into the chair.

You laced your fingers together, resting your elbows on the polished desk. Your eyes fluttered, the lit cigarette dangling slightly between your lips. "How much are you assuming I'm already giving for this protection?"

“I calculated that it was around twenty percent now.”

A laugh escaped your occupied lips, followed by a click of your tongue. "Twenty? Oh, moye temnoye zhelaniye, I give you way less than that."

Dazai jerked his head back in surprise, questions flooding his mind. How much did you actually give of your earnings? The only logical explanation was the records he had did not contain unreported earnings. Additionally, when did you learn to speak Russian? He had no idea what the phrase meant, but curiosity burned within him.

He watched, transfixed, as you rose from your seat with fluid grace. The soft rustle of your clothing seemed amplified in the hushed office; his senses hyper-aware of your every movement. He tracked your progress as you rounded the desk, his heart rate quickening with each step you took towards him.

When you perched upon the edge of the desk directly in front of him, Dazai felt a rush of heat betray him, crawling up his cheeks in a flush he couldn't quite control. He found himself looking up at you through his eyelashes, acutely aware of the power dynamic shift. The dim light of the office played across your features, casting shadows that accentuated the curves and angles of your face. Dazai's breath caught in his throat as he drank in the sight of you, commanding and alluring in equal measure.

He watched, mesmerized, as you took another leisurely puff from your cigarette. The ember glowed bright for a moment, illuminating your face in a warm, fleeting light that seared itself into his memory. With practiced ease, you blew the smoke out above you, creating a swirling haze that danced in the air between you. The sharp scent of tobacco mingled with your personal fragrance, an intoxicating mixture that seemed to cloud his senses.

As Dazai gazed up at you, he found himself making a silent vow. He would let you have anything you wanted - any percentage, any terms. All that mattered was that you allowed him to remain in your presence, to bask in the captivating aura you exuded.

"I give ten percent of my yearly earnings to you now, Dazai. You're basically asking I near triple that in my eyes, as it's not only money; it's ownership." Your voice carried a hint of steel beneath its smoothness, a reminder of the strength that had always drawn Dazai to you.

Dazai stood to meet your gaze, his movement fluid and deliberate. Your eyes darted from his visible eye down to his lips again as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Seventeen then.” The words hung in the air between you, charged with unspoken tension.

"You're good at a lot of things, Osamu, negotiating is apparently not one of them." You leaned further in, your breath warm against his skin.

He took a moment, relishing the closeness that you'd allowed once again. However, his keen eye caught sight of a cut upon your bottom lip and faint evidence of a bruise upon your cheekbone, which you had evidently tried to cover, which wasn't there the night before. He saw your eyes widen slightly, likely realizing he'd noticed the wounds marring your features. Before he could question you, you spoke again.

"I own the entire property as of right now. I even live upstairs." You took the cigarette from your mouth, gesturing with your fingers toward the area outside the office. Osamu recalled the elevator he'd noticed across from your office doors. That explained its presence. "You might as well buy the whole building, since it seems you're trying to buy me back into the mafia."

Osamu passively heard you, however, he couldn’t bring himself to reply to you just yet. His mind wouldn’t move past the subtle signs of abuse on your face. The cut on your lip, the faint bruise on your cheekbone - they weren't there last night. His heart clenched painfully in his chest, a mixture of worry and rage threatening to overwhelm him.

He reached out instinctively, his hand hovering near your face but not quite touching. He remembered how you used to flinch in worry of touching others, but you remained still, even slightly leaning toward his touch.

Finally, his voice whispered your name out, softer than he intended, "This isn't about buying you back into anything. Do you really think I'd try to manipulate you into a life you chose to leave?"

He watched your eyes, those stormy violet orbs that had once looked at him with such trust and affection. Now they seemed guarded, wary. It pained him more than he cared to admit.

"I respect your decisions," he continued, "even if I don't always agree with them. But those marks on your face, cara mia… they weren't there last night."

Osamu felt his hand clench at his side, anger surging through him at the thought of Fyodor laying a hand on you. He fought to keep his voice steady. "This isn't about ownership or percentages. It's about keeping you safe from a man who clearly doesn't value you the way he should. The way you deserve."

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging within him. He needed you to understand, to see beyond the business proposition to the genuine concern that drove his actions. Fyodor, in this life and every other, was not a man to be trusted, let alone be married to.

"I won’t ask you again to come back to the mafia. All I'm asking, is for you to let me protect you. Because right now, your independence is coming at a cost that's far too high."

Osamu’s unbandaged eye searched yours, silently pleading. He saw a flicker of something - vulnerability, perhaps - behind your carefully constructed walls. It gave him hope.

"Let me help you," he said softly. "Please."

In that moment, looking into your eyes, Osamu realized just how much he still cared for you; it was overwhelming. The thought of you in pain, of Fyodor hurting you, was unbearable. He knew he'd do whatever it took to keep you safe, even if it meant putting himself, his plans, in danger. Because despite everything that had happened, you were still one of the most important people in his world.

Osamu watched as your eyes widened slightly at his words, a mix of emotions flickering across your face. For a moment, your carefully constructed facade seemed to waver, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerability he once knew so well.

His breath caught as you reached up, your fingers gently brushing against his hand that hovered near your face. The touch was electric, sending a shiver through him. Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper when you spoke.

"Osamu... it's not that simple."

He held his breath, hoping for more, but you seemed to steel yourself before continuing. "I appreciate your concern, truly. But my life, my choices... they're complicated. More than you know."

Osamu felt a pang in his chest as you slid off the desk, putting a small distance between you. The internal struggle playing out in your eyes was painfully clear to him.

"Ten percent, if you buy the entire building," you said suddenly, your voice regaining its businesslike tone. "That's my final offer. And I maintain full operational control."

The abrupt shift back to business threw him for a moment, but he quickly recovered. He recognized your deflection for what it was - a shield, a way to avoid the deeper conversation you both knew you needed to have.

"Agreed," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "But this conversation isn't over. I won't stand by and watch you get hurt, no matter how complicated things are."

You nodded, a small, sad smile playing on your lips. "I know you won't. That's what makes you... you."

As you moved to return to your seat, Osamu caught the briefest flash of something in your eyes. Was it longing? Regret? Or perhaps something more calculating? He couldn't be sure, and it frustrated him. There was a time when he could read you like an open book, but now... now parts of you were a mystery to him.

Watching you settle back into your chair, Osamu began to feel a sharp pang of guilt. He knew he was being selfish, pursuing you when his time in this world was limited. The weight of his secrets - the truth about the Book and his inevitable fate - pressed heavily upon him. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to tell you, it would cost too much. Instead, he made a silent vow to protect you from Fyodor and his plans, and, if possible, win back your trust and affection, even if it was only for a brief moment in time. 

As he gazed at you across the desk, Osamu felt a familiar warmth in his chest, accompanied by a sharp ache. Despite everything, despite the years and the pain and the complications, you were still one of the most important people in his world. And he would do whatever it took to keep you safe, even if it meant putting himself, his plans, in danger.

"With that matter settled," you said, a smile reappearing on your face as you extinguished your cigarette. "Would you like to try another game of chess? I'd understand if you say no, as assuredly going to win this time."

A rich laugh escaped through Osamu’s lips. "I'd like to see you try," he responded, his eyes gleaming with challenge and amusement.

The game was on, and Osamu intended to win.

previous part ~ next part | LBH masterlist | BSD Masterverse

Author Chat: This part took a lot out of me. Again, I had intended it to be much darker, as I see so many write Fyodor as this sweet, quiet man who's tenderly loving his s/o, but I was like "but what if...?" So, that's partly where the inspiration came from, because let's be honest, that man is dark and twisted (you know the looks like a cinnamon roll, will actually kill you).

If you liked, feel free to like and reblog <3 ~DamzelZelda

Song Inspos: Rule #34- Fish in a Birdcage Watch- billie eilish

Russian Word "Dictionary" (Curtesy of [unreliable] Google translate):

moya lyubov': "my love"

moya zhena: "my wife"

moy dorogoy: "my dear"

malen'kaya mysh': "little mouse"

lyubyashchaya: "loving"

budto: "as if"

chudesnyy: "marvelous"

ty lisitsa: "you vixen"

Takaya khoroshaya devochka: "such a good girl"

Ochen' khorosho: "very well"

moy angel smerti: "my angel of death"

moye temnoye zhelaniye: "my dark desire"

[bsdawgz]

「 ✦ Yours ✦ 」 Bungo Stray Dogs, Armed Detective Agency: Atsushi Nakajima

a/n: took a while but here is the ~atsushi~ counterpart from the soft aku vs. atsushi fic poll. (here is the soft aku fic) i hope you enjoy ♡

genre: f!reader. smut with angst (you cheated on atsushi omg... 🥲). makeup sex.

content warnings: MDNI! possessiveness, unprotected sex + he cums inside (*these are very risky*), overstimulation, general angst, he gets rough at the end (yes ik it was supposed to be a soft fic, but...)

summary: no matter what happens, you'll always run back into the arms of the man who taught you how to love – and he'll run right back to you, too.

you don't know exactly how you ended up here. come to think of it, though, this is always where you end up – right in front of the ada's dorm at the crack of dawn. once the drunkenness of twilight has settled into a sobered reality, your feet stumble on their own in front of this door, seeking shelter from whatever it was that sent you reeling in the first place. it's been said that night time is the play time for sinners and devils. this past year, you found out that you're no exception to that rule – for here you are as living proof, crawling back in search of forgiveness from the very person you've wronged.

"for atsushi?" a familiar voice calls from behind you before your knuckles rap at the door. you barely heard his footsteps coming up the stairs, but you're not surprised to find that dazai's still up. how appropriate for the two people guilty to both be wide awake at this hour. still, running into him like this sends a shiver up your spine. you freeze in your tracks, half expecting him to discourage you from what you're about to do – but instead he just walks past you without another word, and maybe that's even worse. it's just a reminder that you were nothing to him, and that he's barely had to suffer from the consequences of the night you caught together.

you'd imagine that sleeping with atsushi's girlfriend put a strain on dazai's personal and professional relationship with him, even if it only happened one time. at the end of the day though, dazai was atsushi's superior – and the source of his food and housing – and atsushi had no choice but to accept that reality.

you, on the other hand, were cut out of his life. it had been months of no contact between you and your now ex-boyfriend. all texts were left on seen, every call sent to voicemail. you could even swear that atsushi was avoiding all the spots he used to frequent, just to make sure he didn't run into you by chance. you never thought you'd be a cheater – never, ever in a million years – but here you were, having done that very thing to the person who taught you the meaning of unconditional love.

how could you be so selfish? so thoughtless? stupid, even? you'd take it all back in an instant, but you know can't. your feet are about to move. you're about to turn back. you should... yes, that's exactly what you should do. tonight feels too soon – it's all wrong. running into dazai last minute proves that.

and yet, just as you're about to bolt down the stairs, you hear it – the sound of the door in front of you unlocking. it's like a quiet charm. his voice is like a wish that you whispered under your breath. "it's you..." soft-spoken, just as he always has been, and there he is –

– atsushi nakajima himself.

