#i couldnt get one of my own

[glamournessmygod]

[ryssbelle]

Drew a bunch of Marinettes in a bunch of different artists styles it was a lot of fun!!

Artists who's styles I mimicked: @buggachat @hamsternamedmarinette @ladybeug @sabertoothwalrus and @anna-scribbles all epic artists 🤟😎

[intheconfessiondial]

Redraw of the cape post, because that entire concept deserved better than the illustration I gave it.

[ink-the-artist]

so somehow it’s the first time I’ve seen your Dogs illustration from May. it’s very very cool and strongly reminds me of AI-generated art — did you use AI to inspire the shapes? or otherwise influence the piece somehow? interested in your process! very cool.

yes! some more directly reference ai images id generated than others lol

[bones-edition]

POV you're alone in the church and they got a piano

[luck-of-the-drawings]

IMAGINE. working at ur stupid uhhh job or whatever. pulling into your drive way and ready to work on some crazy project in your garage. opening the door to the most unfamiliar silence. did your wife and kid leave for something? could you imagine knocking on your kids door, hardly getting an answer, and opening it to find the splattered remains of your wife across his room your child is scared! hes hardly consolable, in a state of shock and terror. you are too, but youre the adult here. you need to take charge. you need to protect him. you need to do something. you need to do something.

[autism-corner]

5guys

comments on em under the cut <3

quincy:

-Jagged scars bc he did it himself with. a big knife.

-no sixpack. just bc.

-many pubes. other bodyhair is a bit less bc he isnt on T (<- excuse bc i couldnt make it look good /hj)

eiden:

-pretty neat scars. got them done fairly early in his life.

-left his abs bc he really tries to keep em. dont particularly like it but :/ i feel like its part of him idk

-was on T a few years before getting isekai'd, aster helped him find a replacement.

dante:

-NEAT surgery scars. got them done, after his parents died, by top-level surgeons (+ didnt have big boobs to begin with)

-nips+snakebites+eyebrows pierced. hes a royal man he deserves it.

-left his pack bc i think he uses it as a coping mechanism....

-has been on proxy-T since a few months before his parents died.

rei:

-tiny boobs tiny scars. did them himself aswell.

-navel pierced bc hes a slut so ofc.

-no abs. this man does nothing to keep himself in shape.

-not on T but has found some remedy that has permanently lowerd his voice

-main reason for transition was so he could be in hiding better, he really doesnt care for much else.

balde:

-no nips.

-main control panel is in his abdomen bc its easily defendable. distinct connection of panels at the lines where they open bc i didnt want him to have abs and this works <3 + i couldnt figure out a reason behind topsurgery scars other than that <3

-no pubes bc hes a ken doll down there (i forgor)

[moonpaw]

the x reader post was worded so nicely, you shouldn't have had to apologize for anything honestly. x reader fanfic writers (esp the nsfw ones) need to understand it's jarring going into a tag and there's 50 posts of fanfics that are trying to make you imagine you're slobbing on someone's knob. like there's a reason x reader writers have such a bad rep on this website 8'^)))

People put a lot of work into their craft and I can respect that, but yeah the nsfw ones especially get me 😭

If there was a single easy tag, I feel like the rep behind these fics wouldn't be so bad because then people can easily filter out the one tag and move on without any lingering negative feelings, while people who like the genre can go about it in peace as well

[waterfallofspace]

A Game Of Chess

When D/azai starts a game with C/huuya, he wins it. But will round two turn out differently, or will the King claim his Pawn once more?

So the wonderful @onetrickponi requested something from b/sd with ~this post~ as the inspiration.

I decided to go with S/oukoku, so here's a little two-part game of chess, two different situations where this phrase may occur.

Characters: C/huuya, D/azai and A/kutagawa (briefly over the phone) Word Count, Total: 4.8k Part One, Check: 2.3k Part Two, Mate: 2.4k

(CW: Swearing, sexual themes, character with the kink. No technical smut action happens, but it's quite heavily implied!)

~~~ Check ~~~

Ask anyone in the Port Mafia, and they’re sure to agree; Chuuya is a force to be reckoned with. One that, most will add, shouldn’t be reckoned with. And yet, he’s neither the king of the Port Mafia chess army, nor the queen. 

“Instead,” Dazai continues, taking pride in the pronounced groan from the couch next to him. Seems his talents have been wasted preparing mere witty retorts. A long drawn out monologue serves to coax an entirely new type of annoyance. “You’re more of a pawn. A mighty pawn! But, a pawn nonetheless.” 

“Watch it, you may be able to stop gravity manipulation, but you aren’t immune to other forms of violence.” Chuuya growls, hat sliding forward as he springs to his feet. He corrects it with a single hand, the other glove waving in frantic, yet meaningless, patterns. 

“Oh Chuuya, you have something planned? I knew you cared! See, I’ve been planning ways to bring you down a peg,” Dazai pauses to meet Chuuya’s rolling eyes with a wink, “for years now.” 

“What a load of-” 

“And yet, here I was thinking you didn’t care enough to do the same!” He pauses again, feigning hurt with a hand draped over his forehead in a gesture that can only be described as dramatic. A word often associated with the heart-of-gold, soul-of-grey, detective. “But it turns out I was wrong, Chuuya always car-” 

“AHK’SHHaa! Christ.”  

Chuuya cracks a grin behind his fist as the outburst nearly knocks Dazai off the counter he’d placed himself on. An onlooker would assume it was the ferocity of the sternutation, perhaps the volume. It wouldn’t be an unfounded guess. Chuuya’s not exactly one for subtlety, although he’d like to believe he can control them when needed. 

They’d be wrong. 

Being used to gunshots, like he is, the volume was practically nothing. Surprise could be another assumption, though it would once again be incorrect. While Dazai didn’t see it coming, he’s never been one to jump at unforeseen circumstances. It’s simply not his nature. 

And besides- 

“AESHH’ah!” 

-despite seeing Chuuya’s nose twitch, his brows furrow, and hearing the gasp catch in his throat, Dazai’s whole body trembles once more in time with the sneeze. 

“Oh dear, Chuuya will wake the neighbours at this rate!” 

It’s a bluff, and they both know it. A well thought out maneuver, disguised as a simple taunt. Meant to control the situation, a strategic move, like a chess piece gliding across the board.  

“AKSHH’iuh!” Chuuya straightens up, glove still pressed to his nose. There’s a beat of silence, Dazai’s annoyance monologue temporarily paused. He seems at a loss for words, breath coming a little quicker than a moment ago.

Unfortunately Chuuya doesn’t get to revel in it for long, the shift in his sinuses presenting an urgent distraction. “Pass the tissues, would ya?” 

Without a word, Dazai drops from the counter. As his footsteps fade off into the kitchen, Chuuya allows himself a single heady sniffle. As expected, it’s deeply irritating, both in noise and reaction. The itch that’s been taking its time spreading through his face suddenly hones in on his nose, increasing with every shaky breath. 

“AESHHiew! AKZSHH’aa! Oh Christ… hiH– AMFSHH!” 

Using his gloves isn’t exactly what Chuuya had intended, but hell. It’s better than aiming at the floor. Much as he may enjoy Dazai’s reaction to that display, the other detectives don’t deserve such indecencies.

“EMSFHHh!” Not to mention, the improperness of the act is more Dazai’s particular brand of infuriating. “Speaking of the asshole, when is… AEMFSH’ah! mon dieu. When is that bastard gonna get ba-” 

“Talking to yourself, one of the first signs of insanity, Chuuya.” Dazai calls, a smirk dancing across his face as Chuuya jumps.

“The first sign of insanity is- hH’AKZSH’aa!” He manages to duck to the side, wheeling back around with a glare. “Is the fact I’m wasting my breath talking to you.” 

“Oh dear, was that supposed to be a comeback? It lacks a bit of the wit a good retort should possess.” Dazai mocks, a smile dripping of bitter humour crossing his cheeks. “Seems Chuuya’s tongue isn’t quite as fierce as his glare.” And with that, Dazai leans against the wall, a tissue box still in his hand. 

In the time it had taken for him to walk to the supply closet and back, his entire demeanor had shifted. As simple as changing clothes, he’d replaced the off balance vulnerability with a controlled posture of dominance.  

Still trapped behind his hand, Chuuya finds his knees starting to weaken. It was clear what direction this interaction would be taking. While it wasn’t something he’d planned, it was certainly welcome nonetheless. 

“Well are you gonna hand them over or what?” Chuuya replies, a snarl creeping along his lip as his nose threatens to retaliate against the delay. Despite being pressed against the fabric lining his hand, it seems desperate for further relief. 

“Perhaps.” 

“Then hurry up, you bastard. I… hh– I hhhave to… hhAHh–” 

Dazai lunges forward, the movement sudden enough to trigger a fight or flight response. It takes every ounce of Chuuya’s willpower not to lash out as Dazai, in one fluid motion, grabs onto his wrist and pulls it away from his face. 

“Not yet,” Dazai hums, eyes alight. It seems the games have begun; with Chuuya at a deeply itchy disadvantage. Already down his queen by the second move. 

Dazai's been careful to avoid Chuuya’s bare skin, despite his ability working quite easily through clothing. It’s a hint to the nature of the game they’re playing. Each move will be calculated, each touch laced with intention. 

“aEHh–” Chuuya manages to starve it off with a sharp exhale, his body rapidly beginning to tremble as the power seeps from his veins into Dazai’s grip.

It’s not an entirely unpleasant feeling, some wouldn’t even notice. It’s not like the action of removing the gift has a sensation, it’s more… the lack of sensation as the power drains away. To someone like Chuuya, who almost constantly maintains a slight flow of their gift, it’s hard to miss. 

“Not as vocal,” comes the next command, Dazai’s grip loosening enough for one finger to trail down Chuuya’s arm, reaching the bare skin between his sleeve and his glove. The touch is cold, a gasp nearly escaping Chuuya’s tightened lips. 

“It’s nhehh– not gonna be easy,” Chuuya lets his eyes shut for just a second, savouring the sweet relief that the false depiction of privacy offers. The promise that when they open again, he’ll be free to release every itch. 

Dazai breaks the spell in a single move, the relief quickly replaced with overwhelming irritation. Chuuya’s eyes fall open in time with his mouth as he finds Dazai’s chocolate gaze awaiting his arrival. Nose still pressed against his, the smirk Dazai’s wearing is felt, more than seen. 