"do you need something?"

there's no malice in his voice – just the same tenderness that he's always carried with him. something about it in this moment feels heartbreaking. you almost want him to yell at you or scold you, just so you can apologize to him with your whole self, or let him know how much you've regretted that day. instead, he stands there with his arms drooped at his sides, unfeeling. it's cruel, that minute of empty silence. you wonder if he's about to close the door on you. maybe he should. it feels like you're miles apart, and the distance is deafening.

just one second more, you think to yourself. it's selfish, you know. let me memorize what you look like. let me remember how your bangs fall. the color of your eyes.

you open your lips to speak, but it's your feet that move instead. one moment you're in front of him, but then you blink, and you're closing the distance between you – you're sobbing on his shoulder, your arms around his neck. silence, save for the sound of your stifled cries against his now-stained sweater.

he wants to push you away, but he doesn't. his arms wrap around your waist instead. the feeling of your body, pressed tight to his, is all too familiar. you're warm, and you smell so nice. it's that same shampoo you've always used, the one he likes on you. you're pretty today, hair falling into place like this. you're just as he remembers. this is his favorite knit on you – you look just as lovely as you did yesterday.

he says nothing, stunned. what is there to say in a situation like this? all he can do is cling to you, hope you don’t let go of him the way you did many nights before… that you don’t tire of him, toss him aside like you did that night. "why didn't you come back sooner–?" there’s a tremble in his voice, and he falls apart. when you meet his gaze, you realize the reason he hasn't pulled away is because there are tears in his liquid eyes. "don't tell me you wanted him instead?" his voice falters. you shake your head wildly, trying to force him to look at you again, but he's pawing your hands away. there’s a pain expression on his face when he finally looks back up at you, wincing. it’s like that of a beaten dog that's come crawling back to its master.

"i thought you hated me..." you confess, words spilling out, "– and you have every right to... it should have only been you.

i only want you."

your words strike him down. his hands are pushing you away at first. at least, that's what he thinks, because every part of him is telling you that's what they should be doing. every part of him is telling him to tell you to get out of his sight, to get out of his life, because he knows it must be wrong to do what he’s about to do. there's a reason that he avoided you in the first place, isn’t there?

but he's past the point of return now – in his heart, he knew this is just how you two would end up.

there's a reason he avoided you in the first place after all, isn't there?

with you in his arms, looking at him the same way you always have, it's no use. guided by sheer instinct, there's no shred of timidness in the fierce way that he grabs at you now. those same hands that pushed you away are now reaching for you, pulling you into his arms with just as much ferocity, eager to hold you again. there's a neediness to the way that he clings to every curve and crevice. you melt into him, and his lips are on yours.

it's been so long – too long. he didn't think your reunion would go like this. at least, he imagined that if it would begin with more talking. with you standing in front of him, though, the memories are all coming back so suddenly –

every laugh, every look;

every argument.

you were his first everything – god, he missed you.

how did he last this long without you?

his hands find your waist first, molding to your form. then, the next thing you know, his hands are on your ass, and he's digging into the fat with his fingertips, and you feel him pin his hips flush against yours as he backs you into the darkness of his room. tonight, it's not enough to just have you – he needs to claim you, all of you.

the door locks behind you, a quiet clinking of metal as atsushi's fingers fumble with the handle, then you feel your back thud loudly against the wall that you know is shared with dazai's room. you gasp quietly as teeth skim your neck, his lips latching onto the tender skin between your collarbone and shoulder. then, you feel his hands grasping you clumsily as he undresses you hastily, desperate to cover every inch that he's touched, to erase every memory of him that might be left.

"am i... being too rough?" he asks concernedly as he helps you out of your cardigan, discarding it on the floor. his voice is a heated whisper in your ear. "it's okay?"

groping him through his pants, you hear his breath grow shallow, watch as he swallows his own spit, his iridescent eyes following you closely as you trace his outline. his breath is ragged, hungry. he lowers his hands from you – lowers all of his defenses – and you sink to your knees, your hands caressing him everywhere, your lips tracing the lean muscle of his body, your mouth re-mapping his skin into your memory... as if you could ever forget what atsushi, of all people, feel like, when he's the very person who taught you what it meant to truly love someone.

your fingers hooking on the waistband of his pajamas, you tug them down his legs along with his boxers, then take his length into your hands. he sucks in a sharp, shaky breath, holding your gaze as you stroke him once from base to tip, enamored completely by the way you look right now on your knees for him – how long has it been since you've touched him like this? he's ashamed to admit that he's thought about this day more than once, now forced to spend an awful amount of time reflecting on how different his calloused hand feels from yours when he's touching himself at night, alone. now, here you are right in front of him, your palm wrapped around him so perfectly. it feels like a fantasy.

you're kissing it, lips pressed to the pretty tip as you bat your eyes at him. atsushi's barely had the time to process that you're here, and now you're flicking away the beads of pearlescent precum with your soft, wet tongue – and god, it feels so heavenly to have you like this. he reaches for you mindlessly, petting your hair, then he lets out these beautifully soft, whimpered moans as you suck on him – a breathless "oh my god..." rolling off of his lips when you finally take all of him into your mouth. "feels... so good..."

then suddenly, you hear him curse under his breath, tossing his head backward when you feel him abruptly hit the back of your throat, hips thrusting forward –

"– ah, god... fuck..." – before he quickly shoves his hand against his mouth in complete embarrassment, face flushing bright pink as he stammers out a quick apology and steadies himself. it's the first time you've ever heard him say something like that during such an intimate act. you stare at him wide-eyed, shocked, but he's avoiding looking at you now, blushing to himself and watching you through his fingers as he pants quietly into the palm of his hands.

then, "kiss me – please." it's a simple request, but it's full of urgency. god, how he's missed you. he cups your cheeks in his hands and brings your lips to his. it's a passionate kiss, sloppy and wet, the type of kiss that has teeth clumsily collide and noses briefly bump against each other. you feel his hand grasp your thigh. he wraps it around his waist, then suddenly his fingers are seeking you through your cotton panties. he pushes the fabric to the side, then you gasp aloud as you feel those slender fingers of his thrust so deep inside of you. it feels dirty – too dirty, even. different, at the very least. the two of you have only ever made love before, and now he's fucking you with his fingers.

"does it feel good?" his voice is a low whisper in your ear. you can feel his hot breath on your neck, his tongue teasing your earlobe, as he slides his fingers in and out of you, collecting your sticky arousal on his fingertips. you moan as you feel his thumb find your clit, making slow, steady circles, then you pull back from the kiss to look at him, just to see the face he might be making at you. he's gazing at you with these half-lidded, lustful eyes that are just desperate to hear your praise. though inexperienced, atsushi's always been an attentive lover, keen to your every sound and movement. as his first, you taught him everything he knows – and as such, you've taught him exactly how to pleasure you. drawing his name from your sweet lips comes all too easily.

he's greedy with his fingers, eager to taste you on his tongue, and you watch him as he licks you off his fingers and kisses you again and again like it's never enough. he's even greedier with his words, eyes glinting with satisfaction after you cum on his fingertips, crying out for him.

"i can make you feel better than he can," he coos into your neck as you convulse in his arms. "i'll make you feel so good."

atsushi's never thought of himself as a possessive man, but things certainly change when someone takes away what's rightfully his. now, with you singing his praises, he can't help but want more. fingertips burrowing into your hips, he bends you over his desk and you hear him ask,

"can i put it in just like this?"

your eyes widen –

of all the things he could have said, you'd never expect this – and from atsushi, of all people. "raw?" you stutter out in disbelief, and he nods at you unflinchingly, continuing to pamper you with his affection, hands reaching for your breasts, shaping and squeezing them around his palms. "it's risky..." your voice trails on the last syllable, words subsiding into a soft moan as you feel his finger traces around your nipple before he claims them with his tongue. you push the messy bangs out of his forehead to read his expression, but there's not an ounce of hesitation on his face.

– "i know that."

you're trying to think straight, but you can't. all you can think about is how intensely hot your body feels right now, and what it might feel like to have him fuck you until you've been completely forgiven. slipping your soiled panties down your legs, you nod at him to continue. "yes, i want it," you whisper desperately, and you're surprised when your voice comes out like a whine as you ease your thighs apart for him. "put it in… please –"

he nods, then reaches for himself. he's as gentle as he always has been with you – perhaps even more so tonight as he presses fleeting kisses to your hair and murmurs reassurances into your shoulder that he's about to put it inside. his lips are soft against your neck and spine.

you moan as as he slips the blunt head inside your wet, waiting entrance. he’s careful not to hurt you, guiding it slowly. it’s perfect. how long has it been since you've felt this – since you've felt him touching you like this? so loving. so right. you sigh into his touch, listen to the sound of his sharp inhale and feel him nearly collapse into your back once he bottoms out inside you.

he's amazed by the feeling of your bareness against him and the way your slickness squeezes around him. he pauses, then glances down. oh, wow – the sight of himself disappearing inside of you is enough to drive him wild. you're so warm and wet. kunikida was wrong when he said sex without a condom feels the same as sex with a condom. he must have been lying just to keep him safe when he first started having sex because this feels a thousand times better – he can feel everything like this, all of you. every ridge, every pulse, the very ache that’s throbbing inside of you. you're gripping him so perfectly. he needs it so badly… needs you so badly.

"mm, it's so good..." he groans, pressing his lips to your neck. then, you feel him start to move from behind you, hear the quiet sound of his skin hitting yours as he brings your hips back against him, nice and slow. the room is silence save for the sound of your breath becoming shallow as his pace quickens. his fingers seek you again between the thighs, and you shudder forward, burying your face into the wood of the table as you gasp. "does it feel good for you too?" his voice is a low whisper in your ear. "yeah?"

you whimper out your approvals, feeling his thumb pressing on your clit again. you're so sensitive from your last high that you cry out, sobbing as you beg for more. he pins your wrists behind your back, pushing you into his desk, and you feel him reach you at an angle you've never felt him before. he's so rough tonight – but it feels so good.

"h-harder–" you stammer out, and you feel him shove your face against the desk as he thrusts faster. "i need you so bad." you're liquid in his hands and you melt as you moan out his name, tthe syllables are sloppy on your tongue, spilling from your lips like water as you cum from his fingers again.

"a... tsu.. shi... please. atsushi..."

yes, say it just like that – atsushi, atsushi. atsushi.

then, "where do you want it?"

– "inside me."

you feel his fingers tip your chin toward him, then his eyes are on you.

there's not an ounce of malice behind those iridescent eyes as he bats his eyelashes at you – just the same tenderness that he's always carried with him.

"watch me cum for you."

there's a steadiness to his voice, an unwavering certainty as he captures his lips in yours and leaves you breathless. "you're mine. don’t ever leave me again.”

then, you feel it: his cum leaking down your thighs.

warm and white, trickling down your legs.

you'll take all of it, all of him.

"i'm yours, atsushi. yours… yours."

author ps: yes it has similar themes to the aku x reader one yes i am a sskk shipper on the side

© BSDAWGZ 2024. Do not steal or repost ANY of my works! That’s plagiarism, and it’s mean. :(( Beautiful dividers by @ v6que~!

[darkphoenix07]

Hi love if requests are still opened may I have an established relationship hongjoong oneshot where reader isolates herself frequently because of mental health and spends a lot of unwanted time in bed because she can’t muster up the courage to get up where hj helps her start her day and stuff?

Hongjong helps you as you isolate yourself often

Masterlist

Series Poll

Mental Health Request

Paring : Hongjong x Reader

Genre : Comfort, Fluff, Romance, Dance

Song 🎶: Everything I wanted by Billie Eilish and Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift

7.00 a.m.

You hear Hongjong entering the house as he parks his car in the garage. You want to get up, run towards him and hug him. You want to break in his arms feeling free as tears leave your eyes. You wish you could get up but it's too hard.

You have been lying on the bed for the whole day like a corpse. He called you a million times for having breakfast but you said you weren't hungry. He left kissing you goodbye, saying he loves you. But you didn't even say love you back. You laid there not moving a single muscle, not taking shower or having food.

Right now you can't feel your body. You don't feel like you are in this universe anymore. The pain, the anxiety, the panic attack have taken over your body suppressing everything.

"Baby, are you home?" His sweet voice echoes in the living room.

You haven't touched him for how long you don't remember. You don't know when was the last time, you kissed him, hugged him properly. Sex is far.

"Baby!" The way he calls you baby. It should pick your body up. You feel guilty for being such a prick. But you can't help. You imagine how he will leave you alone, you'll be able to lay here for the rest of your life until you actually become a corpse.