“My my, Chuuya. Your nose is so warm!” Dazai coos, leaning back to demonstrate by running a finger against his own nose, then back over to Chuuya’s. Biting his lip is the only way Chuuya keeps from moaning. Even Dazai touching his own nose seems to tickle. 

“hiEHh– D-Dazai…” 

“And,” Dazai continues, Chuuya’s breath catching in his throat. “It’s practically quivering. Chuuya must need to sneeze something awful. I wonder what could be causing this? Hmm, let’s see…” 

Trailing off, Dazai lets his eyes scan the room. It’s for dramatic effect, he already knows. There’s no doubt he’s known since the moment Chuuya walked in. It’s unlikely he planned for it, considering the earlier reaction, but there’s no question he caught on fast. 

The distraction gives Chuuya enough time to scrunch his nose, a desperate attempt to satiate the ever deepening urge. The action has quite the opposite effect however, a moan slipping past Chuuya’s tongue before he can catch it. 

“What was that, Chuuya?” Dazai hums, the action blowing a soft wind against Chuuya’s nose. It nearly tips the scales, only a frantic clench of the jaw allows him to control the burning need. His nostrils flare greedily, aching for another touch, something to give them the ability to overpower his will. 

“I’m… I’m gohhnna sneeze-” Chuuya manages to gasp out, his lips parting in a snarl, breath starting to come faster, chest beginning to tighten with his eyes–

“Did I say you could?” 

And just like that, the reaction stalls. A tear slides down his cheek, Chuuya nearly whining as Dazai’s cold touch wipes it away, a finger brushing the bridge of his nose. It feels as if his entire face is lit up, the flush on the tips of his ears beginning to match his nose. 

“I dohh… don’t think I… I caahhh– hEDT!  I can’t…” More stutters fall out, each word only delaying the inevitable. The sneeze is coming, and despite his best efforts, Chuuya knows there’s no fighting it. Not anymore. 

“No.” 

And still, somehow, despite the overwhelming desire, the unavoidable trembling, the greedy flaring, Chuuya feels his teeth clench. That command was firm, undeniable, and direct. He is not allowed to sneeze. 

Words die on his tongue, even the idea of parting his lips leaves him breathless. Once he allows a touch of air through, there will be more than words spilling out. Determined to maintain composure, he feels the world start to slip into a light fog. 

“Don’t hold your breath,” Dazai hums, giving Chuuya’s wrist a light squeeze. With a poorly contained gasp, Chuuya begins to pant. “You didn’t even notice, did you?” 

Chuuya answers in the form of a watery glare, still too itchy to risk words. Dazai’s fingers relax, dropping Chuuya’s wrist. Without a second thought, Chuuya raises it back to his nose, moaning at the relief the harsh touch offers. 

“AESH’NGKT! Merde-” 

His other hand quickly slips to his face, only managing to half-stifle the sudden burst. The allergic tears lining his eyes begin to pour over, his nose greedy for a full release. If anything, the stifle only served to make it worse. 

“I don’t believe I gave you permission for that,” Dazai starts, fingers beginning to trace up Chuuya’s neck, wrapping around his choker. Chuuya’s teeth pierce into his lip, knees weakening once more. “Though, maybe I’ll allow it. Seems it didn’t do anything to relieve that miserable tickle. I’ll even allow one more!” 

Without a second thought, Chuuya lets Dazai pull his head closer, aiming for a bandaged shoulder as the– “ANGKT!” brings him a moment of relief. From his position against Dazai’s chest, Chuuya lets a smirk flash across his features. Elevated pulse, body trembling in time with each gasp Chuuya takes. 

“I’m being awfully generous here, don’t you think Chuuya?” Dazai purrs, eyes beginning to dance once more as he pushes Chuuya back against the wall, releasing his grasp. “I think you should thank me.” 

From behind his wrist, Chuuya freezes. If he attempts to speak, he won’t be able to hold it back. The dam already broke, the stubborn power of sheer will is fending off the waves. Dazai should know that too… which means this is an indirect invitation to… 

“hieHh–!” 

…or a test. One that letting himself go would immediately fail. Studying Dazai’s expression, Chuuya attempts to navigate his response. The choice is quickly made for him, as Dazai leans forward with a wink. Shivers race down Chuuya’s spine as he feels the breath against his ear. 

“You’ve been quite obedient. Feel free to indulge your own desires now.” 

“AESHH! AK’SHHAA!” The double breaks free with a growl that leaves Dazai trembling almost as hard as Chuuya. Another follows on its heels, then a second, third, fourth, the fit continuing as Dazai’s lip begins to match Chuuya’s. 

“ASHH’aa! Cahhn’t stahh… stop– hH’AEMFSH!” 

A hint of concern passes through Dazai’s eyes as the fit doesn’t seem to let up. “Are you–” 

“AESHHiew! A bid idtchASHH! Idtchy. ADSHH’iuh!” 

“I can see that, or shall I say hear that,” Dazai replies, making a show of covering his ears with a teasing wince. “Might be the last thing I ever get to hear!” 

“Is thad a… ahh– ADTCHh! AESHH’aa! Is thad a complimedt?” Chuuya taunts, pausing to grab a handful of the tissues he’d nearly forgotten about. With a harsh blow, a moan slips out after it. The action lets air flow through his nose once more. “AECHH!” Which of course only serves to agitate it further. 

Dazai rolls his eyes with a smirk, hand finding his way to Chuuya’s thigh. “Only Chibi would think saying someone’s loud is a compliment.” 

“Only you would mean it as one. ASHH’iuh! Fucking Christ.” 

“Switching to English?” Dazai nearly growls, voice lowering with each desperate sneeze. “Is it already that intense?” 

In lieu of a response, Chuuya guides Dazai’s hand up from his thigh, letting the cool fingers brush his warm nose. The touch is excruciating, his chest heaving as he attempts to hold back long enough to get out, “Feel fehh… for yo- hAHhh– for yoursehhhlf.” 

Dazai takes the invitation, tracing each flaring nostril with his index finger, eyes beginning to gloss over nearly as much as Chuuya’s. His breath begins to fall in sync, both of them starting to pant. “Seems so,” Dazai manages to choke out, legs beginning to tremble once more. 

“hH’ASHH! AESCSHH! yeASHH’iuh! YESHH’shaa!” 

Unable to fight it any longer, Dazai leans forward and pulls Chuuya into a greedy kiss, his tongue betraying the depth of his hunger. Chuuya lets himself be swallowed into the embrace, hands finding their way up Dazai’s back to grip his jacket. Together they push back against the wall, intertwined in a beautiful tangle of limbs and tongues. 

Chuuya pulls away first, only managing a sharp gasp before he ducks into Dazai’s shoulder for another harsh– “AETCSHH!” which Dazai blesses with a light moan, pulling Chuuya closer. 

“I’m gonna kiss you again.” 

With a laugh, Chuuya pulls back again, mischief lighting up his eyes. “Did I say you could?” 

Dazai returns the gaze, hunger dripping from his narrowed eyes. “Sadistic, Chuuya.” 

“Shut up and kiss me, bastard.”