There looking for you, he enters in your room. Seeing the darkness of your room, the curtains all down, your blanket covering half of your body and you same gaze at the ceiling, he understands you haven't moved from the bed.

"Hey, are you feeling alright?" He asks entering as he touches you forehead.

"Hm," you mumble not wanting to get attacked with more questions.

But he notices how messed up your hair is though you aren't warm or cold. You are still wearing the dress from three days ago which means you haven't showered for three days.

You think of the consequences that will occur if he switches on the lights, pulls the blanket off you and starts screaming at you. What will you do?

You wait for it but the lights aren't being turned on, no screaming is around you like it used to happen in your household. Its more quite than usual that you can hear his heartbeat beside yours.

"Can I get inside?"

You would have said no. You would have pushed him away. But the way he asked you, the way he plead like he is asking foe forgiveness that you had to move slightly making space for him.

He gets inside the blanket though you know you stick as bad as a garbage can. He pulls you on his hand, "I want to have dinner outside with you or we can have a terrible cheat day. Only street foods and chocolate or ice cream. What do you say?"

You don't answer him so he looks at you with all of the love he has for you, "Or we can stay here in the bed while I sing for you. Then we can take a shower together while dancing and order dinner. I can make you some too but I am not as good as Wooyoung when it comes to cooking."

You look at him with sleepy eyes. His touch makes you realize how long you haven't slept. Maybe three days or more. It happened without any reason. You don't know why you are feeling like this life doesn't matter or why you don't want to move. You feel heartbroken, guilty for not having a single reason to tell him why you are feeling this much heavy.

"Baby. You'll become sick. I would let you stay here but you look so pale. I am worried," he says pulling you close to his chest, "You know how much I love you, right?"

You wanted to walk up a while ago. But it was just night. The ending of another day you could have spent productively that you wasted. You feel so disgusted by your own self but the man in front of you gazing at you like you are some diamond.

"I don't know what to do," that's when you speak up because you don't want to disappoint him. He has so much patience and hope for you. You understand now that if you speak up maybe he will understand but it's just too hard.

"Will you let me do something for you?" He asks kissing your forehead gently.

You don't say anything as a positive answer and he gets up, "Stay in your little paradise for some moment. I am coming back."

He says and rushes outside. After some while, you hear his car's sound. You don't understand and you forget that you should care after sometimes. You curl around hugging your blanket drowning in your dark side again.

You don't know how long it passes away before Hongjong comes, "I am going to pick you up. Okay?"

He warns you so you can say no if you want to. But you don't say anything or do anything as he cradles you up in his arms and walks outside the room. You notice the lights are all off, there is just the chandelier lighting in the living room.

As he enters in the bathroom of the room you two share, you see there are scented candles on the sink area. He doesn't stop here, he places you inside the tub filled with purple flower petals, you don't understand what flower are these. But the sudden warm water washes thrill over your whole body. You start feeling a little better from the warm water.

He helps you take off the clothes and runs outside again. You start hearing him playing Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift in the background before he enters in the bathroom again with a fruit salad bowl.

He sits outside the tub feeding you the salad, "I thought you may faint so I had to give you some food and suger."

You smile as you keep having the fruits one by one. Some little effort is all you wanted to give to feel better again but it was too hard.

"Join me," you tell him making his eyes go big.

He places the bowl on the sink and makes you stand up, "I have a better idea," and pushes the shower button. Cold water starts washing over both of you and you start giggling seeing him shiver.

It's so adorable yet fascinating how he is looking and acting right now. He holds your one hand and wraps your waist with another, "Let's dance in the rain."

"It's literally summer," you tell him as he spins you while the water of the tub splashes around dripping on the floor.

"Who cares?" He says pulling you towards him and again moving you with him. The dance, the movements, they are so messy yet perfect for your body to feel alive. It's like every cell of your body is waking up one by one.

"Kiss me," he says cupping your face in his hands and your lips find his in no time.

You wish you would have talked about your feelings to him earlier, you wish you wouldn't waste your time, you wish you would kiss him back and say love you back. But it's alright, you tell yourself. It's alright because I can do it now.

"Hongjong," you say as you wrap yourself in the towel and he looks at you.

"I love you," you tell him and his smile gets bigger than ever.

"I love you," he says and pecks you on the lips.

No, you haven't stopped feeling the heaviness yet but you have stopped blaming yourself making it look like a crime for feeling depressed without any reason. Every feeling is precious after all.

For the people who thinks your feelings aren't valid. They are.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Just One Wish (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I'm very slowly chipping away at the fic in my idea notebook I put up in those two polls maybe about a month and a half ago, but I keep adding fics, which is good and bad - good because it's proof my idea gremlin isn't retreating, but bad because it's so many ideas and not enough righting time. But, I digress. POV does switch halfway from Reader to Matt, but remains in second person. Enjoy :)

Summary: Matt pulls out all of the stops for your birthday to make it special and memorable for you. But neither you or Matt are prepared for the consequences of a sweet, genuine birthday wish that is granted by a magical candle.

Warnings: Fluff (Matt being the sweetest and most endearing boyfriend who has so much love for the reader. They're both just so love struck for one another, talk about big nerd idiots in love being all kissy and cute - seriously, I noticed while proofing I made them kiss a lot), angst (fear/trauma, unexpected blindness)

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson

Word Count: 3,498

“Matt!” you giggle as he guides you down the hallway to your apartment, his hands over your eyes. “I appreciate the effort, but, I’m gonna have to be the one to unlock my front door.”

“Just trust me on this, angel,” Matt laughs, leaning forward and kissing the crown of your head as you come to a stop at your door. Moving the position of one of his hands so it covers both of your eyes, he opens the barrier and guides you in. Resting the hand that he opened the door with on your waist, he pulls the other from your face and turns on the light.

“Surprise!” he hums, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. You gasp in delight as you see the lovely dinner for two that’s set up in your kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind that I set this all up here. I wanted to make you this new recipe I read about, but I didn’t have some of the equipment I needed at my place.”

“Matty,” you grin, twisting in his grasp and draping your arms around his neck. “You can come over here and use any of my equipment any time you need.”

“Oh?” he smirks.

“Mmm,” you hum, leaning into his body for a sweet kiss. “I can’t wait to give it a taste.”

“Well, it’s lucky for you that the next thing on my plan for the evening was enjoying this meal for you.”

“I think you’re forgetting something, though.”

“Am I?”

You nod with a smile knowing he can feel your head move as you lean in for a deep kiss, feeling how his arms hold you flush to his body, even as you move your kisses down his neck to suck a little mark into his skin. “There we go,” you grin in delight. “A fitting appetizer.”

Matt chuckles, kissing you sweetly once more before guiding you over to your table and pulling out your seat before you clink your wine glasses together and dig in and talk about your days.

“This has been an amazing night,” you smile, taking Matt’s hand in yours as we sit as the table. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“I wish I could’ve done more,” he hums, his thumb brushing back and forth over your knuckles.

“Matt, you left me a sweet voicemail to wake up to, surprised me with coffee on the sidewalk, sent me gorgeous flowers at work, and made a fabulous dinner for me. This has been the best birthday of mine to date.”

“I’m glad I could make you happy. That’s all I could ever want.” He lifts your hand and presses a long kiss to the digits. “I do have another surprise for you.”

“Matt—.”

“Just sit tight.”

With another kiss to the back of your hand, he gets up from the table, grabbing a small gift bag and two plates, each with a slice of the moistest chocolate cake you could ever imagine—one with a candle in it.

“Happy birthday, angel,” he smiles as he puts the plate and gift down in front of you, kissing you long and slow.

“Thank you,” you murmur against his lips, kissing him again before he sits down next to you.

“Make a wish.”

“Matt, I have everything I could have ever want, and I have never been happier.” I just wish you could see just how happy you make me. You blow out the candle and lean back in for another kiss. “I love you.”

“Love you more. Now, open your gift.”

With a chuckle, you grab the bag, pulling out the tissue paper and revealing a small little jewelry box.

“Matt,” you start.

“Don’t say I didn’t have to,” he counters. “It’s your birthday, I love you, and you deserve it.”

With a little sigh, you open the box and let out a little sigh, revealing a beautiful bar necklace.

“On one side, it has the time we met in braille, and the other side has the coordinates of where we met engraved in it,” he explains. “The way that the clasp is on the necklace, it can be worn either way, and you’ll always have a little piece of me, a little piece of us wherever you go.”

“Matt, this . . . You didn’t have to. This is the sweetest, most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.”

“I’d bring you the stars if I could.”

You lean forward again and kiss him once more. 

“I love you,” I smile.

Matt kisses you a few more times before taking the necklace out of the box, securing it on your neck before taking some frosting from your cake and dolloping it on your nose.

“Hey!” you laugh.

“You just look cute enough to eat,” he grins. 

“So do you.” You do the same, swiping some chocolate frosting on his nose before you fork some cake into your mouth. “Oh wow, this is delicious.”

“The secret ingredient is pudding,” he smirks. “Vanilla, not chocolate.”

“Really? It’s amazing.”

“Yeah. You are.”

The way he’s staring at you makes you blush, and you dip your gaze down to the cake as you continue to feel the heat rise up to your ears. He takes your hand in his and holds onto it lovingly as you eat, talking about everything and noting at all. When you finish your slices, Matt insists that you sit on the couch as he cleans up and does the dishes, to which you happily open your dishwasher and tell him to load it up. He chuckles, shaking his head and muttering something about “only because it’s your birthday” and “because you're so cute”. When you close the appliance, you take his hand and pull him toward you, holding him close and kissing him, growing weak in the knees when he wraps one arm around your waist as the other slides up to hold the back of your head, guiding you down on your couch cushions for a comfier make out spot.

“Hey,” you whisper, smiling as you pull back and bite your lip, feeling warm and fuzzy from his embrace.

“Hey,” he parrots, trying to lean back in for another kiss, but you put your finger to his lips.

“I, um, I think you should head out for the night,” you whisper. 

“I’m not done celebrating with you, angel. In fact, there was one more thing that I had in store for us that could take up quite a bit of time.”

“I’d love nothing more for that, honestly. But you need to be at the courthouse by 8 a.m. tomorrow.”

“I know. But I can still spend the night with my girlfriend on her birthday and make it there no problem.”

“Not if we did what I had in store for tonight. We start with that thing we did at New Years, and, well . . . I’d like to keep some things a surprise for you.”

Matt’s eyebrows shoot up, his mouth slightly agape as his cheeks burn a bright pink you’ve only ever seen once before. “Happy birthday to you,” he chuckles nervously.

“Mm, very much. Which is exactly why I’m asking for a raincheck for tonight.”

“Okay,” he breathes. “A few more kisses, though?”

“I’m not gonna want you to leave if I have a few more kisses.”

“That’s my hope.”

You moan in frustration and attraction as you lean into him. “Sneaky devil.”

“Can you blame me for trying?”

“No. But I can blame you for it almost working how you want.”

He gives me a little pout and a shrug. “Worth it.”

Pulling him back in, you kiss him long and slow.

“Want any of the leftovers from your kick-ass dinner?” you hum as you run your fingers through his hair.

“It’s all yours, sweetheart,” he whispers with another peck to your lips. “Besides, I think I’ll find myself over here tomorrow one way or another.”

You chuckle and nod, leaning in for a few more kisses before you bring yourselves to your entryway. “Text me when you get home.”

“Okay,” he hums, tucking some hair behind your ear. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

With one final lingering kiss, Matt slides on his glasses and unfolds his cane, slipping out of your door and into the night.

The piano tones of your phone gently nudge you awake, much to your annoyance. Matt was quick to text you when he got home, at which point you started your nighttime routine, but it just didn’t feel like you got enough sleep. Well, I guess it’s nothing a cup of coffee can’t fix. With a reluctant huff, you roll over and press at your phone to turn off your alarm, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. You're beyond confused when you open your lids and find a blackness around you rather than your bedroom.

What?