~~~ Mate ~~~

Ask anyone in the Armed Detective Agency, and they’ll tell you that Dazai is one of their more valuable assets–

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Chuuya calls from his position resting against the doorway. “The only one who’d call you that is yourself, you smug bastard. The rest of ‘em have enough sense to see you for what you really are.” 

Dazai sighs, letting the paperwork he’d been pretending to fill out for an hour lay abandoned on a desk. A desk that’s certainly not his. Along with a carefully forged note asking Atsushi to fill it out, on behalf of one Kunikida. 

Turning back to the interruption, Dazai gestures vaguely at the empty office. “Then why would they leave me all alone to watch the business? They know I can handle such a task!” He trails off with another performative sigh, sprawling out over his desk. “It’s tiresome, being so crucial and trusted.” 

In response, Chuuya merely huffs a growl, rolling his eyes for what feels like the fifth time in the past ten minutes. 

“Chuuya wouldn’t understand,” Dazai continues with a wink, earning the sixth eye roll. “He’s merely a pawn, while I am a king!” 

“Isn’t the king practically useless?” Chuuya asks, raising an eyebrow incredulously. “The queen does all the work after all.” 

“Ah, a pawn such as yourself would think like that, wouldn’t they?” Spinning in his chair, Dazai catches Chuuya’s eyes with that shit-eating grin that practically screams ‘I’m better than you so I’ll try to dumb this down’. It’s infuriating, and Chuuya finds himself fighting the urge to roll his eyes yet again. 

“While the king may not be on the front lines, his influence is what guides the entire kingdom. Without him, the battle would rage with no cause or order, each piece fighting for themselves. A mere pawn cannot take out a knight with pure strength, he needs a strategy. That’s where the king comes in.” 

“That’s the player, moron,” Chuuya retorts, a new confidence leaving his eyes shining. For once, the high-and-mighty attitude Dazai’s sporting might be all bluster. He mistook the king for the player, a foolish mistake. 

For a minute, just a minute, there’s silence. No witty retort, no smug explanation, just a pause. One hanging thick with deeper meanings, and… something Chuuya would almost call sadness. The look Dazai gives him holds no sense of authority. There’s no superiority in his expression, just a haunting wash of melancholy behind his whiskey soaked eyes. 

Chuuya opens his mouth, just to close it again. No words seem appropriate, not while that look remains on Dazai’s face. A look that suggests something deeper to his meaning that he desperately wished Chuuya would’ve understood. 

The ringing that sounds out knocks Chuuya from his thoughts. His fist connects with the doorframe before he can catch a breath, blood pumping through his ears. “Fucking-!” 

“Chuuya!” Dazai laughs, a cheshire smile smothering the expression that had just occupied that space. Or maybe it was never there at all… “What a foul tongue! And go easy on the offices, would ya? We don’t exactly have the unlimited budget of the Port Mafia. Kunikida will finally have that aneurysm if he finds a hole in the wall.” 

Clutching his phone as it continues to demand attention, Chuuya aims a glare at no one in particular. Not giving Dazai the satisfaction of a direct reply, he snaps open the phone and turns his back to the room. “This is Chuuya.”

The voice starts rambling on about meetings, conferences, deadlines, and something to do with ‘assignment reports missing key details involving jinko’. Digging his fingers into his temple, Chuuya considers hanging up on the kid. 

While there’s no denying his talent in battle, his mannerisms always seem to hit a nerve. A similar nerve to the one Dazai hits, or maybe closer to the sleepless nights where thoughts refuse to give up control.

A combination of everything he hates about himself and Dazai, wrapped up in one human being. Still, it’s hardly like he’s to blame for that. Not like you can hold it against the kid for learning from the role models he was given. 

“Look, Akutagawa, I’m a bit busy at the momen–” Chuuya nearly growls as a noise sounds off behind him, an all too familiar one. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he considers leaping from the window. The only thing stopping him is the prickling starting to invade his sinuses. Too late now, no point in suffering for nothing. 

Spinning on his heel, Chuuya casts the darkest glare he can muster at the ‘all too innocent’ whistling detective still holding the weapon in his bandaged hands. Hard to believe a bottle so small can cause such huge fallout, and yet Chuuya can’t deny the powerful itch beginning to spread. 

“I’m gonna hahh– have to call you back. No, I understand the meaning of urgent, do you understand the meaning of busy?” Flipping Dazai off as the snickering gets louder, Chuuya pulls the phone away from his face. “hH’ANGZT!” 

“What’s the matter, Chuuya? You seem a bit irritated?” Dazai calls, increasing his volume to ensure his voice carries through the phone. “Is it talking to Akutagawa? That always sets me in a foul mood.” 

The noise from the phone seems almost hurt, coated in a thin veil of disgust. Chuuya brings a glove to his nose, pinching it shut long enough to get out, “You talk to him then.” Thrusting the phone in Dazai’s general direction, he leans into his opposite shoulder to muffle another “AMFSHH’uh!” 

“Speak to Akutagawa? Yeah, I’ll pass.” Dazai taunts, aiming his speech at the phone, clearly putting on a performance. “That would just ruin my day, and it’s been going pretty well up till now. I spend my days actively hoping I won’t run into that guy.” 

“You-” Akutagawa starts, before the lines goes silent as Chuuya’s body jerks with another “AHGNTiew! AKNGDT’hah! Merde.” 

“Are you alright?” Akutagawa offers, the genuine nature of the question getting overpowered by joyous laughter bubbling up from Dazai. Chuuya barely has time to glare before he’s aiming for his shoulder again as another harsh sneeze nearly doubles him over.  

“Oh Chuuya here’s just fine, I think he’s just allergic to your presence! Even through the phone, you seem to leave him in… quite a state.” Dazai wipes a tear from his eye as Akutagawa lets a few faint curses slip through the phone. “Maybe you should consider hanging up, let the man have a bit of time to breathe.” 

Finally able to get a word in, Chuuya brings the phone back to his ear with a cautious fist pressed against his nose, fingers holding it shut. “I’b fide. Just repord to Bori idstead. I’b a bid… ah’GNt!” He breaks off into a cough, the tight stifle leaving his head pounding. “A bid preoccupied.”

After a few muffled objections, a comment Dazai vaguely catches about ‘why are you even there’, and a final request for backup on the next mission he’s being sent on, Akutagawa hangs up. 

Dazai offers an innocent smile as Chuuya turns back to him, a red hue beginning to flitter over his skin, fists balled at his sides. “What the hell was that, you bastard! Are you seriously trying to– AESHH! trying to get a fucking– YEASHH’iuh! fucking pounding?” 

“Why Chuuya,” Dazai coos. “What a generous offer! I’d simply adore it if you pounded me all–” 

“Shut the fuck up, you know that’s not what I meant.” Chuuya growls, pawing at his nose as another sneeze doubles him over. “Mon dieu. Did you really hhhah– have to spray that in here? If I don’t… ihihh– if I don’t leave I’m gonna be itchy for hours. ARSHH’iuh!” 

“Oh my- I really didn’t think that through, did I? How reckless of me,” Dazai hums, sliding up from his chair. Chuuya feels himself step backwards before he can process the change, involuntarily retreating from the source of the tickle. 

Sliding a hand in front of his face, Chuuya glares over the makeshift mask. “You’re still covered in the stuff. Keep your distance mackerel or I swear I’ll breAKSHH’aa!” 

“Sorry,” Dazai replies, taking another step closer. “I didn’t quite catch that. Or you’ll what?” 

“I’m serious, you bastard. I’m… hASHH! EMFFSHH! AHMFSH’aa! Fucking Christ.” Chuuya coughs out, his nose twitching dangerously with each step Dazai advances. As if just the knowledge of a closer proximity to his allergen is making the reaction worse. 

“You’re having sex with the lord?!” Dazai gaps, a playfully smug expression resting across his eyes. “I mean, I know I’m good in bed, but to call me your saviour.” 

Not bothering to dignify that with a response, Chuuya takes another step back, missing his shoulder completely when the next “yeASHH’iuh!” catches him off guard. Dazai seems to tremble a little at this display, crossing the distance between them in a single stride. 

Chuuya takes a step forward, taking note of the way Dazai allows the intrusion, sinking back to allow Chuuya space to stand. His posture is open, inviting, nothing like the commanding stance of last time. This is a new game, and he’s inviting Chuuya to take the lead. 

“Well fuck,” Chuuya growls, lowering his glove just long enough to let the sickly floral scent intrude past his defenses. He nearly whimpers as the itch increases tenfold, each breath bringing a new round of desperate hitching. “IhheHh– I’m gonna sneeze-” 

“Did I say you could?” Dazai purrs, the sound catching in his throat as Chuuya spins him around, knocking him into the wall hard enough to expel his breath. 

“I don’t remehhmber asking.” Chuuya smirks as Dazai’s eyes flash, his tongue poking through his teeth in a hiss of pleasure. Leaning closer to his shoulder, Chuuya allows his breath to catch once, twice–

“AESHH’ou!” 

The action jerks his body closer to Dazai’s, a moan slipping from the detective's lips. Barely a moment to catch his breath, Chuuya lets the second, third, and fourth slip out in rapid succession, each aimed a little closer to Dazai’s neck. 

By the fifth Dazai’s panting, shivers running through him as Chuuya’s nose rests against the bare skin. Gathering his composure long enough, he brings Chuuya’s hips towards his own. Dazai leans his head back, eyes fluttering shut in time with Chuuya’s. 

“I’m not… not done…” Chuuya stutters out, a single tear running its way down his cheek. The slow trickle brushes against the side of his nose, leaving him breathless, only enough time to inhale for the– “hEYESHH! EASHHMF! MMFFSHH’aa!” 

“You know,” Dazai whispers, voice stolen as Chuuya begins to rub his nose across the sensitive skin below his ear. “You don’t have a lot of warning for your…” 

Chuuya smirks, pulling Dazai down to his level, breath caressing Dazai’s ear. “For my what, bastard? Say it.” 

Dazai moans in response, a mixture of pleasure and submission as Chuuya lets his teeth mark Dazai’s skin for his own. Gentle enough not to leave any marks that will last too long, but not so gentle that he’s not reminded who’s winning this game. 