You rub your eyes a few times. You didn’t think it was your allergy season just yet—why would your eyes be swollen shut? You open your eyes again, even making sure that they’re open with your fingers, and quickly grow terrified when you still see nothing but darkness. No matter how hard you blink, it’s the same, over and over. Pure nothingness.

“H-Hey Siri?” you stutter, doing your best to steady your breath. “Call Leslie.”

“Calling Leslie - mobile,” your phone says, immediately beginning to ring.

“Hey (Y/N),” she greets.

“Hey, Leslie,” you say as calmly as possible. “I’m gonna have to take today off. Matt cooked me a new dish for my birthday, and I don’t think it sat right with me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Just feel better, okay? It’s no fun being sick around the time of your birthday. Rest up, and stay hydrated.”

“Will do. Thanks, Les.”

When you hang up the phone, you burst into tears.

How did this happen? What should you do? How to you tell Matt?

“Oh Matty,” you weep, your fingers brushing against the necklace he gave you. “I wish you were here. I wish I didn’t ask you to go last night.”

“Matty,” your voice stirs him from his sleep. He hears it over and over, but it grows more distant as he is pulled from his sleep. Rolling over in bed, he feels around and smacks at his alarm clock.

7:14 a.m.

Fuck. He’s gonna be late if he doesn’t get moving right now. Grumbling, he rubs his eyes and opens them, screaming when he doesn’t see the usual black that he’s been accustomed to for over two decades. It’s bright, distinct, clear . . . He can see. Covering his eyes, he pulls his hands back and gently tries to open them, adjusting to the clouded light shining through the windows of his loft.

This . . . This can’t be happening. What’s going on?

Matt holds out his hands in front of them, seeing the digits he uses to feel his surroundings, to decipher little bumps in paper to read, his tools of justice at night, what he uses to hold on to you.

You. His girlfriend. The person that he loves most in this entire world. 

A happy, breathy chuckle escapes his lips as he shoots out of bed. Although he can maneuver his apartment without any trouble, having a perfect mind map of the floorpan, he’s like a deer just learning how to walk now that he can see, having little control over his legs as he approaches his bathroom to find a mirror. Stunned, Matt sees himself staring back—brown hair disheveled from sleep, a steady stubble on his face, old, faded scars from fights long ago, some fresher bruises on his arms, and the small love bite you worked into his neck last night. 

It’s . . . It’s odd to see himself. Last time he had any semblance of what he looked like, he was a nine year old kid, scrawny and scraggly with pretty prominent freckles and a round baby face. As he leans in closer to the mirror, he can see what while he still has freckles, they’re far more faded, his jaw is much more prominent, and he realizes the description of his eyes that you give every now and then are pretty accurate.

You’ll be so thrilled. He has to go see you right now and tell you.

Foggy. Foggy. Foggy.

With trembling hands and a jittery heart, Matt darts from his bathroom back to his bedroom, trying to rely on his hearing for the location of his phone rather than his newfound sight.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he hears his friend say.

“Hey, Fog,” he says, his voice trembling.

“You good, man?”

“Um, yeah,” he lies. “Pre case jitters, I guess.”

“You getting pre case jitters? You never get those.”

“I, um, I don’t think I slept well last night, that’s all.”

“I’ll get you coffee from that place you like on the way to the courthouse, because you’re already late, and I’ve already gotten you the coffee. Haul your ninja ass down here. I’ll see you soon.”

“Y-Yeah. See you soon, Fog.”

Matt rubs his eyes after he hangs up, just to make sure that he’s not dreaming. He can see. Everything feels quiet. Things feel comfortable, but after so many years of heightened sensitivity, it all feels wrong. 

But he can see. He’ll go outside and get to see the sky, he’ll be able to see his apartment, his workspace, his friends, and when the day is done, he’ll finally be able to see you. He’ll finally be able to see just how bright your smile actually is, how your eyes will twinkle when he tells you that he loves you.

But right now, he needs to get to the courthouse.

“(Y/N)?” Matt calls out into the apartment, using his key to undo the lock. “Angel, it’s me. I’ve got some good news.”

He strains his ears, but your place is quieter than usual. When he listens harder, he can hear your soft sobs gently echoing in the apartment. Moving through carefully, his heart racing, he tries to locate the source, seeing how pictures of the two of you, your family, and friends decorate your home, the little things here and there that are wonderful splashes of your personality all around. But your cries are what prevent him from lingering. Whenever he hears you cry, it makes him want to die, but to hear sobs like this the day after your birthday? There’s nothing he wouldn’t give to make that pain and hurt and sadness go away. 

“(Y/N)?” he calls gently in your bedroom doorway. 

You sniffle, looking up at him with a red and puffy tear-streaked face. “Matt?” you croak. 

“I’m right here, sweetheart.” Moving in the dark, he squats down and sits by your side, immediately wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. “It’s okay, angel. What’s going on?”

“I-I can’t see.” Your voice cracks as your body trembles, holding back your tears. 

“What?” he breathes. You were fine last night. You were absolutely okay—buzzing with happiness. 

“I woke up and I couldn’t see. Everything was so loud, there were these awful smells, and my pajamas felt like sandpaper. It’s like everything was dialed up. Everything is just so dark, Matty. I-I-I’ve never felt so alone.”

“How—you didn’t go to work, did you? Why didn’t you call me?” Why didn’t I come to you sooner? Matt’s never been more mad at himself. 

“No, I called out sick. I was scared, and shocked, and . . . I don’t know. You deal with this every day, Matty. You have for years. Me calling to complain seemed . . . wrong.”

“Angel—.”

“It’s stupid, but, I didn’t know what to do! I woke up to darkness and everything was overloaded. It was too much.”

You start to weep freely, and Matt holds you even closer, stroking your hair and positioning you so your ear is right over his heart. He knows that whenever it all becomes too much for him, your heartbeat is the only thing that can effectively soothe him, and Matt prays that it’ll do the same for you. 

“I’m so sorry, angel,” he breathes. “We’ll figure this out. We’ll get you help.”

“I’m going to be right here for you, every step of the way. Whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

You sit in his arms like a wounded bird for a little longer, the tears still coming, only quieter now. 

“I’m scared,” you finally say.

“Look at me, angel,” he whispers, wiping your tears away off of the apples of your cheeks. “There we go.” God, you’re beautiful. He already knew a prayer was answered when you came into his life, but getting to see you makes his heart grow so much. “Whatever is going on, we’ll figure it out. We’ll get through it. I promise.”

You nuzzle your face into his hand, and he feels like he could jump over the moon seeing how tender you look as you kiss the heel of his hands. 

“You said you had some good news where you came in,” you say, your voice hoarse. 

“Y-Yeah,” he nods, clearing his throat. “I, um, I got a new record. That James Taylor one you like.”

“Really?” you say, your eyebrows lifting. 

“Mm,” he smiles tenderly through his lie. “I figured I’m always hearing you sing in the shower, it’ll be nice to hear it on nights where we don’t see one another, cuz I’ll hear it and think of you.” He gets an idea, smirking mischievously. “What’s the one you always sing? Whenever I see your smiling face, I have to smile myself, because I love you, yes I do. And when you give me that pretty little pout, it turns me inside out. There’s something about you baby, I don’t know.” His singing gets you to smile and giggle. That’s my girl. The way you look now, even though it’s after a torrent of tears, it’s an image he wish he could freeze in time. If you look this beautiful and happy coming out of fear and grief, he can only imagine how beautiful you look when you wake up, how beautiful when you’re excited, how beautiful when he can feel you staring at him like he’s the center of your universe. Your face is something that he’ll never forget for as long as he lives. “Isn’t it amazing a man like me can feel this way? Tell me how much longer, it can grow stronger every day.”

You smile endearingly at him, one of you hands loosely cradling the side of his face as you pull him in for a kiss, his body leaning over you like a warm cage. 

“I love you so much, Matt,” you breathe. “So, so much.”

“I know,” he whispers, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “I love you more than I could ever describe. You’re my light in the dark, and I’ll forever be thankful for you.”

Matt caresses your face some more before pulling you in for another kiss, full of love and tenderness. You two sit, holding one another for he doesn’t know how long, but long enough to know that you’re calm, past your violent wave of fear. He presses a long kiss to your temple, growing confused and more alert as things become louder, smells stronger, texture tougher, his world darker. 

“Hey,” he says, adjusting so his body twists toward you, facing you head on to get a good look at you as his vision grows weaker and darker at the edges. 

“Yeah?” you hum.

“I just want to remember you. Just how you are right now. How much I love you. How much I’ll always love you.”

“Sap,” you grin, the smirk quickly growing into your big, bright smile. He’s never been more in love. “I love you so much, Matty. Never forget that.”

“I never will,” he breathes just as the last specks of color and light fade from his view, bringing him back to a reality he’s known for almost all of his life. 

“Matt?”

“Yeah, angel?”

“I-I can see again,” you stutter. 

“You can?”

“Yeah. I don’t know how—.”

Matt leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead for a long, lingering kiss. “It’s okay, sweetheart. As long as you’re feeling back to normal, that you’re okay, that’s all I could ask for.” He tucks some of your hair behind your ear before kissing you once more. “How about we go to bed? It’s been a long day for the both of us. Tomorrow is Saturday, and we can sleep in a little. Just take it easy. Be with one another.”

“I’d like that,” you hum, kissing his cheek before you both get up. “Want me to throw your favorite blanket in the dryer? Extra cozy snuggles for the night?”

“I just need you, angel. I just need you.”

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop​ @itwasthereaminuteago​ @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore​​ @dpaccione​ @catnip987​

Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters

[heartfullofleeches]

Cinnamon Cream

Yan Couple [F+M] + G.N Reader

A.N: The winning pair from a poll I ran to satisfy my craving for edible partners. The duo are heavily implied to made out of the foods they represent as a heads up

-

"Care for another roll, Hun? Can't send you home on an empty stomach."

This woman was trying to kill you. The tinge of cinnamon fresh on your tongue, you couldn't fathom the consequence of taking on another pastry when you've only sampled the first. Your stomach being empty was the last of your concerns with how big it was. Your free hand lie flat on the table and even it was off by a few inches. She claimed to have made this batch smaller so you could finish the full dozen before you left which you found quite impossible. Prying the fork from your teeth, you let the woman down as best you could - praying to be let off with the rest to take home.

"No thank you, Mrs. Cinnabar - I haven't finished the first."

Her jovial demeanor is not lost as she takes the utensil off your hands. "You can drop the formalities, Love. We're all friends here. You'll have to forgive me for everything else. Izzy worked so hard on his part and I would hate for it to melt before you become addicted to us both."

The smell hits you before you take the bite she offers. No matter the date in time, she always smelled like a bakery. Mrs. Cinnabar has been your neighbor for about a year now following the disappearance of the last tenant not even a week before she and her partner moved in. A friendly face to all, she had taken a special liking to you when your paths finally crossed. Being next door neighbors was one reason, but she also told you she took an immediate interest to you similar to the instant attraction she felt towards her husband. He wasn't in the picture often, and so your company patched up the hole his absence left. With the combination of her loneliness and the rewards of free meals - who were you to say no when she asked for you to visit? Today's dessert was meant to be special and now you knew why.

Cheeks stuffed with pastry, the sweet bread takes up a new texture as you manage to scarf it all down. Rich, velvety cream with just a hint of vanilla; the cold, ceremonious blend to an otherwise warm and sticky treat. As the taste settles on your tongue, you could piece together traces of the ice cream mixed directly into the icing of the cinnamon roll - the delicate flavor you had trouble putting your finger on before. It certainly lived up to the hype set for it by the woman at your side. The scent of cinnamon is almost overpowering as Cinnabar sweeps her thumb up the corner of your sugar crusted lips; smile as sweet as the roll on your plate.

"Well, don't keep me waiting. You like it - don't you, Hun?"

"I-it's great... Wish I could give my compliments to your spouse."

Cinnabar peaks up in her seat; a chill running down your spine at the extend of her grin. For a brief moment she looks behind you. "Who said you couldn't?"

Leaning back in your seat, you come to find that the source of your chattering teeth is not her smile, but the hands of the man gripping the back of your chair. His glare is as icy as the frost radiating off him, your breath visible as you exhale in surprise. Stoic as a brick wall, his eyes show signs of satisfaction drifting over the missing forkful of the now frozen dessert. Ever so slow, he cleans the remaining crumbs off your face before joining his wife's side of the table. Perching an arm over her shoulder, he slides a metal ring into her breast pocket as she takes his hand.

"Y/n, Izzy. Izzy..." Cinnabar rests her head on his wrist. "knows all about you already. Nosy thing has listened in on all of our conversations before now and I'd say he adores your company as much I as I."

"but... I thought you said he was gone most of the day?"

"Oh, he is, Hun. Up in his study. Not too good at speaking with other humans. Specially cuties like yourself, isn't that right, Dear."

Izzy nods his head with a grunt - pale face just shy of a flush under the kitchen lighting.

"We both care about you so much, Hun. Watching you has opened so many doors for us so it's only fair we open ours to you. We've thought hard about how to introduce you to life with us, but the best start was showing you have well we work together. How good all of us could be for each other. I'll keep you warm in the winter, Izzy can cool you down in the summer. You...can just be you. We know this is a lot to take in now, but soon you'll see things our way."

Cinnabar retrieves a set of keys from her pocket, twirling the familiar ring round her finger. "We can talk more about this after you finish your dessert."

[nelkcats]

Culpability

When Danny became the Ghost King he left many things behind: a normal life, his friends, his parents, his sister. All he had left were his space models, glowing stars and some things that he could read.

The halfa knew the situation was not that bad. The ghosts were very friendly and his loved ones could visit whenever they wanted. Time in the Realms was strange, and it would seem like an eternity but they would come eventually.

Seeing their King so down, the ghosts presented him different interests to distract him (Teens needed entertainment, right?) and thanks to Clockwork (who was accused of cheating) Danny found out how much he loved comics and how much he had missed them.

Seeing that this made their King happy, the other ghosts provided thousands of versions of those comics. Danny's mentor warned him to take comics seriously, but he dismissed the comment.

The Realms were infinite and since ghosts could go through the (now stable) natural portals or ask Wulf for help, collecting comics from different dimensions wasn't difficult. They found at least 5199 versions of the Justice League comics the first time. Their King would be happy.

Danny even participated in some of the polls with the help of Clockwork! One of them was called "Kill Jason Todd?" The king thought it was ironic to ask a dead man that and marked yes. He was delighted when volumes of "Red Hood" appeared a few weeks later, Jason was amazing!

Of course, every action has its consequence. When he was summoned to help with a problem in another dimension, the king quickly noticed that the Justice League was real, the same one from his comics. And his favorite character, Red Hood, was looking at him with a frown.

Taking the situation in, Danny felt the weight of guilt on his head as the boy's toxic green eyes looked up at him. He...had he killed him? Did he supported his death? He remembered the 50/50 poll results initially, and how his vote decided the boy's fate.

Even trapped in his castle and just reading comics all day, Danny kept messing things up.

[thelampisaflashlight]

A Lack of Engagement Pt. 1: Ancient Rite

[Rain learns his actions (rubbing a giant metal dick) have consequences (marriage). The RainDrop series y'all doomed yourselves to in the poll... with some mild tweaking.] Below the cut.

It starts with a rumor among the siblings.

Something Rain isn't ordinarily interested in -rumors, or the siblings to be honest- but with a heatwave keeping them all locked down inside the abbey, and a desire to avoid doomscrolling on his phone, again, for the third day in a row... he'd indulged in a healthy bit of eavesdropping, hoping to hear something juicy, and instead learned of a curious addition to the abbey's art collection.

A giant statue of a penis.

Not the first one in the church's possession, but, according to the siblings -and this is the part that amused Rain the most and nearly drove the ghoul to tears- if you rubbed the head while linking hands with your lover, the devil himself would appear and give his blessing for you to be wed.

Rain thinks it's the funniest shit he's ever heard, or maybe it's just the heat fucking with his better sense of judgement, but it's either grab a friend and give a handjob to a statue or go back to lurking in Swiss' likes on his social media pages playing, "When will I find softcore porn?" and honestly, as much as he likes seeing the multi-ghoul be horny on main, he knows a fiery little demon who would get a kick out of something like this.

He considers texting Dew about the statue, but the idea of missing the look on the hybrid's face when he hears the words, "Giant Dick" is not something he can readily pass up.

Ultimately, it isn't that hard to find him either, Dew stays in one of two places when it's hot as balls outside; The abbey's indoor pool -which Rain knows he can't be in, because EVERYONE is in there right now, and Dew likes it all to himself- or the library.

It's surprising to hear, unless you've met the man himself, but Dew is an avid reader in his downtime.

In fact, in the time that he's resided in the abbey, he's read about a solid third of the books in the library, and has donated quite a few from his own collection over the years.

His room would be overflowing with them if he hadn't purged so many in the last year or so... to make more room for new ones.

Rain is sure it's partly to spite Mountain for having so many plants in their dorm, taking up every available surface that Dew hasn't claimed outright, but neither of them complains when a new fern or book on said fern appears in their room.

They work oddly well together as roommates in that sense.

Their space feels like an even mixture of the both of them, not like when Rain had been stuck rooming with Aether for a year and a half...

If you want to test the strength and boundaries of a friendship, listen to your best friend destroy your shared bathroom after eating two week old meatloaf from the back of the fridge and see how you feel.

Bless him, Aeth's a great guy, Rain loves him like a brother, but goddamn there were times where Rain wanted to throttle him.

You live and you learn.

Stepping through the heavy wooden doors leading into the library -locked in place to avoid another... unfortunate squishing incident- Rain scans the nearly empty room for signs of life, but a cursory perusal of the patrons has him coming up short one white haired, pointed eared devil... which can only mean one thing.

"He's up in the loft." a helpful voice informs him, and when Rain glances over, he sees the librarian sat back in his chair at the front desk, gesturing upwards with his chin for emphasis before returning to his crossword puzzle.

Rain isn't sure whether the man knew he was looking for Dew because of his appearance -having forgone his glamour- or if he simply looked like he wasn't there to study, like the siblings he sees sequestered in a far corner, pouring over a large tome and muttering in tones just above a whisper, but he thanks him anyway and heads for the first set of stairs up to the library's second floor.

There are three tiers to the abbey's library; The first floor, where the siblings of sin attend lectures and study various texts to learn their secrets -or, as he has seen quite a few doing, taking online classes to learn skills that will take them to careers beyond the church-, the second floor where all of the more adult books are kept to avoid any of the young wards of the abbey getting their hands on them, and the third floor, which is barely bigger than your standard storage closet, the loft.

The loft was built well before Rain's time on the surface, and had been meant to be a private office for Sister Imperator, but age and a desire to remain close to the papas had resulted in her room being moved to the first floor instead, and the room itself had fallen into disuse, and thus, when the library underwent a much needed renovation, so, too, did the room upstairs.

That being said, very few of the siblings bother trekking up that far in the library to read, and the narrow, ladder like steps leading up to it are a turn off for most wanting to ascend with an armload of books, but Dew manages it just fine somehow.

Walking with purpose, Rain debates calling up to the ghoul, but remembers that shouting in a library isn't exactly smiled upon, and he can feel the librarian's gaze upon him the moment his mouth opens a bit too quickly.

Thinking better of his initial impulse, Rain instead ascends the ladder and pokes his head up out of the hole in the floor, half expecting to see Dew surrounded by a mountain of books, but what meets his eyes first is, well, Dew's eyes.

He barely contains a yelp as he comes nose to nose with the other ghoul, who's crouched on at the top of the ladder, arms crossed.

"...Hello." he greets, watching Rain compose himself.

"Hi-" Rain starts, "-do you wanna go touch a dick with me?"

"What-"

.

.

.

"-in the merciful fuck is this gorgeous thing doing in a place like this??" Dew cackles, rounding the giant bronze dong, "They sculpted veins and everything! How'd you even find out about this being here, Rainy??"

"The siblings were blabbing about it earlier, and I needed to see it for myself. Had to bring a friend, of course, because apparently it's not just a giant dick-" Rain says, wiggling his fingers, "-it's a magical giant dick, ooo~"

Dew snorts and steps back from the dick, which is, hilariously, just a bit taller than him.

"So what's it do?" he asks, casually leaning on the statue, which stays rooted in place thanks to the flared out base at the bottom, "Aside from looking like some kind of absurdly sized dildo?"

"According to the siblings, if you rub it-" Rain and Dew share a giggle at that, "-if you rub it while holding hands with your lover, Satan himself shows up and, boom, you're married."

"To Satan? Or each other?" Dew questions, seeking clarification, "Also why would the lord of Hell deign to marry two mortals together? It's such a weird concept to begin with, like one of the romance novels I read with the sisters in our book club last year..."

"You're in a book club?" Rain raises an eyebrow, then shakes his head, "Anyway, I just wanted to see if there's any credence to what the siblings were yapping about, and so far it checks out; I mean, I'm standing in front of a giant dick... and a bronze statue of a penis."

"Oi." Dew swats at him halfheartedly, "Jerk."

Rain stretches his arms and cracks his fists dramatically, "I intend to."

"You're an idiot..." the other huffs, sounding almost fond, "So why'd you bring me along?"

"Well, you know it takes two..." Rain smirks, "...and plus, we can find out if it's actually magic or not. You and I aren't a couple though, so it would probably be a net zero in terms of results, but it'd still make for a funny story though, and I know the others would be jealous that we got to the giant dick first..."

"Swiss is gonna be so mad when he finds out we found it before him." Dew agrees, nodding, "Okay, I'll bite."

"You really shouldn't use your teeth for something like this, it's a sensitive area." Rain teases, then extends his hand to Dew, "Wanna rub one out with me?"

Dew scoffs and links his hand with Rain's.

"Sure, why not? Worst case scenario, someone's gonna jump out with a camera and go, 'HA!' so might as well get the show on the road."

Approaching the statue together this time, the pair slaps their free hands down on the head and, with another fit on laughter successfully held in by the virtue of NOT making eye contact with each other -"Don't look at me during." Dew whispers, almost breaking Rain's concentration- ...nothing happens.

"Well, that was kind of lackluster." Rain comments, letting his hand drop down at his side, "I was hoping it would at least, like, glow or something, but-"

"Hear me out." Dew says suddenly, turning to Rain, "What if we... told the dick we're a couple?"

"Huh?"

"Magic and shit is all about intent, yeah? But it's also about respect, sort of." Dew explains, "We're not being serious enough about all of this, so the dick is... being a dick."

"Okay..." Rain draws his mouth into a line and gives the statue a thoughtful look before turning back to Dew, "You wanna try tricking the dick?"

"I want to trick the dick... for science." he says, holding his index finger up like a nerd emphasize his point, "Just to see if it actually works."

Rain sets his hand back on the dick, his other hand still holding onto Dew's, "And if it does work? What then? What do you think magical penis marriage entails?"

"You're the one who asked me to come." Dew points out, placing his hand back on the statue, "You tell me, shark nuts."

A pause.

"Do sharks even have nuts?" he wonders aloud, and Rain smirks, "What?"

"I mean, I do." he says and Dew rolls his eyes, "I thought you would know a lot about sharks seeing as you have that big ass marine biology textbook I gave you for your birthday last year."

"Hey, I do, I-"

Before Dew can finish, the ground begins to shake beneath their feet and the two find themselves clinging to one another to stay upright.

"What the fuck?!" Dew shouts, holding onto Rain for dear life, "Earthquake?!"

Rain stumbles forward, taking Dew with him a few steps before regaining his footing, "It's been a bit since we've had one this intense... We should get under cover before shit starts falling down!"