“Your sneezes,” Dazai manages to pant, the aforementioned action drawing his breath once more. 

“AESHH’aa! Fuck. Yeah, I guess they don't,” Chuuya replies, releasing Dazai’s shirt quick enough to slam him into the wall with a grunt. “I guess I don’t pay as much attention as some people.” 

There’s a faint whimper in response, Chuuya taking the cue to let his hand wander down Dazai’s chest, resting right above his thigh. “However, I can definitely still feel it. There’s a near constahh… constant buzz. It’s just that I’m never sure when it’s gonna turn into a full sneeASHHH’iuh! Fucking hell.” 

As his body jerks, Chuuya lets his hand slip lower, Dazai responding in kind with a moan. Pausing, Chuuya waits for the next move. It comes sooner than expected, Dazai barely able to contain himself as his hand grips Chuuya’s back, head tilting down to expose the hunger in his eyes. 

At this, Chuuya pulls back, smirking at the whimper breaking their contact coaxes from the other. “Being this close to you is making the itch so much worse,” He muses, rubbing a finger under his nose. An invitation. “I think I’m gonna sneeze again–” 

Not one to turn down the chance for a script flip, Dazai grabs his wrist, pulling it down to his waist. “I think you’ve had more than enough of those.” 

With a barely concealed smirk, Chuuya lets his head tilt back, meeting Dazai’s eyes. “And if I caASHH’iuh! Can’t stop?” 

“Well then,” Dazai taunts, letting his fingers slide up under Chuuya’s nose. “I guess I’ll just have to help you.” 

“EHNGT!” Chuuya gasps in the aftermath of the forced stifle, his breath catching once more as Dazai’s fingers do nothing but irritate his nose further. 

“I do believe I said that was enough, didn’t I?” Dazai hums, fingers rubbing back and forth over Chuuya’s rapidly twitching nose. The tortured appendage wriggles, Chuuya’s eyes fluttering shut as his whole body trembles. 

“AHDTSHH’aa! Fuck, it won’t stahh… AENGT’shiew! Won’t stop if you keep… keeASPTCHH! Keep doing that.” Chuuya growls, leaning forward to rub his nose against Dazai’s shoulder again. He’s stopped by a single movement, Dazai maneuvering himself out of the way with a flourish. Too distracted to attempt to follow, Chuuya raises a fist back to his nose as the tickle hits its peak once more. 

“A Port Mafia executive can’t even stop his own nose?” The taunt stops him in his tracks, Chuuya’s eyes snapping open to glare at Dazai as he finishes the statement. “The standards have really dropped it seems.” 

“Or maybe,” Chuuya begins in a near purr, reveling in the slight crack that spreads through Dazai’s smirk at the abrupt tone change. “I never intended to stop it at all.” 

It’s not easy to catch Dazai off guard, especially when he’s spent nearly 8 years studying your every move. Not easy, but not impossible. As Chuuya releases the grasp on his nose, pressing Dazai back against the wall, he takes pride in the light gasp that escapes the bastard. 

“ASHHH’ou! yeASHh’iuh! hehH– ASHH’iuh!” 

Mask fully shattered, Dazai can do nothing but moan as each sneeze jerks their bodies closer together. Chuuya drops all decorum as he rubs his nose against Dazai’s neck again. He lets a few groans slip from his tongue, flaring his nostrils as the skin contact leaves Dazai quivering. 

Dazai’s response is a simple phrase, barely audible as his voice catches in his throat. 

“Chuuya was never a mere pawn; a checkmate well earned.” 

[n7punk]

i know i've kind of talked around this stuff for... fuck, three years now? but idk, now it's getting closer to "resolving," i kind of want to talk about it. journal, get it off my chest, idk

i haven't really been specific about my health issues much because 1) privacy and 2) very complicated feelings on it, but feelings are becoming less complicated, so... yeah. privacy is still really important to me, but i have too many feelings about this to keep feeling like i'm silencing myself for some hypothetical... i dont even know what

tbf, if it had turned out to be anything else, i probably wouldn't be comfortable even making a vent post about it now. but it turned out to be. annoyingly simple. i've also got other stuff, physical disabilities and such i've been more candid about but still want to keep the specifics of private, but this is... very different.

long story short, during the pandemic i started experiencing Symptoms. i'm honestly not sure if/how much i have talked about what was wrong with me, because i don't remember... entire years, much at all. i know ive described it as my brain being on fire, but it's more like it instantly melted down and i was left with the aftermath for hours/days/weeks at a time. it really fucked with me emotionally to be fighting through that on top of the direct effects of the Symptoms. and, well, the problem was my brain (probably) so that tracks.

it turns out it was migraines. migraines that shared many symptoms with seizures, brain tumors, or pressure on the brain stem, but yeah. "just" "migraines." and, actually, we don't know that! but migraine medication is helping, so it's probably that and this is where i am, finally waking up these last few months (this summer of updates could Not have happened if it weren't for my new medication) and feeling both very frustrated with what i lost and relieved to not always have to deal with suddenly being unable to understand a sentence anymore.

it's not like. fixed. my brain is still going to burn sometimes. It seems to come in waves, like two bad weeks and then two good ones. we're not done trying to treat it now we know some stuff it's responsive to, but its not like it used to be, wildfires raging all day and my head wavering on my shoulders as i struggled just to read messages from my friends. i literally had an emote i would use to communicate when i couldn't communicate that everybody who knows me understands. i haven't even twitched since starting my new meds! well, like, uncontrollably. trust me, that's progress. i literally had to get a bigger bed so i could be safe in the middle of it when the fits were especially bad and i got twitchy.

uh so that was more story than i planned. really i just wanted to finally talk about what i've been experiencing (at least for the first time that i remember). honestly writing was the only thing that kept me sane while i was trapped inside my own malfunctioning brain. i don't know why it was one of the easiest things for me, when i couldn't even understand a full two sentences being said to me i could still - usually - write (again: i literally couldn't talk for like three of the days when i was writing and updating catcher daily), but i'm so grateful for it. and everybody who told me my stories helped you, or that you looked forward to them, or even just that you enjoyed them: you helped me right back, because you told me there was one thing i could still do, from a capability standpoint to having the ability to make any impact on the world when i was trapped at home. so thank you.

okay i'm done now. just. had to get that out

[sqlmn]

Lightning, water, and fire! Like forever before the plot starts. By the time the plot starts, the lightning and fire deities have been subjected to punishment by the two gods that picked them.

Oh (the fire deity) is first to be punished. They basically decide that since they're going to live for a long time, gotta set some long time goals! And they opt to be the wrath of the gods since most of the other deities are too 'soft' in their opinion. So Oh just. Smites humans. This isn't really a /good/ thing and in their defense mentally, they do it to help Ymber since he's the softest of them all. So their punishment by the gods is to be split in two, effectively halving the power of one into two. (Now they are in a male and a female body and use both male and female pronouns apart since they together make they but apart it feels weird to be they. But prior to the split they use they/them. Also the split bodies go by the names Ohiwe and Ohime.)

Fulj is the second to be punished. She falls in love with a mortal woman and that is a crime according to the gods. Mortals and immortals are not to be together and it will only bring suffering to both sides. So her punishment is her memories of the woman are stripped and her body basically broken to the point she can't remain physical all the time.

Ymber, unfortunately, is the one who blames himself for the discoveries and punishments. If he had only tried to restrain Oh more then maybe they would have chilled out and stopped before being punished. If he had only tried to persuade Fulj to not continue seeing the mortal woman so often perhaps she wouldn't have been punished. So he's just increasing the guilt on his shoulders every day that he remains unpunished since the elder gods have both laid down to rest. They can't enforce their laws anymore and none of the deities are keen on harming one another at this point. They just want to continue existing in peace.

[mxwhore]

can i get a fucking Break

[arom-antix]

Viktuuri week day 6: Love

[theeflowerofcarnage]

I loved their love....

[godsfavoritescientist]

Building off of what I wrote in my fic "Sparks," I'm really compelled by the idea of Ford genuinely no longer being interested in sailing around in a boat with Stan by the time they were seniors in high school.

I like the idea of it not being just a symptom of the resentment that had been building between them, nor it being a dream of Ford's that only paled in comparison to west coast tech, but it being a genuine loss of interest on Ford's end. I think it complicates things even further in some really juicy ways.

Like, imagine going through high school slowly losing more and more interest in the dream you've shared with your twin and only friend ever since you were little kids. How do you break it to him? How do you explain it to him without making it sound like a rejection of him? Without it making him hate you?

How do you explain it without it feeling like a spit in the face to all the hard work he's put into a plan that started out as a way of him comforting you by telling you "it doesn't matter what people say about you, you're going to be an adventurer who sails away into the sunset and never has to hear their mockery ever again, and there will be babes and treasure and heroism, and then they'll all see how cool you really are!"

And all through high school you think to yourself, "he's going to move on to more realistic dreams any day now, and then I won't have to say anything about it!" But no matter how many times you mention something else he could do with his life that he seems interested in, or bring up the challenging logistics of traveling around long-term in a boat, he sounds just as committed to the childhood dream as ever, and completely oblivious to how apprehensive you sound.

So resentment grows, little by little. Because that's easier than confronting the soul-crushing levels of guilt that are building up inside of you, every time you don't take an opportunity to tell him you don't want to do the plan anymore. You don't have a single person in your life who modeled how to have difficult conversations for you. As far as you know, having this conversation with Stan would crush him into tiny little pieces and then he would hate you forever, and you can't stand the idea of losing the only friend you've ever had.

So tensions grow. A lack of interest turns into a bitter resentment that, if you were really being honest with yourself, is directed more at yourself than it is at Stan.

And then the falling-out happens, and it seems like you were proven right. Stan hates you now, and he's never going to forgive you for giving up on his dream. But two can play that game, so you try to hate him too. Because if you hate him too, then maybe it won't hurt as much that he never came back. That he never even turned up at school, or by the boat, or in through your bedroom window in the middle of the night. He knows what dad's like, and how he says impulsive exaggerated things when he's angry, and haven't you both dealt with his harsh words countless times before and been able to dust yourselves off and joke about it later? So why isn't he back at home, joking with you about how absurd your dad acted that night, being impossible and belligerent about ruining your dream, but at least now you're even, because you've ruined his dream too.

-

And now imagine you find out he risked the lives of everyone in existence to bring you back, right after you had accepted your fate was to die killing Bill. It would be terrifying and confusing and infuriating. If he cared so much, why didn't he do something to reconnect with you sooner? Why did he ignore you in favor of trying to make it big without you? Why didn't he take the infinitely safer and simpler action of reaching out to you without you having to track down his address and send a desperate plea for help? You were convinced that he didn't care enough to bother with you unless you had an important enough reason for him to come. But even then, he thought your plans were stupid. He didn't want anything to do with you, not even with the world at stake.