However, just as the duo is about the slide under a nearby table, the shaking stops and-

"...Uh, Rain, does the dick look... bigger to you?"

Rain makes a face.

"This isn't the time to-Oh my fucking god it is."

Standing nearly twice as tall as it was before, the bronze statue now looks over the both of them, its mighty girth casting a shadow from where it now blocks the light coming in from the windows.

An eerie glow emanates from the tip, which is now leaking... something.

Rain hopes it's just water.

"I think-" Dew starts, than yelps, "Ow!"

"What's wr-Ouch!" Rain winces as the skin around his ring finger begins to burn, strange runes scratching into his flesh, "What the fuck..."

"Thou hast attempted to invoke the ancient rites dishonestly, and are justly punished." a voice as loud as thunder booms, "May these binds remind you daily of your new found commitment... to each other."

And then, before either of them have the time to process what has happened, the ground shakes once more, and the statue... recedes.

Rain stares at the now flaccid statue, at the puddle of mystery liquid on the floor, and the markings on his ring finger.

"...Rain."

"...Yes, Dew?"

"...What the fuck."

.

.

.

In spite of the odd, borderline drug trippy experience with the dick, somehow, some way, the pair manages to put it from their minds by the evening.

The more they try to dwell on it, the hazier and more dreamlike the situation becomes, until it becomes just another nagging feeling that they forgot something important... and then, by midnight, it's as if nothing happened at all.

Rain's memory of overhearing the rumor is replaced with him scrolling on his phone in bed, and Dew's brings him back to the library, to the book he'd left sitting on the beanbag chair he finds himself slouching into now.

Absentmindedly, Rain fidgets with the silver band on his ring finger, plainer than anything he'd buy for himself, but, for some reason, it feels too... special... to want to take it off.

Dew does similarly with the gold band on his own hand, never one to wear jewelry like this, he slides it down his finger and feels a pang of... something... in his chest that makes him slot it back into place, feeling almost guilty for trying to remove it in the first place.

Overall, nothing feels different to either of them, but when Dew goes to his room and is met with a confused, half awake Mountain mumbling something along the lines of, "Did you leave something behind?" he can't help but ask what the tall man means.

"You must really be tired..." Mountain yawns, "You and Rain are in the room across the hall, remember? C'mon, let's get you back to your husband."

"My what now-"

At the same time, Rain finds himself staring at his phone screen, having remembered taking a picture of an interesting bird the day before, he'd wanted to find and edit the photo before posting it online, but now he's...

"Rain!" Dew calls to him in a panic, entering the room and all but slamming the door shut, "Mountain said-"

"-you may now kiss the groom."

Rain's eye twitches as he looks up from the video he'd found, "...Dew?"

"...Yeah, Rain?"

"...What the fuck."

What the fuck indeed.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The first thing to say about the hate and scorn currently directed at the mainstream US media is that they worked hard to earn it. They’ve done so by failing, repeatedly, determinedly, spectacularly to do their job, which is to maintain their independence, inform the electorate, and speak truth to power. While the left has long had reasons to dismiss centrist media, and the right has loathed it most when it did do its job well, the moderates who are furious at it now seem to be something new – and a host of former editors, media experts and independent journalists have been going after them hard this summer.

Longtime journalist James Fallows declares that three institutions – the Republican party, the supreme court, and the mainstream political press – “have catastrophically failed to ‘meet the moment’ under pressure of [the] Trump era”. Centrist political reformer and columnist Norm Ornstein states that these news institutions “have had no reflection, no willingness to think through how irresponsible and reckless so much of our mainstream press and so many of our journalists have been and continue to be”.

Most voters, he says, “have no clue what a second Trump term would actually be like. Instead, we get the same insipid focus on the horse race and the polls, while normalizing abnormal behavior and treating this like a typical presidential election, not one that is an existential threat to democracy.”

Lamenting the state of the media recently on X, Jeff Jarvis, another former editor and newspaper columnist, said: “What ‘press’? The broken and vindictive Times? The newly Murdochian Post? Hedge-fund newspaper husks? Rudderless CNN or NPR? Murdoch’s fascist media?”

These critics are responding to how the behemoths of the industry seem intent on bending the facts to fit their frameworks and agendas. In pursuit of clickbait content centered on conflicts and personalities, they follow each other into informational stampedes and confirmation bubbles.

They pursue the appearance of fairness and balance by treating the true and the false, the normal and the outrageous, as equally valid and by normalizing Republicans, especially Donald Trump, whose gibberish gets translated into English and whose past crimes and present-day lies and threats get glossed over. They neglect, again and again, important stories with real consequences. This is not entirely new – in a scathing analysis of 2016 election coverage, the Columbia Journalism Review noted that “in just six days, The New York Times ran as many cover stories about Hillary Clinton’s emails as they did about all policy issues combined in the 69 days leading up to the election” – but it’s gotten worse, and a lot of insiders have gotten sick of it.

In July, ordinary people on social media decided to share information about the rightwing Project 2025 and did a superb job of raising public awareness about it, while the press obsessed about Joe Biden’s age and health. NBC did report on this grassroots education effort, but did so using the “both sides are equally valid” framework often deployed by mainstream media, saying the agenda is “championed by some creators as a guide to less government oversight and slammed by others as a road map to an authoritarian takeover of America”. There is no valid case it brings less government oversight.

In an even more outrageous case, the New York Times ran a story comparing the Democratic and Republican plans to increase the housing supply – which treated Trump’s plans for mass deportation of undocumented immigrants as just another housing-supply strategy that might work or might not. (That it would create massive human rights violations and likely lead to huge civil disturbances was one overlooked factor, though the fact that some of these immigrants are key to the building trades was mentioned.)

Other stories of pressing concern are either picked up and dropped or just neglected overall, as with Trump’s threats to dismantle a huge portion of the climate legislation that is both the Biden administration’s signal achievement and crucial for the fate of the planet. The Washington Post editorial board did offer this risibly feeble critique on 17 August: “It would no doubt be better for the climate if the US president acknowledged the reality of global warming – rather than calling it a scam, as Mr Trump has.”

While the press blamed Biden for failing to communicate his achievements, which is part of his job, it’s their whole job to do so. The Climate Jobs National Resource Center reports that the Inflation Reduction Act has created “a combined potential of over $2tn in investment, 1,091,966 megawatts of clean power, and approximately 3,947,670 jobs”, but few Americans have any sense of what the bill has achieved or even that the economy is by many measures strong.

Last winter, the New York Times columnist Paul Krugman, who has a Nobel prize in economics, told Greg Sargent on the latter’s Daily Blast podcast that when he writes positive pieces about the Biden economy, his editor asks “don’t you want to qualify” it; “aren’t people upset by X, Y and Z and shouldn’t you be acknowledging that?”

Meanwhile in an accusatory piece about Kamala Harris headlined When your opponent calls you ‘communist,’ maybe don’t propose price controls?, a Washington Post columnist declares in another case of bothsiderism: “Voters want to blame someone for high grocery bills, and the presidential candidates have apparently decided the choices are either the Biden administration or corporate greed. Harris has chosen the latter.” The evidence that corporations have jacked up prices and are reaping huge profits is easy to find, but facts don’t matter much in this kind of opining.

It’s hard to gloat over the decline of these dinosaurs of American media, when a free press and a well-informed electorate are both crucial to democracy. The alternatives to the major news outlets simply don’t reach enough readers and listeners, though the non-profit investigative outfit ProPublica and progressive magazines such as the New Republic and Mother Jones, are doing a lot of the best reporting and commentary.

Earlier this year, when Alabama senator Katie Britt gave her loopy rebuttal to Biden’s State of the Union address, it was an independent journalist, Jonathan Katz, who broke the story on TikTok that her claims about a victim of sex trafficking contained significant falsehoods. The big news outlets picked up the scoop from him, making me wonder what their staffs of hundreds were doing that night.

A host of brilliant journalists young and old, have started independent newsletters, covering tech, the state of the media, politics, climate, reproductive rights and virtually everything else, but their reach is too modest to make them a replacement for the big newspapers and networks. The great exception might be historian Heather Cox Richardson, whose newsletter and Facebook followers give her a readership not much smaller than that of the Washington Post. The tremendous success of her sober, historically grounded (and footnoted!) news summaries and reflections bespeaks a hunger for real news.

Rebecca Solnit is a Guardian US columnist. She is the author of Orwell’s Roses and co-editor with Thelma Young Lutunatabua of the climate anthology Not Too Late: Changing the Climate Story from Despair to Possibility

[imthepunchlord]

Zodiac Heroes Poll: Snake

Another idea I kinda want to play around with and plan for is the chaos of Fu only having the Chinese Zodiac and he releases them all to spite and deal with HM, cause how dare he misuse a Miraculous.

Only there are 12 heroes and a struggle to decide who gets what as possibilities are endless. I have tried and just kept going back and forth and constantly changed my mind.

So for fun, let's do them in polls! I'll be doing three a week, and provide links to other polls as they get released.

Choose very carefully, as each Zodiac will have a variety of potential characters to use it. What character wins in this poll is what they get and that option is removed from future polls.

Mouse, Ox, Tiger, Rabbit, Dragon, Horse, Goat, Monkey, Rooster, Dog, Pig

Snake Miraculous has the power Recoil, playing the lyre, selectively rewind time, be it the actual flow of time (max 9 days, though it's an instant detransformation and Sass is going to be out for a week), rewinding an object or target back, or even be a means of healing, recoiling someone back to their prior state of health.

Sass is defined by his patience and wisdom. He keeps an open mind to possibilities, and can often give vague advise, he would rather see what choices humans make and how they live with the consequences. He's probably the most morally gray kwami, leaning for the greater good, but can also understand less ideal responses.

[phoenixtakaramono]

OPERATION BABYLON - PART VI

aka the butchlander sugar baby AU.

We have the first reader interactive poll for this threadfic! I recommend reading the update to the end (with a detailed breakdown of each choice) before making your decision.

Tumblr Navigation (note I have not shared the prologue here with its premise setup; I’ve only started sharing this twitter threadfic on tumblr starting from the 2nd 🔞 scene): I | II | III | IV | V | VI

Update Schedule: weekly/ biweekly

(You can read the rest of the threadfic update here!)

Keep in mind, all of my AU Butchlander threadfics on Twitter are the unpolished first draft versions of what’ll eventually be polished up into long fics on AO3 under the Shock and Awe series. So you may regard this threadfic as an experimental first prototype and exclusive preview whose contents may or may not be changed in the future final draft version. We’re just loosely playing around with ideas and concepts for now!

If you don’t have a Twitter account, screenshots are provided below the line break so you can read this update on Tumblr as well:

A more-in-depth breakdown of the choices:

A) Tell the truth. To avoid suspicion, Billy lays low and comes up with an excuse that he's booked for the whole day plays hard to get. It'll lead to Homelander running into "William out on a date" with another Supe—and a jealous Homelander running interference lol and sabotaging it, potentially leading to a "private tour" at The Seven meeting room and some 🔞 inappropriate office s*x ;) the setting depends if I decide to have it as a Vought HQ gala event or a Capes for Christ baptism

The payoff: a lead into the investigation The con: Billy's relationship with one of his long-time regulars is irreversibly damaged (it'll come bite him in the arse much later in the threadfic)

B) Homelander wants to be his sugar daddy. So Billy wants to test that and see if he can get our caped crusader to unknowingly fund his little CIA operation by exaggerating his rent and monthly overhead costs to tug at the hero's supposed generous philanthropist heartstrings. It'll lead to the sugar baby/daddy relationship being developed more aka a lil à la Pretty Woman-styled "shopping spree" with Homelander raining gifts on Billy's head say bye bye to Billy's CIA-assigned base, potentially leading to a 🔞 scene for "William to show him his gratitude"

The payoff: a bigger base and money for a more in-depth investigation The con: Homelander will lowkey stalk monitor him, so it'll be harder to keep his covert activities a secret from him or sneak out

C) The cute "Waiting for you :)" type of option. Billy doubles down on the act and reforms himself into Homelander's dream lover. It's tooth-rotting romantic fluff and flirty back-and-forth banter between them, but keep in mind what'll happen when Homelander inevitably realizes the "William who's literally almost perfect in every way and is too good to be true" isn't actually real much much much later as a direct consequence of this early choice.