Did he save your life out of guilt? Does he pity you that much? It doesn't add up with what he did in the decade leading up to shoving you into the portal. And the dissonance between the version of him in your head that hates you, and the man who held out his arms to welcome you back to your home dimension, is so strong that you feel like you're being lied to again, like you're back in the depths of gaslighting and manipulation that Bill put you through, even though there's no way that's what Stan is trying to do... right? You can't figure it out, so you run away from it. You don't want to know the answer to whether or not Stan hates you, because you don't know which answer would hurt more, so you try to make him hate you more than ever, because at least then you would know for sure how he feels.

And in the end, after he sacrifices his memories for you, and for the world, things seem clearer. The layers upon layers of confusion and anger and hurt seem to have washed away like drawings in the sand, leaving behind the simple truth: that you two had an argument, and didn't move past it for forty years, and despite everything you put each other through, you both still want to re-connect.

So you sail away in a boat together.

And at first, it's wonderful. It's exactly what you want. It feels like an apology to Stan, and a thank-you for saving the world, and a once-in-a-lifetime chance to heal the rift between you two, and it's good to be back on earth, and you wonder why you ever doubted the dream you two once had.

But then, after the first long journey you spend on the sea together, when you get back home to dry land, Stan is already talking about planning your next adventure out on the open sea. He recaps every adventure you had on the first trip, over and over again, and he wants to chat with you all through the morning and long into the night, and you don't have the words to explain to yourself that you don't have enough social battery for this, and suddenly you're slipping back into the horrifyingly familiar feeling of Stan being overbearing and needing space from him and how could you think that? How could you think that about him after everything he's done for you and everything he's forgiven you for? But the longer this goes on, the more you realize that you still don't want to spend the rest of your life sailing around with Stan. It's great fun in moderation, but the idea of your whole life revolving around Stan and going on adventures with Stan and being in a boat with Stan with no time to be by yourself thinking about your own things and figuring out your own dreams makes your skin crawl with a claustrophobic kind of panic that you still don't know how to put into words forty years after the first time this feeling grabbed you by the throat and ruined your friendship with Stanley.

But the first time this happened, it nearly ruined his life forever. You can't let yourself feel this. You don't feel this. You're happy to spend the rest of your life fulfilling Stan's lifelong dream, and making up for the time you crushed his dream, and sure, maybe he crushed your dream once too, and maybe it would be nice for him to support your dreams like you're now doing for him, but you can't say that. He saved the universe, and it would be horrible and ungrateful and cruel for you to try to voice these feelings, especially when you don't know how to voice your feelings without it making other people feel like you twisted a knife into their gut. So you try to pretend the feeling isn't there.

You go out on a boat with Stan again. You planned out another incredible journey together, and this should be fun, and you should be happy about this, but the unspoken feeling you shoved as far down in yourself as it could possibly go is eating you alive. The worst part? Stan is starting to notice. You have never been good at hiding your emotions. The trick to it has always been to convince yourself you don't feel it at all, and not think about it, and that has always worked like a charm. But whenever the emotion claws its way back up to the forefront of your mind, you can tell Stan knows something is wrong. So you can't even give him the happy ending he deserves. You can't even convince him that you want to be here on the open seas forever with him, like he deserves. And you keep trying and trying to hide it, but Stan keeps asking in roundabout ways, like "You're being awfully quiet, sixer," and "whats that look on your face?" and eventually it comes exploding out of you like a shaken-up soda bottle dropped on its cap.

And then it's like you're back at home in New Jersey again, standing in the living room while dad grabs Stanley by the shirt. It all comes pouring out of you, in the worst possible way, with the worst possible phrasing, like a pandora's box of monstrousness, and Stan tries to fight back against the sting of your words, but you're made out of acid and you're burning through him and you can see it on his face, and there's never any coming back from this, not this time, you'll just have to either jump into the ocean or become a monster forever, so Stan can hate you more easily again, and-

-and at the end of the outburst, you're still on a boat in the middle of nowhere in the ocean with your brother, in dangerous waters, and you have things to do to keep the boat running smoothly.

You can't run away from him. He can't run away from you. You're stuck here for at least a couple more weeks, even if you turned around and sailed back towards shore right away.

-

And the thing that compels me so much here, despite how unbelievably angsty it all is, is that it sets up a situation wherein the Stans might end up forced to actually address the decades of resentment and confusion and wanting-to-reconnect-throughout-it-all that they thought they could gloss over and heal with enough time spent adventuring together on a boat. They might end up forced to actually address the crux of the issue that drove them apart in the first place: Ford wanting a little more space to feel like his own person, and to feel like he's able to have his own dreams, too.

It wouldn't happen easily, nor right away, but if they were stuck together on a little boat in the middle of nowhere surrounded by magical creatures they have to protect each other from in order to make it back home alive, then after they had one fight where they brought up all the things they silently agreed to never bring up again, it would probably happen many more times, and each time it would leave them both angrier at each other than ever, until eventually something honest slipped through amidst all the saying-anything-except-what-they-mean bickering. And once enough of these honest moments slipped through, then they would have a thread to tug on to start to unravel the gargantuan knot of their decades of unresolved conflicts.

And then, eventually, maybe Stan could learn that he can have a good friendship with his brother without needing to be glued to him at the hip, and Ford needing a certain amount of alone time doesn't mean he dislikes him or wants to abandon him, and Ford could learn that he can be honest and have a meaningful connection with someone without it driving them away and making them hate him.

[whaliiwatching]

This concept art is killing me, but maybe ace lesbians Ashley and Felicity, as a ‘Spider-Verse’ art prompt? They look adorable together. https://i.redd.it/86immh6i92hb1.jpg

i don’t rlly know anything about spider bitch or black cat but i tried!!

they do look cute together..