The payoff: a happy Homelander (speedrun gaining his trust and affection by taking our bbg on dates <3) The con: the future fallout (and reconciliation) will be much more dramatic

Choose your poison! You can also vote on Twitter (link to the poll). I will add the final results together, and we’ll see which story route comes out on top.

A/N: A bit of Billy’s POV as we begin to pull back the curtains. How deep does this rabbithole of deception go? Far. Very far. Did y'all see the twist with Popclaw? Didn't expect that, did ya?

I am, by the way, open to ⚠️🔞 reader suggestions~. I make no promises that I’ll write it, but this threadfic is meant as a shameless excuse to write 🔞 butchlander spice, haha, and provide y’all some content during our butchlander drought. I have one reader suggestion thus far, and it involves candle wax. 🕯️

[violetsaffron5]

In Another Life (5)

Chapter 4 • series masterlist

5 | This Life

Pairing: Gojo x f!Reader and Geto x f!Reader

Satoru comes home and a decision is made

Words: 2.3k

cw: descriptions of panic attack/anxiety

AN: Thank you to everyone who has liked and reblogged this little series, the love means so much, and is really appreciated!

AN2.0: The ending was actually voted on by my twitter followers. Every once in a while I'll post an obscure poll asking something incredibly vague. In this case, I asked people to vote on 1 or 2, and then did a wheel picker to choose if Gojo or Geto was the one who won. So the choice was randomly selected because I couldn't choose.

Taglist • Ao3 • Discord 18+ • Social Media • Series Masterlists

Suguru is the boy who said he loved you in high school. You’re the girl who kissed him and said you love him too.

He’s the boy who defected, killed a village full of people, and you’re the girl who ran to his shattered best friend seeking comfort.

He’s the man who betrayed everything he stood for, you’re the woman who betrayed her betrothed.

Those thoughts stay with you as you enter your penthouse apartment, walk to your room, and stare blankly at your bed. A place that holds so many happy memories from the past several years.

Your mind races with memories of all of the intimate moments you’ve shared with one another in this spot. The times you’ve made love, the times of jealousy or anger - no matter what it’s been, the two of you have always been brought back to one another.

Waking up each day next to Satoru, the soft morning kisses he would place on your lips, running his nose up and down the length of yours until you woke up. 

Building a little fort with your sheets to hide from the golden rays of the early morning sun, giggling about something silly he said, or swapping stories about your students and how proud you are of them.

There are so many things over the past several weeks that could have been handled differently since you received the letter. You could have chosen to ignore it, stay in your blissful life with your fiancé, and have a wonderful wedding ceremony, and life together.

But you didn’t, and now you have to face the consequences of your actions.

With a heavy sigh, you tear your eyes away from the bed and walk into the large bathroom, turning on the shower. There’s an overwhelming desire to wash away the events of what happened tonight.

What you saw.

What you didn’t stop.

The water is warm, cascading down your back as you lean your head against the cool tile of the shower wall.

Other thoughts plague your mind as well; how you’ve missed Suguru more than you’ve let yourself admit these past several years. How your heart fluttered when you went to visit him in his temple.

How he killed an innocent man tonight without a second thought.

Thoughts of how even then, you’re not afraid of Suguru like you should be. How your heart still yearns to be by his side even after tonight.

Time is supposed to heal all wounds - that’s what you’re told at least. But this is more than that.

It’s a hurt in the deepest parts of your soul that doesn’t seem like it’s ever going to go away. No matter how much time you’ve given it. No matter the new love you’ve found.

It’s clear the universe isn’t planning to give you more time to make your decision and sort out your feelings as you sense Satoru walking into your apartment after having been gone for so long.

Of course, he would come home tonight of all nights. When you need to be alone. To think.

You know the reason why he chose to come back tonight. There’s no way he doesn’t know, no way Tokyo Tech wasn’t dispatched to the scene to investigate. Your residuals would have been present, and you’ll have a myriad of questions to answer.

You’ll easily lose your job, the life you have.

Panic begins to set in again and you gasp for air, running your hands over your face and turning the water colder to help try and mitigate the anxiety coursing through your veins.

Before you’ve realized he’s undressed and joined you in the shower, you feel Satoru gently wrap his arms around your waist, pressing his forehead to the back of your head, pulling himself close to you.

You sniffle, taking deep shaky breaths before you’re able to speak, “Satoru, I-”

“Shhh,” He hums quietly next to your ear before pressing kisses to your shoulder, neck, and back.

Satoru turns you around, pressing his soft lips to yours, letting his fingers gently graze over the still peaks of your nipples before you pull away abruptly. He furrows his brows, looking over your features quickly.

“Satoru, I-” Your voice is shaky, hoarse from crying, “I’m a mess right now.”

“I know,” He answers quietly, thumb tracing your jaw and lips, moving hair away from your face, “We’ll figure it out. All of it.”

Your heart breaks at his words, knowing he chose to come home to you despite your recent decisions and betrayals.

Because Satoru does love you. You gave him a life he never thought possible, a love he never thought possible because of who and what he is.

Several tears well in your eyes as he leans down and kisses you again. This time you let him, because this is how he’s always shown his love for you, and because you do love him too.

His hands run down your sides, squeezing your ass before lifting you, carrying you out of the shower, and laying you on the bed gently.

You leave your arms wrapped around his neck while he focuses on massaging your waist, hips, and thighs. It takes hardly anything at all for Satoru’s touch to work its magic.

No matter your mood, how upset or angry, the slightest touch of his nimble fingers always sends a shiver down your spine and straight to your core.

He kisses a few spots along your jaw before turning your head, slotting his lips between your own, tongue swiping along your bottom lip for access - you grant it, you always have.

Before long, you’re on top of him, rocking your hips as he watches you in pure awe, appreciation, and adoration.

Taking a deep breath, he slowly moves his hands around your body, feeling every inch of exposed skin in his large hands before leaning up, ghosting his lips against your neck, shoulders, and chest, his thumbs gently brushing past your hardened nipples.

You gasp when he pinches them between his fingers harder than expected and he watches, drinking you in like it’s the first time all over again.

He alternates, between pinching and licking each of your breasts as you continue to leisurely rock your hips against him. The two of you have made love before, but never like this.

It’s beautiful and slow, sensual in a way you’ve never experienced with him before. Like he’s giving you a part of himself that he’s never shown before. You’re speaking with your bodies, listening to each other’s heartbeats and labored breaths each time you take each other in.

Leaning back on one arm, he grabs your hip with the other, helping you move just slightly faster as his gaze trails down to where you’re connected; butterflies form in your stomach as he drags his knuckle over your abdomen, soaking in the sight of you, encircling your clit. 

Your eyes are locked together, half-lidded, full of love, but he doesn’t dare break away, even as he tenderly presses his lips to yours, expressions drunk with desire and gratification for one another.

You press your foreheads together, sharing breaths, bodies glistening in sweat, hips flowing and ebbing into one another. You thread your fingers through his soft pale hair, as he thrusts his hips, diving deeper.

Your thighs begin to tremble, and he groans when you clench around him and he knows you're close, rolling his hips until he’s hitting the spot that has you whimpering into him with each thrust.

“Satoru,” you murmur, “I’m s-so close.”

He takes a deep breath, sharpening his movements, “Me too, baby.”

The intimate exchange is enough to push you both over the edge, unraveling into each other’s arms at the same time. He peppers your face with little kisses as he pulls out with a wince, rolling over and pulling you into his chest.

“I used to daydream about this,” Satoru admits quietly, holding you close, like he never wants to let go, “About being with you.”

“Oh,” You answer surprised, “I had no idea.”

Satoru chuckles, lacing his fingers with yours, “I never told you or anyone, really. Never thought I would need to.”

You take in his words as the two of you lay in comfortable silence, listening to each other's heartbeats and shallow breaths until you feel the twitching of Satoru’s hand, indicating he’s fallen asleep.

Satoru breaths slowly, and steadily as you watch his soft, snow-like lashes fluttering against his cheeks. You’ll always be grateful for the love you’ve shared, and the time you’ve been able to spend together.

You know what life with him will be like. Safe, committed, filled with love, laughter, and adventure. The letter told you precisely what to expect. A beautiful life anyone would dream of with a man who has done nothing but love you through all of your ups and downs.

But the letter never mentioned Suguru. What came of him, where did he go?

You swallow thickly because deep down, in the depths of your heart, you know. And the thought brings tears to the corner of your eyes that you quickly and quietly wipe away.

If you and Satoru were able to have such a beautiful life together, Suguru didn’t make it.

Did he try to bring the world to its knees, to have a world where Sorcerers are no longer living in plain sight but are the only ones remaining?

You don’t know and that hurts more than anything.

But you can.

2017 

You’re back in a place you haven’t been to or seen in years. A place that used to be a second home.

You’re watching from a distance as Suguru declares war on Kyoto and Shinjuku. A decision you tried your hardest to talk him out of, only to land on deaf ears.

Satoru stands listening, but you can feel his gaze shift to you. He’s changed his look. No longer wearing the little black sunglasses you used to love on him, but rather choosing to cover his eyes with white bandages.

You wonder what the reason for the change was but know you’ll never get the pleasure of finding out.

“You’re both going to die,” Satoru says, just loud enough for you to hear him once Suguru turns his back to the crowd that’s gathered. “You do realize that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” You answer quietly, pursing your lips and nodding your head, taking several steps toward him.

Satoru stays quiet, but you can feel the intensity of his eyes on you. Not with hatred, but a longing for understanding, on why you left and chose Suguru, a criminal, a murderer, over him.

“It was always going to be him,” You say just as Satoru opens his mouth to speak. “From the moment I saw the envelope, the moment I read what was said- I,” you take a breath, trying to find the right words, “I’m sorry. I never apologized to you for leaving, and I just want it to be known now. Before all of this comes to an end.”

The last night you spent with Satoru, you made beautiful love, telling each other how much you mean to one another and showing it in a way you never had before, but once he fell asleep, you crawled out of his grasp leaving behind the life you’ve created and everything you stood for.

After packing a bag, you left your engagement ring and the letter on your nightstand, hoping it would serve to answer his questions. On why you had been acting strangely, why things had been so difficult for you, and ultimately why you left.

Because you didn’t have the courage to tell him on your own.

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Satoru chuckles, thumb scratching his eyebrow as he sighs heavily. “Do you regret leaving behind the life we were building?”

Satoru questioned if the letter was really from yourself, or if it was an elaborate plan to lead you astray until he spent some time inspecting the letter. There were traces of residual energy that looked like yours, just older, along with another sorcerer he didn’t recognize.

What he didn’t expect was to find his own.

And the realization dawned on him that despite the love the two of you shared, your hurt would never go away, no matter how hard he fought to get you back.

So he let you go.

“It was a hard adjustment at first. Having to set aside the morals and values I held so close to me- that we shared- but it got easier. I’ve laid awake at night for hours wondering this same exact thing but I can never bring myself to regret choosing Suguru.”

Taking a deep breath, you take a few steps toward Satoru. You know he won’t harm you and that he’ll have his infinity off. He watches from beneath his bandages and you find yourself wishing you could see his eyes one last time while you press a tender kiss to his cheek, “Goodbye, Satoru.”

You give him a wistful smile before walking away to join Suguru’s side, knowing the next time you see your ex-fiance, a man you once loved, it’ll be your last.

Satoru watches as you make your way back to Suguru, who offers his hand, helping you climb the back of his curse before taking off, flying high in the sky. You know Satoru can see you from the distance and you can just make out his figure below as you give him one last tender smile.

Life with Satoru would have been grand and adventurous. He wouldn’t let any moment between the two of you go dull. You’ve loved him and you still do.

After you left, you found yourself wondering what life would have been like if you stayed. Would you have found yourself writing the same letter to send to your past? Would you have moved on with less regret knowing you put your past behind you and looking to the future?

You’ll never know.

All you can do now is accept your choices and spend as much time with Suguru as possible before your inevitable demise.

You’ll spend your last remaining moments taking your girls shopping and to Takeshita Street to get crepes like they want. Order pizza, watch TV, holding the little family you chose close each and every night.

There’s only one thing you’re certain of during these times:

You would make the same choices all over again if it led you here.

@s-witch-bitch @watyousayin @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @ritsatoru @faewithsnakes @lex-dear @hvziers @babybae-shisui @saiewithakatana @yihona-san06 @shartnart1 @lilith412426 @ambersea7 @ikilledsparky2 @creolequeen11210 @ichigojamjam @simpfully-heartbroken @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @shan-nein @witchbybirth @myabae @lilacsinjuly @mshope16

[reasonsforhope]

"If I wanted to convince you of the reality of human progress, of the fact that we as a species have advanced materially, morally, and politically over our time on this planet, I could quote you chapter and verse from a thick stack of development statistics.

I could tell you that a little more than 200 years ago, nearly half of all children born died before they reached their 15th birthday, and that today it’s less than 5 percent globally. I could tell you that in pre-industrial times, starvation was a constant specter and life expectancy was in the 30s at best. [Note: This is average life expectancy, old people did still exist in olden times] I could tell you that at the dawn of the 19th century, barely more than one person in 10 was literate, while today that ratio has been nearly reversed. I could tell you that today is, on average, the best time to be alive in human history.

But that doesn’t mean you’ll be convinced.

In one 2017 Pew poll, a plurality of Americans — people who, perhaps more than anywhere else, are heirs to the benefits of centuries of material and political progress — reported that life was better 50 years ago than it is today. A 2015 survey of thousands of adults in nine rich countries found that 10 percent or fewer believed that the world was getting better. On the internet, a strange nostalgia persists for the supposedly better times before industrialization, when ordinary people supposedly worked less and life was allegedly simpler and healthier. (They didn’t and it wasn’t.)

Looking backward, we imagine a halcyon past that never was; looking forward, it seems to many as if, in the words of young environmental activist Greta Thunberg, “the world is getting more and more grim every day.”

So it’s boom times for doom times. But the apocalyptic mindset that has gripped so many of us not only understates how far we’ve come, but how much further we can still go. The real story of progress today is its remarkable expansion to the rest of the world in recent decades. In 1950, life expectancy in Africa was just 40; today, it’s past 62. Meanwhile more than 1 billion people have moved out of extreme poverty since 1990 alone.

But there’s more to do — much more. That hundreds of millions of people still go without the benefit of electricity or live in states still racked by violence and injustice isn’t so much an indictment of progress as it is an indication that there is still more low-hanging fruit to harvest.

The world hasn’t become a better place for nearly everyone who lives on it because we wished it so. The astounding economic and technological progress made over the past 200 years has been the result of deliberate policies, a drive to invent and innovate, one advance building upon another. And as our material condition improved, so, for the most part, did our morals and politics — not as a side effect, but as a direct consequence. It’s simply easier to be good when the world isn’t zero-sum.

Which isn’t to say that the record of progress is one of unending wins. For every problem it solved — the lack of usable energy in the pre-fossil fuel days, for instance — it often created a new one, like climate change. But just as a primary way climate change is being addressed is through innovation that has drastically reduced the price of clean energy, so progress tends to be the best route to solving the problems that progress itself can create.

The biggest danger we face today, if we care about actually making the future a more perfect place, isn’t that industrial civilization will choke on its own exhaust or that democracy will crumble or that AI will rise up and overthrow us all. It’s that we will cease believing in the one force that raised humanity out of tens of thousands of years of general misery: the very idea of progress.

Changing Humanity's "Normal" Forever

Progress may be about where we’re going, but it’s impossible to understand without returning to where we’ve been. So let’s take a trip back to the foreign country that was the early years of the 19th century.

In 1820, according to data compiled by the historian Michail Moatsos, about three-quarters of the world’s population earned so little that they could not afford even a tiny living space, some heat and, hopefully, enough food to stave off malnutrition.

It was a state that we would now call “extreme poverty,” except that for most people back then, it wasn’t extreme — it was simply life.

What matters here for the story of progress isn’t the fact that the overwhelming majority of humankind lived in destitution. It’s that this was the norm, and had been the norm since essentially… forever. Poverty, illiteracy, premature death — these weren’t problems, as we would come to define them in our time. They were simply the background reality of being human, as largely unchangeable as birth and death itself...

Between 10,000 BCE and 1700, the average global population growth rate was just 0.04 percent per year. And that wasn’t because human beings weren’t having babies. They were simply dying, in great numbers: at birth, giving birth, in childhood from now-preventable diseases, and in young adulthood from now-preventable wars and violence.

It was only with the progress of industrialization that we broke out of [this long cycle], producing enough food to feed the mounting billions, enough scientific breakthroughs to conquer old killers like smallpox and the measles, and enough political advances to dwindle violent death.

Between 1800 and today, our numbers grew from around 1 billion to 8 billion. And that 8 billion aren’t just healthier, richer, and better educated. On average, they can expect to live more than twice as long. The writer Steven Johnson has called this achievement humanity’s “extra life” — but that extra isn’t just the decades that have been added to our lifespans. It’s the extra people that have been added to our numbers. I’m probably one of them, and you probably are too...

The progress we’ve earned has hardly been uninterrupted or perfectly distributed... [But] once we could prove in practice that the lot of humanity didn’t have to be hand-to-mouth existence, we could see that progress could continue to expand.

Current Progress "Flows Overwhelmingly" to the Developing World

The long twentieth century came late to the Global South, but it did get there. Between 1960 and today, India and China, together home to nearly one in every three people alive today, have seen life expectancy rise from 45 to 70 and 33 to 78, respectively. Per-capita GDP over those years rose some 2,600 percent for India and an astounding 13,400 percent for China, with the latter lifting an estimated 800 million people out of extreme poverty.

In the poorer countries of sub-Saharan Africa, progress has been slower and later, but shouldn’t be underestimated. When we see the drastic decline in child mortality — which has fallen since 1990 from 18.1 percent of all children in that region to 7.4 percent in 2021 — or the more than 20 million measles deaths that have been prevented since 2000 in Africa alone, this is progress continuing to happen now, with the benefits overwhelmingly flowing to the poorest among us.

Vanishing Autocracies

In 1800, according to Our World in Data, zero — none, nada, zip — people lived in what we would now classify as a liberal democracy. Just 22 million people — about 2 percent of the global population — lived in what the site classifies as “electoral autocracies,” meaning that what democracy they had was limited, and limited to a subset of the population.

One hundred years later, things weren’t much better — there were actual liberal democracies, but fewer than 1 percent of the world’s population lived in them...

Today just 2 billion people live in countries that are classified as closed autocracies — relatively few legal rights, no real electoral democracy — and most of them are in China...

Expanding Human Rights

All you have to do is roll the clock back a few decades to see the way that rights, on the whole, have been extended wider and wider: to LGBTQ citizens, to people of color, to women. The fundamental fact is that as much as the technological and economic world of 2023 would be unrecognizable to people in 1800, the same is true of the political world.

Nor can you disentangle that political progress from material progress. Take the gradual but definitive emancipation of women. That has been a hard-fought, ongoing battle, chiefly waged by women who saw the inherent unfairness of a male-dominated society.

But it was aided by the invention of labor-saving technologies in the home like washing machines and refrigerators that primarily gave time back to women and made it easier for them to move into the workforce.

These are all examples of the expansion of the circle of moral concern — the enlargement of who and what is considered worthy of respect and rights, from the foundation of the family or tribe all the way to humans around the world (and increasingly non-human animals as well). And it can’t be separated from the hard fact of material progress.

Leaving a Zero-Sum World Behind

The pre-industrial world was a zero-sum one... In a zero-sum world, you advance only at the expense of others, by taking from a set stock, not by adding, which is why wars of conquest between great powers were so common hundreds of years ago, or why homicide between neighbors was so much more frequent in the pre-industrial era.

We have obviously not eradicated violence, including by the state itself. But a society that can produce more of what it needs and wants is one that will be less inclined to fight over what it has, either with its neighbors or with itself. It’s not that the humans of 2023 are necessarily better, more moral, than their ancestors 200 or more years ago. It’s that war and violence cease to make economic sense...

Doomerism, at its heart, may be that exhaustion made manifest.

But just as we need continued advances in clean tech or biosecurity to protect ourselves from some of the existential threats we’ve inadvertently created, so do we need continued progress to address the problems that have been with us always: of want, of freedom, even of mortality. Nothing can dispel the terminal exhaustion that seems endemic in 2023 better than the idea that there is so much more left to do to lift millions out of poverty and misery while protecting the future — which is possible, thanks to the path of the progress we’ve made.

And we’ll know we’re successful if our descendants can one day look back on the present with the same mix of sympathy and relief with which we should look back on our past. How, they’ll wonder, did they ever live like that?"

-via Vox, 3/20/23

Note: I would seriously recommend reading the whole article--because as long as this post is, this is only about half of it! The article contains a lot more information about the hows and whys of human progress, and it also definitely made me cry the first time I read it.

[oc-tournaments]

ROUND TWO - MATCH 7

Linnea vs Patrica Evelar vs Nelson Maxwell

LINNEA: @moons-br

PATRICIA EVELAR: @i-eat-worlds

NELSON MAXWELL: @chimkinnuget

Due to the poll between Linnea and Patricia being a tie, they both have been brought forward into the poll against Nelson. I apologise for the need for this edit, ideally it won't happen again.

VOTE BASED ON THE INFORMATION BELOW CUT!!

Propaganda Content Warnings: Parental death for PATRICIA, missing children, loss of limb for NELSON.

LINNEA:

PROPAGANDA: So she's a bard/warloc dnd character and the dm and me both have an agreement to make her fly so close to the sun that when she falls she /falls/. Her thought of endings are 1. Become a vampire in hopes to learn more. 2. Become a litch in hopes to learn more. And 3. Unwillingly Become a god of forbidden knowledge as a punishment/consequence. We've only had 2 sessions so far and she already has a curse and WILL be getting another one because it's part of her planned arc.

She had daddy issues and slight mommy issues too, she was a stand in parent for her 3 youngest siblings and her older sister is very traumatized and scared while her older brother hates her. She is willing to sell her own souls for more knowledge and is violently protective of her friends.

THEME SONG:

PATRICIA EVELAR:

PROPAGANDA: Pat was born with powers that allowed her to manipulate massive amounts of energy. As a teenager, she accidentally dropped the roof of her house on her family, killing her parents and severely injuring her sister. After experiencing three years at a “School for Powered People” where she was forced to wear suppressant cuffs that permanently damaged her wrists, and messed with her powers development. She was eventually employed by INSUPA, who saw her powers as a means to an end. They sent her on a suicide mention against the advisement of her close friend and father figure Joseph. She died at twenty one in Joseph’s arm from a catastrophic wound to the chest after her own powers tore a hole in her heart.

THEME SONG:

NELSON:

PROPAGANDA: Girlboss was on a camping trip with his son and two daughters, and randomly all three kids disappeared. He spent hours even DAYS searching for them until eventually he spiralled into madness, slowly losing his grip on reality until he lost his head when he was attacked by an animal, killing him instantly. He found himself in an empty void, his head replaced with a tv screen. He also lost a hand during the time searching for his kids.

also he was forced into a marriage and like his wife left him and only gave him weekends with the kids so that's that

THEME SONG: